by Ann Arnold
His arms closed around her and set her down on her feet. Manek gave her a hug, though Zosia’s look of hurt outrage for being thrown over a fence cut her straight to the heart. “Quickly,” he said, pointing at a little house in the nearby lane, where he’d come from with the blanket.
Inside the house, Sala was startled when she saw a man passed out in front of the fire. “Don’t worry about him.” Antony shut the door behind them. “I poured enough vodka down his throat to drown the entire German army. He will be sleeping for hours, I am sure.”
“What of his family?”
“Sleeping off the kielbasa and vodka I fed them earlier. It took longer for this one to pass out.”
“Antony,” Sala said, looking at all the bottles on the table. “How can I ever repay you?”
“You are my family.” He picked up a pile of fabric from the bench. “These people paid me back with new clothes for you. I know what the conditions are like in the ghetto. Change into these and we will go. I found a family to take you in, and they’ll keep you safe straight through the winter.”
She gave Zosia clothes and helped her pull off her soiled, grimy dress. “New clothes, my daughter. Won’t that be nice?” The little girl began to pull on her fresh garments. Looking up, Sala was not surprised to see Manek was already buttoning up the new shirt Antony secured for him, his pants changed. “Is this right, Mr. Pilat?” Manek went over to Antony, who had chosen to take a guard position at the front door.
Realizing the older man was giving her the space Sala needed to maintain her modesty, she looked down at her clothes. These were the same ones she had worn for the last three and a half months. She was sure that the stench from them would linger in this house for a very long time. Her once sturdy light gray wool skirt now looked almost black, covered in the dirt and grime of the ghetto. The fringes were starting to fray and the waist was rolled over two times to hold the skirt up. In another life she would have been embarrassed by the small amount of her knee that was showing, but who had time for useless emotions such as those? She looked over to the clean clothes that sat on the table. They represented hope and determination. They would survive, she would make sure of it, they would all be together again. Sala swiftly changed into her new life.
Manek stood next to Mr. Pilat, trying to understand what he was doing. The older man kept his hand on his shoulder as the two of them stared out into the darkened night cloaking the deserted alley. When Manek tried to turn around to check on Mamusia and Zosia, he wouldn’t let him budge an inch. He was going to be nine years old soon. Zosia was only six, still a child. He was a man, though, and men knew how to take care of the women they loved.
“I’m ready.”
When the men turned, they saw Sala and Zosia both wearing new dresses, tights and shoes. Antony must have seen how thin they had gotten, and made sure the clothes he got for them were a smaller size. Although Sala had lost much of the curves that had made her a woman, the dress fit nicely around her waist. Zosia looked like a princess in her new dress that fit snugly on her already thinning frame. The children pulled on light coats, grateful for some additional warmth on the cool summer night. Mamusia had her same coat from home, the one with the special pockets she had never mentioned to anyone.
“Good. I will walk out first. I’m going through this door, down the street, and then I will turn a left and keep walking until I leave the city. Sala and Zosia must follow me, staying a few feet behind at all times. Manek, you will follow on your own.” Manek’s spine straightened at the older man’s confidence in him. “You will keep walking. Keep looking straight ahead at all times. Do not look down, do not look away or turn around. Put one foot in front of the other and keep walking. No matter what, none of you should stop for anything. Keep walking,” he stressed. “If anyone tries to stop you, just keep going. If they stop me for any reason, pass on by and keep going. Pretend you do not know me. Just keep walking, no matter what.”
Manek glanced at his Mamusia and Zosia. They looked scared, so he gave them a confident nod. They could do this. They could do anything as long as they were together.
Plus, escaping the ghetto had to be good for them.
“If you are ready ….”
“We shall be fine, Mr. Pilat.”
He looked at Manek and smiled. “No matter what …”
“Keep walking,” Manek finished for him.
The door opened and closed behind Antony without making a sound. Manek smiled at Zosia, telling her, “You should hold Mamusia’s hand in case she gets scared.” His little sister smiled at the suggestion and she took their mother’s hand.
Sala opened her mouth to say something to him when she got to the door, but he forestalled her. “I’ll be right behind you, Mamusia.” She nodded, and left as well, Zosia peering at him over her shoulder with worried eyes. They all had seen what the police captain would do to people suspected of escape. They would be shot in the head without question. Or worse, dragged into the center of the street and made into sport for his men. This was the life her children had grown accustomed to in the short time they had stayed in Dembitz.
Manek rested his forehead against the door as he took in a deep breath. One heartbeat. He closed his eyes. Two heartbeats. He opened them and let out his breath slowly. Time to go.
The streets seemed so dark that night. He had only been to Dembitz once before, in daylight, and in the town square, where people were always rushing about. Now, with the streets quiet, and no one around, it felt as if the moonlit shadows were about to come alive.
Manek held his head up high like Poppa, and he kept his feet moving in a steady straight line. He felt as if there were thousands of eyes staring back at him from the shadows, and he lowered his head. Looking down at his shoes, he thought about his father and his shoes. Mamusia had ordered them special for Poppa’s birthday just last year. They were shiny, dark leather with special stitching that did little loops over the pointed toes. He was always staring at those shoes, endlessly trying to walk the same way his Poppa did.
When he grew up, he wanted his Mamusia to buy him shoes that were exactly the same. He wondered where those shoes where. What was Poppa doing right now? Why had he not come to find them? When would he? He quickly stopped this train of thought. He had no time for aimless questions. This was not a time for answers. This was a time to escape. He had to keep walking.
He got to the corner and made the turn, as Mr. Pilat instructed. He might not be able to go to school, but Manek knew he was smart. He had learned all kinds of things, and he knew most of all how to follow directions. Far ahead of him, he could see his Mamusia and Zosia. They were walking quickly, but he kept his steady, even pace. Like Poppa used to in his special shoes.
The walk through the town felt like it was taking forever. He felt as if every shadow was filled with the Kapos, ready to jump out and attack him. He was terrified someone would open a window any moment and yell about the Jewish boy walking alone in the middle of the night. He wished he had a hat to wear so no one could see the dark fuzz that covered his head.
One step in front of another. Don’t look left. Don’t look right. Look straight ahead.
As he took each step, he could feel eyes on his back. Was that just his own imagination, or were people peering through their windows at him?
He wanted to run. It would be so much faster to just run and catch up with the rest of them. But Mr. Pilat was clear. He could not attract any attention. He had to stay strong, and swallow the fear that was threatening to take over. He could do this.
When he came to the last building, he saw the forest ahead of him. He made out Mamusia and Zosia disappearing inside the trees.
Manek hurried his pace just a bit.
He was so close. Once the dark trees would have scared him. He would have waited for Poppa or Uncle David to come with him and protect him. He would have been sure some terror lay in the black shadows that danced around him.
Now Manek knew that the worst nightmares lay
behind him in the light.
“This is the Jaworze D. forest,” Antony explained to Manek and Zosia. “We have a long walk ahead of us, but at the end is a nice house with a big roomy attic where you three can hide. They have food for you, and you’ll be safe. I know it will be hard to make the walk, but—”
“We can do it.”
Everyone looked at Zosia in shock at her confident willingness. The little girl stood waiting, eyeing the tall trees around them.
“Zosia—” Sala stopped as her emotions rose up and swept her words away.
“We can do it, sister.”
Zosia smiled at him and offered him her hand. They clasped their fingers together and looked at the adults. “Let’s go.”
Sala came awake with a start. They’d been hiding up here for five months, but it still felt as if all three of them were catching up on their sleep. Being the only ones inhabiting the attic was positively luxurious after months of living in a two-by-six-foot space. In the ghetto, even when they had moved to the first floor of the house that took them in, the space was still limited to the point of suffocation.
Checking on the children, she smiled. While asleep, little Manek kept one hand on his sister. This was her favorite time of the day, when she woke up and saw her children sleeping peacefully.
She retrieved the bucket they all used to relieve themselves and carried it to the ladder. Each night, before the children rose, she would make sure the bucket was emptied. Any chance she had to relieve her children of the discomforts of their new way of life she took with gratitude. This, to her, had become the meaning of being a mother.
“Together,” she mumbled to herself. That one word had become her mission, prayer, and plea all combined.
Outside, the countryside was wrapped in deep night. There was snow on the ground, but the owners of this place kept the paths cleared. She assumed they needed to keep the stable path cleared so they could tend their livestock, but she was still surprised at how often they went outside. There were so many footprints everywhere, it felt like an army must be walking around.
Emptying the pail, Sala trudged over to the well and brought up a bucket of water. Filling their waste pail with fresh water, she swirled it around and walked repeatedly between the cesspit and well to make sure their bucket was thoroughly washed out. The only way to keep the attic from stinking to high heaven was this little ritual she had adopted. It struck her as humorous that something her husband would have regarded as beneath her now provided her with a treasured precious few moments for herself.
The act of moving freely around, of breathing clean, fresh air, of being a mother again instead of a hunted victim—this was her second favorite time of her day.
The moon hung fat in the sky. Owls hooted from the trees not far from the house, and a lonely wolf howled in the distance. Good. No planes, automobiles, or marching soldiers. It was safe. Or at least, as safe as they could be. Sala took a few extra moments to use the fresh water to clean her face and hands. A bath was out of the question, something Manek took great delight in teasing her about. She, however, sorely missed the feeling of being thoroughly clean.
Returning to the house, she steeled herself to face the coming night. They had quickly adopted the habit of staying up at night and sleeping during the day. Less chance of being seen. She made the children sleep near a small window in the attic, for this was their only chance of getting sunlight. How would they grow without the sun? Sala thought of the crops her husband used to labor over with such care. He would want his children to grow as strong and tall as his corn.
Shaking herself out of such regrets, she forced herself to consider what they would do tonight. She used the time to come up with something to occupy the children to wile away the hours. A geography lesson, perhaps? Or no, she should keep them focused on their letters and numbers.
Before she went inside, she saw Mrs. Mordel struggling with two large buckets and a lantern. Hurrying over, she put her own pail down. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes.” The other woman glanced at the barn and then her with worry.
“Can I help? Do these need to go to the barn?” Sala started with surprise when she looked down into the buckets. One was filled with water and the other had loaves of bread wrapped in cloth. She thought she had developed a friendship with this woman, but now it looked like she had some secrets—
“My husband and son haven’t returned from their trip. They usually are the ones who take it.”
“Oh. They’re heavy. I’m happy to carry one.”
“I have a secret,” the woman blurted out before realizing what she had said. “You must not ever tell anyone, though.”
“Would you like to share it with me?” Sala resisted the urge to point out she had no one to tell secrets to.
Mrs. Mordel nodded her head. “Come with me.”
Sala hefted one of the buckets while Mrs. Mordel carried the other. When they got to the barn, the woman slid the door open a crack, wide enough for them to slip through but not so wide anyone could see inside. The barn was dark, so Sala lingered by the door. Mrs. Mordel cautiously waited until the door was fully closed before she lit the lantern. This same caution they took with the attic hatch.
“I’m hiding others,” Mrs. Mordel glowed with triumph. “We hide Jews in here, too. It is our way of fighting those Germans.”
Sala looked around the empty barn, not understanding what the woman was talking about. The Mordels were good people. They’d provided decent food and the children were beginning to thrive, thanks to their protection. Sala had met their son only once, but she swiftly realized why this gentile family, not Jewish, would care to do what they could for a group of Jews. Their son was mentally disabled. The Germans were quite clear on their stance on anyone deemed imperfect. They were summarily executed or sent away into the deep holes where they put people they wished to forget.
Those holes had many names that people gave them, but Sala knew what they were. Graves.
“Are these invisible Jews?” Sala smiled at her joke, planning on sharing it with Manek later. He was always so serious now. She wanted to put some light back into her little boy’s eyes … wait, no, not a little boy. She had to stop calling him a little boy even in her mind. He deserved more than that.
“I’ll show you.” Mrs. Mordel whistled softly, three long, plaintive notes. When the last one finished, Sala saw the hay in the loft above them move. The wall in the far corner also shifted, and out emerged … her cousins.
Sala took several steps forward, until the water sloshing over the side of the pail reminded her to set it down. “What are you doing here?” The anger she felt back in Dembitz returned swiftly to the surface.
“You made it out of Dembitz?” Isaac asked
“How?” Ringel stared at her with suspicion hardening his eyes.
Bunek tilted his head to the side. “Who helped you, Sala? Tell us, now. We won’t judge you if you gave the Germans—”
“I am sure it is nothing like that,” Isaac quickly inserted. He turned to Sala and smiled. “It wasn’t, right? I mean, it couldn’t be. We knew your parents and your husband. You would never collaborate.”
Sala flinched at the word, shocked speechless that they would dare make such an outrageous accusation. What? Because she was a woman, the only way she could survive was to make a deal with the devil? And the Germans were indeed the living embodiment of the beast to her. A woman, she thought, has more reasons than any man to find a way to survive. They risk their lives to bring new life into the world, and children become your life, heart and soul as soon as you feel that first fluttering deep within you. She survived because of two reasons. Manek and Zosia. This was all they needed to know.
“How did you do it, Sala? Tell us.”
"With no help from any of you." She looked at all three of them. “We got here on our own. We are fine, and this is all you need to know.” Turning to Mrs. Mordel, she smiled. “Thank you for showing me, but this trio means nothing to
me anymore.”
Returning to the house, she started to plan what she would teach the children that night. Numbers and letters. Building blocks to knowledge, they must perfect them before she would move them to more complicated subjects. They would count the rocks she smuggled in, and review the letters she was able to form using her fingers.
It was good to learn, for she herself just got the biggest lesson of all. Sometimes, when it is a Mamusia and two children, three was a much mightier number than six.
This was a lesson she would share with them in a different time.
Manek stood with Zosia as Mamusia spoke with Mrs. Mordel. A few weeks ago, the farmer’s wife had shown Mamusia her hidden cousins in the barn. Now sadness filled the woman’s eyes, and all her resolve to fight was gone. As she told Sala the events that had unfolded, all color drained from Sala’s face. When the farmer and his son were returning from town, they came across a German patrol. They were always on the hunt for runaway Jews, and suspected that some local Poles were hiding them. Truth be told, it was not only the Jews that were targets. Hitler had determined that the Poles were an obstruction to obtaining enough living space for Germans, so they would use any excuse they had to eliminate both. The soldiers asked the boy, whose mind didn’t work right, if he’d seen any Jews. He had. He’d seen Manek and he’d seen two of the men in the barn. When the German soldier demanded an answer, the boy told the truth. He’d seen two and a half Jews the previous night.