What She Lost

by Melissa W Hunter

  Thirty-Seven

  Reichenbach, Germany, June 17, 1945

  Michal and Sam moved into a room down the hall from ours. Now that both of them were stronger, it was appropriate that they should have their own space. I was thrilled when Sam continued to gain weight, and I began to see a hint of the brother I used to know. I had found work on one of the new communal farms just outside Reichenbach. I spent the summer days with the other women, collecting crops from the field, milking the cows, and gathering eggs from the henhouse, while the men tilled the land and planted seeds for the fall harvest. Most days when I returned home, I ran to Sam’s room, eager to spend time with my brother, but more often than not, he wasn’t there. It was Michal I ended up sitting with and talking to, and soon my thoughts turned to him when we weren’t together. I looked forward to our regular conversations, even though I worried where Sam was and what he was doing. In the weeks since his recovery, my brother had become reclusive, disappearing for long hours and returning to the hotel late at night. When I questioned him, his answers were vague.

  One evening, as I approached their room, anxious because I hadn’t seen Sam all day, I overheard voices beyond their partially closed door. “Sarah’s worried about you,” Michal said softly. “She asks all day if I’ve seen you. You have to give her some peace of mind. Tell her what you’ve been doing.”

  I pressed against the wall.

  “Soon,” Sam said. “She doesn’t need to concern herself with my affairs. I took care of myself in the camps. I can handle myself now.”

  “That’s not the point,” Michal said. “She wants to spend time with you. I can tell she is disappointed when you aren’t here. You are her only living relative. Don’t shut her out.”

  I turned from the door so they wouldn’t notice my presence, my thoughts racing. What was Sam doing? Did Michal know where he disappeared to each day? What were they hiding?

  The following day, Michal came to my room holding a beautifully wrapped gift box, topped with a red bow. “This is for you, Sarah,” he said, placing the box in my hands. I looked at him quizzically, noticing how his clean cotton shirt slipped from his slender shoulders so I saw the slightly sunburned skin of his collarbone. I noticed how the tan on his face made his eyes even darker. “What is it?” I asked.

  “Open it,” he insisted with a smile.

  I tore through the gold wrapping paper and lifted the lid of the box. Resting on white tissue paper was a white silk dress with large red polka dots, shiny black buttons running the length of the front, and a red velour collar and cuffs. I lifted the dress from the tissue paper, feeling the way the material slid like fluid through my fingers. “It’s beautiful,” I breathed, blushing. I stood up and held it to me, twirling in a small circle so the skirt caught the air and billowed against my legs.

  “I saw it in town and thought of you,” Michal said softly. “I thought, perhaps, you could wear it tonight and accompany me to the celebration?”

  Earlier that day, there had been an assembly in town; representatives from the emerging Jewish communities in the surrounding areas had come to Reichenbach to officially elect a Provincial Jewish Committee to serve as the local branch of the Central Jewish Committee of Poland. Jakob Egit was named the provincial committee’s chairman, and headquarters were moved from the synagogue to 23 Krasickiego Street. There was a feeling of triumph and excitement in the streets, a sense of community and rebirth. It was rumored that almost six thousand Jews were now living in and around Reichenbach.

  To celebrate, a festival was planned for the evening. Gutcha, Helena, and I had planned to go together. I felt Michal’s eyes on me as I walked to the mirror and looked at my reflection. My weight was slowly returning, and I noticed curves in my hips and bosom where, until recently, I’d had none. My hair now reached just below my ears and had grown in a fuller chestnut color instead of the bright red I used to detest. I had learned to style it in the pin curls that were so popular. The freckles that once dotted my nose had faded into an overall tanned glow from the summer sun. I no longer avoided looking in the mirror. In fact, I liked what I saw.

  I was about to answer Michal when I noticed Sam standing in the doorway, his eyes shifting back and forth between us. He frowned when he saw the dress I held against me. “Where did you get that?” he asked. I looked at Michal, who turned to face him and said, “I bought it for her. I thought she deserved something beautiful. Don’t you agree?”

  Sam didn’t answer as he stared at me.

  “Are you going to the festival, Sam?” I asked casually to break the sudden tension. “The girls and I are all going. Why don’t you and Michal come with us?”

  Michal quickly nodded. “Yes,” he said, “we should all enjoy tonight together.”

  Sam frowned. “I’ve been talking to Rubin and he thinks we should be cautious.”

  “Rubin?” I asked, carefully setting the dress back in its box and facing my brother. “Tell me what you’re doing, Sam, please? Who is Rubin?”

  Sam’s face finally softened, and he walked across the room to take my hand in his. “Come with me,” he said. He led me back to their room and approached a large trunk sitting in a corner, covered by a thick woolen blanket. He lifted the blanket and removed a chain from his neck. I noticed for the first time the key that dangled from the end of the chain. He told me to close the door, and only then did he turn the key in the padlock that secured the lid of the trunk. Lifting it, he waved me over. I stood over him, peering into the depths of the trunk.

  Lining its bottom were rows of guns and rifles, ammunition and bullets. I gasped and backed away. Sam looked at me soberly as he closed the lid again. “This is what I’ve been doing, Sarah.”

  “But why, Sam?”

  Sam stood and walked to the window that looked out at the garden behind the hotel. His hair had started to grow in as well, dark like my father’s had been, the scabs he had picked raw from lice finally beginning to heal.

  “I won’t be caught off-guard again,” he said with his back to me. “Rubin is a Russian general stationed with one of the units in town. He is helping some of us to form our own police corps so we can defend ourselves if we need to.”

  “How did you get the weapons?”

  “Rubin and some of the other Russians provide them for us.”

  “Are you still fighting, Sam?” I asked, walking to him and gently placing my hand on his shoulder. I felt it stiffen, his body going rigid at my touch. “The war is over.”

  “You’re a fool if you believe that,” Sam said abruptly, turning on me. I looked down, stung by his tone. I heard him take a deep breath, and his finger lifted my chin so we were gazing into each other’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean that. I just want to be prepared.”

  “For what?” I asked, still confused and hurt.

  “For the future,” he said. “Do you think the Poles will stay out of Reichenbach? They were displaced as well. This was their home before the Germans took over. The factories and farms—it was all their property. If they come back, we may have to defend what we’ve taken as our own. We won’t be welcome here forever.”

  I swallowed, considering his words. “You were always the one who said we should leave,” I said, the words aching as they came out of my mouth. “You begged Mama and Papa. You knew what was going to happen. If we’d only listened to you.”

  “Don’t think that way, Sarah,” he said. “I didn’t know what was going to happen. But I won’t let it happen again.”

  At dusk, we walked to the center of town. The streets were already crowded with people. Helena and I linked arms as Gutcha walked ahead of us. We had spent the last couple of hours styling our hair, applying powder and lipstick, and penciling lines on our legs to make it appear we were wearing stockings. I was fascinated with the fashion trends and styles some of the women from larger cities described. I enjoyed looking at t
he fashion magazines that advertised clothes “Straight from Paris” or “The Finest in London Fashion.” I remembered how my mother used to dress, in long skirts and modest blouses and shawls, her head always covered, her face free of makeup. I felt a mixture of shame and delight at my new appearance. She wouldn’t have permitted me to leave the house dressed as I was. But I liked how I looked, even if it was considered indecent.

  When we met Sam and Michal in the hall, I noticed how Sam studied me reproachfully. I had worn the dress Michal gave me despite Sam’s silent objections, and it hugged my figure in a flattering way. Michal’s eyes also centered on me, but his look was one of appreciation. I felt reckless and momentarily carefree under Michal’s gaze. I wouldn’t let Sam’s disapproval ruin my night.

  The gas lamps were lit, and the setting sun cast a rose-colored hue over the rooftops, chimneys, and steeples of the town. I heard music and recognized a strain of song from my childhood.

  In the center of town, a stage had been erected, and a small klezmer band played. The lively melody from the upright bass, accordion, fiddle, and clarinet swelled around us. Helena pulled me forward so we were standing in front of the musicians with a large crowd, swept up in the music. The pulsing rhythm was contagious; soon we were clapping in unison, watching as both men and women danced together in the square. This, too, would not have been permitted in my childhood community. Men and women were kept separate not only during worship but also at celebrations, never touching in public. I was mesmerized by the abandon with which the dancers moved, the almost rapturous way their bodies glided over the cobblestones, a smell of summer honeysuckle and sweat strong on the humid night air.

  “This is wonderful!” Helena said. I smiled and nodded as the music washed over me. The song turned seamlessly into “Hava Negila,” and I was reminded of the weddings I’d been allowed to attend as a child in Olkusz. Suddenly, Michal was next to me. He held out his hand and said, “Dance with me, Sarah.” I didn’t have time to think as I placed my hand in his and was pulled into the circle. I closed my eyes and laughed at the feeling of almost flying, my feet barely touching the cobblestones. Delight surged through my limbs, and for the first time in a lifetime, I felt happy.

  But suddenly a hand closed on my wrist, and I was dragged from the circle. I almost tripped as I stumbled backward. Sam was leading me away from the dancers. “What do you think you are doing?” he demanded as he pulled me beneath a tree on the outskirts of the crowd.

  “What do you mean?” I panted. “I was just dancing, Sam.”

  He shook his head as he looked at me. “You were acting like a common whore.”

  Again, I was struck dumb by his hurtful words. I stared at him open-mouthed. The joy I’d felt only moments ago immediately vanished, leaving me weak and dizzy. I put out a hand to steady myself against the tree. “Why do you say such things?” I asked in a whisper. “Am I not allowed to enjoy myself even a little? Everyone else was dancing too, Sam. It was just a dance.”

  Sam’s breathing was rapid, his face contorted with an anger I didn’t understand. I noticed how tense his shoulders were, and I wanted to reach out to him, but something held me back. “I want to be happy, Sam,” I said softly. “Don’t you want to be happy again too?”

  He looked back toward the street, where more dancers had joined the circle. “I only want to protect you, Sarah,” he said, not looking me in the eye. “But I don’t know how to.”

  “You don’t have to protect me, Sam.”

  “How did you survive?” he asked abruptly, turning to look at me. “What did you do in the camps?” He watched my reaction carefully.

  “What do you mean?” I whispered. The word whore echoed in my ears. I swallowed and shook my head as a memory tried to surface. I fought to push it to the back of my mind. “I don’t want to talk about this now,” I said, suddenly queasy. “I need to sit down.” I turned from Sam and fell against the tree, closing my eyes.

  “Is everything all right?” a voice asked. I looked up to see Michal walking toward us.

  “Yes,” Sam said in a tight voice. “Sarah needed some air.”

  Michal looked at me closely. “Do you feel ill?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, taking a deep breath. I suddenly wanted to be away from both of them. “I’m going to take a walk,” I said, and before either of them could object, I turned and walked down the street.

  On the corner, I saw Erna towering over a group of women. She caught my eye, and we nodded at each other. I briefly remembered the night we’d met in the filthy outhouse outside our barracks in Blechhammer. I had crept out of the bunk and into the cold to go to the bathroom, thinking I was alone in the dark until I heard a shuffling sound beside me. I’d jumped and gasped and heard a similar sound somewhere to my left. “Hello?” I’d whispered, and a voice had whispered back, “Hello? Sarah, is that you?”

  “Erna?” I had asked, standing up from my crouched position and feeling along the wall to touch her arm.

  “It’s me,” she said. “Nothing like a pee in the middle of the night,” she added, and we both laughed, despite the fact that our feet were freezing in the dirt and we had nothing to clean ourselves with.

  The music in the town marketplace had stopped, and the sound of applause cut through the night air. I wandered back to the square in time to see a woman in her late thirties, dark hair piled on the crown of her head and almond-shaped eyes beneath heavy brows, climb the steps to the stage to address the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced. “My name is Ruth Taru-Kowalska. I was an actress before the war, performing on many stages across Europe. It is a happy occasion that brings us together this evening to celebrate the revival of our art and music, our rich culture.”

  Murmurs and cheers passed throughout the crowd. The actress beamed at the large gathering and clasped her hands between her breasts. She invited a number of men and women to the stage, survivors like myself, to perform readings of works by Sholem Aleichem and I. L. Peretz. I stood off to the side, scanning the crowd for Helena and Gutcha. I wanted nothing more than to be away from the men, in the company of women. On stage, a man stepped forward and bowed to the audience. At first I didn’t pay much attention to his performance as I pushed my way through the crowd, looking for my cousin. But I paused when I heard the man’s deep voice recite:

  And in the heart’s interior,

  A secret hand is fashioning …

  New music’s born,

  New hopes are spun …

  O weave yourself, Desire, weave!

  I was drawn toward the stage by his words, by the idea of new hope, new music. But as I watched, another performer stepped onto the stage, raising his arms as he spoke:

  All’s vanity …

  Live

  All you can,

  Wander

  All you want:

  You’ll see nothing new

  Beneath the sun!

  What was is what will be.

  I turned away, the queasy feeling in my stomach again. My mind fought with itself, wanting with such desperation to be happy while another part stirred up memories I wanted to lock away for good. I retreated, running down the quiet backstreets, leaving the crowd and the noise and the words and the music behind, hoping my memories would stay behind as well. Without looking where I was going, I bumped hard into someone and stumbled backward. “I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Sarah?”

  I looked up and saw I had collided with Helena. She was flustered as she smoothed down her skirt and tucked her dark hair behind her ears. She glanced over her shoulder, and I realized she was not alone. A young man was standing behind her, also slightly embarrassed.

  “Oh,” I said, startled. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Sarah, this is Wolf,” Helena said, smiling awkwardly and nodding to the stranger standing be
hind her.

  “Hello,” I said softly, nodding back.

  “Hello, Sarah,” Wolf said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  I raised my eyebrows, surprised. Helena had never mentioned his name to me before. Helena’s hair was tousled, and her bright red lipstick was smudged. I remembered the time long ago when I had stumbled on Helena and Jacob, and I felt my face grow hot. Helena glanced between the two of us, then stepped toward me. “Where are you headed in such a rush?”

  “I wasn’t feeling well,” I said. “I was just on my way home.”

  “You shouldn’t walk alone if you’re unwell,” Helena said. “Let me walk with you.”

  “That’s all right,” I said, but she took my hand in hers and led me back onto the street. I noticed how Helena and Wolf glanced at each other furtively as we passed him, their faces illuminated in the moonlight. When we were some distance away, Helena turned to me and said, “Sarah, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

  “What is it?” I asked. When Helena didn’t answer right away, I looked at her. She was biting her lip, and I knew without having to be told. “It’s Wolf, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Helena breathed, pausing to look at me. She reached for my hands. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately,” she said. “He works in town, in the post office. That’s how we met. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s sensible and kindhearted. He’s a hard worker too.”

  I watched her silently, waiting for her to continue.

  “Sarah,” she said in a whisper, “he’s asked me to marry him.”

  I inhaled sharply. “What?” I gasped.

  “He wants to marry me.” She looked down, as though afraid to look me in the eye. “And I think he could make me happy.”

  When she looked up, I saw the pleading expression in her eyes. I knew what she was asking. She wanted my permission, my forgiveness. Part of me was happy for her, but another part of me ached.