“We took some clothing on the way to the forest.” His eyes slid away. “Not much, but enough to prepare for the winter, from villagers who already had plenty. We decided as a group last night that it was worth it to sacrifice one sweater if it would help us to fish. Moshe is a tailor; he spent the evening unraveling it.” He hesitated suddenly. “Were we wrong to do that?”
She could feel the tension in her chest dissipating. “No. We can use it. But in the future, keep your sweaters for the winter. You will need all the warmth you can get. I will teach you how to make rope from what the forest gives you.”
They had both been taking tentative steps forward as they talked, and now they faced each other in the clearing beside the stream, just two meters apart. “How do you know all these things, Yona? Who are you?”
“I wish I knew.” She let her gaze slide away. “Come. Let’s build a net to catch fish.”
* * *
By the time the sun hung high in the sky, Yona had taught Aleksander how to make a basic kryha, and then, because they had plenty of rope left over, she taught him how to make a gill net, too, showing him how to find two trees near the side of the stream, string a cord between them, and hang pieces of rope from the top down, knotting them methodically in a diamond pattern to create a one-inch mesh wall. They used the last of the rope to secure the net to the bottom of the stream with stones to weight it in place.
When they were done, they climbed out of the water, side by side, letting the sun warm their skin and dry their clothes. Aleksander stared in awe at the results of their handiwork. “Now what do we do?” he asked.
“Now we wait,” Yona said. “The fish will come.”
Aleksander shook his head in astonishment. “Yona, you’re a gift from God.”
“No.” She looked away. “I am just trying to do what is right.”
She could feel him studying her. “Well, I thank God, all the same, for sending you to us.” He was silent for a few minutes more. She could feel herself breathing in the silence, so heavily that it was audible. What was wrong with her? “I make you uneasy,” he said gently after a moment had passed. “I don’t mean to.”
“I—I’m not accustomed to people.” She ducked her head.
“And I’m not accustomed to beautiful women who know the forest. But I think I could get used to it, if you could.”
She looked up at him, confused, and saw him smiling at her. Her cheeks burned as she looked away and busied herself with collecting willow twigs.
“What are you doing?” Aleksander asked after a moment. “Can I help?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked. She felt strange, shaky. “See if you can find some birch bark. I’m making you a large basket to bring your fish back to your people.”
He watched her as she began to weave together the most pliable twigs she could find, her fingers moving rapidly, expertly, for she’d done this a hundred times before. “Surely we won’t need a basket that large.”
“Are you certain?” She nodded toward the gill net. “Look.”
Aleksander turned to look at the stream, and when his eyes met Yona’s again, they were wide with surprise.
“There are already dozens of fish there.”
“Yes.” Yona allowed herself a small smile.
“But… with something so simple, I’ll be able to feed everyone, all the time.”
“Until the winter comes.”
As the smile faded from Aleksander’s eyes, Yona regretted the words. She should have let him revel in the realization that he could provide for his people after all. “It’s all right,” she said gently after a moment. “There are ways. I will teach you about foraging. About preserving your fish and meat. You can’t stay in one place too long, either.”
She could see the lump in his neck bob as he watched her. She had been weaving as they spoke, her fingers moving deftly around the sticks, fastening them together. As he handed her a long twig in silence and she wove it through the thatches, making a conic basket that would serve him well, she could see him searching for words. “Why are you helping me?” he asked as she handed the basket over. When she didn’t answer, he added, “You’re Jewish, too, aren’t you?”
It was the same thing Chana and her parents had asked, a question Yona feared she would never know the answer to. “Does it matter?”
“It is usually something people want to know.”
Yona thought about this. “But maybe it shouldn’t be. Perhaps they need only know whether you are kind, decent, capable, well-intentioned. It is within your own heart that you find God. And we all walk our own path toward him. Don’t we?”
He didn’t say anything, and in the silence, she could feel her cheeks warming. It had been a silly thought, one that showed no understanding of society or the way it worked. Surely he was thinking that she sounded like a childish fool.
But when he spoke, there was only quiet admiration in his tone. “Yona, the world you describe would be a paradise.”
“But it is not reality.”
He shook his head, but again he didn’t speak right away. Yona liked the silence, the easy feeling of space existing without words, and she appreciated him for not having to fill the void. “My parents died years ago. I am one of six brothers,” he said at last, his voice so low it was barely audible. “All dead now, except me. All of us fought in the army. Three of us returned alive. After the German invasion last year, they came for the Jews in my town, forced us into the ghetto. In November, there was word that something was coming, a mass execution. I tried to talk others into leaving with me, but only a handful came. My brothers didn’t believe me and so they stayed. We could hear the gunshots from where we hid in the woods. We were out there for days before venturing back; we lost one old woman to the cold, or perhaps to heartbreak, I don’t know. We had to return, though, because we didn’t know how to survive. When we left again a few weeks ago, because we’d heard rumors the ghetto was going to be relocated, perhaps even liquidated, I promised those who followed me that I would protect them. And maybe with your help, Yona, I can, at the least, make sure that they’re fed. But how can I—how can anyone—protect them from a world that hates them because of what’s in their blood, because of what’s in their hearts?”
Yona was startled to feel tears stinging her eyes. “I—I don’t understand how people could feel that way.”
His smile was gentle, bitter, and sad, all at the same time. “Money. Belongings. Taking from one group to pad the pockets of another.”
“But the hatred…”
“Is how they sleep at night, I suppose. If they convince themselves that we are not even worthy of the air we breathe, then it’s easier to get rid of us, isn’t it?”
The silence rolled back in, and this time it was both comfortable and full of words they didn’t need to speak aloud. When Yona looked up, Aleksander met her gaze and held it for a long time. She didn’t look away until they both heard a voice in the distance calling Aleksander’s name.
Immediately, he jumped to his feet. “It’s Leib,” he said, scanning the forest.
Yona knew, from the space between the echoes, that they still had a few minutes before the younger man appeared. She could run, hide. There was still time to disappear into the forest.
But then Aleksander looked at her with a question in his eyes, and something in her shifted. “I will stay,” she said. “I will meet him.”
“Are you certain?”
“No.” But somehow, she was. She could feel it in her heart, a deep certainty, all of a sudden, that fate had brought her here, that this was part of some greater plan she didn’t understand yet. The wind whispered in the trees. “But it is the right thing.”
Aleksander studied her for a few seconds before nodding. “I will go get him, then, tell him where we are.”
Yona nodded, and though he held her gaze for a few beats more, as if waiting for her to disappear if he blinked, he eventually turned and moved into the woods.
In the sile
nce left in his wake, Yona could hear herself breathing, could feel the stillness all around her. There was a slight lapping of the water against the banks, the fish struggling to free themselves from the net. The whisper came through the trees again, but it wasn’t Jerusza’s voice she could hear. This is your path, it said. She took a deep breath and got to her feet.
In the ten minutes before Aleksander returned with Leib, Yona had waded back into the stream and quickly, expertly collected most of the fish whose gills had become lodged in the net. She was holding the basket when they arrived in the clearing, and when Leib’s eyes went first to it instead of her, she knew instantly that he was very hungry. Up close, he looked younger than he had from a distance, perhaps only sixteen or seventeen. He was slim, long-limbed, with a nose as sharp as a crow’s beak, and a smattering of stubble on his narrow chin.
“Fish,” she said in greeting, and when his gaze moved to her, he looked confused. “It’s too dangerous to build a fire now, for the smoke could be seen from miles away on a clear day like this, but you will have plenty to eat tonight, I promise.”
He blinked, looked uncertainly at Aleksander, and then turned his gaze back to her. He cleared his throat. “Aleksander tells me you have helped us. That the fish yesterday were from you?”
“Yes.” Yona didn’t elaborate. Instead, she gestured for him to sit down.
“Thank you,” Leib said, his voice low as he settled across from her.
Yona nodded without looking up, embarrassed by his gratitude.
“Leib, this is Yona,” Aleksander said. “Yona, Leib.”
“Hello.” Leib regarded her with curiosity.
“Hello.” She didn’t know what else to say, so she looked hastily away, then she glanced at Aleksander, who was watching her. He gave her a small, encouraging smile.
She turned back to Leib. “Um, you look hungry. I will pick some berries. You can scale the fish?” As soon as she said it, though, she wondered if he carried a knife. After all, why would he, this village boy who didn’t know the woods? But he surprised her by pulling a folding blade from his pocket and holding it up.
“Sure.”
“Where did you get that?” She hadn’t meant to sound accusatory, but when he flinched, she knew she had. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I only meant to say that I’m surprised. I would not have thought you would be allowed to have a weapon in the ghetto.”
“I wasn’t.” He glanced at Aleksander. “But once we were far from Mir, Aleksander insisted we venture into a few villages and take what we needed,” he explained, avoiding her gaze.
“But only what we needed,” Aleksander cut in. “The villagers, they are facing hard times, too. But there were things we needed to survive.”
Yona nodded her agreement, in awe that he had figured out how to do such a thing—and apparently to do it with some level of morality. “You have scaled a fish before, Leib?”
“I’ve seen my mother do it. I can try.” He grabbed one of the small fish by its tail and put the blunt edge of his knife against its midsection. As he scraped, silver scales sparked into the air like a burst of light. “Like this, yes?”
“Yes, yes,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile. “Just get the scales under the collar there, too. Good, good.”
He smiled as he held up his fish to examine it. In just a few swipes, he had wiped it clean.
Yona smiled back. “You’re a natural, Leib.”
He looked down, the smile suddenly sliding from his face. “If my father could see me now. He teased me for having a book in my hand all the time. Said I’d never survive if anyone took away my stories.”
A small silence hung over them, and then Aleksander patted Leib on the shoulder. “He would be very proud, Leib,” he said, his voice deep and warm. Yona nodded, but still, Leib wouldn’t look at them. When he finally turned, Yona could see tears in his eyes, which he quickly wiped away with a look of embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” he said, getting to his feet. He strode away into the trees without another word, and beside her, Aleksander sighed as they watched him go.
“The grief comes in waves,” Aleksander said simply after a moment.
“I’m very sorry.” Yona felt suddenly awkward as they lapsed back into silence. “The others who are with you,” she asked after a moment. “Their grief is similar?”
Aleksander glanced at her. “Yes.”
“And have any of them spent a winter in the wilderness before?”
Aleksander choked out a laugh like Yona had never heard, one devoid of mirth and filled only with disbelief and pain. “No. We all came from comfortable lives in the villages outside the forest. We were tailors and bookkeepers, shop owners and students. None of us could have imagined a day that our homes would be gone, and we’d be running for our lives into the depths of a forest we don’t know at all.”
It wasn’t fair, any of it, and though the thought of being around more than a few people after a lifetime alone was enough to make her pulse race with fear, she wondered whether this was her path, the fate Jerusza had been talking about. “Your group,” she said abruptly, and then she took a deep breath and dove off the cliff into the deep unknown. “I would like you to take me to them. Tomorrow. If it’s all right with you. I—I would like to help.”
Aleksander’s brows rose. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Yona.”
“I won’t stay long. But the forest can be dangerous.” She thought of Chana and her family, and she swallowed hard. “I will teach you to live—and to disappear.”
Aleksander’s gaze never left hers as he nodded slowly. “Thank you, Yona. But I—” He stopped abruptly and shook his head. “I don’t want to disappear. I want to survive so we can tell the world what has happened.”
“I don’t want you to disappear, either.” She was surprised by how vehemently she meant the words. “And that is why you must become one with the forest to survive.” Just like a pack of wild animals, they would need to remain on the move as long as the weather was good, for the longer they stayed in place, the more vulnerable they became to predators—both man and beast. And Yona couldn’t let that happen.
* * *
That night, after filling their basket until it overflowed with fish, Yona waved goodbye to Aleksander and Leib as they disappeared into the forest with their new fishing nets. She watched them as they went, somehow knowing, even before it happened, that Aleksander would turn around not once but twice to see if she was still there. Then she slipped back into the woods toward the hut she had called home for the last week.
She had little to travel with, so it took her no time at all to pack her things into the leather knapsack she’d used for years, the one that smelled like the damp of the forest even on the driest days. And then, when the moon rose overhead, bathing the forest in light, she stared up at it in the clear sky, listening to the sound of her own breath, the comfortable rhythm of solitude. Tomorrow, everything would change.
But for now, she was alone with her thoughts. Above her, the stars stretched across the heavens, a familiar canopy that would be with her wherever she went.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In the morning, Aleksander was waiting beside the stream, the woven basket next to him, when Yona arrived. He watched her as she approached, and when she was within earshot, he smiled and said her name. Two eagles lifted off from a nearby pine, and a crow squawked his protest over the interruption.
She continued her silent walk toward him, and when they finally stood just a few meters apart, she studied his face for a few seconds before speaking. “Hello, Aleksander,” she said, her voice sounding strange and high-pitched to her own ears. She was nervous, and when he took a small step back, she wondered if he could sense it. Did he understand how profoundly her world was changing?
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, the question sounding strangely formal.
She nodded, though she had barely slept at all, her dreams punctuated by strange vis
ions of Jerusza silently screaming in the darkness. “Did you?”
He smiled ruefully. “To be honest, I was worried about you.”
“About me?”
“About whether I’m forcing you to do something you don’t want to do.”
She thought of Jerusza. Of a lifetime of being told what to do, how to feel. Of a stolen childhood, of a life of loneliness she hadn’t asked for. “No. This is my choice.” It felt good to say the words, to remind herself that she had the right to a road of her own choosing.
He hesitated, watching her closely. “Yona, have you ever lived outside the woods?”
She opened her mouth to say no, but then she thought of Berlin and the shadowy sketches she could sometimes see in her mind’s eye of her life before Jerusza. A wooden children’s bed. Billowy drapes the color of spring sunshine. A mother with brightly painted red lips, a father with a neatly trimmed mustache and grease in his hair. How could she still see them so clearly? In trying to make her forget, had Jerusza instead frozen the images in time? They were faces that felt like they belonged to a dream, but she knew they were real, vestiges of the life she should have had. “Yes,” she said after a while. “A long time ago.”
“And now?” he asked. “You are all alone?”
“I am. For almost half a year now.” She took a deep breath.
“I see.” Something in his expression shifted slightly, a recognition of pain. “You lost someone very recently. I’m sorry. What happened to him?”
His assumption that she had been sharing her life with a man was almost laughable because it was so far from the truth. He was the first man other than Chana’s father whom she’d seen up close, if you didn’t count Marcin, who had been just a boy, and who existed now only in her distant memory. “It was a woman named Jerusza. She is the one who raised me. She died just before the spring.”
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