by David Safier
“Yes,” I blurted. I could hardly control my anger.
Daniel grasped my hand, as if he wanted to take my anger from me. But it didn’t calm me down.
“Will he help us?”
“That’s what he said,” I answered truthfully. And remembered how I had cowered in front of him, whimpering. I gripped Daniel’s hand so tight that he flinched despite himself. Anyone else would have let go.
“If Simon told you he’ll help us,” Mama said, “then he will.”
She still loved her son. Although he hadn’t come to see us in such a long time. Hadn’t given us even the tiniest portion of the extra rations he got as a policeman.
Just like with Papa, Mama could forgive him everything.
My anger moved from Simon to her. I clung on to Daniel’s hand. Tighter and tighter. And because he was there, I began to relax. The anger turned into exhaustion. I’d only slept for a few hours after all, and my body was totally battered.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“That would be good.”
“You’ll have to let go of my hand, though.” He gave me a lovely smile.
A smile, on a day like today, felt wonderful.
“In that case, I’ll do without,” I replied, and sat down at the table without letting go of his hand.
“I’ll get you something to drink,” Hannah said, and poured water from a white porcelain jug into a glass.
“Thank you.”
“That wound on your arm was there yesterday, wasn’t it?” she asked. Why wouldn’t she let it be? She still wanted to know how I had been wounded.
“Which wound?” Daniel asked. He was standing beside me at the table, still holding my hand.
“The one we don’t want to talk about,” I said. There was no way I could tell Daniel about my meeting with Amos and the members of Hashomer Hatzair.
“Ah, that wound,” he said, smiling knowingly.
I let go of his hand, and he started to stroke the back of my neck gently. Now at last I started to feel as if there was more to the world than just my fear.
Daniel’s kindness and love, for one thing. And I realized that I’d been so full of fear, hate, and exhaustion that I hadn’t stopped to think about how Daniel had fared on this terrible day.
What did the German order mean for the orphanage?
“How did Korczak react?” I asked Daniel.
“He tried to talk to the Jewish council…”
“And?”
“I haven’t heard yet. I wanted to see you first.”
“But Korczak will manage to stop the orphans from being…?” I stopped for a moment. It was too terrible to say what I was really thinking. That all the dear children who had been brought up and looked after by Korczak and Daniel, all those clever, lively children were going to die. I decided to use the Germans’ word: “… resettled.”
No wonder they used that word. Resettling sounded bearable. If you didn’t see through the word to its hidden meaning.
“If anyone can protect the children,” Daniel said, “then it is Korczak.”
He said this with great faith. He trusted his surrogate father more than God. As much as the Orthodox Jews next door trusted the Almighty. Far more than Mama trusted Simon. Daniel’s trust in Korczak was the greatest trust of all, by a long shot.
If it wasn’t so unfair to Mama, I think I would have liked for Hannah and me to be orphans, too, protected by this good, tired, bearded old man.
Daniel stopped stroking me. I knew what this meant at once. “You want to get back to the orphanage?”
“I have to,” he said. He loved me, but I had to share him with the children. Especially now. Whether I liked it or not. I was ashamed to admit that I didn’t like it at all.
I stood up and winced as I put weight on my damaged ankle. Then I kissed him on the cheek and he smiled, grateful that I hadn’t asked him to stay. We hugged, holding each other tight until he said, “See you soon.”
“Yes, see you soon.”
Daniel left our hovel, and I realized that we had no idea when we would see each other again.
Before I could start to think about what that meant, Hannah asked, “Are you going to tell me where the wound on your arm came from now, or not?”
“Not,” I told my sister, and lay down on the mattress totally exhausted.
Hannah made a face at me. She was offended. She didn’t quite understand what was going on in the ghetto. But most of the grown-ups didn’t, either. And, even though I thought I knew, I didn’t actually know anything.
It would have been the right thing to let Hannah know what was probably going to happen. And I would tell her. Later. When I’d found out if our brother was going to be able to help us. And when I’d had a bit of sleep.
I closed my eyes and asked her, “Tell me a story.”
“What?” she asked. She was still cross with me. And getting crosser by the minute.
“About the 777 islands.” I sounded like a child wanting to be told a good-night story. Not because I was pretending, but because for once, that’s what I really was.
Hannah understood, and we suddenly swapped roles. For once, she was the big sister, mama, whatever … and she started to tell me the next bit of the story about the 777 islands.
Onboard the ship, the werewolf stood in front of the two children and bared his teeth. He was just about to seize them when Captain Carrot yelled, “You are not allowed to eat them!”
That was a relief, the children thought.
“You are a spoilsport,” grumbled the werewolf.
“The law of the sea demands that they walk the plank and drown miserably.”
That didn’t sound so good, after all, the children realized.
“Stupid law!” The werewolf was clearly not happy.
“But maybe the bitter rays maul them to death first.”
The children had no idea what sort of animals bitter rays might be. Apparently the seas round the 777 islands were full of deadly fish that didn’t exist in our world. And the children didn’t want to meet them.
The werewolf was sorry to miss a meal, and he started to grumble, but then he said, “Never mind, they are just skin and bones, anyway.”
The wolf fetched a plank and attached it to the railing like a diving board. Then he chased the children onto it. The plank bowed a bit under their weight. Beneath them, the waves gently rocked the ship up and down. And beneath the waves they would have to face bitter rays or death by drowning because neither Hannah nor Ben could swim. That wasn’t something children learned in the ghetto.
They hugged each other and held each other tight, said things like, “I love you,” “L … l … love … you, t … t…” and “I know what you mean.”
And then they kissed each other, like they’d never done before.
That was the moment when I should have opened my eyes and give Hannah another piece of my mind about being too young to be kissing, but I was far too tired.
Captain Carrot was about to push the children off the plank with his sword: “Now meet the bitter rays!”
But all at once the werewolf shouted, “Captain, look!” And showed him the book he was holding carefully in his great paws. “They come from the world of Mainland. The girl must be the Chosen One.”
“How can such a little girl be the Chosen One?” the captain snapped. “How can a little girl like that save anyone? How can she defeat the Mirror King?”
Captain Carrot turned and stared at the children, and then Hannah shouted, “But I am the Chosen One.”
Everyone was amazed, including Ben, and the captain lowered his sword in awe: “You are?”
“Clever girl,” I murmured.
“I will tell you more some other time. Now sleep well,” Hannah said, and stroked my hair.
I should have had nightmares about SS soldiers forcing me into a truck, or my brother beating me to death, or even about a rabbit captain with a sword. But I didn’t dream about anything. My slee
p was as deep as the sea that surrounds the 777 islands.
17
“Let Mira sleep,” was the next thing I heard. It was Simon.
“Don’t you want to talk to her?” my mother asked.
“I don’t have much time,” Simon answered.
This wasn’t a dream. My brother was here, in this room.
My eyelids felt so heavy. I couldn’t manage to force them open just yet. Part of me didn’t want to make the effort. I’d much rather fall back into the depths of dreamless sleep than see Simon. But I needed to know why he had come and whether he could help us or not. I ordered myself to open my eyes. But they refused to obey.
“Mira would love to see you,” Mama said.
She didn’t even believe that herself. She knew what I thought of Simon, although obviously she didn’t have a clue that he was the person who had beaten me up.
“No, she wouldn’t,” Hannah said. She hadn’t forgiven Simon, either, for having deserted us in the past few months.
“No, she wouldn’t,” Simon agreed. And I could tell that he wanted to be gone.
“Well, she will,” Mama insisted. “As soon as she hears what you have done for us.”
Now I did open my eyes. What had he done?
Simon was standing beside my mattress holding his policeman’s hat in his hand. He hadn’t even bothered to sit down. As if every second he had to spend with his family was a nightmare. What on earth had we done to be treated like this? Or were we too strong a reminder of all the things he had failed to do for us? Was that what bothered him?
“Mira’s eyes are open.” Hannah had noticed.
Simon looked at me, startled. He was worried that I’d tell the others about him beating me up.
I was eye level with his boots. The leather was covered in blood. It wasn’t mine. He had “only” given me swellings and bruises. He hadn’t beaten me until I started to bleed. My eyes moved up his leg, and I saw that his trousers were caked in blood, too. His coat was buttoned the wrong way—he’d always done that, even as a small child—his dark hair framed his face, which was very pale, indicating that he had been through a lot in the past few hours. He wasn’t injured, as far as I could tell. So where did the blood come from? Who else had he clubbed for the SS besides me?
I didn’t want to be lying on the floor in front of him. Not again. I managed to get up. Everything hurt. My shoulders, ribs, and—most of all—my ankle, which was very swollen. For a moment, everything went black, but I managed to stay upright. Now that I was standing on the mattress, I was level with Simon’s eyes. He was a little man in every sense of the world.
“Hello, Mira,” he said cautiously, waiting to see how I was going to react.
“Hello, Simon,” I answered, and could hardly disguise my anger.
“Tell Mira what you have done for us,” Mama said eagerly.
Whatever Simon had managed to do, she felt sure that it would make me forgive my brother. But he’d have to chase the Nazis out of Poland first.
“Yes, Simon,” I said provokingly—“why don’t you tell us all what you did?”
He looked away from me, ashamed that he had hurt me.
“I got Mama a work permit for Többens’ factory.”
Többens was a German manufacturer making a fortune with the cheap ghetto workforce. He produced coats for German ladies and children and elegant gowns. The firm even made artificial flowers from leftover material to decorate the dresses. No one earned any money at Többens, or anywhere else in the ghetto. All you got in his factory was a cup of watery coffee and a slice of bread in the morning and another piece of bread at night. But as long as you had a job there, you wouldn’t be resettled. Slave labor had suddenly become the best way to survive in the ghetto! Seeing as we were all Mama’s children, the work permit would save our lives, too, according to paragraph 2g).
But there was one thing that made the whole idea impossible: Mama would never be able to stand the conditions at Többens. Working a sewing machine for eleven hours would be too much for her. I should tell him. But would Mama be hurt? On the other hand, we wanted to survive. It didn’t matter if I hurt her feelings.
Simon had noticed me looking at Mama doubtfully, and knew what I was thinking. “The work permit is forged,” he said.
“What?” I was amazed.
“Mamel, a friend of mine, did it,” Simon said. “He is very good. He draws maps for the Germans at their command post.”
“Oh, I bet he’s proud of himself, then,” I said bitterly.
“This pass will save your life,” he said, “and he has asked for nothing.” He said this with a biting undertone.
“So he normally gets paid for this?”
“Of course he does.”
“Oh, of course he does,” I answered coldly.
“And not badly, either.”
“What a nice person,” I replied even more coldly.
“If I hadn’t got us this,” Simon was starting to get angry now, “then we’d all end up…,” he took a quick look at Hannah and decided to hide behind the official German term, too.
“… being resettled.”
He seemed to doubt that the Germans were looking for cheap labor for their fields in the East. Or did he actually know something about the Germans’ real plans? No. No Jew could possibly support a plan to annihilate the Jews. Not even a member of the Jewish police. Take bribes, beat Jews, and follow nasty orders—those traitors could do all of that, but it wasn’t the same as sending our own people to death. If Simon was really sure that the Germans were going to kill everyone they deported, he’d have stopped wearing his uniform ages ago. Or so I hoped.
“Simon is helping us,” Mama confirmed, pointing at the forged work permit lying on the kitchen table. And she was letting me know that we should be grateful and stop accusing him.
She was right. Just now, the best thing that could have happened to me, Hannah, all of us, was Simon being a Jewish police pig. So Papa had been right when he spent the last of his money to get Simon into the police.
If I was benefiting from having a brother who was a pig, didn’t that make me one, too? I felt so ashamed. And I hated it. I wanted Simon to feel at least as ashamed as I did about all the evil things he did to save our skins and his. So I attacked him. “Where did you go with the Germans?”
He looked at Mama and Hannah uneasily.
“Where?” I pressed.
“They have closed my department,” he said. “We are no longer responsible for liaising with the Polish police. We have to help with the resettlement…”
He faltered.
I gave him a challenging look. He still hadn’t given us a proper answer.
“We were rounding up homeless Jews,” he confessed quietly.
I could picture German soldiers and the Jewish police, including Simon, beating the weakest of the weak. The sick, the old, and children. The blood on his boots came from those people.
I started to pray. Yes, suddenly I was praying that this blood hadn’t come from a homeless child. For the child’s sake, but more for Simon. And for me, as well.
Simon swallowed uneasily. I’d managed to shame him.
But it didn’t do me any good.
Simon was suffering because of what he had to do. He was still the poor frightened child. But one armed with a truncheon now.
I didn’t feel sorry enough to want to hug him or anything. I was too disgusted by what he had done. But I stopped feeling angry.
“What work could homeless people manage to do in the East?” Hannah asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “They are far too weak.”
Mama sat down at the table in dismay. She had finally realized that the resettlement was one big lie.
“They…” Simon tried to find an explanation that would save his face somehow without scaring Hannah. “They…”
“… get fed first,” I lied. “There is more food out in the fields for them to eat.”
“They are right at the food source,” Simo
n confirmed.
Together we fabricated a story for our sister, to stop her being afraid. We lied to her, just the way the Germans lied to all of us Jews to make us behave like obedient children.
Hannah wasn’t completely convinced. I’d never lied to her before today. I didn’t always tell her everything, but I’d never lied. I didn’t want to start acting like a grown-up, but the Germans had turned me into a liar, too. And that drove us apart. I could tell by the way she reacted: She hunched her shoulders and looked away.
“I have to go,” Simon said, and put on his hat. He turned back to Mama. “It won’t be safe to leave the house in the next few days. I’ll bring food.”
“Thank you,” she smiled and stroked his cheek just like she used to do when he still lived with us. He flinched, waved goodbye to Hannah, and nodded at me as he was going out, in a sad, apologetic sort of way. He was sorry about what he’d done to me. And maybe he was sorry about neglecting to help us all these months. He was about to turn away when I said, “Don’t go too far.”
His eyes looked even sadder. They filled up with tears, and he said, “I already have.”
18
The next night I had a dream. Surprisingly enough, it had nothing to do with soldiers, terror, or death. No, I dreamed something silly. Silly but beautiful. And I was happy in the dream. I dreamed that Daniel was kissing me. It was the kind of dream I wanted to continue dreaming even after I’d woken up, so I refused to open my eyes. The dream world was so much more beautiful than the real one, and because it was so beautiful, it seemed more powerful and intense. And I wanted to stay lying in Daniel’s arms forever, kissing him. I didn’t want to return to the horror of the ghetto. I kept my eyes closed and traced the sensation of the wonderful dream kiss. Tried to recall every single detail: Daniel’s rough lips, the fact that we were naked and curled up close together … But the dream faded, and the more I tried to hold on to it, the faster it disappeared.
At least it was quiet all around me. I could only hear Mama’s gentle breathing and Hannah’s snores. Both of them were fast asleep. I still kept my eyes closed. I could enjoy the peace and quiet for as long as it lasted.