Together

by Ann Arnold

  He kept drifting in and out of consciousness. He knew Bronca had changed him out of his soaked clothes, for he heard her mutter when she changed his pants, “So you really are Jewish.” He didn’t feel afraid. He just felt as if someone had emptied out his insides and filled him with straw. He couldn’t seem to move his body much at all, and his feet were just numb extensions from his hips. Bronca finally managed to get him to swallow some of her delicious borscht.

  He knew he was very sick. All he could do was sleep, swallow whatever Bronca poured down his throat, and cough. The cough was so bad it made his body quiver beyond his control. Manek knew he was sick, for he didn’t even have the energy to be afraid for his family. His dreams were complicated and mean. He kept seeing Zosia scared and alone without her big brother to protect her. His Mamusia was dead, laid out in the snow where no one could see her. He kept seeing himself running through packed streets as he experienced in the ghetto, desperately searching for them, but no one would help. No one had heard of them.

  They disappeared and all that was left was Manek’s plaintive cries.

  The next morning when he woke, he went up to Bronca and asked where his Mamusia had gone.

  “She had to go away somewhere with Zosia, but she should be back soon. Don’t worry, everything will be fine. Here, eat some breakfast so that you can get your strength back.”

  Manek was comforted by the woman’s words, but did not feel like eating much. His whole body hurt. Finally, late in the afternoon, the door opened. Sala and Zosia walked in, and Bronca’s sigh of relief could be heard in the next room. Manek rushed over to them.

  “Where were you? Where did you go?”

  Sala bent down to her son and gave him a big hug. “Oh, nothing important, we just had to go visit someone. Don’t worry about it, I will tell you all about it later.” She felt his head and realized he was feverish. “You do not seem to be feeling well, Maryan. Tell me what hurts.”

  Manek started to speak, but the coughing fit that overtook him did not allow him to get any words out. Finally, when he could catch a breath, he looked her in the eyes, “I am fine now that we are together again.”

  Winter 1945

  The thunder started the next day. This was not a storm but the ear-splitting booms of the artillery fire and cannons which had made up the soundtrack of the long occupation by German forces. Yet this time Sala and Bronca both realized that something big must be happening. They had heard talk that the front was getting closer, that the Germans were retreating. But Sala had learned a long time ago to never hope. That only led to disappointments.

  The next change they recognized was the refugees who had once streamed down the roads had slowed to a trickle. They no longer saw big trucks and jeeps with German officers rushing to and fro.

  She was working with Zosia in the kitchen. With the number of people the couple had taken in, someone always had to be in the kitchen to keep the never ending line of stomachs filled.

  “What is different?”

  Zosia shrugged as she worked on the dough she was braiding into bread.

  “I can’t put my finger on it.”

  Bronca came bursting through the door. “I see soldiers coming, but they don’t look German.”

  Then Sala realized she could no longer hear the sound of fighting. They’d lived with the echoing booms for so long, she hadn’t even noticed when they went away.

  How could such a storm as war end and no one marked it?

  “What does this mean?”

  “I think we are liberated,” Bronca grabbed Zosia, threw her up in the air, and spun the little girl around until she giggled.

  Sala did not wish to dampen their fun, but it had been too long since she had anything to celebrate. “We must wait and see who comes.”

  A few hours later, three soldiers banged on the door. The other refugees had congregated in the main room of the house, all of them jumping at the slightest noise from outside. By the time the soldiers came, they were almost relieved from not having to wait anymore. Bronca’s husband let them in. They looked around at the anxious faces staring back at them and began to speak rapidly to the group.

  “What are they saying?”

  “I don’t know,” Sala answered Manek. “Maybe they speak Russian.”

  One of the soldiers heard what she said. Addressing her, he spoke very slowly in badly broken Polish. “You are free.”

  This finally made their point, and the small group broke out into cheers. One of them even grabbed one of the soldiers and hugged him. Bronca’s husband brought out some homemade vodka. This apparently was one item that needed no translation. The Russians were happy to enjoy the celebration with the Polish refugees.

  Sala realized the Russian who could speak their language somewhat was trying to get their attention. “Germans? We look for them. Have you seen Germans?”

  “No,” everyone quickly swore.

  This seemed to be what they needed to know, and they left. Everyone broke off into their own groups as they tried to decide what they would do next. Sala took Manek and Zosia with her to their room.

  “Can it really be true? Can we be free, Mamusia? Is this possible? The war has ended?”

  “I hope so, Manek.”

  “Where do we go now?”

  “I do not know, daughter.”

  “Bronca is nice,” Zosia said.

  “She is. We will wait for a while to make sure what they said is true. They were Russian soldiers. We do not know if they are honest.”

  Each day brought more soldiers to their door, and always they had the same exchange. They were free and did they know where the Germans were. Then the questions changed. “Are there Jews here?”

  Sala froze. She wanted to scream from the rooftop that she was Jewish. Yet years of being on the run, being raised with her parents’ nightmares from World War I had taught her well. Why would they want to know that? Are they killing us, too? Would this hatred of her people ever stop? She knew Manek thought they were the last Jews left, but they would never survive unless she continued to be prudent. So she answered without the slightest tremor. “No Jews that I know of.”

  Bronca agreed with her.

  “You have a lot of people gathered in this house. Are you all from here?”

  “No,” one of the refugees answered.

  “We are from many villages,” Sala said. “Little places like Brzostek.”

  “Oh,” he waved. “You can go back there. It’s safe now. Everything in that direction has been cleared. I wouldn’t go the opposite way, though. There are still many Germans fighting rearguard actions.”

  The kitchen emptied out as everyone broke up to review this latest information. Bronca waited until they were alone to ask, “Why did you not tell them the truth? They are Russian.”

  “If I had told the truth and their intentions were good, I would have to face the village people next. That would make them distrust you and your priest. If their intentions were bad, there is no place left for us to run.”

  “You couldn’t win either way.” Bronca nodded. “I understand.”

  The next day they left for home. Sala gave the kind couple the largest jewel she had cached in her coat. She embraced them both, thanking them for all of the help and protection for so many months. It was still winter, and the cold was a bitter mistress, but Sala wanted to go back home as fast as she could. She still had their documents proving all that Israel owned before the war. She had the feeling they had to make sure to claim what they owned before the Russians or someone else decided to do it for them.

  Bronca and her husband were worried for them. Sala had told them about the Volkdeutsche who were given her house. She still had faith that Antony Pilat had looked out for the farm, even though it had been years since they saw him.

  “But, Mamusia,” Zosia said. “Why must we leave Bronca and her husband?”

  “We are free, my child. You can go back to being Zosia again. Manek shall take his name back, and I will no longe
r be called Francizka. We are Jews and we are alive. We must make sure that everyone understands the Schonwetters survived, and we are ready to reclaim our family’s legacy.”

  Sala didn’t share with her children she also had to see if there was any possibility their father had survived. If he was alive, she knew he would return to Brzostek. So they must as well.

  In spite of the frigid conditions they walked all the way home. Bronca sent them with packs of food and warm sweaters to wear, which helped. They kept moving, it felt like weeks as they made their way through snow and gale force winds, determined to make it to the home she barely remembered and she was sure was little more than a dream for Manek and Zosia. Whenever she saw trucks or jeeps coming, she would have the children hide in the bushes. She was not comfortable even being asked if they needed a ride.

  As they came at last to the house where she had been married, given birth to her children in and was prepared to die by her husband’s side, Sala almost wept at the sight. It was destroyed. A shell must have gone off track and landed on the house. It was empty, so at least she didn’t have to fight the hated Volksdeutsche for the home that belonged to her and the children. The windows were all shattered, and the debris of glass and wood shards were scattered everywhere. Someone had looted the interior.

  All of their possessions were gone.

  The only accommodations she could find, out of the wind and snow, was in the basement. Israel had set up a room for the occasional farm workers he hired. It had no windows, and was in the center of the house so there was some insulation. Once they used the scattered debris to build up a fire, she gave the children their instructions. They scavenged through the remains of the house and made a pile of their “booty” in the small room, which was the only place she could offer them as a home now.

  Once she realized they had pots and pans, she just needed food to cook.

  Remembering Israel’s promise to stockpile some food, Sala left her little ones by the fire to warm up. The caches inside the house were empty. The one in the second barn, however, contained a pile of frozen and badly damaged potatoes. She shredded the potatoes up as best she could with nothing but the knife she’d been given by Bronca’s husband and made them potato pancakes.

  The next day, she and Manek went back to searching the farm for any leftover stores of food. When she found a bin of wheat, she wanted to cheer. “Mamusia, the mill must be closed. What are we to do with the grain?”

  “You and I, my son, are going to grind it by hand. Just like my mama did when I was your age.”

  Together, she and the children managed to make a rustic, unleavened bread with their hand-ground flour. Such crude conditions were not the dream return she had used to keep herself sane during the years of running and hiding, but they were full and warm. They couldn’t ask for more. Though she knew they would never complain, not even Zosia. She kept them all inside the house for almost two weeks, living off the stores from so long ago. If Manek hadn’t kept pestering her with questions, she probably would have stayed for months, but her little boy was not to be denied.

  The children stayed at the house while she ventured into the village. Before long she realized her worst fears had come true. Even though the Germans had fled the area, their race-based hatred had tainted many of the Polish inhabitants. She heard people talking about Jews who returned to claim their property, only to be killed by those they had once called friend and neighbor.

  Sala wasn’t recognized. Years of hardship and being on the run had changed her looks drastically. Though she was standing across from people she had known for years, not one of them knew her. She mingled in the marketplace, eyeing the canned goods and small displays of flour with surprise.

  Brzostek was once a place where food was as plentiful as people’s smiles.

  No more. The war had killed her village’s spirit.

  Her purchases were small. She had no desire to draw any unneeded attention to them. When she was walking away, with her head bowed down, she froze at the sight before her. She would recognize those shoes anywhere. She quickly looked up and was stunned to see the man wearing them, Heniek. At first he did not realize who was standing only a few feet away.

  Sala followed him through the village, determined to confront him when he was alone.

  “Heniek.”

  He whirled around and stared. “Sala?” Without hesitation, he ran to her, stopping short when he realized she was not as happy to see him as he was her.

  “Why are you wearing my husband’s shoes?”

  She pointed at the shiny leather and unique stitching of shoes she had ordered specially for Israel the year before the war broke out. She had to send all the way to Warsaw for them. Israel had only worn them for shul and his most important meetings. “Those are Israel’s. Where did you get them?”

  Her voice was getting shrill as her breath came in pants. Heniek guided her to a bench and together they sat in the weak sunshine. He hesitantly began his tale:

  “The night they took Israel, I was at the station house. It was my night to stand guard at the jail cell. When I saw them bring Israel in, I knew it was not good. When the Germans left for the night, I went in and opened the cell where Israel was kept. I told him to go.”

  Sala closed her eyes as she pictured Israel inside her mind. He would have been confused. He would have been hopeful. “What did he do?”

  “I do not know.” Heniek shook his head. “All I am sure of was he left only for a little while. When he returned, I was shocked and demanded he escape. I begged him. Told him to run, to go find his family. Your husband, Sala, he would not.”

  “No. He wouldn’t.” A small sob escaped her lips before she could swallow it down.

  “Israel told me he would never be able to live with himself if even one person suffered on his behalf. He was prepared to die for his faith. He was fine with dying for his people. He could not live, knowing someone else had died, or been hurt in his place. He only asked of me one request.” Heniek paused and composed himself. “He made me promise him that we would help you and the children survive. He told me that you were a person that could endure the terrible odds.”

  Her sobs broke free and she cried for a long time beside Heniek. He sat silently, allowing her the time to grieve. When she finally recovered some control over her emotions, she encouraged him. “Tell me the rest. Please, I beg you. I need to know it all.”

  “I was part of the forced work detail for the Germans.”

  Sala tried to smile. “I thought they just did that to the Jews.”

  “No. They ended up commandeering us all. I was taken with a group of men deep in the forest. We were told to dig a pit. The Germans brought all of the Jews from Brzostek. Both the ones who lived here still and the ones they brought in from elsewhere. They lined them at the edge of the pit and …”

  “They shot them in the head.” She had seen this horror in the ghetto, in the woods, and heard others speak of such atrocities every day at Bronca’s.

  “Yes, ma’am. When they were done, the Germans told us to take what we wanted from the bodies and fill in the mass grave. I wasn’t going to take anything. Then I saw your husband and his shiny shoes. I took them to remind myself what an honor it is to walk in the footsteps of someone so courageous and honorable. I am deeply sorry for your loss. If you would like them back—”

  Sala stopped Heniek as he reached down to pull off the shoes. “No.” He looked doubtfully at her, so she shook her head again. “No. You keep them. Thank you for telling me, though. I am grateful to know the truth. And thank you for all that you and Antony have done for us.”

  “Sala, is there something I can do for you now? Please? I would really like to know I did something more for you.”

  “Is your father-in-law still alive?”

  “He is.”

  “Tell him that I am at the house with Manek and Zosia. Tell him I am ready to deliver on my promise.” Sala gathered her packages and slowly made her way back to the child
ren. She thought about the silly stories they used to entertain each other during the long hours of hiding. She finally had one to tell them, though this time the hero was their own father, and the grand adventure he went on was to protect his honor and dignity.

  The ending was not one she would have written. Only fairy tales end in happily ever after. What would be her ending? What would be her children’s? Only time would tell, but hopefully the ending of this chapter would give them comfort as they finished writing the rest of the story.

  by Ann Arnold

  In the end, staying together was the key that allowed my grandmother, aunt and father to survive the Holocaust during World War II in Poland. In the end they would find freedom. Freedom to grow up. Freedom to believe in their faith. Freedom for my Aunt and Father to find love and have children of their own.

  After giving Antony Pilat the house she promised him, Sala, Manek, and Zosia moved to Tarnow, the nearest big city to the village of Brzostek. There they were able to get help from the UNAID council. They also found protection in the greater community of surviving Jews, for, unlike my father’s fears, they were not the only Jews left. Manek had gotten pneumonia the second time he almost froze to death while hiding outside Bronca’s house. This led to tuberculosis, and when they got to Tarnow, he was sent for a couple of months to a hospital for treatment.