This news is like a make-believe tale. One night after the guests have left, I ask, “Is it really true? Germany’s the biggest country in the world. How can anyone stop them?”
Stephan and Sophia both speak at once. “They’re not that big,” insists Stephan. “Nearly all the rest of the world is fighting them,” says Sophia.
Jerzy moves to the back door. “Wait, I’ll show you.”
He returns and unrolls a map on the table.
Sophia stands. “Jerzy, take that back. It’s too dangerous.”
Stephan is running his hand over the map. “No, Sophia. Anna has to learn. It’s dangerous if people don’t know the truth.”
“If we’re caught . . .”
“Didn’t you hear her?” Stephan asks. “She thinks Germany’s the biggest country in the world. It’s what they want everyone to think.”
Sophia nods and stands by the window, keeping watch.
“That,” announces Stephan, “is Germany before September 1, 1939. And there’s Poland and Czechoslovakia and . . .”
He’s pointing so quickly and naming countries I’ve never heard of before. “Slow down.”
Stephan patiently explains the map to me. Germany isn’t very big! He shows me how the map has changed since the war started. Stephan is overflowing with information and so excited, it’s like he’s the teacher, not Sophia. “Look at this here.” His finger traces a dotted green line. “France prepared, built a wall with underground bunkers all along the border. They had enough firepower to blow the Germans out to sea.”
“Poland should have done that,” I say.
“But it didn’t work. Look what the Nazis did. They went into Belgium. Boom. Took the country in just over two weeks. Then waltzed right into France without any problems.”
I shake my head. That’s what the nun said in the orphanage. Germany always finds a way to win. They let you think you’ve outsmarted them and then they play a trick on you. Maybe they are doing the same thing right now, pretending to lose so they can waltz right back.
“It will really be over soon,” says Sophia. “And then we’ll . . . we’ll . . .” Sophia looks around to us for help. What will we do after the war?
“We’ll get another cow,” says Jerzy.
“And drink fresh milk every day,” agrees Stephan.
A few days later, I am the first to wake. There’s barely a hint of sunlight pushing its way through my window. I poke my head into Stephan and Sophia’s room. Jerzy is curled up in a ball on the floor next to their bed. I listen to the music of their breathing. I take Sophia’s sweater off the end of her bed, pull it over my head and walk outside. Leaning against the shed, I wait for the sun. I’m shivering. It’s cold enough for snow. As I’m about to go inside for my coat and my scarf, a solitary figure wanders down the road from town. He’s a soldier and he’s walking quickly toward the house.
The printer was killed in a search because he saved a few newspapers. I remember Stephan’s map. I know it is hidden in one of the sheds. I’m frozen between waking Stephan and Sophia and searching for the map to destroy any evidence. But the soldier doesn’t turn to our house, he moves right past without even a glance in my direction. Before he disappears from sight, four more soldiers come into view. And more follow behind them.
I shout, “Sophia! Stephan!”
Stephan and Sophia burst out the door and stand beside me. Jerzy joins us a minute later. In that short time, the road has filled with soldiers all moving along in the same direction. Sophia holds her hands beside her head as if she can’t believe her eyes. Stephan slaps his leg and says, “Those are the smart ones. They see the writing in front of their noses.”
I ask Sophia what that means. “It means they know they’ll be sent home eventually so they might as well start now.”
I wish I could see the writing in front of my nose. As I stand protected between Stephan and Sophia, I wonder for the first time what I want my future to be like. I’ve waited so long for Mama and Papa. Yet now I can’t imagine ever leaving.
Those first few soldiers were right. Each day, more soldiers leave. Many flash by in cars but some drive motorcycles. Two or three pass riding bicycles. Jerzy and I spend part of each day watching the soldiers leave our town, leave Poland. We stand next to the café across from the church. When I first arrived, I was afraid to walk down this street with soldiers sitting in the café, watching me. Now I am the one watching, watching them get out of town.
Jerzy’s quiet as we walk back home, but I’m full of energy and words. “I feel stronger than an elephant,” I say.
“Sure you do.”
I walk backward facing him. “Really, I feel like I could wrestle a bear. I am strong. All of Poland is strong.”
Jerzy turns me around and slings an arm around my shoulder. “I hope you’re right.”
After a few days, the roads are quiet. The neighbors and friends who stop by confirm it: there is not a soldier to be found in the town. I’ve dreamed of the end of the war at least a thousand times. In my imagination the war ends like this: the Germans are gone, people are dancing in the streets and Mama and Papa are running toward me. When they reach me they hug me tightly, even tighter than when I left them so long ago.
The next morning our house is full of people. They want Stephan to hold a banner and make a speech. I think it is to celebrate that the Germans are gone. He throws them out one by one.
“We should at least attend,” says Sophia. “To get information if nothing else.”
“I’ll celebrate when the Home Army arrives. Until then I’m staying right here.”
Sophia doesn’t say another word, but she leaves the house following the neighbors. Jerzy and I go with her. The main street is lined with people holding banners. It’s cold and the air smells like snow. It hasn’t snowed yet this winter. People say that the new weapons the Germans are firing in Warsaw have made the ground so warm that snow melts somewhere between the clouds and the earth. I stare up at the sky, straining to see a single snowflake. The air freezes my face. I stand closer to Sophia and she runs her hands over my arms. It seems that snow would actually warm us. After almost an hour, a new army passes through town.
“They aren’t German?” I ask Jerzy. A few people glace my way.
“No, Anna.” He’s gentle but his voice is impatient.
“They look the same. The uniform, it’s the same color.”
“Look at the details.” Jerzy’s voice is louder than it needs to be. “A bit of red somewhere on their uniforms, the collars or a band on the hats.” I try to notice the red on the uniforms as the soldiers walk by. “Or you can look at the boots,” Jerzy adds. “The boots are very different.” Most of the soldiers march right past our town and on to the next; only a few stay. I study their boots, but they don’t seem unique to me.
People visit all day, bringing bottles they have saved for years and offering toasts. But Stephan won’t cheer. “The Polish Home Army should be here. When they arrive, I’ll cheer.”
His friends disagree. “The Soviets chased the Germans away. They saved us.”
Even with all of the happiness around him, Stephan won’t smile. “Yes, well, who will save us from them?”
After a week, I can’t believe how much is the same: we still pray for eggs and rarely find them under our hens, we still sleep and rise at the same time. Also, we continue to line up for food. Some things are new: we no longer talk about the end of the war, because it is here. People are smiling and boasting, free to talk about anything. Almost anything.
Sometimes I hear Sophia’s friends overcome with anger at how the Germans treated the Jewish people. Sophia agrees. She says it’s terrible. When I overhear these conversations, I wonder if I should share my secret. With the Germans gone, it must be safe. But some of her friends say they are happy the Germans ran the Jews out of Poland. Then I hold my breath and pray that Sophia will stand up and argue. Though Sophia doesn’t agree, she doesn’t disagree either. She changes the subject.
At night I wonder if Sophia ever met a Jewish person. I’m sure Sophia loves me. Still, I’m afraid she would love me a little bit less if she knew the truth.
Chapter 43
A few weeks later, I feel as irritable as Stephan. The end of the war was supposed to mean something. At the end of the war we planned to move the chicken coop closer to the house. But there’s still not enough food, so Stephan and Sophia decided our chickens should remain in hiding. And they aren’t the only ones hiding.
Stephan reminds me often that the war isn’t really over. Though the Germans have left Poland, there is still fighting all over Europe and other places in the world. I examine a plate I just washed to make sure it is really clean. I can’t concentrate on even the simplest tasks.
When the last dish is dried and put on the shelf, I fold my apron and rush out the door. I run across the cold fields. Winter is nearly over. I don’t stop until I reach the tall pine tree. I climb barehanded, stuffing my gloves into my pockets to keep them from being torn or covered in sap. Soon I’m high in the tree, certain no one on the ground could spot me. I look out over the rooftops in the direction of Warsaw. It is a clear winter day, but there is so much I can’t see.
I feel better with the German soldiers gone. Not completely safe, just better. In the ghetto, people—even children—were shot simply crossing the street. I wondered which of us would starve first, Papa, Mama or me. In the orphanage there was food, but not family. Here I have both food and a new family. Sometimes I feel like I’m not pretending anymore, like I’m really and truly Anna Karwolska. Other days, like today, I feel as if I can’t keep my secret any longer.
Before I learned to swim, Jakub taught me to hold my nose, let out my breath and sink underwater in the lake by my grandparents’ house. He invented a game where we sat underwater with our eyes open, staring at each other. The first one to blink lost. He always won.
I climb down from the tree and notice Stephan in his workshop. The door is cracked open. I knock and he says, “I need more time alone.” I pretend not to hear him and knock again, this time louder. “Sophia, I will be out in—” He turns and sees me. “Anna, what is it?”
I take a step inside and close the door to keep the cool air out, but it isn’t much warmer inside the small shed. Stephan’s sitting at his desk writing a letter. “Remember you told me that Warsaw is far away?” He nods. “How long would it take to walk from Warsaw to here?”
He looks at me so long I’m afraid he will ask me why I want to know this information. Instead he scratches the side of his face and says, “About three days, four at the most.”
I thank him and leave, pulling the door tightly closed behind me. I stand facing Warsaw and decide that Mama and Papa are leaving Warsaw right this very moment and they will arrive at Sophia and Stephan’s home in three days, four at the most.
But four days turns into four weeks. And winter fades away. And flowers bloom in the fields. And four weeks turns into five and then six. We never did have snow.
Chapter 44
Stephan comes in for dinner after spending the entire day in town. At first I can’t figure out what is different about his face, but when he passes the bowl of beans to Jerzy, I see it. A smile.
I know it isn’t the food he’s smiling about, a small plate of beans and no bread or even a single carrot to add to the meal. “What?” I ask.
“What?” he says. His smile grows.
Sophia and Jerzy join in saying “What?” and Stephan answers the same. I laugh because we sound like a group of silly children.
Finally, Sophia stands up. “Tell us what you know!” Her palms are spread on the table and the way she leans toward us makes her look fierce.
“I’d rather show you,” says Stephan. “After dinner.” We finish in no time. After Sophia and I clear the table, he says, “Leave the dishes.”
Sophia and I exchange a glance and head out the door to join Stephan and Jerzy. Stephan whistles as we head through town and Sophia takes his arm. “What do you think it is?” I ask Jerzy.
“No idea,” he says. “I hope it’s a cow. Or even a rabbit.”
We make it to town and cross the main street. Stephan heads right to the café, though I know we have no money for even a glass of water. He opens the door. The large room is packed with people. They are all quiet, listening to someone speaking at the front of the room. I look around but don’t see the man who is speaking. Stephan lifts me so that I’m standing on a chair. Everyone is gathered around a big box on the counter.
“It’s a radio,” says Stephan. His smile grows. “They are now broadcasting a Polish station out of Warsaw.”
I sit down on the chair and remember the large wooden radio in our home. Music played in the evenings. Once a play that Uncle Aleksander was in was broadcast live. And during the war, when Papa left to fight, Mama was glued to the radio waiting for news from the front lines. And when the bombs came, we made a tight circle around our radio—me, Mama, Grandma, Aunt Roza and Jakub—all day, every day. At night we slept in the basement and prayed the bombs would miss us. I haven’t even thought about a radio in years. And I used to listen almost every day.
Weeks pass, and months. The weather becomes warm. Jerzy and I both need new shoes but we don’t mention it because nothing has changed. No money, no work and very little food. The Germans are gone, but every day is the same as the next.
Cool spring rains fall for three days. I stand outside in the sprinkles after a downpour and look for a rainbow, but there isn’t one. I gather my books and search for Sophia. I find her in her bedroom unraveling a sweater and rolling the yarn into a ball. She pats the bed beside her.
“I finished reading your poetry book. And the two I borrowed from your friend.” She gives me a hopeful look. I shake my head. “I couldn’t find the poem.”
“I’ll help you look, Anna.”
“Maybe I’ve remembered it wrong. Maybe it was all a dream.”
Sophia sets down her yarn and pulls me into a hug. “Never give up, Anna. I’m sure to have more poetry books. I’ll start searching tonight right after supper.”
A few days later, while I am washing the lunch dishes, there is a loud knock on the door. I freeze. Sophia stiffens. No one knocks around here. I stay in the kitchen washing the dishes as Sophia answers the door. “Yes?”
“I’ve come for Anna.” It’s a man’s voice. The voice of a stranger.
Chapter 45
I place a glass on the shelf above the sink without making a sound. “I don’t understand,” says Sophia. I move closer to the living room, wringing my apron in my hands.
“My name is Mr. Goren. I’m from Warsaw. May I come in?”
Sophia races into the kitchen and nearly bumps into me. “Do you know a Mr. Goren?” Without waiting for my answer, she opens the back door and hollers for Stephan. He runs, barreling through the back door. “There’s a man here from Warsaw,” Sophia says. “He’s come for Anna.”
I walk between Stephan and Sophia into the front room. Jerzy follows behind us. Mr. Goren nods at me and turns his attention to Stephan. “I’m here for Anna Bauman, daughter of Henryk and Sara Bauman, formerly of Warsaw.”
“There must be some mistake,” says Sophia. “Anna’s name is—”
“Karwolska, I know,” says Mr. Goren. “It’s an assumed name, a false identity.”
They both turn to me. Stephan quickly looks up to the ceiling, but Sophia’s eyes fill with tears. She’s searching my face. I can’t bear to look into those eyes.
I don’t like Mr. Goren. I’m not sure what will happen to me if I leave Stephan and Sophia. Still, I have to know. I look at Mr. Goren. “My parents?”
Sophia lets out a sob and leans against Stephan.
“The important thing is getting you back to Warsaw,” says Mr. Goren. Why is getting back to Warsaw the important thing? I’ve seen the photos in Stephan’s newspaper; the entire city was flattened.
I gather my courage and ask, “Are my parents alive?”
Mr. Goren forces a smile. Really his mouth is just a thin line stretched across his face. “I don’t have all of the details, but I’m only sent to find children who have family to care for them. So someone in your family has survived. We should leave immediately.”
One, maybe both, of my parents are alive.
“You can’t leave immediately,” Sophia insists. “You must stay for dinner. Departing in the morning would be much better.”
Mr. Goren stands stiff and straight. “It’s such a long journey. As you can imagine, the roads are very bad. I’m sure Anna would prefer we leave at once.”
“I’ve been ill,” I lie. “It’s not possible for me to travel today.”
Mr. Goren joins us for dinner. It’s arranged that Mr. Goren will stay in my room, Stephan will sleep with Jerzy in the living room and I will share the bed with Sophia.
Sophia helps me pack. Three drawers hold my clothes, the red coat and a few books. She places my things in the bag with flowers embroidered on the side. I trace my finger around a red rose, remembering how this bag helped on our secret mission for the newspaper. “The flowers are beautiful,” I say.
“My mother made it,” says Sophia. “I want you to have it.” She sets the old school uniform in the bag. My mother’s cloth is tucked into one of the pockets.
I follow Sophia to her room and she sets the bag next to her bed.
Lying next to Sophia on her big bed, I’m more awake now than I was when I opened my eyes this morning. I know Sophia’s not sleepy either. She reaches for something beside her bed. “I have something for you. I just found this yesterday.” Sophia passes me a book with a strip of cloth marking a page near the end. “Go on, open it.”
I open the page to a poem: To the Young by Adam Asnyk. After glancing at the first few lines, I know it is the poem Papa said to me so long ago. I push the book to Sophia. “Will you read it to me, please?” I close my eyes as she speaks the words, strong words. We’re both silent when she finishes.
I open my eyes and find Sophia’s eyes locked on mine. “Perfect words for a new beginning,” she says. I nod. My eyes are filling with tears. “Anna?”
The Safest Lie Page 13