Pieces of the Past

by Carol Matas

  Jakub’s group decided to take up defensive positions in apartments. The first time they ever opened fire they managed to kill some German soldiers because the Germans didn’t expect any resistance. But once the Germans knew there were guns in the ghetto, they changed tactics and it became a war. The Resistance fought the Germans with everything they had, and managed to push them back.

  The Resistance won some of their battles and could barely believe it — just beating the enemy with so few guns or weapons, with only their hearts and their brains, was a victory of sorts. The Germans would come to deport workers from factories, but instead they would meet the fighters! It was in one of the battles — in April — that Jakub’s group and Abe’s group worked together. The German soldiers had gone up to an attic to clear it of anyone who might be hiding there — fighters or civilians. Abe got behind the Germans as they entered the house. He threw a grenade and took a number of them out, but was cut down by machine-gun fire from more soldiers right next door. Still, the Germans never re-entered that house, so he saved everyone hiding there.

  Jakub stopped and looked at me. “One of those people was me, Rose.” His eyes teared up, then he put his hand over mine. “Abe didn’t suffer.”

  I got up from my chair in some kind of daze. Then I felt Oskar’s arms around me and I sank onto his shoulder and wept. When I dried my eyes, I noticed that everyone in the room had walked over to the refreshment table to give us some time alone — but I also knew that everyone in that room understood.

  Monday, February 23, 1948

  Of course, I knew that Abe was dead, but I’m still shaking inside today and I keep going over and over the story Jakub told me. And also, it’s so strange that I would become best friends with the very boy Abe saved the day he died.

  But today I had to worry about what is happening to Susan. We aren’t even in the same class as Terry and her friends, but this morning when Susan and I were walking down the hall together, which we have started to do, Betty called to Susan, “What do you call that — hair or a jungle?” Then she made a sound like a monkey, “Ooh, ooh, ooh,” and jumped up and down like one. I thought Betty was the one who looked like a fool, but everyone in the hallway laughed at Susan. Yes, she has very thick, black, curly hair, but I think that’s her best feature. Then Diane pulled Susan’s blouse out of her skirt and said, “Jungle, it is!” and everyone laughed even harder.

  I am so used to trying to be invisible that my only reaction was to shrink away from Susan and slip into class, where I took my seat. But I felt awful. It reminded me of how Abe was teased at school for being a Jew and how he used to come home black and blue sometimes from defending himself. Well, no one is hitting anyone, but still … And what about Terry? She stood beside her two friends and laughed at Susan too. Terry is just starting to accept me. If I say anything to her or to Saul or Rita, Terry will never forgive me.

  I REMEMBER

  Febuary 1943

  I am sitting in the cave and all I want is for the lice to stop biting me. As fast as we can kill them they seem to multiply, and although I do enjoy popping the eggs I find stuck in the seams of my clothes, there is nothing else about this place that I like. At first I was happy that there was a girl my age. I thought Leah and I would play together. But all she does is cry and cling to her mama, and she makes the whole day feel so long and so miserable. We haven’t seen the outdoors since we arrived three months ago. The young man we had stayed with left long ago, and so did Mia, so it is just us and the other family.

  Just as I am thinking about Mia, the door opens above us and Mia peeks her head in. “Come up, come up,” she says. Then, “Only Mrs. Rabinowitz,” she adds. “And Rozia.”

  Mama doesn’t hesitate. She keeps my rucksack packed at all times and she grabs it, pushes me ahead of her and with barely a goodbye we are climbing toward the light. It is so bright when we step out that I need to close my eyes. The cold hits me right away and I need to step through snow as I follow Mia. But Mama had made me wear boots every day, not shoes, so at least my feet don’t get wet.

  “Quickly, into the hayloft,” Mia orders. She hurries us into the barn, then up the ladder into the hayloft. “We’ll have to wait for nightfall,” she says.

  As we settle down in the hay, she whispers, “I’ve been paying this farmer to keep you, but I’ve run out of money and he is threatening to turn you in. The other family has money to keep paying him, and so they are safe there for now. I’ve found another farm, one where the woman’s husband has been taken by the Germans to a work camp. She needs help with the farm work. I told her you were young and strong and could work. I told her Rozia is ten years old and a good worker. So remember that, Rozia. You are ten, not eight. You certainly look it.”

  For some reason, I am proud that I am tall enough to be of help to Mama.

  “But somehow we must get you cleaned up,” she adds, her voice worried. “She won’t have you there if you are going to bring lice. She must have asked me three times if you were clean. Also I told her you are Polish, not Jewish, and that your last name is Dudek. I think she suspects, but doesn’t care as long as she gets help.”

  Mama says, “I have some clean clothes in Rozia’s rucksack which I’ve kept shut tight. Perhaps they aren’t infected. Can you get us some water so we can wash? And some turpentine?” Mia agrees to do both and soon has returned pulling a tub, which she fills with water one pail at a time. Once that is done, she leaves, and then returns with turpentine. The turpentine she brings up the ladder and Mama makes me close my eyes and then she rubs it into my hair and then makes me take off my clothes and rubs it over me. It stings horribly but I don’t cry.

  Then she hurries me down the ladder and makes me climb right into the tub of water and scrubs me down using hay. I bite my lip and won’t complain, because I’ll do anything to get rid of the horrible biting and non-stop itching. It is cold too, really cold, and the water almost freezes before we can finish washing. My teeth chatter and I feel like my skin is turning numb. Then Mama puts me in a clean dress and underwear and stockings and a clean sweater too. Mia has brought a warm sweater for Mama and a clean skirt and blouse. Mama gives herself the same treatment. We both smell of turpentine, even after we are all dressed. I hope the smell wears off by morning. But for the first time in so long, I don’t feel itchy! Or feel anything biting me! Mia warns Mama to be sure to take the nits out of my hair at night when we are alone, and to be sure the farm woman, Mrs. Dabrowski, doesn’t see her doing it.

  “We are going tomorrow, in daylight,” says Mia. “I have some bicycles. We will look like a family out for a ride — less suspicious than if we are caught at night after curfew.”

  I am so happy to be away from that sad family and to be outside, I don’t really care about anything else. I’m not even afraid to go outside tomorrow. And if I can work outdoors all day on a farm, that would be wonderful. Maybe we will even run into Sophie! She must have hidden somewhere too. Who knows?

  Saturday, February 28, 1948

  Tonight was the dance. First things first. Oskar kissed me! On the cheek as we said goodnight. I almost swooned. I don’t think anyone saw because we were both getting our coats in the cloakroom and we were behind all these coats and he just thanked me for a wonderful evening and then kissed me!

  Saul came to pick me up and he asked if I had a good time and I was so excited all I could do was nod, so I think he thinks I didn’t, but really I could barely speak. This dance was set up especially for the orphans and everyone there was much older than me and Oskar. I felt a little embarrassed at first, and out of place and too young, but once the music started and we began to dance, that all went away. Jakub had a dance with me, and even Lottie and I danced a waltz together because Oskar said he didn’t know how, but I think he was embarrassed to dance such a romantic dance with me. That’s why the kiss surprised me so much!!

  March 1948

  Monday, March 1, 1948

  The Irgun in Palestine has blown up a train ful
l of British soldiers and killed twenty-seven of them, according to today’s paper. Last week a bomb killed fifty-four Jews and apparently the Jews are convinced it was the work of the British, even though the Arabs have said they did it. I don’t agree with killing the British. If I lived there I would join the Haganah, not the Irgun. What’s the point of being just as bad as your enemy? I’m not saying you shouldn’t fight. I’d fight if I were there. But I wouldn’t do it the way the Irgun does.

  Today was one of those funny days you get when one season is considering changing into another. The sun felt warm on my face even though there is still a lot of snow on the ground, and it made me remember a moment I’d forgotten all about.

  I REMEMBER

  February 1943

  I was too little before we moved to the ghetto to learn to ride a bicycle. I am riding on the handlebars as Mia leads the way to the farm. I know I should feel frightened. But I don’t. I feel happy! Happy! This is the best birthday present in the whole world, and only about a month late! I am outside and the sun is shining even though it is cold, and we are riding over a fresh dusting of snow. The sun warms my face and I feel free! Free!

  I REMEMBER

  March 1943

  I am collecting eggs in the apron Mrs. Dabrowski has lent me. I like the chickens. I like the two dogs here too. I think I like animals better than people. Mrs. Dabrowski’s son came for supper last night and Mama and I overheard him arguing with his mother before he left the house. We were already in the back room where we sleep. He was yelling about dirty Jews and how he suspected we weren’t Polish but Jewish and if they handed Mama and me in they could get a bag of flour. She asked him if he would come then and help her run the farm and he said of course he couldn’t — she knew very well he was forced to work in a munitions factory for the Germans. So she told him to stop making empty threats.

  But the truth is, we aren’t very safe here, are we? He could turn us in on his own, although his mother is very stern and I doubt he wants to be on her wrong side. Neither would I!

  Wednesday, March 3, 1948

  Today Betty stuck her foot in front of Susan and Susan landed on her face in the school hallway. Betty and Diane and Terry laughed and laughed. This time I didn’t scuttle away. I picked Susan up and then brushed past Betty hard enough to knock her back against a locker. I was too scared to do anything before, but suddenly I saw red. Terry glared at me — talk about the evil eye!

  I REMEMBER

  April 1943

  Mama and I can see smoke coming all the way from Warsaw. There is only one explanation for that, Mama says. They are burning the ghetto.

  Mia has told us that the Jewish Resistance is fighting, and she wishes the Polish Resistance could help them more. Every night I pray for Abe and for Sophie. Mama never prays anymore.

  Friday, March 5, 1948

  I was walking down the hall this afternoon with Susan when Diane ran up to her, slipped her arm through Susan’s, and pulled her along — chatting away about the latest lipstick! Susan looked back at me with a pleading gaze and I hurried to catch up, but Terry and Betty blocked my way. Terry locked her arm into Susan’s on her other side. Betty pulled something out of her bag. I tried to get around them, but the hallway is only so big, and with students walking the other way, I couldn’t. I saw Betty skip in front of the three girls and then Terry and Diane pulled up short, stopping. Susan was firmly in their grasp. Betty did something, the other two let Susan go, and they ran off down the hall, howling with laughter. Susan turned around. Her face was covered in red lipstick, with a big red mouth drawn on her forehead. I ran up to her and whispered, “Put your hands over your face. I’ll lead you to the washroom.” She did, so not too many other students saw her, and once in the washroom we managed to wash all of it off. She was crying. I was fuming.

  I tracked down the three girls giggling in the hall in front of their classroom. I went up to them and said, very quietly, “I was in the war. I know how to fight. I know how to do things you can’t even imagine. You lay one more hand on Susan and you’ll have me to deal with.”

  Diane giggled and said, “You are tooo scary.”

  But she actually looked a bit shaken. Terry just looked mad. Betty looked uncertain about whether or not to take me seriously.

  “Why don’t you try me and find out?” I suggested calmly.

  I stared at them for another minute, then turned on my heel and walked away. Of course I had never fought in the war, but they didn’t know that!

  When I walked home I thought I’d explode, I was so angry. I don’t know what came over me. It wasn’t just anger, it was a rage so big it frightened me. It’s just that it brought back all the bad times when we were treated like dirt for no reason — just because someone could do it — and it made them feel good, better than us, superior, and then that feeling of being helpless … I wanted to hurt those girls at that moment. Really hurt them.

  The wind was blowing in my face and I had to hunch over, and after a few minutes I saw my father in my mind and how gentle he was, and I saw Abe and what a fighter he was. Neither way saved either of them. What saved me? Luck? Certainly not because I was better.

  Rozia, I heard a voice say, now that you are here and were saved, you can be better. Don’t be like them. The bullies. Never be like them.

  When I got home I went straight to my room. Terry marched in a few minutes later and tore into me about staying out of her life and leaving her friends alone and how dare I bully them! I didn’t argue with her, because I remembered that voice, and as she was yelling at me I even wondered if it had been Papa talking to me. Terry seemed to get madder and madder. I just stared at her and listened and didn’t say a word. She stormed out and slammed my door.

  Thank goodness I won’t have to look at her at dinner. Earlier, just before I left school, Susan thanked me and asked if I’d like to come over for Shabbos dinner tonight. I didn’t even know Susan was Jewish, because her last name is Churchill and that doesn’t sound very Jewish, but maybe it got changed the way mine did. And come to think of it, Boxer certainly doesn’t sound Jewish either. So I told her I would love to go. I can’t get out of here soon enough!

  Later

  I went to Susan’s for dinner — Rita was happy to let me go. She said she was glad I was making friends. I walked over to Susan’s house, because it’s on Kingsway, only two streets over. It’s still light outside at five now. And I had a wonderful time! Susan is always so serious that I was shocked to discover she has four older brothers, all of them outgoing and funny. They are: Benny, the oldest, at university; Morris, the second oldest, also at university; Adam, the third oldest, in Grade Twelve; Jonathan, the youngest, in Grade Eleven.

  Susan’s father told one joke after another at the dinner table until I was almost weeping from laughing so hard. Her mother is the calm centre of the family, but very warm and very nice. She knows Rita quite well because she also worked to get us orphans over here. What shocked me most about the evening was the realization, when I got home, how sad Rita and Saul’s house is. Of course I’ve never noticed, because I’m sad too, and all the time I grew up we were in the war or in the ghetto and everyone was always worried and serious. But I suppose our house with Mama and Papa and Abe and Sophie must have been a happy one like theirs at some point, before the Germans took over.

  Mr. Churchill is a wholesaler — something to do with clothing. His house is pretty fancy and the dinner was scrumptious, with chicken soup and knaidel and roast chicken and roast potatoes and tzimmes and beets, and for dessert a fresh apple pie. I can’t remember all the jokes, as most of them were very long and complicated, but I remember a short one.

  Mama: What do you think of the Germans?

  Papa: They should all put their shoes on backwards and get a bloody nose when they walk into themselves!

  I REMEMBER

  December 1943

  It is just after lunch. We each had a cold potato. I am always hungry, but I can’t complain because Mrs. D
abrowski shares equally with us. At least there is always water to drink from the cistern and she keeps everything clean, although it’s all done with cold water. No more lice.

  I am standing near the back gate because it needs mending and Mama has gone for rope. I hear the sound of a truck and then a whistle. I know what the whistle means. Run. It means run. Mama has me practise every night.

  “If you hear this sound what do you do?”

  “I run.”

  “Where do you run?”

  “Away from the farm. As far away from the farm as possible.”

  “Do you come back and look for me later?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me that again.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Mrs. Dabrowski can never admit she keeps Jews or she will be taken and killed. You will follow when you can.”

  There is a hole in the fence and I scramble through it into the woods on the other side. But then I stop. I know what we practised, but I won’t do it. I’m too frightened to run away by myself. If the Germans are going to capture us, then at least let me be with Mama. If I’m going to die, at least let me be with Mama. I can’t be by myself.

  I turn around and run back to the fence. And then I see her. Mama is coming. She is holding my rucksack in one hand. I freeze in place. She runs up to the fence, then she climbs over it. She grabs my hand and pulls me after her. Once we are well into the woods and she catches her breath, she says, “Her son told the authorities he had seen Jews in the area. I overheard them. He didn’t want her in trouble, but he doesn’t want us here.”