I open the door on the left. Both doors open to the same large room, a room full of tables and children, girls of all ages. For just a moment, one hundred pairs of eyes look my way. Then the girls turn back to their food and begin eating again. A tall woman places a hand on my shoulder. She leads me to a seat and brings me a bowl of soup.
The soup tastes like warm water and cooked carrots. There is also dark bread. I drink every drop of soup and eat every crumb of bread. Just as Sister Maria said, there is none to spare. But there is enough.
Chapter 16
A lady with fair skin and blue eyes sits opposite me. She has blond hair just past her shoulders. “I’m Monika,” she says. “I’m the oldest girl here.” She nearly smiles.
“Oh, I thought you were a teacher.”
Monika gives me a puzzled look. “It’s just us girls and the sisters, the nuns.” I nod my head as if I know what she’s talking about.
Another girl sits next to Monika. She has short brown hair and wears a scowl. She doesn’t introduce herself, but begins to question me. She asks my name, my birthday and where I came from. I tell her Anna Karwolska’s hometown.
“That’s far away. You must have family near here.”
I shake my head. I’ve never thought about Anna Karwolska’s aunts and uncles and cousins.
“Well, who brought you here, then?” The girl’s scowl grows deeper.
“I—I—”
“Let her be, Klara,” Monika interrupts. “Show some kindness.”
“I’m going to be a nun one day,” Klara announces. “I’m going to be in charge here.”
Later that evening, when it’s time for bed, I follow Monika into a large room with draped curtains. There are two rows of beds with a small table beside each one.
Klara blocks my way. “You’re with the little girls,” she says. “You have to be at least nine to sleep in this room.”
“But I am nine,” I say.
“Liar.” Klara crosses her arms. “Did you forget you told me your birthday?”
I am nine. But Anna Karwolska is eight and will be for a few more months. How could I remember my birthday but forget my age? “I mean eight,” I mumble. “I thought you said eight.”
“Come, I’ll take you,” says Monika. I expect her to glare at Klara, but she doesn’t. Perhaps Monika never scowls. She takes me across the hall to a room crowded with cribs and cots. Monika wanders along the row of beds, finally stopping to smile down at a little girl. “Eva, I’ve brought you a new friend.”
Eva gets up on her knees and bounces on the bed.
“She’s four,” Monika says. “I’m sure the two of you will get along nicely.”
I climb into bed next to Eva.
“What’s your name?” she asks. I tell her. “What’s your job?”
“I don’t have a job here, yet. What’s yours?”
“Make sure the babies don’t cry. Clean the babies that the sisters tell me to clean. Leave the other babies alone. Never disturb a sleeping baby. Stay in my place. Do as I’m told.” She nods, satisfied. “And keep silent.”
Eva snuggles right up next to me, as though she’s known me her whole life, and closes her eyes. I’m lucky to be with the little ones. I don’t like to sleep alone. Besides, I have nothing to put on a table.
Soon the babies and small children stop crying. Eva’s breathing grows even and slow and I know she’s asleep too. I stare at the slightly open door where a sliver of light enters the room. I’ve tried to be Anna Karwolska all day. I practiced in my head in the cart. I’m working so hard, but still Klara almost caught me.
I’m eight. I’m eight. I’m eight. I’m eight, I chant inside my head. How could I forget something so simple? What would they have done? Would they send me away? Turn me over to the Germans?
Everyone here is Catholic. They know the prayers, the holidays, the songs. They know how to behave. Everyone in this whole building is exactly the same, has been exactly the same since the moment they were born. Everyone except me.
I must try with all my might to be Anna Karwolska. I should practice more. But I can’t. It’s like carrying something heavy a great distance. I have to set it down and rub my arms and catch my breath. Just for a few minutes before I sleep I have to put Anna Karwolska out of my mind. I can’t forget Anna Bauman.
I close my eyes and slip back in time. I remember every flower in the garden in my backyard, the smell of my grandmother’s house, sawdust swirling out the door of Papa’s shop, the wedding of my aunt. My first home and my big family feel so far away. I remember Papa’s finger tracing around mine against the small cool window in the ghetto. And the poem:
The bright flame of truth pursue,
Seek to discover new ways.
Secrets will be revealed to you,
Your soul grows and becomes new.
I must not forget being Anna Bauman. Remembering my real self is a bright flame of truth inside me.
Chapter 17
A bell ringing outside our door wakes us. The sisters bustle in to take care of the babies. The little girls get up and dressed. They line up by the door in stocking feet. I’m the only one lucky enough to have shoes.
I stand in line with the other girls to get my morning bread. When they cross themselves, I cross myself. When they say a blessing, I mumble along. The blessings are almost the same as the ones Auntie taught me.
After breakfast we go to prayer service. When Klara passes me she leans close to my ear and whispers, “Liar.” I jump. For a moment I think she knows I’m Anna Bauman, knows I’m Jewish. But then I realize I earned the nickname Liar last night when I said I was nine.
I copy the other girls during prayer service as they sit, stand and kneel. Sister Maria’s voice is strong and booming, like a man’s, when she reads from the Bible. Though when she sings, her voice is light and climbs high.
At lunch Klara walks near me twice, leaning in close to whisper in my ear. I keep my expression blank and look down at my food.
After lunch some children file out to go to lessons. I stare after them. I want to go to school. The tall nun who steered me to a seat yesterday places a hand on my shoulder. She leads me into the kitchen.
The kitchen! Certainly I have the best work assignment in the whole place.
She places a broom in my hand and waves her arm. “When the two of you are finished here, the dining room is next.” I’m assigned to sweep along with a girl named Roza.
“The nuns are eating now.” Roza nods to a door at our left and takes a deep breath. “It smells so delicious.”
I smell nothing except a kitchen so damp it is as if some of the outside has crept in. Ignoring Roza, I begin to sweep. She walks beside me, dragging her broom behind her. “Watch out for treasures.”
“Treasures?” I keep sweeping.
“There! You have one!” She pounces on the pile of dirt in front of my broom and pulls out a strip of paper. “Potato peel,” she says, and pops it into her mouth.
I wonder if it really was a potato peel. And if there will be more treasures. A few moments later Roza bends down and takes something white from her dirt pile. Without inspecting it first, she eats it. “Eggshell,” she says. “Very nutritious.” And I know she has the hunger. I saw many people hungry like Roza in the ghetto. Hungry deep into their bones. So hungry, the hunger infected their minds.
I sweep the kitchen and the dining room. Roza follows along, inspecting each of my piles and sweeping the dirt into a dustpan.
“What now?” I ask.
“Finished!” Roza lifts her broom high and walks quickly back to the kitchen. She tucks the broom into a corner by the door. I place mine next to hers.
The door is calling me. I push it open a crack and look outside. The white wall stands strong along the courtyard. Colorful leaves carpet the ground near the church. Tall pines reach high into the sky. I am so very far from the rest of the world. How will Mama and Papa find me way out here?
Chapter 18
Sund
ays are so important, and so different, I soon stop counting the days and begin counting Sundays. Today is my tenth Sunday. Prayer service is much longer and even more serious. All of the nuns attend and one plays the organ. Sister Maria’s voice is so loud, so strong, so certain. It seems as if Sister Maria has the entire Bible memorized and all of history too.
When the organ music plays, I remember Mama’s hands running over the piano keys in our home. She played so beautifully, people would stop on the street outside to listen. I think Mama would like this music. I stand and sing with the other girls.
The orphanage is full—over a hundred girls and several dozen sisters. The small sounds like footsteps, talking and music covered the silence so well that it took me a few days to feel the quiet of this place. There is no begging. No shouting. No gunfire.
I wonder if Papa still stands at the window where he traced my hand, listening to children begging for bread. It seems like a long time ago.
No one here ever questions me about my name, birthday or where I’m from. I don’t think about being Anna Karwolska or Anna Bauman. I’m just Anna. Until Klara whispers in my ear.
Klara doesn’t have a job. She sits in the chapel for hours reading the Bible and praying. I hope it’s true, what Sister Maria says about prayers filling our hearts and souls with the light of God. Maybe if she prays enough, Klara will stop whispering in my ear.
I’m not the only one Klara taunts. At least with me she only whispers. When the sisters aren’t near, Klara stands in front of Roza and waves her arms. “Bird Girl. Tweet tweet, Bird Girl!” Roza ignores her. Klara laughs. “You don’t understand?” She tweets and caws, following Roza around the room. Why doesn’t anyone stop her?
After sweeping one day, Roza stands in front of a closet door. She has her face pressed to the keyhole and is breathing deeply. When she notices I’m watching her, she says, “Food.” I stand beside her and try the knob. The door isn’t locked. I pull it open, just a bit, only enough for us to see inside. Roza’s right. It’s a large pantry. The shelves are piled high with sacks of flour, jars of food, even a bit of sugar.
I close the door and smile, a real, wide smile. We are rich with food!
Chapter 19
One afternoon, Klara follows me and Roza as we sweep the dining room. The sisters are in their separate room, eating their lunch. Klara starts her act of waving her arms. Roza pushes past her, the broom leading the way. “Hey, Bird Girl,” complains Klara. “You got dust on my socks.” She jumps in front of Roza again.
Roza plows past her, pushing the broom, her head down. Klara rips the broom out of Roza’s hands and pushes her. Girls file in from the hall. They see Roza stumble backward. I think at first that they will help, but they only stand near the door and watch.
Roza bends down for her broom. Klara shoves with both hands and Roza tumbles to the ground. I learn why Klara calls Roza Bird Girl. “Go ahead, bend down. Peck for food on the ground. We all watch you do it, Bird Girl.”
The others back out the door, afraid. I try to meet their eyes but they look away.
Roza climbs slowly to her knees. As she reaches for her broom Klara kicks it away. Roza looks to me for help, about to cry.
“Stop it!” I say. “Just stop.” Klara turns to face me and my voice is gone, stuck in my throat, afraid like Roza. Klara stands tall, her face red and furious. She steps toward me. I must say something. “Be kind,” I say. “Please, be kind.”
Klara spins around and notices the others staring at her. “Why should I be kind to a liar and a bird girl? Why should I even speak to either of you?” She marches to the door and the other girls scatter. Klara holds her head high, marching proudly. She is so certain that she alone is right. It makes my cheeks burn. She’s like the soldiers standing guard at the ghetto, so few holding in thousands.
Klara turns back to us, a superior smirk on her face. The distance between us makes me brave. “Please, don’t speak to us,” I call to her. “We really wish you wouldn’t. No one wants to hear your ugly words and your mean voice.”
The other girls’ faces are frozen in shock. I turn to help Roza, but she’s already on her feet, sweeping again.
Klara corners me in the hallway between the bedrooms that night. “Apologize.” Every girl in the whole orphanage is watching. “Apologize for what you said to me earlier.”
I open my mouth but I can’t speak. Klara’s hand springs out in an instant and she clutches my arm. I should apologize and get away, go hide. But I can’t force an apology out of my mouth, though she’s clutching my arm so tightly her nails are digging into my skin. “Certainly,” I say. “I will apologize after you apologize to Roza.” I turn to look for Roza, but she must be hiding behind another girl.
“You’re going to regret this,” says Klara. “I can tell when a girl is a liar or a cuckoo bird.” She pauses and looks deep in my eyes. “I know everything.” She releases my arm, turns away and slips into the room for the older girls.
I lie awake with Eva snuggled warmly against me, her breath even and slow. Having her near helps melt away the burning in my chest, the tightening of my throat. I force myself to forget about Klara. Instead I am Anna Bauman.
Running outside the door of my grandparent’s house on a warm day, Jakub calling to Grandma through an open window, “We’re taking Felek with us.” Felek’s chain hitting the ground near his feet.
Before we made it around the house, Grandma was standing at the front door. “Don’t come home with a wet dog. Keep that dog out of the lake.” Jakub opened the gate and Felek pushed his head against my hand begging for a scratch. “Answer me!”
“Yes,” Jakub answered. And we were off running through the fields, down the country roads, Felek’s bark like laughter behind us. On our way back we took the path by the lake, throwing sticks for Felek to chase. Before long Jakub and I were wadding to our knees in the lake, our feet sunk deep into the squishy bottom and Felek swimming happily around us.
Inside the gate, Jakub forgot to clip Felek to his chain. He followed us into the house, a blur of water, mud and grass.
Grandma burst out of the kitchen waving a wooden spoon in the air. “Jakub!”
Instead of confessing, he looked at me. “Anna did it,” he said. “She threw a stick in the water for him to chase.”
She towered over me, furious.
“No, it was Jakub. He went into the water first,” I insisted.
We argued back and forth. I couldn’t remember. Did I throw the first stick into the lake? “Silence.” Grandma’s voice was low, as if she was too angry to shout. Felek sat next to her feet, his tail thumping happily. “No more stories. The truth. The truth is the safest lie.”
Jakub and I spoke at the same time. “It was me,” we both said.
Grandma frowned at us. “I knew it. You both made this mess”—she waved her arms around the room—“and you’ll both clean it up.”
In the middle of the night, the morning bell rings. It’s far away and growing louder. I’m still so sleepy. The bell is ringing right next to my ear. I open my eyes and see someone rush out of the dark room. A few of the babies begin to cry.
By the time I look around the room, everyone is awake. Sister Maria and Sister Danielle rush in. “What is the meaning of this, Anna?” Sister Maria’s face is pale in the dark room. She holds the copper bell up for me to see.
“I don’t know. I was sleeping.” How did the bell get beside my bed?
Monika pokes her head into our room. Klara’s right behind her. She flashes me a knowing smile. Klara!
Monika clears her throat. “Is everything all right, Sister Maria? Can I help?”
“Back to sleep,” says Sister Maria. “Everyone, back to sleep.”
The next day, I learn why everyone ignores Klara. Standing up to her doesn’t work. In addition to sweeping with Roza, I’m assigned two new jobs: wringing the laundry with Sister Danielle and scrubbing floors of the bathrooms alone, on my hands and knees.
I dip my brush
into the bucket and scrub the floor around the toilet. Dirt makes tiny circle trails in the water, following my brush. I’m not afraid of hard work, tired hands or blistered skin. But my stomach is tumbling with another fear. Klara. What will she do next? Would the sisters send me away if they think I’m a troublemaker?
Mama and Papa should take care of me. They shouldn’t have sent me away. Klara is out to get me and there is nothing I can do about it. I wipe up the last of the water as the sun sends light through the square window, making the floor sparkle. I would wash ten floors to have a day without Klara. I would wash a hundred floors to see Mama and Papa again. How I wish they could come here where we have food and beds and no soldiers. I know it doesn’t make sense, to have parents and live in an orphanage, but I would wash a thousand, even a hundred thousand floors for that wish to come true.
Eva stands by the door as I’m rinsing my bucket. “Your floor is sparkly.” It isn’t my floor, but I am the one who made it shine. I smile. “Hurry, Anna. Downstairs. Something good. Something very good.”
I rush behind her, the bucket swinging on my arm. Everyone is in front of the window. I look over their shoulders and see snow, large fluffy flakes, falling from the sky.
The sisters let us go outside. It doesn’t matter that none of us have coats and only a few girls have shoes. I spin and twirl in the snow. Even though it snows every winter, this particular snowfall feels like a miracle.
Big flakes land and melt like sparkling jewels in the hair of the girls around me. Small beads of water from the melting snow shimmer on my arms. I am cold. And sparkling. And alive. When I hear it the first time, I almost don’t recognize the sound. It escapes from Eva’s mouth. She’s smiling and looking up at me. She makes the sound again. Laughter. I haven’t heard it in such a long, long time. I lift her in my arms and spin her around, her head back and her mouth open. She’s trying to catch a snowflake on her tongue. When I set her down, she throws her arms around my waist. “That was wonderful,” she says.
The Safest Lie Page 5