by Kelly Rimmer
“If that is what she’s looking for, that’s surely impossible.”
“Unless by some miracle one of the people on her list is alive and we can find them and they happen to know—we’d never be able to find out something so specific.”
“I know it’s crazy to come here with such little info but...even mute, she can be very persuasive.”
“Is there anything else?”
“A few times she’s said Babcia fire Tomasz—I just have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”
“Well, in this letter he does talk about their love being the fire that is the driving force in his life, words to that effect anyway. Perhaps she is talking about passion?” Zofia suggests.
“I didn’t think of that. There’s a symbol on her device for love but maybe she couldn’t find it?” I say, thinking aloud. “Surely that must be it.”
“One mystery solved already.” Zofia smiles. “Let’s eat, then we’ll head into Trzebinia and see what we can find, no?”
The waitress approaches with two plates of food. She sets fresh bread and a bowl of smalec in front of Zofia, then slides my eggs and bacon in front of me. Zofia cuts a square of the bread, then spreads a spoonful of the lard onto it and hands it to me.
“Oh,” I say, and I clear my throat. “I’m really not sure...”
Zofia’s eyes crinkle a little when she smiles.
“It’s a delicacy, I promise.”
I pop the entire chunk of bread into my mouth, and as I chew, I give her a surprised look. The smalec is salty and tasty, and the texture is not nearly as sickly as I’d expected. The whole effect between the delicate smalec and the heavy bread grows on me as I chew, until I could very easily imagine myself eating a whole plate of this stuff.
“Well?” Zofia asks, laughing again. “Another day we return for breakfast here and smalec?”
I laugh softly and nod.
“Okay, you’ve convinced me. Smalec next time.”
CHAPTER 29
Alina
As the clock struck 6:00 p.m. on our third night in the cellar, Tomasz was starting to talk about heading out to collect some of the fresh eggs so they didn’t go to waste, and I was trying just as hard to convince him to stay in our little bubble just for one more night. We heard the door upstairs open, and a voice called out quietly, “Tomasz?” and just like that, Henry Adamcwiz had found us.
Tomasz helped him into the cellar, then resealed the hatch, and for the first time in two days, we turned on the little oil light. It gave our little love nest a romantic yellow glow, and I could once again see Tomasz. Our eyes met—and in that gaze, we silently spoke of all of the secrets we’d shared in the darkness. We’d spent two glorious days alone comforting each other and resting together, and I was more than a little sad that those wonderful hours had come to an end.
Henry was far shorter than Tomasz, and much older than I’d expected. His Polish was fluent but heavily accented, and it took me a few minutes of fierce concentration listening to him speak before I could easily understand him.
“It is so lovely to meet you at last, Alina,” he said, and he shook my hand. “Truly, Tomasz speaks so highly of you. I knew you must be a special girl when he decided to stay just for you.”
“Thank you,” I said, flushing.
“Well, maybe that, and he was a little suicidal,” Henry said with a laugh.
I frowned, but there was no time to fixate on the comment, because Tomasz prompted, “Give us some good news, Henry. You are here, so I am assuming you have some?”
“We think the route we used with our last courier is still going to work, with some adjustment. The Eastern Front has moved significantly in the time since the last boy went through, so it’s going to be a longer journey, but we hope to get you out of Poland in much the same way.”
“Good,” Tomasz nodded. He sat forward, rubbed his hands together, then sat back—as if the excitement was too great for him to sit still. Our gazes met again, and Tomasz flashed me a broad smile. In that moment, I felt the details were irrelevant—Tomasz looked as delighted as if we were already free and safe, so just for a second that’s how I felt, despite the reality of our circumstances.
“Before you get too excited, let me tell you what I’m proposing. Jakub has built a large wooden carton. From the outside, it looks like many cartons stacked atop one another. Inside, there is room for two, although he says it will be tight and uncomfortable and likely little room for bags—perhaps one small suitcase for food and water. You will be in the deepest part of the truck, so you will have to make the entire journey without a break from the space inside the carton. It will take at least a day—longer if he has to stop for sleep, which he is hoping to avoid but...”
Tomasz and I shared a glance. His broad grin had faded now. He was assessing me—ensuring I understood what this meant. No bathroom breaks. No privacy. No daylight. It would be every bit as bad as our current situation in this cellar, where I’d been humiliated to have to use the chamber pot in front of him—but worse still, because at least in the cellar, I could stand and stretch and even pace if the anxiety became too intense.
Could I do it? The very thought made me feel ill, and even despite the glow of the lamp, the cellar walls were suddenly closing in on me. But I had to be realistic—and I had no choice but to be brave. I raised my chin and looked right at Henry.
“And after that?”
“Our driver will take you to a place where the Don River is accessible. There is a local there with a boat—he will take you across. Stalin has freed the Poles he was holding, so technically you’ll be free once you reach the other bank and you’re into Soviet territory.”
It took a long moment for that last word to register, and when I did, I blurted it out incredulously, “Free?”
“Free...” Tomasz repeated it too but he said the word slowly—as if he was savoring its taste on his tongue. Our eyes locked, and we grinned at each other again.
“Yes, you’d be free, although,” Henry said cautiously, “the journey would not be over, and you’d not be out of the woods yet. After you cross the river you’ll need to walk on foot into a city called Voronezh—it’s not far from the Eastern Front, but still well under Soviet control. You can board a train there, which will take you as far as Buzuluk. I just need to be sure you understand what you’re in for, my friends. This will be an unpleasant journey too—and long, at least a few weeks. The trains are overcrowded with your fellow Polish citizens recently released from the gulags and the work camps. They are all desperate to get to Buzuluk.”
“What’s at Buzuluk?” Tomasz asked.
“The Polish Second Division are reforming and they are training there. But we have heard that conditions there are also difficult—food is scarce, disease is rife—and some Polish refugees are suffering immensely. But I need you to get to Buzuluk, because there is a shipment of British clothing coming to keep the new Polish troops warm over the winter. If this works as I hope, the British officers who are bringing in the clothing shipment will be looking for you, and when they return to Britain, they will take you both back with them and deliver you to the US embassy. My brother will take things from there.”
“Your brother is...?”
“He is a judge in America. He has contacts in the government... We are hoping if we can show them how bad things are here, they will intervene. Our efforts have not been fruitful yet, but...perhaps this new film will be the thing to motivate them.” He sighed heavily and offered me a sad shrug. “We will just keep trying. It is all we can do.”
“We too will do whatever we have to, won’t we, Alina?” Tomasz said, checking in with me, and I smiled weakly as I nodded.
“We will.”
Any excitement I’d felt at the prospect of freedom was now well and truly tamped by Henry’s reminders of the difficult road ahead. It still seemed impossible. It still
felt impossible.
“Here—” Henry retrieved from his backpack a roll of cloth and a small canister, then a tin and several small bottles. He passed these to Tomasz. “I’m sorry—that’s all I could find. Will it make a convincing plaster?”
Tomasz read the labels and checked the containers, then winced.
“There’s not much to work with here.”
“It’s so hard to get medical supplies—as you well know.”
“Yes,” Tomasz murmured, surveying the gear carefully. He shrugged. “But I will make it work.”
“Can’t we just carry the film?” I asked.
There was a pause, then Tomasz said softly, “If we are caught, it is better that the film is not discovered.”
“And once you arrive in Soviet territory, you will find many people who are very desperate—anything that has potential value for sale is at risk of theft. The film must be hidden,” Henry said quietly. “Now, I purchased these rubles for you—it’s not much, but you’ll likely need to buy some new clothes and food may be hard to come by there. You might have to be resourceful, but you’ve more than proven you’re capable of doing that. And finally, you’ll need your papers to gain access to the camp at Buzuluk—there are so many people trying to join, I understand they are strictly refusing entry except to those who can prove Polish citizenship.” He glanced at Tomasz. “You still have your papers?”
“Yes, I’ve managed to hold onto my prewar passport,” Tomasz said, but my stomach had dropped.
“Oh no,” I whispered, and I turned to Tomasz in a panic. “Did Mama give you my identity card before they took her away?”
He shook his head, frowning, and I started to shake.
“My...she always held it on herself, because we were never apart and I kept forgetting. I...the ID card was all I had. I don’t have a passport.”
Henry opened his mouth, then closed it. Tomasz shut his eyes. Hope was draining out of me, despair rushing in to replace it. I felt sick with regret. Mama had only held on to my papers because I’d been foolish early in the occupation—careless and lazy, despite the fact that my very life was at risk. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“We can get to Buzuluk without a passport, right?” Tomasz asked suddenly. Henry nodded cautiously.
“Of course. You’ll be hidden in the back of a truck. No one will be checking your paperwork.”
“And I will be granted access to the camp? With my passport?”
“As I understand it, yes.”
“Then—” Tomasz glanced at me and shrugged “—we get to Buzuluk and hope for the best. Is the worst-case scenario that Alina will just wait outside for me?”
“The camp is immense, Tomasz. Tens of thousands of people are already inside. I am concerned that you don’t realize how difficult it would be for you both if you were separated there. In fact, knowing you as I do, my friend, I have a sneaking suspicion if you get all the way to Buzuluk and Alina is left outside the camp alone, you will refuse to enter too, and that makes this whole mission pointless,” Henry said, his voice curt with frustration. He sighed and rubbed his temples. “No, it seems to me that the only way we can proceed here is for me to go back to Nadia and see if we can secure some false papers for Alina. It is our only chance at success here.” Tomasz squeezed my hand, and I nodded. Henry spread his hands wide. “That would be hard enough at any time, but our problem is that time is short because... If we are doing this—it has to be tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I choked, and if I’d felt anxious before, now I was positively sick with it. I blinked rapidly, refusing to allow myself to cry. Henry’s gaze was sympathetic.
“I am sorry, Alina. Jakub can’t risk this when he has a traveling companion. We got lucky today but it may be months before this happens again.”
“No, it’s fine,” I said, and I raised my chin stubbornly. “I will be fine.”
“Nadia knows this? She will know to care for my friends once I’m gone?” Tomasz asked. Henry nodded, and Tomasz exhaled. “Okay, good. Still, I will need to go see them—at least Eva and Saul.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Henry murmured. He gave us instructions to the meeting point, which was not far from my home—off the main road, at the outskirts to Trzebinia. We saw him upstairs, and then Tomasz and I were alone.
“How long do we have?”
“About eleven hours,” Tomasz murmured.
“If Henry can’t find me a passport...”
“Then we will go anyway,” he said flatly. “We are resourceful people, my love. We will get to the camp and find a way to get inside. I promise you.”
I exhaled, then nodded.
“There is only one thing I need other than my coat.” I took his hand and took him into my bedroom. I pushed aside Emilia’s drawings and exposed Mama’s ring.
“Mama gave this to us. For our wedding,” I whispered as I lifted it carefully into my hand. I remembered so vividly in that moment the night she’d given it to me, and how Tomasz leaving for college had felt like the worst thing in the world. That naive version of myself felt like a friend I’d long lost contact with. Tomasz kissed me softly on the forehead.
“As soon as we are out of this godforsaken country, Alina, I will make you my wife. The first priest we see...” Tomasz promised me. “I will put this ring on your finger, and everyone will know—I am yours, and you are mine.”
“It’s far too big, I can’t wear it until we find a priest and a jeweler,” I laughed weakly, but the tears rose again. I closed my eyes for a moment, then whispered tightly, “If I can have five minutes with the lamp, I’ll sew it into the hem of my coat, so it’s not lost on the journey.”
“We have some time—there’s no need to rush. Take the time to look around this place and say goodbye. I know...” He paused, then whispered, “My love, I know this isn’t easy. I know it’s all terrifying. If there was any other way...”
I kissed him hard on the lips and drew in a deep breath.
“Mama would tell me to stop sulking and get my work boots on,” I said, with determination. “I can sulk and cry in the back of this Nazi truck that may be leading us to our doom.”
“Our doom?” Tomasz laughed, then he shook his head. “To freedom, Alina. And I’ll be there to hold you. I’ll hold you for the whole damned journey.”
“Then I will survive it well.” I smiled at him, and I believed it with all of my heart as I said, “As long as you are with me, I can survive anything.”
CHAPTER 30
Alice
As we drive toward Trzebinia, Zofia gives me a history lesson—a rapid-fire summary of the history of Polish life, right up until communism was disbanded and the country joined the European Union. I ask her about the graves and monuments I see scattered by the side of the road. Some are elaborate—some small enough to be almost unnoticeable, but for flowers or lanterns sitting on the ground beside them.
“Some are in honor of saints or the Blessed Mother,” she explains, pointing to a stone monument adorned with blue ribbons. “This one, for example—it is from a recent festival to honor the Virgin Mary. Others are graves, or monuments in memory of those lost. Some are modern, some very, very old—and plenty are from wartime. There are graves everywhere in the countryside, but it was worse in Warsaw. I’ve seen photos of makeshift graves in the streets—no gravestone, no way to memorialize the person.” She sighs heavily. “Six million Polish citizens died in that war. The scale of the death and the suffering is unimaginable to our modern-day minds.”
We drive in silence for a while after that. Soon, we turn off the highway and into Trzebinia, and I can tell immediately that it’s an industrial town. The first blocks are lined by large factories and businesses, and today at least, there’s visible air pollution even at the street level. As we reach the residential area, Zofia casually flicks her forefinger toward a dilapidated building on the left.
“That’s the only synagogue left standing here after the war,” she tells me. “At the start of the war, there were several thousand Jewish people in town—four synagogues, a thriving community. By the end of the war, they were all gone. That remaining synagogue is unused and poorly maintained. You can’t rebuild a community when there’s no one left to do the rebuilding.”
I crane my neck to look back at the synagogue as it fades behind us into the distance, and I don’t know what to say to that. Of course, I learned about the war during history classes at school, but never in detail, and it never felt entirely real—it seemed too big and too bad and too alien to actually have happened in such recent history.
I’m suddenly thinking again about Babcia and Pa’s inability to share their stories from their lives here, and wondering about all the things they surely must have seen and experienced that I will never know about now, no matter how well this trip goes. What happens when stories like theirs are lost? What happens when there’s no one left to pass your experience on to, or you just can’t bring yourself to share it?
Not for the first time, I wish just once when I asked my grandmother about the war, instead of her telling me “that was a terrible time, I don’t want to talk about it,” she’d been able to say something more. Anything more. Maybe if she could have shared some of her story, I could have learned from it, I could have taught my children from it—we could have built a better world from the hard lessons she surely learned.
The residential area ends abruptly, the last row of houses backing onto a thick patch of woods sprawled over a small hill. The road curves sharply through the woods around one side of the hill, and quite suddenly, we’re surrounded by fields, and the road isn’t even sealed. Because the hill shelters the town from these fields, within a few hundred feet it feels like we’re in the middle of nowhere—there’s not much to see out here at all but farmland. There are a few long, thin patches of crop, but most of the fields on this side of the town look like they’ve been abandoned—the grass is high and sprinkled with purple and red wildflowers. As the gentle breeze passes through the flowers, they wave to me like a greeting.