The Forest of Vanishing Stars

by Kristin Harmel

  Ruth nodded. “But I’m not certain which ones are poisonous, so I’ve been hesitant to let them.”

  “I will show them.” It would keep the children busy, but it was also something they should know if they were going to live in the forest for any length of time. The right berries would help them to survive. The wrong ones could kill them, slowly and painfully.

  Yona beckoned to the girls, who approached her slowly. Behind them, the older men and women had begun to gather things lying about—a frying pan, a pair of trousers drying on a large stone, a pair of boots, a tattered, leather-bound book—stuffing them into rucksacks. Yona watched Oscher limp across the clearing, and her concern deepened; his leg was in worse shape than she’d realized.

  “Your name means ‘dove,’ you know,” said the older girl as Yona knelt down to eye level. Her hair was straight and silky, even though it likely hadn’t seen a comb in months. Her younger sister had tight, tangled curls, and both had rosy cheeks, thirst-blistered lips, and sun-bitten noses. But their dark eyes were bright and interested.

  “I know.” Yona smiled and turned her left wrist over, showing them her birthmark. Both girls leaned toward it in fascination, and the older one touched her wrist. “This is how I got my name.”

  “It looks just like a real dove,” said the older girl.

  “Do you want to know a secret?” Yona asked, and both girls leaned in, eyes wide. “I can feel this dove sometimes, when I’m hungry or sad or scared. It feels as if she’s trying to fly.”

  “Whoa,” breathed the younger girl.

  “Yona,” murmured the older one, still staring at the deep-maroon birthmark, which Yona could feel pulsing. “I love your name. I don’t know how I got mine.”

  “And what is it?”

  “Pessia.” The little girl smiled tentatively. “And this is Leah. My sister. I’m older. Only by ten months, though.”

  Yona smiled as Leah kicked at the dirt. “It is wonderful to meet you, Leah and Pessia. Can I tell you another secret?”

  Pessia’s eyes widened and she nodded, leaning in. “What is it?” Leah still looked uncertain.

  “The forest is full of good things to eat—and to drink,” Yona whispered.

  “But Mami says it’s dangerous to eat from the forest,” Leah said.

  “Your mother was right about that when you were village girls. But now you are forest girls, and I will teach you how to find safe things. There is only one rule. You are never to eat anything you pick without checking with me or your mother first, until you learn. If you will promise me that, I will teach you. Is that a deal?”

  Leah nodded, but Pessia looked skeptical. “Does that mean you are here to stay, then, Miss Yona?”

  Yona glanced over their heads to where Aleksander stood in conversation with Oscher, Moshe, and the other older man, Leon. She watched for a second as Sulia helped Ruth pack up the baby’s things, and as Miriam, Bina, and Luba began to pull down the leaves and bark from their makeshift shelters. Could she really do this? Give up her solitude, possibly her safety, to help this group to survive? It went against all Jerusza had taught her, but she had to, didn’t she?

  “Yes, Pessia,” Yona replied, and just like that, the dove on her wrist beat against her skin, though whether in joy or trepidation, she didn’t know. “I am here to stay for now.”

  Pessia studied Yona for a few seconds before a slow smile spread across her face. “Good. I’m glad.”

  “Yes.” Yona stood and beckoned for the girls to follow her. “I think I am, too.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  By the time Leib returned with Rosalia, a tall, solidly built woman of about thirty with fire-streaked chestnut hair, dark eyes, a confident stride, and a rifle, the camp was mostly broken down, the group’s belongings packed, the shelters destroyed. Yona had shown the little girls how to quickly and efficiently pick the plump, twilight bilberries that grew around the camp, and how to tell them apart from the poisonous herb Paris berries, which only grew alone, one to a plant. The girls were each filling a basket Yona had quickly woven from willow twigs and bark, and she kept an eye on them as she walked into the clearing to meet Rosalia.

  Rosalia’s grip was firm but not crushing, and her eyes were kind as she assessed Yona. “Leib tells me you are here to help us. And that you are the one responsible for last night’s bounty of fish.”

  Yona ducked her head. “The fish were Aleksander’s and Leib’s doing, too.”

  “They were much appreciated, Yona. We’ve been very hungry.”

  Yona had the feeling she had passed some sort of test. “You have a gun,” she said, gesturing to the weapon in Rosalia’s hands.

  Rosalia looked down, almost as if she was surprised to realize it was there. “Oh, yes. It belongs to Aleksander. He and I take turns guarding the camp. Leib, too.”

  “That’s wise.” Yona glanced around. “Of course Ruth has the children, but what about Sulia and Miriam? They’re young, healthy. Do they not take a turn?”

  “They are wary of guns.” Rosalia’s voice was a serene thrum. “It’s just as well. Those who protect the group must be confident.”

  Yona nodded. Rosalia hadn’t taken the opportunity to criticize the other two women, and she appreciated that.

  “Have you used a gun before, Yona?” Rosalia asked.

  “No.”

  “But how do you protect yourself out here? Leib said you’d been in the forest for a long time.”

  “I avoid people.”

  “Surely the forests are crawling with partisans now, though.”

  She thought of the footsteps she and Jerusza could hear in the forest, the way Jerusza had warned her to stay hidden, their journey to the swamp in the summer of 1941 to avoid Russian soldiers fleeing from the German onslaught. “I have learned to stay away. To keep to myself.”

  “That sounds very lonely.”

  Yona bowed her head. How could she explain that she had never really felt alone, because she didn’t know what it felt like to be with people? She understood now, though, that her yearning to visit the villages on the forest’s edge might have been exactly that, a longing deep within her, a loneliness she hadn’t known a name for. “Perhaps.”

  “And yet you are here now. With us. No longer alone.” The words weren’t exactly a question, but Yona felt the curiosity in them. The other woman was trying to understand her. Yona wished she could explain, but she could hardly grasp the decisions she had made in the last twenty-four hours, which went against everything she knew.

  “There was a family,” she began, but then she didn’t know how to explain Chana and the strange dynamic with the girl’s parents, or the way she had let them down so terribly. “I failed them. I—I did not do enough. And they were killed.”

  Realization sparked in Rosalia’s eyes. “They were like us. Jews.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are a Jew, too?”

  “I was raised by one.” She looked away, feeling a surge of guilt. How was she supposed to explain to anyone what it was to feel a part of a religion that would perhaps never be hers? “But we’re all children of the same God, don’t you think?”

  “I think the Germans would disagree. I think they would want to know just what is in your blood.” Rosalia looked as if she wanted to say more, but Aleksander interrupted by striding up to them.

  “I think we are ready to move,” he said.

  Yona scanned the campsite. It had indeed been dismantled, packed away, and the girls were back with their mother, who was carefully picking through their basket of berries. But they couldn’t go yet; the campsite was still full of signs that people had lived there, cooked there. It would be a poison arrow handed to the Germans, pointed in the direction the group had gone. “First,” she said, “we must erase all signs that we’ve been here at all, as best we can.”

  Aleksander nodded and glanced skyward. “But it will be dark in a few hours. We should be on our way, so we can cover more ground.”

  Yona unde
rstood what he was saying. With a group largely composed of older people and children, it would be difficult to move without daylight. They would need to learn how to navigate by the stars, to walk by the light of the moon, but not tonight. “We will do our best here, quickly, and then we’ll move. We will walk until twilight and find a place to settle.”

  It took a few seconds before he nodded. “Very well.”

  A few minutes later, with Rosalia standing guard and the two little girls perched on a fallen tree, eating berries with Leon, Oscher, and Bina, Aleksander called out to the group, “We must scrub the clearing of signs we’ve been here.”

  “It looks empty now,” Leib said, looking around.

  “Not to those who are accustomed to tracking,” Yona replied.

  “Tell us what to do, Yona,” Aleksander said.

  Yona took a deep breath and tried to ignore Sulia’s pursed lips, the glances Oscher and Moshe exchanged, the way Miriam and Luba were regarding her dubiously. “Luba, Miriam, gather big branches and sweep away all the footprints you see in the dirt around the outskirts, working your way back to the clearing, making sure you erase your own prints as you go. Leon, Oscher, if you can manage, please scan the campsite for any burned logs, embers, and ash—any sign that there have been man-made fires here—and put them in a stack, over there. Leib, you take them to the stream and submerge them. Sulia, please sweep the places all of you slept for any trace that you’ve been here—imprints in the dirt, leaves in unnatural piles, even fallen strands of hair. Moshe, you and Aleksander should take the bark that you used for roofs and spread it around the forest floor so that it looks untouched.”

  “What can I do?” Ruth asked. She was rocking Daniel gently; his eyes were closed, and his mouth twitched in a dream.

  “You have the baby,” Yona said.

  “Pessia can hold him.” Ruth glanced at the older girl, who nodded, wiped her berry-stained fingers on her shirt, and reached for her little brother. The boy settled into Pessia’s arms with a coo and a sigh, and Ruth turned to Yona. “I am ready.”

  Yona nodded. “Come with me, then.”

  From the pile of the group’s belongings, Yona pulled two large pots. It was extraordinary that they’d managed to obtain such supplies, but she was thankful for it. The pots would allow them to boil water for herbal remedies, and soups when the weather grew cold. And now, it would allow her and Ruth to do a job that was necessary, though unpleasurable.

  “We need to wash away the waste,” she said, handing Ruth one of the pots.

  “The waste?”

  Yona’s eyes drifted to the area just beyond the edge of the circle that the group had obviously used as a latrine. It was hidden behind a massive oak for privacy, and there were two large holes dug in the ground. A tracking dog—or a man who was experienced at searching the woods—would know it in an instant.

  “Oh,” Ruth said, following Yona’s gaze.

  But she followed Yona, and together, in companionable silence, they dumped pot after pot of water from the stream on the area, then filled in the two holes with fresh dirt, using large sticks as hoes. They finished with a few dozen more pots full of water, going back and forth to the stream, and covered the space with leaves and branches, until finally, the ground looked untouched. Then they returned to the stream together to wash the dirt from beneath their nails.

  “You have been alone out here?” Ruth asked as they scrubbed their hands with the cool water.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what happened to your family?” Her tone was gentle. “Surely you had parents.”

  “I don’t know what happened to them,” Yona said after a pause. She wondered where they were now, Siegfried and Alwine Jüttner. They were strangers. “The woman who raised me died earlier this year.”

  “I’m sorry.” When Yona didn’t say anything, Ruth added, “I am glad you are here. With us.”

  Yona searched herself before replying. “I am, too.”

  * * *

  Three hours before nightfall, they set off, moving slowly northeast through the trees. They were going deeper into the heart of the Nalibocka, trudging at a pace that Oscher, who leaned on Leib, was comfortable with. Ruth carried Daniel, while Miriam held Leah, and Pessia trudged along holding Luba’s hand, after announcing to the group that she was a big girl and could walk by herself. Ruth and Yona had exchanged looks of doubt, but the child was keeping up just fine, a look of steely determination on her rosy-cheeked face, and Yona was impressed.

  Yona and Aleksander walked ahead of the group, leading the way, and Rosalia brought up the rear, the gun still in her hands as she scanned the forest for danger.

  “We’re moving farther away from civilization,” Aleksander said as they moved, ducking in unison under a low-slung oak branch. His boots crunched loudly through the underbrush, while Yona moved almost silently, her weight on the balls of her feet, as Jerusza had always taught her. Move like a lynx, Jerusza’s voice sounded in her head. Think like a fox. Track like a wolf.

  “Yes.”

  Aleksander cleared his throat. “Are you sure about this, Yona? I initially made the decision to stay within a day’s walk of some of the towns at the forest’s edge.”

  She glanced at him. His jaw, sharp beneath several days of dark growth, was set. “Why?”

  “So that we could venture in if we needed anything.”

  “Like what?”

  “Food—a few chickens, some potatoes, some jam. Glasses for Moshe.” He paused. “It’s where we got the pots we cook in, from a farmhouse not far from where we camped for the first few weeks.”

  She understood. “You stole those things.”

  He turned, his eyes meeting hers. “Some of it, yes. It was survival, Yona. We—it was hard to know how to eat at first. And Moshe’s glasses were crushed by a German weeks before we left. He’s nearly blind without them. And the gun. Yona, we needed a gun.”

  “You stole that, too?”

  Their conversation paused as they reached a small stream. Yona tested it first, and then nodded, beckoning everyone forward. With cupped hands, they all drank the water, Leib in particular gulping it down in huge, desperate swallows.

  “Slow,” Yona said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “We are all thirsty. But drinking too quickly will make you sick.”

  He nodded, but he continued to gulp the cool liquid, and Yona returned to her own spot on the bank beside Aleksander.

  “It’s getting dark,” he said.

  Yona looked up at the sky, which was fading to a shade of deep blue that sometimes reminded her of Kroman Lake in the southern part of the forest, where bream, perch, and pike swam. She and Jerusza had visited twice a summer when Yona was young, and the old woman had even permitted Yona to swim once while Jerusza fished. The water had been cool, bracing, and it had moved around her in a way that felt different from the gentle, steady currents in the streams where she usually bathed. The fish they caught were plump, salty. But then the lake had become a place for villagers to look for food when the farmers’ crops struggled and the economy turned, and Jerusza had never brought her back.

  “We have another forty-five minutes before the light is gone,” Yona replied.

  Aleksander beckoned to the group, and in silence, they filled their canteens and flasks with water—they each seemed to have one—and followed, wading across the stream and walking in a line as they pressed deeper into the woods.

  “You asked about the gun,” Aleksander said after a while. The sky above was turning inky, and Yona knew they’d have to stop soon. There was a clearing up ahead that she hoped would work. “We needed one. And there was a farmer near Mir who I knew kept a rifle in his salt cellar. I left the group one day and waited outside his barn until I saw him leave for the fields. I was in the cellar with the rifle in my hands when he appeared at the top of the ladder, pointing a pistol at me. ‘Who is there?’ he demanded, trying to see my face. I lifted my cap, and he stared at me for a whole minute bef
ore he said my name. He recognized me; I could hardly believe it. I had worked on his farm for a summer when I was a teenager. It’s how I knew the gun would be there.

  “I asked him not to shoot me, and though he didn’t lower his gun, I somehow knew he was not going to. I held up his rifle and said, ‘I’m sorry, but I need this.’ He looked from me to it and then back at me. ‘Where are your parents?’ he asked. I told him they were dead. ‘Your brothers?’ Dead, too, I told him. He asked where I was living. The forest, I told him. Finally, he nodded, lowered his weapon, and stepped aside to let me up the ladder. I climbed up until I stood beside him. ‘You must make me a promise,’ he said. I will never forget the way he looked at me. ‘If I let you take the gun,’ he said, ‘you must promise me that you will survive and tell stories of the things you have seen. That you won’t let your family’s deaths go unavenged.’ I promised, and as I started to walk away, I turned and asked a question I needed to know the answer to. I asked him why—why he was letting me take a gun he must have needed himself. Why he was helping me at all when most of the farmers in their villages nearby would cheerfully turn me in for a bounty.”

  Aleksander paused as they reached the clearing, and he and Yona looked up at the sky together. It had almost reached full dark, and this place was as good as any; there was enough space for their group, and it was hidden by broad swaths of oaks, far enough from the stream that it wouldn’t be an obvious place to look. Yona nodded at Aleksander, and he turned to the group and told them to start making camp.

  “What did the farmer say?” Yona asked as she and Aleksander began stripping wide swatches of bark from trees. Behind them, in the clearing, she could hear Leib retching, his stomach upset from the rapid intake of water, but she didn’t turn.

  “He said that when he and my father were boys, my father had saved his life. He didn’t explain, but he said that his parents wouldn’t let him thank my father, because he was a Jew. They wouldn’t even let him tell people that his life had been saved by Andrzej Gorodinsky. But he never forgot it and had always hoped to one day repay him.” Aleksander paused and sniffed, turning away, and Yona’s heart ached. “It was too late to repay my father, of course. But the farmer said he hoped that by helping me, he was giving my family a chance to go on.”