by Ann Arnold
“Zosia,” he dragged her back to Mamusia’s side. “Let’s do our numbers again. One …”
She blinked at him like an owl as her lower lip started to push out, which usually heralded a crying fit. She was hungry. She was dirty. There were bugs everywhere. Their heads hurt so much from all the scratching and itching. Manek didn’t blame her. He wanted to scream, too. “Two, sister. You are supposed to say two.”
She still wasn’t responding.
“We’ll try it again. One …”
“Mamusia,” Zosia cried, pulling on Sala’s arm.
She did not respond.
Manek got up and paced. He saw Mamusia’s shawl lying on the floor, so he picked it up, folded it, and placed it on her lap. Walking back and forth, he tried to remember what Mamusia did when Poppa disappeared inside his mind. Together. Mamusia kept reminding Poppa they were together. Maybe Mamusia needed to be reminded.
Going to her, he dragged Zosia to kneel beside him. He took Mamusia’s hands and placed them against each of their chests. “Together, Mamusia. Remember? We are together. Just like you promised Poppa.”
No response.
He pushed her hands harder into their chests, until Zosia scowled. “Mamusia … feel them. Feel us. One heartbeat.” He waited a moment. “Two heartbeat.” Sala blinked as if she were coming out of a trance. “What comes next, Mamusia?”
Again … silence.
Manek scratched his head and scowled at the sickening feeling of the insects walking over his fingers. Yet maybe that would be the way to get through to her. “Mamusia, I need you. There are bugs. Everywhere. I’m scared they are getting in Zosia’s hair too.” His sister’s pale blonde hair, like sunlight, was a source of great pride for his parents. “Everyone here is sick. I don’t know how to keep us well. I need your help. Zosia needs you. Mamusia … please.” The second word came out as a whisper to avoid the whine he knew was building. “Mamusia, I need you.”
Her eyes just stared at them, as blank as the people who lined the walls.
“One heartbeat.” He pushed his Mamusia’s hands to their chests. For once, Zosia was sitting quietly, not fidgeting, but instead staring so intently at her Mamusia. She missed her as much as he did. “Two heartbeats,” he prompted her.
“What comes next, Mamusia?” Zosia suddenly asked.
Zosia’s question finally penetrated her torpor. Sala’s gaze moved over their faces, and Manek saw her actually see them. She took in their desperate, hopeful expressions. She lingered on his long hair, seeming to see the lice moving through his dark locks. Over the haggard cast of Zosia’s face, the sallowness of her skin, back to the hollowed look of his cheeks. Weeks of barely eating were already taking their toll.
“Three … three heartbeats.”
Manek and Zosia threw themselves into Sala’s arms to hug her, overjoyed she had returned to them. She cupped Zosia’s face first. When she turned to Manek, she did the same, and then smiled sadly at him. “We are going to have to shave your head.”
This was when he knew they were together again, and things would be fine.
July 5, 1942
Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong. Her friend, the baker, was busy behind the counter, people were waiting for their turn. She shouldn’t feel a sense of impending doom, but she did. Sala hovered at the end of the line, trying to figure out why every muscle in her body was screaming she should run. Then she saw that she wasn’t the only one feeling uneasy. Her friend’s eyes were darting back and forth. To what she was doing, then Sala, and then … behind her. Someone was behind her.
That was what was wrong.
“I will have to come back,” she sang out. “You are too busy now.”
She hesitated outside the shop, trying to decide what to do. Once Manek had brought her out of the haze she had sunk into when they escaped Brzostek, she quickly realized they needed an additional source of food. Fortunately, she remembered a woman who ran a bakery in Dembitz. They were friends once, and the lady was kind enough to provide what extra rations she could to keep Sala and the children alive. A loaf of bread every few days was at least keeping Manek and Zosia from starving before her eyes. All she had to do was sneak out through the hole she had found in the fence and make her way to the bakery. The small opening at the bottom of the barrier was barely large enough for her to squeeze through. Not an easy feat—quite risky, in fact—but what choice did she have?
When the door opened and closed behind her, she caught the gleam of the uniform brass on the SS officers behind her.
No. Please, God, no. Life in a ghetto was a hell she had never imagined could exist. The German police, called the Schupo, was run by a man named Urban, who had no compunction about dragging Jews to the nearby cemetery and shooting them in the head, for entertainment. Gabler, the local head of the SS, was less terrifying. It was ironic to her that her own countryman was more frightening than the invader.
There was the Schupo to be frightened of, the SS to avoid if at all possible, and of course, the Kapo, the Jewish police, who were brutal in enforcing everyone else’s rules. These were the known terrors she faced with each breath she took. What was worse was the fate of the unknown ones. The people in the camp talked about life beyond the fence. Some letters came in. Townsfolk would smuggle food and trade it for fine linens or jewelry, and in the process the Polish people would talk about life outside. Information, the rarest of commodities now, was available if you listened hard enough.
And that information all said the same thing. Jews were being taken away and they were never heard from again. On top of the random killings, the massacres for no reason, the Germans were making thousands of people disappear. Sala was determined she and her children would not become part of that effort.
She started to walk away from the bakery.
The Nazis did not follow.
All she could think about now was getting back to her children. Sala quickened her pace, trying to look busy. She tried to imagine how a townsperson would look right now. A busy mother who was rushing home to her non-Jewish husband and children.
Night was starting to descend, and she quickly returned to her hole and slipped back inside the ghetto. As she rushed to return home, she quickly realized she was not alone.
“Not again,” she thought. Could nothing go easy for her? First the officer in the bakery, and now this.
There was no way she would lead whoever was following her back to her children, so she began to wander aimlessly through the ghetto streets. The ghetto was not large, a part of the city that was once called “Potter’s Circle.” It was considered one of the worst areas of town, and she never would have come here alone, at night. But now she called this home, yet walked around the four blocks feeling more fear than she could have ever imagined. Finally, one of the two German guards following her placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her and whirl her around.
“Where are you coming from?”
“Nowhere,” she replied as she tightened her coat around her.
“So where are you going?”
“I am just walking . . .” she answered hesitantly, and then an idea popped in her head. “You see, I am wandering around the streets because I am so confused. I am just so hungry and tired, I don’t know which way to go.”
They weren’t buying it. “You are lying,” the taller officer stated. “We saw you crawl through that hole. Where did you go and what did you get?”
She was caught. How would she get back home? She should never have left the children. Together: she promised Israel they would stay together. Sneaking out had seemed like the only answer to her problem.
You can’t stay together if your children starve to death.
Deciding honesty might be the only solution, she began to explain. “You’re right. I have two children. So precious to me, my children. I would do anything for them. You understand, though, yes? You must have mamas of your own. Or maybe even wives and children. You understand about needing to do anything fo
r your children.”
They glanced at each other. At least they did not take out their guns.
She continued on, afraid if she stopped the worst would happen. “They were so just so hungry. I went out to find some bread. Something that perhaps someone had thrown away or discarded. I found a little bakery, and there was old bread in the back in the garbage. I took some for my children.”
“Enough, lady,” the older one held up his hands.
“Please,” she swallowed with difficulty. “My children …”
“We will let you go, but remember that if we ever see you go out again, we will kill you without hesitation. Now, get back to your children.”
She did not need to be told twice.
The two men also turned to leave, and almost as if they did not care, one muttered to the other: “What difference does it make anyway? In a few days this entire ghetto will be eliminated, and they will all be dead anyway.” They laughed as they walked away.
Sala kept walking with her head held high until she was sure the guards were out of sight. She hurried back to the place she now called home, and she collapsed against the brick wall outside. What should she do? What was she going to do?
Manek and Zosia came out from the house. Her son was holding his sister’s hand, but they immediately froze as they sensed something was wrong.
Sala straightened. She’d find a way. They always found a way. Nodding to them, she ushered them back inside to go to sleep. They’d have to find a way in the morning. She only hoped it would not be too late.
The next day, Sala felt a familiar frustration. Half the day disappeared just getting the rations. She’d gone too long not thinking. Just surviving. She remembered her grandfather’s lessons in the forest, and she was determined to never make that mistake again. Standing on the line for food, she started to go through their options to escape.
Where should she go? Who would come with them? How would they get to whatever place they decided to go? There were no answers, just an endless stream of questions filing through her brain.
All she was sure about was they had to go tonight.
She was equally sure that before she took her son and daughter on the run, she needed a plan. Hopefully, she would be able to find someone who was willing to help them. Sala couldn’t imagine managing the escape without some help.
But who?
Looking at the people in line around her, those sitting on the ground, loudly slurping down the watered gruel the Germans called soup, she started to mentally rule each one out. Not the old. No other families. One little girl who loved to laugh loudly would be more than enough to handle.
Who?
Who should she tell? Who would come with her?
She couldn’t tell everyone. Mass panic would only make the Germans move faster, or worse, they’d send in Urban and his goons.
Then she saw Isaac. Her cousin.
Following him, she was shocked to discover not only had he been in the ghetto for a while, so were two of her other cousins, Bunek and Ringel.
“Sala?” Isaac hugged her tightly. She embraced each of these familiar forms, grateful to find a friendly face at last, and she just found three. Perhaps this was the answer she needed.
“How is Israel?”
Sala shook her head at Ringel’s question, not able to put into words her fear over her husband’s fate or her concern he could not have survived. He would have found them by now if he had. “I’m here with only Manek and Zosia.”
The three men looked away, instantly uncomfortable. She sensed that they were feeling guilty about something, and she realized what it was.
“You know.”
“Know what?” Bunek scuffed at the dirt with his shoe.
“About the liquidation. They’re going to kill all of us. We have to do something.”
“We’re going to do something, all right. What will you do?”
Sala shook her head at Ringel’s question. “I don’t understand you question, what will you do? I have to take the kids and escape. You can help me. Please. If you have a plan already, take us with you.” By this point she could see that they did have a plan. “Please. I need help—”
“Are you crazy? There’s no way we can take two little kids, if we even find a way out.”
Isaac held his hand up to stop Ringel. “Wait, maybe we can—”
“No. It’s been decided.” Bunek folded his arms over his chest.
Sala could feel the opportunity slipping away from her. She didn’t mind pleading with them for her children’s sake. “You know me. You have eaten at my father’s table, my husband’s table. Israel has helped each of you. Now I’m asking, begging you if I must, to help me. Help my children. Please. I know things, I might be just who you need—”
“No. You cannot come, not with two small children.”
Sala felt her anger rising. Her mouth fell open at the finality in Ringel’s voice. She wanted to yell. To be just like Zosia and let all of her frustration show. Yet a show of rage wouldn’t help. It certainly wouldn’t persuade them to do what she needed the most. She left them without another word, never looking back.
She had fallen into a feverish reverie as she blindly wandered the blocks, when a tug pulled her away from her dark thoughts. “Excuse me. You are a Schonwetter, right?”
Looking down into a small boy’s face, she nodded.
“A man over on the other side of the barbed wire, by that house, told me to go find the Schonwetters and bring them back there. He wanted to talk to them. You are her, right?”
“Yes. Show me.”
When she rounded the corner of the building, Sala almost fell to her knees when she saw Antony standing at the fence. He looked the same as always, though the dark bags under his eyes were new. “Antony Pilat,” she said, staggering into the fence. As their hands met through the links, she felt stronger already.
“Sala, I do not have good news.”
“The ghetto?”
“Heniek works as a guard at the jail. He overheard them talking and told me. Tomorrow the entire ghetto … the Germans are going to kill everyone without a work permit. You and the children are in danger.”
She swallowed so hard, she heard it. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I have a plan. Get the children and meet me back here tonight. I will get you all to safety.”
“Antony, I—”
Her gratitude for his generosity choked her harder than any noose could. Antony smiled, shook his head and squeezed her hands again. “Sala, get the children ready and meet me back here tonight.”
July 6, 1942
She waited for the darkest hour. Luckily, there were plenty of clouds to cover the light of the moon. Returning to the spot where she had seen Antony in the afternoon, she was sure for a moment he had failed her. He’d changed his mind or been caught by the SS. She couldn’t use the hole in the barbed wire fence she’d been using to get extra food. The Germans had not only closed it, they also put a guard in front of it.
Then Antony Pilat stepped out from the shadows of the doorway holding a blanket. “I’m here,” he said, smiling. He managed to throw the blanket over the razor wire on the top of the fence with one heave.
“The children will never be able to climb so high.” she remarked as she pulled her son and daughter closer to the fence. As she did, she realized Antony would see just how thin they’d all grown.
“Your Mamusia shaved your head?”
The question was enough to make Manek smile, and even Zosia, out of sorts since being woken up earlier for a surprise walk, joined in. “She took me to a man with clippers,” Manek answered.
“Better that than her kitchen knife, no?”
“Antony …”
“You have to get them over, Sala.” He indicated the fence, her arms and the children. “I’ll catch them. I swear it.”
Sala drew in a deep breath as her eyes swam with tears. The terror of her children being hurt beat at her like a physical beast, but she
recognized they had no other choice.
She had to do it. She just didn’t know how.
If she had still talked to God perhaps she would have asked him for help. Instead, deep in her heart, she called to her husband. Israel, I need your strength. Give me your arms, just this once.
Help me do this.
As she gazed at the children, Manek pushed Zosia closer to her. He wanted his little sister to go first. If she saw Mamusia throw him over first, she might get so scared she would start crying, or even worse, refuse to take her turn and start to cause a scene. He innately knew they could not take that chance. Picking up her daughter, she cuddled her close to her chest. “Coreczka, you know how much Mamusia loves you, yes?” Her eyes wide, Zosia solemnly nodded her head. She kissed her child’s cheek. “Your Mamusia loves you so much because you are pretty and kind, and you are—”
Without finishing the sentence, Sala hurled her child up into the air, closing her eyes. Her arms burned, and her shoulders felt as if they had been wrenched out of the sockets, but she had to throw her over that razor-covered wire.
Israel, she called in her heart, let her be brave.
When she didn’t hear a cry, she opened them to see Zosia safely nestled in Antony’s arms … on the other side of the fence.
As she turned to Manek, he stepped closer to her. Without need for direction, he folded his arms over his chest and nodded. “You can do it, Mamusia. Don’t worry. Mr. Pilat will catch me.”
This time she managed to keep her eyes open when she threw her child over the fence. Antony caught him easily in his arms. “You next, Sala.”
“Who will throw me?”
He smiled. Perhaps, if they could still find a way to see humor in the situations they faced, the Germans would not succeed in taking all the color from their world. “Climb to the top of the fence and then jump. I will catch you, too.”
“I’ll help him, Mamusia.”
She felt as if she could fly at this point. The wire fence was easy to climb, though decades had passed since her time of running after her brothers into the forest and climbing trees. At the top she had to go slower. Even though the blanket was covering most of the curl of the razor sharp wire, it was tricky to maneuver over it. Finally, she managed to climb over the wire and get to the other side without being cut. “Jump,” Antony ordered her from the ground. When she did, she made sure to keep hold of the blanket, determined to leave no trail behind of what they’d done.