by Kelly Rimmer
“But are you still in Poland?”
“Yes, yes I am—why? Did you—”
She interrupts me, and her words are rushed with urgency, “Can you come to Krakow? Tonight? I can come pick you up if you need transport. I’ll come to wherever you are.”
“I’m on my way there now—my hotel is there.” I pause, waiting for an explanation, but when the silence starts to stretch, I prompt her, “What’s going on, Lia? You said you couldn’t help me.”
Lia draws in a deep breath, and I can hear the remorse in her voice as she mutters, “Well, I still can’t. But my grandmother would very much like to meet with you.”
CHAPTER 37
Alina
We’d so hoped that the camp would be, at least, comfortable, but we were sorely disappointed by the reality we encountered. It seemed to me that the whole world had run out of resources in those days, because everywhere we went, people were starving and filthy and miserable.
The camp at Buzuluk was no different—in fact, it was all of the suffering we’d grown somewhat used to, but now intensely concentrated. The entire purpose of the camp was to prepare newly freed Polish citizens to contribute to combat with Allied troops—but there were no weapons to train with, far too few uniforms and far too little food. Everyone had lice—even Saul and I within a few days—and there was no controlling them, because there was no way to bathe, let alone wash our clothes or hair. The day we arrived, we were told pesticide was on order to treat the lice. When the shipment came on the train a few weeks later, there was a single carton of chemicals provided—enough to treat a few dozen people, as if that would make any difference at all in a camp of nearly eighty thousand by that stage.
And by then, I was indeed cursing Tomasz for the cast, because between the lice and the itch beneath the plaster, I was even itchy in my dreams.
Saul was quickly put to work in the medical clinic as Doctor Tomasz Slaski—no one questioned his age or asked to see his qualifications. I was deemed “injured” because of my ostensibly broken wrist, and was assigned to help supervise the orphaned children during the daytime. I protested this at first, having such limited experience with children. But everyone had to do something, and I had no other skills to offer.
I’d expected all of those orphaned boys and girls to be miserable and weepy. Instead, they played and laughed and ran—demonstrating a resilience that astounded me. I quickly came to enjoy that work and made friends with the older women in the same role. I was especially fond of Mrs. Konczal, who had been an opera singer before the war, and she’d sing the most beautiful songs with the children when we needed to calm them down for the informal lessons we tried to offer. It was hard but rewarding work, and each afternoon when I finished my shift, I’d feel a sense of intense satisfaction that I was doing something worthwhile for the camp. I couldn’t wait for Tomasz to arrive so I could introduce him to the children. I couldn’t wait to see the pride in his eyes when he saw the contribution I was making.
Saul was in his element within the clinic—having quickly taken command of what passed for a “surgical” ward in the infirmary, but his work was so much more taxing than mine. I tried to keep a close eye on him, checking in with him every day without fail—even though sometimes that meant I’d have to wait hours for him to finish with his patients. The nurses got used to me sitting in their makeshift office, and soon when I arrived, I’d chat with them and even help where I could with paperwork. I so admired the way that Saul carried himself in that place, and I could easily picture Tomasz filling a similar role once we landed somewhere and he finished his training. With virtually no supplies and endless patients to care for, Saul was always patient and unfailingly gentle—the compassion and empathy he had for his patients astounded me. When he told me about his day, he’d describe his work as if his patients had done him the favor in letting him treat them. And perhaps they had, because despite the difficult conditions, Saul certainly seemed to thrive in knowing he was useful again.
“You wait, Hanna,” he’d tell me. He was constantly reminding me of my new name, because I was constantly forgetting to answer to it. “Once your Tomasz gets here, I’m going to take him under my wing again and by the time the British come for you, he’ll know more than most professors.”
We settled into our roles as the weeks passed, but we still met over dinner or breakfast every day. The itch beneath the cast was maddening by then, but Saul had made me promise not to scratch beneath it with a twig as I was tempted to do. Instead, he found a ruler in the administration block and for a few wonderful minutes a day, he’d slide it carefully beneath the plaster and with utmost care, he’d rub the skin for me.
“We have to be so careful not to disturb the film canister,” he murmured to me one day, as he intently concentrated on the task. “And we also have to be doubly sure not to break your skin, because if you get an infection in there—we will have to take the cast off. Don’t try to do this yourself. Promise me.”
“Okay,” I said, lost in the sheer relief of the ruler against my skin.
“Good,” he said, and he laughed at the blissed-out expression on my face. “Same time tomorrow?”
Sometimes when we were alone, he talked about Eva and Tikva, about the tender months he had with his daughter, about the happy years he shared with his wife before the war. Other days, we’d talk about my parents or my brothers, or it would be my turn to share a happy story about Tomasz. I thought the sharing would help the longing I felt—but somehow, it made it worse.
“Tomasz should be here any day,” I’d whisper, when the emotion swelled and tears threatened.
“Any day now.” Saul would smile confidently, and I’d feel bolstered, reminded of the plan, reassured that everything was still on track and things were going to be okay. But the periods of sadness came and went anyway, especially as it gradually dawned on me that unless Tomasz had news of my parents’ welfare when he arrived, I had to assume, and then convince myself, that they were dead. When the grief took hold, it was Saul I talked to, and Saul who offered words of comfort. He became a dear friend to me, and I could completely understand why Tomasz thought so highly of him.
“Hang in there, my friend,” he said to me one day, when we’d been in the camp for some weeks. “Any day now, Tomasz will arrive, and then the British will come, and you’ll begin the life your parents likely dreamed of for you. A very wise young woman once said that I had to believe I was meant to survive, and now that I’m here and I am helping these people, I can see that she was right...” We shared a sad smile, and then he added, “It will be the same for you and Tomasz.”
“You seem happy here.”
“As happy as I’m ever likely to be in what is left of my life. Wherever the camp goes, I’ll join them.” Saul shrugged. “I have heard we will be evacuated to Persia soon because the camp is not prepared for the winter...but whether it’s there or here or even the moon, I think maybe my place is helping these people.”
“Despite the fact that the Polish army wouldn’t have even allowed you to join this camp if they knew you were Jewish?” I said, a little incredulous at Saul’s willingness to forgive.
“When the time is right, I’ll be honest about who I am—my name and my heritage, and you’ll see what I knew all along. When a man is a patient on an operating table, and there’s only one person in the room with the skills to save his life, that patient will instantly forget that he used to be a bigot.”
I laughed weakly, but then I had a sudden thought. “I’ll miss you if you do stay on. I wish you would come with me and Tomasz instead. Perhaps we would all be able to settle together in England—wouldn’t that life appeal to you instead?”
“You and Tomasz will have a wonderful life together,” he assured me. “And it’s a life you’ve more than earned. I won’t tag along—a fresh start will do you both the world of good.”
Saul had become a good friend
to me—an ally when I otherwise would have been alone. It made me happy then that he was thinking about his own future again—even if his eye was still on the war. I was just glad that he seemed to have found a light at the end of the tunnel of his grief, because in those early days when he was all but catatonic at the loss of his wife and child, I’d thought such a thing impossible.
* * *
It seemed to me that almost everyone was sick in the camp, and I was no exception. We’d been in the camp for almost two months, and I’d had a stomach flu on and off for much of that time. Some nights, I’d try to eat whatever scraps were set out before us and I’d manage only a mouthful or two before the sickness resurged. I actually felt lucky—I was always able to tolerate at least water, and Saul assured me that as long as that was the case and I could keep my food down at least once a day, I would be okay. I knew that half of the beds in the infirmary at any given time were patients with acute diarrhea, and when they became dehydrated, they usually died.
All I could do was eat when I could, and wait for it to pass. At breakfast one morning, I looked down at the slightly moldy bread we’d been served and had to push it away before I retched. I felt miserable that day, and I drew in a deep breath and tried to remind myself this was all only temporary.
“Tomasz should be here any day,” I said, and I waited for Saul to echo the reassurance he always provided.
Instead, though, he said suddenly, “Eva and I really didn’t intend to fall pregnant with Tikva.” I looked up at him in surprise, momentarily distracted from my nausea, and he shrugged. “War is not a time when people plan to bring a child into the world, especially not the situation we were in. But we loved each other, and all we had was each other so it was natural for us to express that. And I really thought we were being careful...but these things happen. Would you like to know how I discovered she was pregnant?”
“How did you realize?” I asked him. Saul smiled sadly.
“We were traveling from Warsaw with Tomasz—we’d been on the road for a few weeks, hiding where we could, eating what he could find for us—he was so much better at scavenging than me. One day, he trapped and caught a duck. Can you imagine? We roasted it on a fire, and it was like manna from heaven, Alina—oh the taste and the texture, my God.” He pressed his knuckles to his mouth like a delighted child, and I laughed. “It was a miracle. Tell me...when was the last time you ate roast anything?”
I laughed weakly.
“I can’t even remember.”
“Exactly. And there we were, hiding in a cave of all places, and your Tomasz provides us a feast like that. We were all so excited—but Eva lifted the duck meat to her lips and put it on her tongue, and then she was ill. She said the taste was divine, but the texture turned her stomach, and she couldn’t understand why,” he said. The joy had faded from his face, until his gaze was distant, but then he turned it upon me. “Alina, do you understand why I am telling you this story?”
I gaped at him, and then there was a rushing sound in my ears, and I knew I was going to be sick again. But it was even worse than that this time, because my whole body seemed to turn to jelly and Saul caught me as I slid from the chair toward the dirt floor of the dining tent. With help from one of the stronger men from the dining hall, Saul carried me outside into the fresh air. He sat beside me and rested his hand on my shoulder, and as soon as we were alone again, he said, “I didn’t mean to shock you. Forgive me.”
I hadn’t cried in all of that time—not in the truck, not on the train, not even when I sacrificed Mama’s ring, not in the camp. I had become a braver version of myself than I’d ever realized was possible but this?
This was too much.
I’d not had a period since we left Poland, but my cycle had been unpredictable throughout the whole war, so I hadn’t missed it. But Saul was right—even when we did get food, I’d been far too sensitive as to what I could stomach. And just like Saul and Eva, Tomasz and I had thought we’d been careful—but we’d been dizzy with the joy of finally being together, and we’d leaped into our sexual relationship with less care than we probably should have.
“Mama will be so angry with me. And Father. And the people here will judge me—”
“No, they will not,” Saul said. “Because Tomasz will marry you.”
“But everyone will know before then, Saul.” And then for the very first time, I spoke aloud a thought I’d been too terrified to give voice to until that moment. “He should be here by now, shouldn’t he? What if he’s not even coming?”
“If he was really here, what would he do?”
It took less than a heartbeat for me to answer that question.
“He would marry me. He was going to marry me. He promised me we’d find a priest the very day we arrived, but...”
“Then, Tomasz will marry you. Today.” I stared at him blankly, and Saul’s expression softened. “Alina, I will stand in his place just for now, because that is exactly what he would want me to do.”
And later that day, that’s exactly what he did.
* * *
There was much excitement about our wedding among the people we knew in the camp—“Tomasz” was building quite a reputation as a surgical miracle worker—and strangers brought us gifts. There was a perfect little wildflower from a woman Saul had treated weeks earlier, a luxurious new blanket from one of the camp administrators and, best of all, some soap from Mrs. Konczal—all of the staff of the orphanage had banded together to barter for it. We went to the dining hall for our dinner meal, and by some miracle, the cooks had found a fresh sausage. Saul and I shared it, and it was such a gift and a blessing that for a moment or two, I was moved to deep gratitude by the effort and the generosity of our friends. For a few minutes I forgot how broken everything was, and I let myself feel happy because I felt so loved and so accepted.
But then Mrs. Konczal approached us again, a huge grin on her face, her hands clasped before her chest.
“We have another surprise for you. For your wedding night.”
And with rising dread, I followed her to a tent that had been moved apart from all of the other tents—no small feat given the entire camp was overflowing with humans desperate for shelter. This was a small tent, fit only for two.
“Surprise!” Mrs. Konczal said proudly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Konczal,” I said. My lips were numb. I could not look at Saul—I couldn’t even force my eyes to shift in his direction. Mrs. Konczal kissed my cheeks, then Saul’s, then she wished us a good night and left us be.
I crawled onto the mattress she’d placed on the floor of the tent, rolled onto my side and burst into tears.
“I’m so sorry,” Saul said desperately. “Forgive me, Alina—this was never my intention, I didn’t think they would—”
“He’s not coming, is he? What if I’m all alone with this baby?”
Saul sat beside me, and he rested his hand over mine and gave a gentle squeeze.
“Here is the thing, Alina,” he whispered softly. “War breaks us down to nothing more than our most selfish will to survive—but when we rise above that instinct, miracles can still happen. I helped Tomasz, Tomasz helped me, you helped me—in more ways than you can ever know. And now, at last and in this small way, I am grateful for the opportunity to help you in return. This, my friend, is how we find the best of humanity during times when the worst of humanity may seem to have the upper hand. You are not alone—you won’t be, not for a single moment until Tomasz arrives. I traveled from Warsaw with Tomasz—I have seen firsthand that his drive to be with you is relentless. This time will be no different, and until that moment when Tomasz arrives to take his place, no matter when that moment comes, I will care for you and your baby as if you are my own.”
* * *
Everything changed after that day. Saul and I were moved into a married couples’ dorm—and there was no way for us to avoid sharing our bed on
an ongoing basis. We’d suffered more awkward intimacies on the journey to that point, but sharing a tiny single bunk with a man who was only a friend was not something I relished. But the cold was coming in, and the summer tents were not nearly enough shelter, so soon enough Saul and I were relying on each other’s body warmth to keep us from freezing. Every single night, he’d wrap me in his arms, and right beside my ear I’d sense his lips moving as he prayed without making a single sound.
Saul kept his promise. He nurtured me, constantly going out of his way to find me foods I could tolerate—and that was no small task in a camp where food was a scarce commodity. He arranged for my work duty to be transferred to the office of the infirmary clinic, where I spent my days in a heated room, sitting down and filing away patient records and chatting with the nursing staff. Some days, when the kitchen served up a meal I could stomach, Saul would insist I eat his share—and if I refused, he would force me to, lifting the food to my lips in exactly the same fashion I had done for him in the crate on the truck.
Had Saul not married me, I would have become a pariah; unmarried mothers bore an intense stigma even during wartime. Had Saul not cared for me, it’s possible I’d have starved early in the pregnancy, when it was so difficult to eat and he worked so hard to ensure I did. I’d had the cast on my arm by then for months, so it was filthy and uncomfortable and starting to crumble at the edges. Other doctors in the infirmary had started to suggest it really should come off, and it was Saul who provided excuse after excuse why I needed to wear it “just a little longer.”
Saul was there for me and my baby when Tomasz could not be. I knew that no matter what happened after that, I’d be grateful to him forever.
* * *
Soon, we’d been in the camp for almost three months. My rounding belly was almost filling out against my trousers, and the sickness had finally passed. I was in the infirmary filing when I heard someone calling for Saul from outside. Of course, they were calling Tomasz, because that’s what we called him in the camp—even me, by necessity—something I’d never felt comfortable with.