The Forest of Vanishing Stars

by Kristin Harmel

Yona just blinked at her, completely lost. “I—I don’t understand.”

  Jerusza stared at her in disbelief. “Come on, child. Boys want things from girls. It’s the oldest story in the book.”

  And then, in a flash, Yona understood, and heat raced to her cheeks. “But it wasn’t anything like that!” She knew about the mechanics of sex—an unfortunate necessity to perpetuate the human race, Jerusza called it—but in her mind, it had nothing to do with feeling like one had common ground with another person. They had only talked, which had nothing to do with their bodies.

  Then again, she had longed to draw closer to him, hadn’t she? Was that nature at work? Or was it simply desperation to have someone see that she was alive, whole?

  Later, as the years passed, and she and Jerusza made their way north and then east, she thought of Marcin sometimes and wished she’d been brave enough to touch the skin of his arm, just so she’d known, if only for a second, what it felt like to connect with another human being.

  But there were no more humans to be found where they were, and life lapsed into predictable monotony for a time. Each day, they foraged for food and herbs. Each night, over a small fire, they cooked what they had found. They moved at least once a month so they left hardly a trace if anyone came looking. In the late summer and autumn, they gathered and smoked food for the winter; by the time the leaves turned, they began building a shelter, dug deep into the sandy earth and supported by poles hewn from tree trunks. In the winter, they huddled together around a small fire inside their cramped dugout, emerging only to refill their meager larder with mud loaches, beetle larvae, and frozen berries as their supplies dwindled, and to shovel freshly fallen snow into pots for fresh water. Each spring, Jerusza ventured into villages to steal clothing, shoes, blankets, knives, and axes—leaving Yona behind now, with firm instructions not to move or there would be dire consequences—and on each expedition, she brought back books, which Yona inhaled ravenously, longing to imagine what life was like outside the forest. In the summers, they found their way to deserted Russian encampments left behind during the Great War and dug in the earth until they found treasures like magnesium sticks and ferro rods, which made it easy to build fires. In time, they accumulated a small sack of them, which they took with them wherever they went, for it would provide easy light and heat for years.

  But something was happening, and by the time Yona had turned twenty, the world around the forest had grown angry. The earth growled, and airplanes rumbled overhead with increasing frequency, breaking the stillness of the sky. There were sometimes explosions far away, and sounds Jerusza explained were shots from soldiers’ guns, and though Yona begged Jerusza to tell her what was happening, the old woman’s answers were obfuscating. “God is angry,” she would say, fear glimmering in her eyes. Or, “We are being tested.” Whenever Yona asked more, Jerusza grabbed her by the shoulders and hissed warnings such as, “As long as you are here, Yona, you are safe. Do not forget that,” or, “The forest will protect you.” But how could Yona find protection from something she didn’t know, didn’t understand?

  There were more people in the forest now, too, and that seemed to frighten the normally unflappable Jerusza. “These men, they will hurt us if they find us,” she whispered one night as they cowered in the darkness of a three-hundred-year-old hollowed oak, each of them clutching a knife, listening to heavy footsteps nearby.

  “Who are they?” Yona asked.

  “Bad men. The horror has just begun.” But Jerusza would explain no more. Later that night, long after the footsteps had faded, they began moving again, this time to the east.

  “Where are we going?” Yona asked, her voice low, as she struggled to keep up with Jerusza, who was traipsing through the darkness with purpose.

  “East, of course,” the old woman said without breaking her stride, without turning to look at Yona. “When there is trouble, you must always move toward the beginning of the day, not the end. You know this, child. Have I taught you nothing?”

  In the summer of 1941, bloated black logs fell from the sky one bright afternoon, shaking the solid earth, frightening the birds from the trees, scaring the rabbits underground as the ground quaked and rolled.

  “Bombs,” Jerusza said, her voice as hollow as a dead oak. “They are bombing Poland.”

  Yona knew about bombs, of course, for they’d fallen two years before, too. But she had never seen them like this, clouding a bright blue sky. “Who?” Yona felt cold, despite the heat of the sun. In the distance, there were more explosions. “Who is bombing Poland?”

  “The Germans.” Jerusza did not look at Yona as she replied. “Come. There’s no time to lose, or we’ll be directly in the path of Russian deserters.”

  “What?” Yona asked, completely confused, but Jerusza didn’t answer. Instead, she gathered their things, thrust a few knapsacks into Yona’s arms, and started off into the woods as quickly as Yona had ever seen her move.

  It took them two days and nights of walking, stopping only to sleep for a few hours when their feet couldn’t carry them anymore, before they reached the edge of a seemingly endless swamp, just to the west of the forest’s heart.

  “Where are we?” Yona asked.

  “Somewhere safe. Now take off your packs and be prepared to carry them above your head. Your knife, too.”

  Stunned into silence, Yona scanned the horizon. The swamp stretched farther than the eye could see and seemed to Yona to be an optical illusion; it was dotted with islands, but it was impossible to tell from the edge which parts of the swamp were solid ground and which were swirling with deep, murky water. Was it Yona’s imagination, or could she hear the water hissing the word Jerusza had just spoken? Safe, it seemed to be saying. Saaaaaaafe.

  “But won’t you get sick?” Yona asked as Jerusza began to lead the way into the deepening swamp, the water already up to their hips. After all, the old woman was a century old, and just the week before, she had begun to cough and shake at night.

  Jerusza choked out a mirthless laugh. “Have I not taught you by now that the forest takes care of its own?”

  “But why are we doing this, Jerusza?” Yona had asked an hour later as the water reached their necks. Around them, the swamp continued to hiss. They carried their packs on their heads so the turbid muck wouldn’t soak their things.

  “Because you must know this forest inside and out, her heart, her soul. Now you are in her belly, and her belly will keep you safe.”

  It took them two days to reach an island in the center of the swamp, where they found mushrooms, bilberries, and startled hedgehogs that were easy to catch. They remained there for a month, until they had picked the island clean of its sustenance, until they could no longer hear explosions or the rat-tat-tat of gunfire in the distance.

  As they finally made their way back to a more familiar part of the forest in early August, Yona summoned the courage to ask a question that had been weighing on her for a long while. “What do you believe, Jerusza?” she asked as they walked, the old woman several strides ahead of her, leading the way. “You call yourself Jewish, and we mark the Jewish holidays, but you scoff at them, too.”

  Jerusza didn’t turn to look at her, nor did she slow her pace. “I believe everything and nothing. I am a seeker of truth, a seeker of God.” It wasn’t an answer. Finally, Jerusza sighed. “As you know, my mother was Jewish, and so according to Jewish law, that means I am, too. You know these things, child. Why are you forcing me to waste my breath?”

  “I—I suppose I’m wondering about myself.”

  “What about yourself?”

  “Well… what am I? You are not my mother, but you raised me. Does that make me Jewish, too?”

  The silence hung between them as they walked. “You are what you were born to be,” Jerusza said at last.

  Yona clenched her fists in frustration. It should have been a simple question, but somehow, even after all these years, it wasn’t. “But what was that?” she persisted. “Why do you never give
me a clear answer? What was I born to be?”

  “I wish I knew,” Jerusza shot back. “I wish I understood why the forest called me to you. I wish I could understand why I’ve had to spend the final years of my life with an ungrateful child. I suppose you’re fated for something great, but at the rate you’re going, I’ll be long dead before you fulfill whatever destiny that may be.”

  Yona’s head throbbed with confusion and hurt. “But if you could tell me something about where I came from…”

  “For goodness’ sake, stop!” Jerusza finally turned to glare at Yona. She chewed her sagging lip for a long moment before adding, “You’re asking the wrong questions, child. Never forget that the truth always lies within you. And if you can’t find it, maybe the forest was wrong about you. Perhaps you’re nothing more than an ordinary girl, after all.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  By the time 1942 dawned, frigid and empty, Yona had grown used to her own company, for Jerusza, now 102 years old, hardly spoke at all anymore. Yona was nearly twenty-two, and she knew everything there was to know about the earth beneath her feet, and the things that sprang from it, but nearly nothing about the ways of mankind. She hadn’t seen another human in nearly three years other than occasional glimpses of the bad men from deep within the trees. She held conversations with red squirrels and mountain hares. She cooked, she cleaned, she spoke to a God she couldn’t understand. But venturing outside the forest had grown too dangerous, even for Jerusza. The deeper into the Nalibocka they went, the more the world outside disappeared.

  Before she knew it, it was March, and the cold was seeping back into the ground, the snow melting, the frost releasing its hold. On a day when the sun rose above the treetops in a cold, cloudless sky, Jerusza, who hadn’t moved from her reed bed, summoned Yona.

  “Today,” Jerusza said, her voice raspy, breathless, “is the day I will die.”

  Yona’s eyes filled with tears. She had known the time was coming, for Jerusza’s body was slowing, growing colder. The birds, reemerging to look for signs of spring, had kept their distance like never before, and Yona had felt a shadow looming over their home dug into the earth. They’d been living there since November, the longest they’d stayed in a single place.

  “What can I do?” Yona asked, coming to kneel beside her.

  “Prepare me some linden tea.” The old woman drew a trembling breath.

  Blinking back her tears, Yona scrambled to do as Jerusza had asked, brewing a strong concoction made from the dried flowers of linden trees, which she and Jerusza had gathered last summer. It would bring Jerusza’s fever down and help with the pain, but it wouldn’t slow her transition to the other side. As she waited for the flowers to steep, Yona tried to focus on how to keep Jerusza comfortable, but dark thoughts kept creeping in at the edges; what would become of her when Jerusza was gone?

  When she knelt again beside Jerusza a few minutes later, a steaming cup in her hands, the old woman’s breathing had grown noticeably shallower, but still she recited the vidui, the prayer of confession, before taking the cup in her trembling hands.

  “Jerusza, what will I—” Yona began to ask, but Jerusza cut her off.

  “There are things I must tell you.” Jerusza took a long sip of the tea. She blinked a few times, and when she turned her cloudy eyes again to Yona, she looked stronger and more alert than Yona had seen her in months.

  “I am here.” Yona leaned in and put her hands over Jerusza’s, an expression of solidarity, but Jerusza shook her off.

  “First, you must never venture outside the forest. Not while the world is at war. You must promise me, Yona.”

  It was the deal they’d had since the bombs had begun to fall two and a half years before, and Yona had stuck to her side of it. But once Jerusza died, she would be all alone in the darkness. What if she craved human contact once in a while? “But if I need food…”

  “The forest will provide, child!” Jerusza let out a great, hacking cough that shook her whole body. “The forest will always provide. You must give me your word.”

  It would have been so simple to just agree, but Jerusza had taught Yona long ago never to lie unless her life was in danger and an untruth was the only way out. “I can’t do that,” she whispered.

  Jerusza struggled to sit up. Her eyes were blazing, even as the life seeped slowly out of her. “Then you are a fool, and you will put yourself at great risk.”

  “But maybe great risk is the only way to a better life,” Yona said. “Isn’t that what you’ve told me about our existence? Life in a village would be easier, but we take the risk of living in the woods because it gives us a bigger life, here under the stars.”

  Jerusza’s upper lip curled. “It appears the student has become the teacher at last.” Her voice was raspy and growing weaker. “Well then, I suppose there is something else you should know, too. Of course you are already aware that I am not your real mother.”

  “Of course.” A sudden ache of loneliness shot through Yona. She had tried asking about where she’d come from several times over the years, but Jerusza had always stormed off, calling Yona an ungrateful wretch. Yona had come to believe, over the years, that she must have been abandoned by heartless parents in the woods, and that the old woman had saved her life.

  “I stole you,” Jerusza continued, her tone even. “I had no choice, you see.”

  Yona sat back on her heels, sure she had misunderstood. “You stole me?”

  “Yes. From an apartment in Berlin. From a woman and a man you were not meant to belong to.” She delivered the blow as calmly as if she were remarking on the weather.

  “What?” Yona stood abruptly, shaky on her feet, disbelief mixing with an inkling of a sense that there was a small part of her that already knew the story. Berlin.

  “Sit down, child. There’s no time for your dramatics now.”

  Yona took a few gulps of air, her body tensed to flee into the forest, where she wouldn’t have to swallow the pain of whatever Jerusza was about to say. But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t, because the old woman would be dead before she returned, and she would never hear the things she needed to know. “What did you do, Jerusza?” she whispered, sinking back down.

  “What did I do? I saved you, child.” Sweat was beading on Jerusza’s forehead now, and her breathing was becoming more labored, a series of staccato swallows and hisses. “Your parents were bad people, you see.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “The way I know everything.” Jerusza’s words bit like a whip. “The forest told me. The forest, and the sky.”

  “But—”

  “Their names were Siegfried and Alwine Jüttner,” Jerusza continued, rolling right over Yona’s grief-stricken protest. “They lived in an apartment at Behaimstrasse 72 in Berlin.”

  The apartment with the wooden bed and the warm blankets that haunted her dreams. Yona swallowed hard a few times, a thousand questions bubbling within her. The one that forced itself to the surface, though, was, “Am I meant to go back to them now? Is that why you’re telling me this?”

  “No!” The old woman’s eyes flashed, and she sat up. Her torso wobbled unsteadily, like a blade of wheat in the wind, and Yona resisted the urge to reach out and steady her. She didn’t deserve that. “No!” Jerusza repeated, her voice so loud and sharp that Yona could hear a startled congress of crows lifting off outside, squawking in outrage. “You must not.”

  “Then why tell me at all? And why now?”

  “Because it is…” Jerusza trailed off, her words dissolving into a wet cough that wracked her body. “… knowledge that may spare your life—or another’s—someday.”

  “What do you mean?” Yona leaned forward.

  “We are all interconnected, Yona. You know that by now. Once fates intertwine, they are forever linked. Lives are circles spinning across the world, and when they’re meant to intersect again, they do. There’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

  “Are you saying I will
see my parents again?”

  Jerusza looked away. “The universe delivers opportunities for life and death all the time. I am giving you now a chance for life, just as I did when I took you.”

  “I—I don’t understand.” Yona could feel desperation closing her throat. She wanted to shake the old woman, who, even on her deathbed, was talking in smug, impenetrable riddles. “A chance for life? What are you saying, Jerusza?”

  “You will know.” Jerusza drew another difficult breath, then sighed and sank back into her reeds. “You will live until the first new moon of your one hundredth year, Yona, if you do not forget the things I have taught you. You will know.”

  Yona sat back and stared at her. The old woman’s prediction—so certain, so sure—would have sounded outlandish if Yona didn’t know that Jerusza’s talent was infallible. The earth spoke to Jerusza in a way that Yona had never understood, but it never lied, and neither did Jerusza. That was why Yona knew she had to ask the question that had been burning within her for years.

  “Do you love me, Jerusza?” she asked in a small voice, ashamed that it mattered so much. “Please, I must know.”

  Jerusza stared at her, and her expression was not one of tenderness or even regret. It was of disgust, revulsion. “Love is a wasted emotion,” she said at last, her voice fading. “It makes you weak. Have I taught you nothing? Love is for fools.”

  Yona looked away before Jerusza could read the pain in her eyes. “But what if the parents you took me from loved me?”

  “And so what if they did?” Jerusza’s voice had waned to a whisper. “Would you have traded the life you’ve had with me for one with evil parents, just because it came with love?”

  “I don’t know,” Yona said. “You never gave me the chance to choose.” At that moment, Jerusza closed her eyes and breathed her last, and a single tear rolled down Yona’s cheek for all that was lost and could never be found.

  * * *

  Yona was reeling from the revelation of her origin, but still, she dutifully did the things Jerusza had asked her to do, the rituals the old woman had taught her, a combination of Jewish tradition and Slavic witchcraft as mysterious as Jerusza herself. “Baruch Atah Ahdonai, Ehlohaynu, Mehlekh Haolam, Dayan HaEhmet,” she murmured over the body of the woman who had raised her, a woman she had never really known at all. Blessed are you, Lord our God, king of the universe, judge of truth. She lit candles made from beeswax and nettle and placed them above Jerusza’s head. She recited the Twenty-third Psalm and then sat beside Jerusza, the only mother she’d ever known, for a day and a night.