Together

by Ann Arnold

  “We aren’t in your way, are we?”

  “Of course not. I am Bronca, I live just down the street. Who are you?”

  “I am Francizka, this is my son, Maryan; and my daughter, Zofia. We are from Brzostek. The war came to our village. We barely got out before the fighting came, so we couldn’t bring anything other than the clothes on our backs.”

  “But where is your husband? Your family? Why are you traveling alone with two children?”

  Sala couldn’t stand telling another set of lies. Making up another story to save their lives. She was hungry and tired, too. When she looked up at the woman, she suspected all of the defeat she felt was reflected in her eyes.

  Bronca took a deep breath, and Sala recognized the look of compassion in her eyes. She had seen that kind expression in others, like Antony and Heniek. “You know what? Why don’t you and the kids come to my house and I will give you all something to eat.”

  It felt like a dream. Sala soon found herself seated at a table with Manek and Zosia, looking down at big bowls of borscht and potatoes. When she felt the tears coming from her eyes, she hid her face in her hands. Bronca squeezed her shoulder. “Eat, children. Your Mamusia will start in a minute.”

  After Bronca filled their bowls twice, and they had practically licked them clean, she had the children bed down on blankets in front of her fire while the two of them talked. Sala hoped whatever this woman wanted for her kindness would be a payment she could find it in herself to give.

  “Do you have anywhere to go?”

  “No. I thought if we kept ahead of the fighting … but there’s no food and the children are getting so frail.”

  “Okay, okay.” Bronca patted her shoulder again and handed her a clean cloth to wipe her eyes. “My husband and I have plenty of room. Why don’t you three take our spare room? You can sleep, eat, get fat again. We’ll help you. It is the right thing to do. What do you think?”

  “I couldn’t impose.”

  “Nonsense, it will just be for a little bit.”

  Sala’s emotions almost choked the words from her throat. But this kind woman was waiting for her to accept and she could not refuse. “Your gracious offer is beyond anything I ever imagined.”

  “My man will love having a boy around the house again.”

  “You are very kind.”

  “Not at all. I’m a wife and a mother myself.”

  “Which means?”

  “I’m practical. More bodies in the house during the winter makes it easier to heat.”

  They laughed heartily until they saw they were bothering the children, so they hushed each other. Sala remembered a conversation like this she had with her husband once, and it made her feel at home.

  Late that night, the children were unable to sleep from their long nap during the day, so she was able to softly explain what they would be doing while the rest of the house slumbered.

  “But, Mamusia, how will we be like everyone else?”

  “We will pretend,” she told Zosia. “Don’t you like having a warm place to sleep, food in your tummy and being clean, really clean, for the first time in years?”

  “But how?” Manek asked.

  “Follow the others. Do as they do. We must try, my children. These people are good to us, and we need the time to eat and rest. Our bodies are getting weaker from being on the move so much. Here we can recover.”

  Since the village was located on a major road, refugees began to stream through every day. Sala was thrilled that for once they had arrived first, so they already had a place to stay. Bronca took very few other people into her home, but she did her part, as the rest of the good-hearted folks did. Polish people were helping other Polish people against inconceivable odds of death, disease and starvation.

  With all the activity came soldiers as well. Mostly they would drive through without stopping. Once, though, a jeep filled with men wearing uniforms with shining buttons pulled into the village center and stopped. Sala was outside playing with Zosia. When she felt one of the officers’ eyes linger on her, she made an excuse and hustled her daughter inside. The man made her so nervous, she kept the children inside as much as she could after that.

  That did not help the problem that arose in the next few days, however. Bronca kept casting worried looks her way, and she kept biting her lip as if there was something she wanted to say but was too kind to approach her. Finally, like water building behind a dam, Bronca broke, while they were taking a walk through the village square. “I must tell you something. Some people have started to talk about you and the kids. We are such a small village that three strangers are bound to stand out and cause loads of gossip. People say you all are not what you say you are.”

  “Not what we are?”

  “They think you are a Jew.”

  Once again Sala recognized the only way to face this danger was to run full-speed towards it. “Who is it? Who is saying such things about us? Let me see if it is who I think it is.” Sala’s mind was moving faster than one of the German planes as it tried to decide how to respond.

  Bronca was taken aback by her tone, but she pointed out the gossiper across the square.

  “I knew it. I knew that is who you would say. I think she is the one who is a Jew. She says these horrible things about me and my family to divert suspicion away from her own self. I am going to go and tell her just what I think of her wicked ways.”

  “No, Francizka. No. Let me take care of it. Do not start any trouble now. We must remember who the true enemy is.”

  As Bronca went to talk with the woman, Sala tried to think if she had ever had any dealings with her. She had no idea who the woman saying the gossip was. She could only hope that somehow this would stop her from making any further trouble.

  Lying to Bronca became a heavy weight on her soul. She also worried about how the children would cope if anything happened to her. Bronca and her husband were good to them, kind even. And Bronca’s husband clearly liked having a little boy to go with him into the fields and work the land together. This was a safe place, and if she still believed, she knew it was an answer from God to her. Zosia loved Bronca and was content to spend hours in her kitchen making bread or peeling potatoes. It was a very safe haven indeed.

  Finally, she decided that she could not deceive the woman any longer. “I must be truthful with you.”

  Bronca froze at her basin, dried her hands, and slowly turned to Sala. “What is it, Francizka?”

  “We didn’t know what to do anymore, or where to go. I just wished to protect the children. To be safe. You were so kind to us. I shouldn’t have lied when we met. I should not have made it worse the other day when you asked me about the gossiper in the village.”

  “You are Jewish.”

  She flinched as if Bronca had struck her. It had been so long since she spoke the words out loud to someone else. Sala almost turned around to look at the door, convinced that some German officers would burst through and shoot her where she sat at the table. “I am.”

  “I suspected as much when we met.”

  “We’ll leave in the morning.”

  “No,” Bronca said. “No, don’t do that. Stay with us, but don’t tell anyone else what you have told me. I will keep you as a refugee, like all the others. Let’s see how long we can get away with it.”

  “People are bound to talk again.”

  “You must watch what I do and copy me. Act like a Christian and the others will stop watching you. Tell your children each morning they should pray like everyone else. Each Sunday you will come to Church with us.”

  She had never considered such a notion. “We will try.”

  When she told the children that they had to go to church, she also told them that she was worried about how they would pass in a church, with everyone looking at them.

  “Mamusia, I can teach you.”

  Sala looked at Zosia with a questioning glance.

  “The family I stayed with last summer used to take me to church every Sunda
y. That was the only time I did not have to watch the chickens. I did what you taught us. I watched, I listened, and I learned. I can teach you and Manek what to do.”

  Sala had no words, she just smiled at her brave, smart child and hugged her. “Yes, we will learn from you. How about you start our lessons now?”

  That Sunday, they went to church. Things went fine at first. At the end of the ceremony, the children even enjoyed eating the communion wafers. There was only one problem. Young Zosia had never had to do confession, and now Sala found herself on line with some of the other adults waiting to face the priest.

  When it was her turn to approach the priest, Sala felt her heart beating hard enough to escape her chest. She entered the confessional and knelt before the robed man that sat on the other side of the wire window. She cast her eyes down, trying to decide what to do. She roughly understood the idea of this practice for the Roman Catholics, but she had no idea the proper way to do it. Thinking how much better she felt when she confessed the truth to Bronca, the sensation of again having someone on your side and not being so alone, she decided she would have to take a chance. There was goodness here. Surely that goodness extended to the church as well?

  “Forgive me, Father. I do not know what to do. I am not a Catholic.”

  The priest looked up sharply, and Sala almost sobbed when the old man smiled at her and nodded a few times. She knew he had seen her many times in the village, and he seemed to like talking to Manek and Zosia.

  He opened the barrier between them and placed his hand on her head to bless her. “You are a very brave woman. The war is getting closer to the end, and such a hero as you will survive.”

  Sala was shocked when he helped her rise. After the service he met her outside. He embraced her. “God will bless you, brave lady, and keep you and your children safe.”

  As she walked away, her eyes shiny with tears, the other women surrounded her with welcoming smiles. “Francizka, Francizka …” Sala jumped when she realized they were talking to her. “You must not have any sins at all.” Another added, “I’ve never seen the priest bless someone in person.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bronca smiled proudly at the other women in the village as she put her arm around Sala’s shoulders. “The priest was so nice and cheerful when he spoke to you. He must really approve of such a devoted lady.”

  The other women all joined in the laughter, and Sala took the first deep breath she’d managed since they walked inside the village church. When she felt eyes on her, she found it was only Manek, checking that everything went well. She gave him a fast nod so he wouldn’t worry and let herself be embraced by the female villagers.

  The priest hadn’t just blessed her in front of them. He’d given them an overt sign that she was one of them. She knew there would be no more gossiping talk about her little family. Between Bronca and the priest, she felt more secure than she had in years.

  The peaceful idyll would not last for long. Sala and Zosia were helping Bronca make borscht when the squeal of brakes cut through their idle talk. Sala looked at Bronca in terror, who shrugged. “Where is Manek?”

  Bronca looked out the back window, “He must still be in the field with my husband.”

  The thunderous knocking made them grip each other in fear. “Open up.”

  Cleaning off their hands, Bronca went to the door. Sala sat down, pulling Zosia on her lap. In came two officers she’d never seen before, though judging by the lack of metal hardware on their chest, they couldn’t be very high up in the German hierarchy. “Where is the lady with the two kids? The refugees you have living here?”

  Holding Zosia’s hand, Sala stood up, determined to not bring any trouble on these good people. “I am here.”

  The man looked down at his notes on his clipboard and scowled. “Don’t you also have a son?”

  “No, sir.”

  Bronca tried to stand up for her friends. “What is this about, officer? This is a good woman, the priest is very fond of her.”

  “He is not the only one.”

  “What?” Her hand tightened on Zosia’s, who let out a small cry.

  “You know our commanding officer, Hauptbefehlsleiter Muller.”

  “Why, yes, I have met him in the square on several occasions.”

  “He is at the hospital, and has asked that you come to him. He demanded I come and get you and your children, a boy and girl. If you have only a daughter, I guess I was mistaken. We must leave, though. He is quite ill and needs you by his side.”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I can’t leave.”

  “If you have no son … why can’t you leave?”

  Her mouth opened and closed helplessly as her mind tried to come up with an answer. For once, she could not think fast in the face of danger. “Of course,” she said. “You are right. If I must go, I must.”

  Bronca nodded slowly. “If you will excuse me.”

  “Go, go.”

  Sala watched with yearning as Bronca went out the back door, recognizing the woman was planning on hiding Manek. She turned back to the officer, who was giving another man instructions. “Let’s go, lady.”

  The drive felt like it took hours. Zosia fell asleep, ensconced in her lap, her head on her shoulders. Her girl was nine years old, but given the lack of food for most of her life, her size was closer to a six-year-old. When they pulled up in front of the hospital, Sala was stuck in such a haze of fear and regret that she hadn’t said goodbye to Manek that she didn’t notice where they were at first.

  “Go inside,” the officer instructed her. “You are expected.”

  Sala and Zosia were taken to a room with a bed and some chairs. Lying there was the commanding officer from that day in the village square. At first he had just ogled her, but then he had spoken to her a few times. “You are here.” His voice was reedy and thin, and he had a strange look in his eyes. Sala tried not to recoil from the heavy antiseptic smell. “This is good.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  His eyes took her in slowly and her skin crawled in response. He licked his lips a few times and blinked his eyes. “Where is your boy?”

  “I have only my daughter.”

  “Very well.”

  “Why am I here?” You aren’t Jewish, Francizka, she reminded herself. You are a good Roman Catholic woman. The priest promised you and the children would survive. You were blessed.

  “I am taking you to Germany with me. I will have you tend my house and work for my family.”

  “Oh. I …”

  When the man’s eyes got a strange, detached look, she quickly shut her mouth. She didn’t know what was going on here, but she knew when she was about to push someone too far. “You leave for Germany soon. I am having my aide arrange your passage now. Go to the room across the hall and wait for me there. I will let your child go with us since she is so beautiful.”

  She almost sobbed. What was this man thinking to do with them?

  Feeling numb, Sala carried the still sleeping Zosia to the room across the hall.

  A few minutes passed before a new officer walked past the open door. She managed to lift her ravaged face and look him in the eye. “Excuse me, fraulein. What do you think you are doing in here?”

  “The officer across the hall said he has decided to send me to Germany to work for his family.”

  “What?” The man sighed and shook his head. He left without a word and she heard him stomp down the hall. When he returned, he was picking through a big ring of keys in his hand. “The man who called for you is not right in his mind. He is very sick, and the fever is causing delusions and ramblings. He may not even make it through the week. Go with your child. There is no need to come back here. I will make sure to tell the officers to not bother you again.”

  Sala nearly reeled in shock. The officer had to help pull her out of the chair. When they got to the back door, he used the key to open it.

  As she stepped through the door he held open for her, Sala
kept watching him fearfully as he closed the door. She turned back to the busy street, hoisted Zosia higher in her arms, and began to walk as quickly as she could. She thought someone yelled at her at one point, but she kept her eyes focused straight ahead, her feet moving, and her mouth tight.

  * * *

  Manek crouched down in a small hole surrounded by plush white snow, remembering the time he was stuck in a similar situation, waiting for Mr. Pilat to come and tell him it was safe. Bronca had rushed out to him and her husband to warn them German soldiers had taken Mamusia and Zosia away. Bronca swore Mamusia would want Manek to stay hidden until it was safe. In an authoritative tone, she told him to go behind the barn and hide. She would find him when it was safe.

  The problem was, he hadn’t been safe in six years.

  He was beginning to wonder if he, Mamusia and Zosia were the only Jews left in the whole wide world.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to remember how he made the time pass the day so long ago in the field, waiting for Mr. Pilat. One heartbeat, he seemed to recall. Two heartbeats. Of course, when they were in the ghetto, they had gotten used to counting heartbeats as a way to remind Mamusia they were safe.

  Mamusia.

  He hoped she was with Zosia. He didn’t think he would mind whatever they did to him. He just didn’t want them to scare his sister. She had so little joy in her life, she didn’t deserve to have anything bad happen to her. She was a very good sister.

  It was very cold. He could not stop shaking. He became very tired, and began to close his eyes. Funny how the more tired he got, the less cold it felt outside.

  “Maryan. Maryan.”

  Scowling, he huddled down farther. At some point it must have started to snow. Funny. Didn’t bother him at all. He was quite warm. “Maryan. Maryan.” Manek wondered why Bronca was walking around and yelling. Didn’t she know it was time to sleep?

  The next time he opened his eyes, he was not sure where he was. The kitchen perhaps. He was swaddled in a wool blanket, lying on the shelf over the fire that kept the room warm. His clothes felt as if they had been frozen and were thawing out. He was just so cold, he could not stop shaking and shivering. Bronca stood over him, trying to feed him something. She had a nice, gentle smile. She wasn’t as pretty as his Mamusia, but she made very good borscht and her husband had told him that a woman who cooks was much better than a beautiful one. Manek had thought to himself it would be better to find a woman who could cook and was beautiful … but as long as she could make that bacon stuff like Mamusia did that time, he would not mind. What was she putting near his mouth now? Was it hot tea? Soup? It really did not matter, as long as it was warm. He tried to take a few sips, and then slipped back into the blissful darkness of sleep.