by David Safier
“We can’t afford to make any mistakes, Amos.”
Amos!
His name was Amos.
That was nicer than Stefan.
Much nicer.
“You know I’m always right,” Amos was teasing her.
But Esther wasn’t convinced.
“The kid’s okay.”
Kid! I didn’t want him to call me a kid. It was bad enough that Daniel treated me like a child sometimes. Or when I acted like one.
“Well, why is she here, then?” Esther asked.
Now he would tell her that I’d run after him like an infatuated schoolgirl. And show her what a kid I really was. I felt deeply embarrassed in front of this woman who seemed so superior. And even more embarrassed in front of Amos.
“I’ll tell you later,” Amos said.
I was relieved for a moment.
But then he kissed this Esther person on the cheek.
They were a couple.
Oh, I didn’t like that!
And I hated myself for minding.
The kiss didn’t really seem to change Esther’s mind. Her expression remained stern as she said, “I’m off to the cellar.”
“Okay,” Amos smiled, and kissed her on the lips this time.
I didn’t like that at all.
Esther smiled. Even she couldn’t resist Amos’s charm completely, not even—or so I supposed—if she tried.
She left the flat, and then I followed Amos into the next room. There were numerous mattresses on the floor; it had to be where Amos, Esther, Zacharia, and all those other people from their group slept. Amos bent down and picked up an almost full bottle of apple juice. He gave it to me and I drank and drank and drank.
“You’ll feel sick if you drink too fast,” he warned me.
“Do I care?” I asked when I stopped drinking for half a second, to catch my breath.
“No?”
“Right.”
He started laughing.
It felt good to make him laugh.
I drank the whole bottle. It was heavenly. Then I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. And then I suddenly asked: “What’s in the cellar?”
“Is that any of your business?”
“No?”
“Right.”
Now it was my turn to laugh.
Amos was pleased that he’d made me laugh. He leaned against the windowsill. Behind him through the filthy panes, I saw the graveyard. Because of the dirt on the glass, it looked as if it was raining ashes.
“You should join us,” Amos said all of a sudden. He was completely serious. He wanted me to be part of his life. That’s the first thing I thought. But I was just being stupid again. This was about politics, not about me.
“I don’t even know who you are exactly,” I said doubtfully.
“We belong to Hashomer Hatzair.”
I didn’t know very much about politics, but even I had heard that much about the organization. “So, you all want to emigrate to Palestine,” I said.
“This isn’t about whether you want to live in Poland or in Palestine…,” he said.
“Or America,” I added.
“Or America if you want. This is about how we’re going to die.”
“You really do believe that the Germans might kill us all?”
“Will, not might,” he said.
“The only question is how you want to die.”
“Would you rather be led to slaughter, or do you want to fight?”
“The last person to ask a question like that was a madman,” I said.
“We’ll all have to make that decision,” he replied, “mad or not, it doesn’t make any difference.”
“And you’ve found an answer?”
“I was almost too late,” he replied. He looked up at the grubby window toward the graveyard, as if he was ashamed. No, ashamed wasn’t the right word. It was more like he felt guilty about something.
Even if I didn’t exactly know what sort of person I wanted to be, or what sort of person Amos was, I did know that I wasn’t going to waste my nights printing useless appeals to resist and fight, getting bloodshot eyes for my efforts. I was a smuggler, not a fighter.
“The ghetto is going to survive,” I said. I was certain, but I was also trying to tell Amos that I didn’t want to join his group.
He understood immediately and said, “Then you should go.”
It was so abrupt and there wasn’t a hint of sadness in his eyes this time, although we were going separate ways, presumably forever. He wanted me out of his life. That hurt. Far more than it should have. Though not enough to make me join his stupid group.
“And if you do decide to betray us, I’ll find you,” he said. He was threatening me again.
His hand slid into the pocket with the knife. I wasn’t sure if it was a deliberate move or not.
I shivered.
“I’m not going to betray anybody,” I said, and left him standing between all the mattresses. I didn’t say goodbye. And I didn’t look back. I wasn’t going to look at this person who was ready to kill me, ever again.
12
The third person everyone in the ghetto knew apart from Rubinstein and Korczak, the one everyone despised, was a man called Adam Czerniakow. He was the head of the Jewish council, and he was standing less than five meters away, on a podium in the middle of the street, giving a speech. He was almost completely bald with a large nose, wearing a perfectly cut light gray suit and smart polished shoes. A man of impeccable taste.
A small orchestra stood waiting to play. In front of him a group of children and their parents were listening to him speak. The head of the Jewish council was here to open a new playground. “Never forget, when times are hard, or if they get worse—no, especially if they get worse—the children are our future.”
He waited for a short moment, and several grown-ups started to clap. Czerniakow seemed to thrive on the little round of applause, as if it had life-giving properties. I suddenly remembered one of the characters from Hannah’s stories. There was a million-year-old chemist named Vandal who made children cry so that he could brew an elixir of life from their tears. When I pointed out to Hannah that Vandal could not have lived a million years ago because humans didn’t exist then, all she said was, “My story, my rules.”
How wonderful to create the world as one pleased. Even if it’s only make-believe.
I didn’t listen to the rest of Czerniakow’s speech. My meeting with Amos had disturbed me. And to make matters worse, the apple juice was rumbling in my stomach. Amos had been right to warn me about that: Drinking too much, too fast could make me ill.
But what really made me feel sick was the fact that he had been ready to kill me. For the first time in my life, someone I cared about had threatened me.
It was true, I did care about Amos. He had saved my life and that kiss had been special.
Well, it meant nothing now.
I’d never care about Amos again.
Let him play Masada with that Esther of his.
Fanatics. Idiots—the lot of them.
Amos would probably have loved to stab Czerniakow, too. Everyone said the head of the Jewish council was a traitor who bowed to the Nazis’ demands and did nothing for the Jews. There were only a few people who didn’t think so. Jurek, for example, defended Czerniakow. One time when I was slagging off the leader of the Jewish council, he said, “Why don’t you all just leave Czerniakow alone? The deluded fool really thinks he’s doing what’s best for us. He believes everything would be even worse if some corrupt person had the post instead of him. Someone like that tyrant in the ghetto of Lodz. Czerniakow allows himself to be spat on and humiliated by the Germans. All because he thinks he’s doing his best for us.”
“He hasn’t made anything better for us,” I answered.
“At least he tries,” Jurek had said. “Which is more than most of us can say.”
Czerniakow turned round and signaled to the orchestra. The musicians started to play a merry
tune, and I wondered if the Jewish council was paying them for the performance, or if the chance to play in front of an audience was enough, even if all they got was a round of applause.
Czerniakow called to the children. “You may start playing now.” And the children ran to the shabby playground. As I watched the leader of the Jewish council, the smile slid from his face. The effects of the applause had worn off, and he could not keep up his spirits any longer. Maybe Jurek was right after all. Maybe he was doing everything he could. Maybe he simply didn’t have enough power to come up with anything better than a miserable playground.
But no matter what kind of a person Czerniakow really was, his behavior made one thing very clear: Amos was an idiot. If the Germans were really going to kill us all, the leader of the Jewish council would know about it. And he wouldn’t be opening children’s playgrounds and talking about the future of the children all the while.
Czerniakow patted the head of a dark-haired girl whose parents had allowed her to put on a pretty green dress that was going to be filthy in less than five minutes. Anyone capable of smiling and patting a child like that couldn’t possibly believe that the child and the whole ghetto were about to be annihilated. No Jew could be that evil. Nor could anyone else—not even the Germans.
Yes, Amos was stupid if he thought he knew more than the head of the Jewish council did. It felt good to start calling Amos an idiot in my head. Idiot, idiot, idiot!
Oh, it was going to be good to forget about him at last. I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about Daniel anymore. He was the boy I really loved.
There—I’d said it: I loved Daniel.
Or I’d thought it, at least.
The children and the musicians spurred one another on. The merrier the music, the wilder the children played and vice versa.
What a pity that Hannah was too big for playgrounds. I would have loved to see her join in the fun.
I walked home. And when I reached 70 Miła Street, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Hannah was sitting on the front steps kissing a pale, gangly boy at least half a head taller than me. This had to be Ben, the fifteen-year-old she’d told me about.
“What do you think you are doing?” I asked, appalled.
Of course, it was perfectly obvious what was going on. My little sister was far too young to be kissing anyone, but that was exactly what she was doing. Pretty passionately, in fact!
Hannah let go of the redhead, who at least had the decency to go red. Hannah didn’t have any such decency. She pushed a strand of hair out of her face, laughed, and answered back rudely. “What does it look like?” I could have slapped her.
“You do it with Daniel, too,” she said.
“But I’m older and I don’t do it in public and…? Why on earth am I bothering to argue with you?”
“I was wondering,” she grinned back.
Now I could have slapped her again.
“P … perhaps I should g … g … go?” the boy stammered. By this stage, he was so red in the face that he looked as if he was going to burst.
I was angry and wanted to say something horrid back at him, but I wasn’t mean enough to make fun of him. “Yes, I think you should,” I said.
“Well, I don’t think so,” Hannah disagreed.
“B … b … but…,” Ben stammered.
“You’re staying,” she ordered. She wasn’t looking at him, though. She was staring at me defiantly.
The boy looked from one sister to the other. He was obviously trying to figure out whose fury would be worse.
Poor lad.
He came to the conclusion that Hannah was the greater danger and stayed where he was. I didn’t know what else to do so I grabbed Hannah’s wrist and yelled, “You are coming with me!”
“Let go!” she cried while Ben looked as if he might stop breathing any minute. “No!” I said, and dragged my sister up the steps.
“Let go, I said!” She was furious and thumped me on the arm. Right on my wound. I screamed and everything went black for a second. I let go of Hannah and held on to the railing so as not to collapse on the stairs.
“What’s wrong, Mira? What did I do?” Hannah sounded scared.
Her voice came from far away.
“I … I th … th … think y … y … you … hurt her,” Ben Redhead said.
“I can see that.”
The pain ebbed away slowly. I let go of the railing, cradled my arm, and managed to open my eyes. Everything was blurry, but I could see that I’d dropped the bag of bread. Ben Redhead picked it up while Hannah helped me. The pain was more bearable now, but I felt sick.
“What happened to you?” Hannah asked, pointing at the dried blood on my sleeve.
“Later,” I gasped, and fought the urge to throw up all the apple juice Amos had given me.
Thinking about Amos made me feel sick all over again.
Hannah turned to Ben Redhead. “It would be better for you to go now,” she said.
He thought so, too.
He gave her the bag with the bread and asked, “Will I … I see you to … m … m … morrow?”
“Of course you will,” she said quickly.
I was too weak to stop them from meeting.
Ben Redhead smiled, looking pleased—this young stutterer really seemed to like Hannah—and hurried off.
“I’ll help you get upstairs,” Hannah said.
She hadn’t panicked. She was doing her best to deal with the situation. My little sister was a lot more mature than I knew. Apart from where boys were concerned, of course. I was proud of her for a moment.
And then I threw up on the stairs.
13
I couldn’t eat any of the sawdust bread at dinnertime because I felt ill, so Mama and Hannah shared it between themselves. Although you couldn’t really call it sharing. Hannah ate more than two-thirds of the loaf, stuffing it into her mouth, munching loudly, and burping several times. She was doing this on purpose to annoy me. She was cross because I’d stopped her kissing Ben, and I hadn’t told her how I’d got the wound on my arm. I didn’t want her and Mama to know how stupid I’d been about Amos.
Hannah took advantage of me being weak. “Don’t forget, Mira,” she said. “You are not my mother. So stop acting like you are.” And then she burped even louder.
The rest of the evening, we didn’t say a word to each other. And instead of telling us all a good-night story, Hannah just mumbled one to herself. Something to do with two children from the ghetto. A boy and a girl. The boy had red hair and the girl was very upset because no one could see how grown-up she was.
It wasn’t very hard to work out who those ghetto kids were supposed to be. They liked kissing each other very, very much, Hannah told no one in particular.
No, it wasn’t at all difficult to guess who she had in mind.
But the children had to hide their love because there was an evil governess. I had a fairly good idea who the governess was supposed to be, too.
According to Hannah, the ghetto children were walking through the book market when they saw a book bound in beautiful red leather. The title 777 Islands was printed on the cover in green letters. That was all. Nothing else. No author’s name. No publisher. No nothing. The children, Ben and Hannah, were fascinated by this foreign-looking book. But the bookseller, a man with a wooden leg, wanted them to work as his slaves for a year before they could have it. So they decided to steal it instead. They ran away with the book, thinking that the one-legged man would never be able to follow them. But he was surprisingly agile, despite his wooden leg—like he was from a different world. The bookseller threatened the children with death and damnation if they didn’t give the book back at once. The book would swallow them and they’d end up in the Hell of No Return, he said.
Of course, the two children didn’t believe a word he said and kept on running. They were afraid that he’d beat them with his wooden leg if he caught them. They ran into a backyard, saw the trash cans, and hesitated for a moment. When they realized that
they had no choice, they jumped into the cans in order to hide. They stayed in hiding until the one-legged man gave up at last and went away. They heard him mumbling away to himself, “The Mirror King will get you, the Mirror King will destroy you…”
Once the coast was clear, the children crawled out of their hiding place and studied the book more closely. It was a sort of travel guide. But to a world that didn’t exist. 777 magical islands were described in the book. 777 islands full of marvels. Full of danger.
One was covered in carnivorous trees, for example, and another one was inhabited by giants who wrote poetry without vowels—fff, grr, fff. The terrifying Scissor Men lived on yet another one. They cut all the travelers who chanced upon their island out of life and pinned them into a giant album, like pictures.
The children turned the pages of the book, and then all at once, it started to glow. They were surrounded by red light, and suddenly they left the ghetto and found themselves on board a magnificent three-master, sailing across the never-ending seas. The sun was shining. The sea breeze filled the sails, and the air was perfectly clear.
Unlike most of the children in stories, Hannah and Ben weren’t naive. They knew right away that they had been carried away to the world of the 777 islands. And they were so glad, they jumped for joy. Of course, they knew that this was probably a dangerous world—as I said, they weren’t naive—but they weren’t trapped in the ghetto anymore.
Suddenly they heard a voice behind them. “What are two stowaways doing aboard my ship?”
They turned round and saw a cuddly little rabbit standing there, wearing an eye patch and a broad-rimmed hat, and holding a telescope.
“I’m Captain Carrot,” the little rabbit announced.
Such a silly name! The children found it impossible not to start laughing. So they did: “Captain Carrot…”
“This is the most feared name on all the high seas!”
“Sure…” The children laughed even more.
Captain Carrot didn’t like giggling children, so he said, “You are going to die!”
“Somehow, it doesn’t sound scary when a cuddly rabbit says that,” Hannah giggled.