by Ann Arnold
She was still reluctant as the farmer said to her:
“Listen, Mrs. Schonwetter, my wife and I go to church every Sunday. You can get out on that day as long as you stay inside the stable. I’ll come by as often as I can with food and water for you all.”
“How will you feed us?” Stepping into the pit felt like accepting a living death.
“There’s a hole in the hatch,” he showed her. “I’ll use that.”
She slowly lowered herself into the hole, watching her excited children. They were … happy? Happy to be buried alive?
“Mamusia, you sleep on that side, and I’ll stay here. This way Zosia can be in the middle and stay warmest. It will be nice, Zosia. So toasty.”
The three of them lowered their bodies to the ground. As Mr. Ribba slid the hatch over them, Sala found herself desperately seeking comfort. Then she felt it: Zosia’s fingers, so tiny and frail, slid into her palm, instantly quelling her panic. Manek turned on his side and put his arm over Zosia so he could lay his palm on Sala’s stomach.
Her children. They were reaching out to her.
They would stay together.
One heartbeat.
Two heartbeats.
They would be fine. All that mattered was they had each other. This time when her eyes closed, she felt herself drifting off to sleep and let the last of her concerns go.
How she dreamed. Once, Sala was the wife of the wealthiest farmer in the village. A man whose family went back generations as prosperous landowners. People came from all around for Israel’s blessing. Her house was pristine, scrubbed daily. Her kitchen constantly filled with delicious food cooking, her apple cake cooling on the sideboard, making the house smell like a piece of heaven. But dreams had a way of turning into nightmares. Beautiful violets beneath her feet had slowly turned into broken attic floor boards that morphed into the floor of a grave beneath her. What happens, she wondered, when you cannot wake up from your nightmare? It becomes your reality.
The first morning when Manek asked how they were to go to the bathroom, Sala realized just how squalid living inside this hole would be. She directed him to turn onto his side and pee against the side of the pit. She and Zosia were not as fortunate in the way they were created. They were forced to just go where they lay. Ribba’s hole gave them little room to move around; they could not even sit up. The first Sunday when they got out of the pit, she never wanted to run out into a snow bank so badly to reduce the unsanitary aspects of their new life on her clothing. Who would think that she would thank God that they were housed in a stable? At least, she told herself ruefully, the stench blended in.
She no longer dreamed of her nice home or longed for her husband’s embrace. She closed her eyes and imagined the hottest, longest bath of her life. The water would be changed every few minutes with steaming hot water.
Her reverie was interrupted by Zosia’s eager cry:
“What happened next, Manek?”
“The dragon rose on the wind and breathed fire over all of the Germans until they were crispy flakes, like coal in the fire. Their fiery breath came so hot, it melted the machine guns into pools of shiny metal.”
“And then?”
“The dragons ate the Germans. They went crack and pop as the dragons gobbled them all down.”
Zosia’s laughter lifted everyone’s spirits.
They wiled away the hours trapped inside in two ways. Either Sala would teach them their letters and numbers. Or they would tell each other stories. Miraculously, stuck inside this pit of dirt, her kids used their imagination to build entire fantasy worlds. They launched on grand adventures filled with exciting chases and interesting lessons. Usually they included the Germans meeting a horrible death.
Their only daily reprieve was when Mr. Ribba came with their rations. Some bread, some water, and on special days, they even got soup. He would brush aside the hay and lift a piece of wood to give them their food. Sala would either hold their heads up slightly so they could swallow, or they would try to angle on their side, propping slightly up on their elbows, to eat. Afterward, Mr. Ribba would ever so carefully replace everything back to the way it was, so it did not look like anything out of the ordinary had been disturbed.
After weeks of living inside their claustrophobic hole, the noise of approaching horses made all three of them go deathly quiet. “What is that?”
“Soldiers,” Sala whispered, frozen with fear.
They fell silent, barely breathing. The horses’ hooves stepped right over their heads, it felt like, and a German patrol started talking in the guttural language they barely understood. When after a time they heard the voices fade, she saw Ribba and his piercing eyes looking down at her through the hole. “The German soldiers are stabling the horses here for a few days while they search for you in the woods. Stay inside and keep quiet, all of you.”
Having the Germans so close meant they not only had to stay quiet, but Ribba’s actions were under constant scrutiny. He still brought them water, though, masking his movements because he had to water the animals. He had one cow, a small herd of pigs and now the two horses ridden by the Germans. The stable was packed. What the soldiers didn’t realize was not only was their prey hiding beneath their feet, but by bringing in the horses, they increased the heat inside the stable. The Schonwetters were forced to take their coats off to cool down, though Sala warned the children to not get used to it.
She continued their daily routine, starting with their alphabet. Keeping one ear focused for sounds coming from above, listening for returning footsteps, she would have the children alternate reciting their letters in a whisper. Then she had them do the same with their numbers, forcing them to count as high as they could go. There was barely any light, save a small beam that was cast through a crack in the floorboard, so next she would make the numbers and letters with her fingers, drawing an invisible character on their forearms and quiz her children. Their bodies might atrophy from being stuck in a prone position for so long, but their minds would continue to be nimble and quick. “What is four plus four?” She quietly whispered. Each of them would make the answer using their fingers. Sala would feel for their answers, smiling when they both got it right. These types of games not only taught them, ate up their waking hours, but also was a way for them to feel they were playing while still keeping quiet.
Her ears were constantly straining to hear the soldiers return.
No matter how she felt about how things had turned out in the forest, she hoped they did not find Fish, Ignash and Romek. Before she left, not realizing she would not return but perhaps anticipating it, she had warned them not to leave their hiding place until the farmers started to plant, but the chances they would listen to her seemed slim.
When the Germans finally left, they let out an enormous sigh of relief. “What do you think it means, Mamusia?”
“The front is getting closer and the Germans more desperate.”
“This is good?”
Sala smiled at her two curious children. “This is very good, my loves.”
They could hear the sound of soldiers on the wind sometimes. Sala had learned this had become a war of nations. The German voices made them shake with fear. But the Russian ones gave her and the children hope. If the Russians were beating the Germans back, perhaps the war would not continue forever. Perhaps, please God, perhaps they would get to live again. The Germans hated the Russians almost as much as the Jews. Surely if the Russian voices were growing closer it was a good thing?
Farmer Ribba, however, had been spooked. He came to them a few days later in the middle of the night and ushered them out of the hole. Sala was petrified that he was going to tell them to leave. Winters were harsh in the Jaworze Forest. “What is the matter?” she whispered.
“We cannot take a chance that they will come back. I have dug another hole. Come with me.”
Ribba walked out of the barn and across to the pigsty. To her disgust, Sala saw that right under the “house” for the pigs was anoth
er hole that Ribba had dug for her and the children. She could tell he must have been digging a little each night and then trying to spread the dirt all around, to keep from drawing attention to what he was doing.
“A stable they might think to look for hidden Jews, but a pigsty, no one would ever think, or even want to walk over here. You will be safer.”
Sala could not argue with that thinking, but the thought of living beneath the pigs turned her stomach. She ushered the children down and into the hole. Just before Ribba placed a wooden slat over the opening, he turned to them.
“I will come back when you can come out into the pen to stretch your legs. I will take the pig out and only bring it back if the Germans are near. But stay hidden just in case. I will be back with some bread and water tomorrow.”
He then left as quickly as he came, and Sala pulled the children close. Their plight had come to this: she was now beneath the one animal that she grew up not only avoiding, but that was also the symbol of loathing in the Jewish religion. How appropriate, she thought.
That Sunday, while most of the town went to church, Ribba returned and let them out into the pen. They only had a short time to stretch until the parishioners finished their service and started to make their way back to their homes. They huddled in the pen. Manek did as he always did: he looked out through the slits in the fence at the world outside with a dreamy look in his eyes, along with a sadness that broke her heart.
Zosia went to kneel next to him. “Manek, after this war is over, I am going to get you something special to eat. No one really knows about it. It is dark, and sweet, and melts in your mouth. It is called ‘chocolate’!”
“Oh please, nothing like that exists. It is just another one of your fairy tales, but I must say, you have a huge imagination!”
“No, it does, it does, I promise!”
“Let me tell you, little sister, what we are going to do after this war is over. I am going to let you fly! We are going to go on a machine called a plane! It flies in the air, and we will be able to go anywhere you want!”
Zosia, already upset that her brother did not believe her story, rolled her eyes. “Oh I do not believe you! There is no such thing as that. Stop lying. That would be too heavy, and you would need a rope to hold it up. Now who has the huge imagination?”
Sala chuckled to herself listening to her children’s banter. She silently prayed that one day they would each live out the other’s dreams.
* * *
It was quite some time until they were let out again. More German army units kept appearing in the area, and each time Ribba feared they were nearby, he would put the pig back in the pen above them. No one would ever look under a pig. Yet at the same time the conditions in their grave became almost unbearable. The boards above them that hid the opening of their hole had slits that could not hold out the excrement and urine that would come free flowing from the pig. They were rained upon with the pig’s waste, and there was nothing they could do but turn as much as one could to try to avoid it entering their mouth or nose.
She wiled the days away with their usual games. Zosia and Manek would use her fingers as dolls. Just feeling their tiny hands within her own palm would give her the strength and resolve to carry on. She would try to make up the wildest stories, and in each the pig became just as big of a villain as the Germans, with both their fates destined for destruction. Although she was so proud of her children for their endurance, she was heartbroken that their experiences were so demeaning and stunted.
When Ribba finally came one day at dusk to let them out, she thought she would cry with relief. She didn’t realize until she got out that it wasn’t just the pig that had heated up the pit; the weather had turned. Poland was emerging from its icy grip.
“Mamusia?” Manek called, sitting by the door of the sty staring out at the livestock. He and Zosia had been whispering while looking out through the small holes, as they always did. “Why is it the chickens can run free and we cannot? Why are we less than the chickens?”
“Yes, Mamusia. Why?”
“All these animals, they can look for food when they want, they can play when they want, and they can run around when they want. We are so much bigger than those little birds, but we have to stay here.”
Sala knelt before her children and hugged them tight to her chest. “One day,” she promised. She put a hand on each of their shoulders so she could look them both directly in the eye. “One day, I swear, you shall run as free as the chickens and be as wild as the wind. You will climb trees, and race with your friends through the trees, and walk in the sunshine, warm upon your faces. One day this war will be over, so be patient, my children. We will be happy once again.”
“One day, Mamusia.”
They were alerted by a commotion. Sala stood and rushed over to the door. What was all that noise? What on earth?
Then she found out why.
Three German soldiers rode into the farm as if they owned everything they saw. They were thick with glowing health, their uniforms pristine as their shining horses’ coats. In comparison, she and the children were pale skeletons that would crumble in one good gust of wind. She saw the Ribba family running out their back doors in fear.
What should she do?
One heartbeat.
If they stay, they’d be found. If they were found, they’d be killed.
Two heartbeats.
What should she do? Israel, what should I do? His laughing visage filled her mind. You, my Sala, will always run toward danger when the entire world would scamper away. The difference between you and fools is that when others would get burned by the fire, you will always find a way to tame the flame.
Run toward the danger.
She silently asked her two children for forgiveness and then slapped each across their face. Grabbing each of their hands, she ran out of the pen. She knew she could not be found hiding in a pigsty. She ran right up to the soldiers before they could see where she was coming from and started screeching at them in Polish. “Did you see him? Did you see the monster? Have you seen what he did to us? Look at my children, they are wasting away. He will not feed us, he barely lets us out of the stable.”
“Wait, wait, lady. Not so fast.”
Sala turned to the soldier who seemed to understand her language and began her tirade from the beginning. She felt Zosia hiding her face in her skirts. Manek was trembling next to her leg so hard, she could feel it throughout her body. “You speak Polish?”
“I do, but you must speak slowly. What has happened here? Why are these children so malnourished? They are bone thin and filthy!”
“This pig of a man. We were in the next town, but when the fighting came and my husband died, we left. The man here told us that he would take us in, feed us. But he was cruel. They do not give us enough food to eat, he treats us as animals.” She felt the bile rise in her throat as she spoke the unkind words.
Manek took off running.
“Come back!”
She chased after her son, and the soldiers followed her. Manek ran into the house and dove underneath the bed. Sala looked between the confused soldiers and her cowering child, quickly picking up her tale. “See what I mean? The monster who lives here beats us every day. This is why my son is so afraid. He thought you were coming to beat us as well.”
“He really does not feed you? He has a cow for milk.” He pointed the lone cow in the pasture.
“Never. The milk is not for us. The bastard,” she spit out the word from her lips.
“This is not right.”
When the soldier said those words softly to himself, she knew they would be fine. The German soldiers were not like the SS. Most of these men were conscripted into service, and they might not have any love for the Nazis at all. Kneeling on the floor, she reached under the bed to pull her son out. “Come, my child. These are good men. They are not like the monster who has held us prisoner for so long. They will not hurt you.”
She heard the soldier translating the
situation to the others. When he was done speaking, one of them gestured to Manek under the bed. He managed the one word “Come,” which told Manek that he did not have to hide.
Outside, she saw they had thrown a rope on the cow and were preparing to take him.
The soldier gestured to a bench for her to sit with the two children. “You will wait here, lady. We will come back here with food for you and the children. When the man returns from wherever he’s run, tell him he can come to our camp to get his precious cow back.”
“What will you do?”
“Not your concern, lady. We will explain the proper way to treat future German citizens from now on.”
Sala could not feel relief. She did not feel anything. This war had taken so much from her. She had nothing left to lose. Her family was gone, her dignity had been stripped away, and the ease with which she could lie stunned her. Survival had become an instinct she blindly obeyed.
The soldier who spoke Polish did return and brought them bread, cheese and even some jam. He told them that if they needed anything else, they were stationed nearby and she should come to them, because they would provide her and the children with more food. Who would have ever thought?
They ate it all outside, enjoying the fresh air. Sala let the children stay where they were, reluctant to force them back in the hole. Not until later in the evening did Mr. Ribba come creeping out of the woods. When he saw them all in his front yard, as bold as you please, he jumped with shock. “You’re still here? I thought you all … I mean, we thought we heard gunshots.”
“Gunshots? No. No gunshots.”
Ribba went into the house, clearly checking what the Germans might have taken. Once he went to the stables, he found his crushing loss. He rushed over to her, his eyes bulging from his face.