by Helen Burko
“Hunger, cold, and hard labor was our lot, and only a healthy man like me could have survived. Almost every day,” Jacob told her sadly, “people died, but I clung to life with all my strength. I had determined to survive at any cost and be free once again. I didn’t lose the hope that I would someday return to my peaceful home. My wife and child are no longer among the living; of that I am certain.”
“And how did you escape from the camp?” she asked after hearing his grievous tale.
He inhaled from the cigarette that already burned his fingers and continued his story in the same sad tone. “I had tried to escape a few times and failed, but I was too thirsty for the freedom I was used to in my country, and even though there was nowhere to escape to, only fields of tundra, forests, and lakes, I tried my luck again and again. I was like a bird that couldn’t stand being caged. Once, when the Russians moved a few hundred prisoners—me among them—to a different camp, I managed to leave the group and hide in a ditch beside the road.
“I stayed there for two whole days, and I was sure the end had come for me. I was hungry and couldn’t even find wild seeds. I ate weeds like an animal. Then I began to walk, without knowing where I was going, because I knew that if I didn’t reach civilization, I would die of hunger. The next day I came to a village where released prisoners who had served their sentences but were not allowed to return to their homes lived. Here they had a certain amount of freedom.
“The men of the KGB discovered me immediately. They grilled me interminably. I pretended to be a Polish citizen with a fake name. I did that because I knew if they thought I was a Polish citizen, they would treat me better than as ‘an American spy.’ In this way, I also wanted to hide my prison sentence, although I knew doing so might cost me my life. The KGB men moved me to a camp where there were other Polish prisoners.
“This saved me!” he revealed to the young woman who listened so intently. “If I hadn’t pretended to be a Polish citizen, I’d still be stuck in that camp doing hard labor and maybe have died of hunger like thousands of others. To tell you the truth, I didn’t know at the time what made me do it. One day, I was released with the other Polish prisoners from the camp. It was more than a miracle. We couldn’t believe our ears. We weren’t sure it wasn’t a dream or an illusion. Finally, we were told that, because Hitler had attacked Russia, a Polish army was being organized on Soviet soil under the command of General Anders. This army was to go to Iran and, afterward, when a second front was opened, be a fighting force.
“Yes,” he continued in a more courageous tone, “the released prisoners were as happy as I was, although my disappointment came quickly because the Polish army in exile would not accept Jews unless they could prove they had served as officers in the Polish army before the war. But at least now I was free, although I couldn’t leave Russia. My only hope was that this horrible war would end quickly and I would be able to return to my home.”
“You really suffered a lot,” said the young woman who had listened with such interest to his story.
“Yes, a lot,” he agreed, “but that isn’t all. To stay alive, I began to do business in Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan, one of the Soviet republics. Most of the released Polish prisoners were concentrated there. I sold used clothes, like many others. I was arrested by the KGB many times, but I was now a privileged Polish citizen, and after a few days, they always released me.”
“And how did you get out of Asia?” she asked him. “I know how difficult it is to obtain the proper documents.”
“Sure,” he told her trustingly. “For months I have been traveling, sometimes on the roofs of the carriages, or on the steps, and sometimes inside when I have managed to bribe the conductors.”
“And you have no documents at all?” she asked again.
“Except for my labor camp document, I have no other papers. To tell you the truth, there is no better document these days, but as I said, I have no paper that will get me out of here.”
“And you’re ready to travel on when the opportunity presents itself?”
“I have no choice. I can’t stay here much longer, for what would I do in a strange Ukrainian city?”
“But you have other means?”
“I have a little money.” He looked around instinctively for fear someone might be listening to their conversation.
The young woman didn’t ask any further questions and sat there thinking. He sat and thought, too. They both glanced at the sleeping people whose snores filled the hall. The smell of their perspiration made the air almost impossible to breathe. The rain still poured down, and large drops beat on the windows that were cracked here and there. Rain seeped through the cracks, crawled down the gray walls, and dampened the floor next to the walls. None of the people lying there paid any attention to it.
“Yes, that was really very tragic,” the young woman said suddenly, “but that’s how war is. People die or lose their way.”
“Yes, that’s how war is.” He repeated her words a little cynically, still under the influence of his memories. “But who needs these wars!”
She didn’t answer his question but only commented. “Well, what was…was. Give me another cigarette.”
Her smile put him in a good mood again. He gave her a cigarette and lit one for her and one for himself, inhaling deeply and exhaling smoke that curled around them.
They both sat there quietly and smoked. He felt relieved now that he had unburdened himself to the young woman, even though he still didn’t know who she was. Thinking of that, he said, “You see, I have told you all about myself, trustingly, as though I have always known you. Where are you from and where are you going?”
“I don’t know myself from where and to where.” She smiled. “I travel because everybody is traveling. After all, one must go someplace.”
He looked at her wonderingly and couldn’t understand her obscure answer. “Aren’t you one of the returnees like the rest of them here?”
“Yes,” she answered somberly. “I’m also one of those who were sent to Germany. I survived because I look like an Aryan…”
“You’re Jewish?” he said in wonder. “I wouldn’t have believed it.”
“I don’t look like it, right?” She smiled again. “Thanks to my pure Aryan looks, I succeeded in surviving the war and returning my birthplace.”
“Hmm, a pure Aryan look,” he said sarcastically. “How disgraceful that sounds and how humiliating! Should people be judged differently because of their looks? How physical looks can deceive you! I, too, was thought to be an Italian or a Greek. It’s a shame those who created the theory of a ‘super race’ weren’t forced to look like another race,” he said with a bitter smile.
She wanted to say something about that. He saw her face contorting and her eyes glowing, but she said nothing. He was sure his words had influenced her. She probably had some grim experiences herself, probably heard insults heaped on her race and was glad those who believed in the purity of the “super race” hadn’t discovered her true origins. To prove his suppositions, he asked, “You probably suffered no less than I did and maybe more, right? Which camps were you in?”
“In many different ones,” she answered listlessly. “I was in the camps for a while and in different towns.”
“In towns? So you weren’t in the camps all the time?”
“Yes…that is… I was in Majdanek for a while,” she explained, “but only for a few days because they moved me to a farm where I worked.”
“Do you have a number? The Nazis tattooed numbers on all their prisoners.”
“Not all of them and not everywhere.”
“Did your family stay in Harcov?”
“No, not one of them remains. When I was a child, I became an orphan. My father was an engineer and was shot by the KGB on a charge of sabotage, and my mother was also arrested and died in prison. I was brought up by an aunt in Harcov. My uncle was active in the party, and I was even a member of the Komsomol, the communist youth movement.”
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“Even though your father was a criminal, they made you a member of the Komsomol?”
“I was brought up by my uncle who was a party member.”
“What is your name?”
“My name? My name is Rachel.” She introduced herself a little coquettishly. “Rachel Kimmelman. It’s a nice name, don’t you think?” She laughed.
“A name means nothing,” he explained. “The person honors the name and not the opposite. But the name Rachel is lovely. I once loved a girl whose name was Rachel. She was beautiful.”
“Like me?” she asked with laughter in her eyes.
“Like you!” He smiled.
“I’m glad I resemble her or she resembled me and was also beautiful.” She laughed. “That means I am beautiful too, right?”
“Without a doubt.”
“That’s nice. And what is your name?”
“Jacob Barder, an attorney, as I’ve already told you.”
“May I call you by your first name?”
“Of course!” he exclaimed. “I’m glad we met here by chance. It’s just a shame we have to part and go our separate ways.”
“That’s not inevitable.” She smiled again charmingly. “I would gladly go with you, even to America. As I told you, I am all alone as you are, and I have no one to go to and no reason to return to Harcov.”
“Would you really be willing to go with me to America?” He held her hand tightly and couldn’t believe his ears.
“Yes,” she said confidently. “I only want to be where there is a person who likes me…”
“I’m ready to be your friend!” He put his arms around her so as not to fall from the suitcase he barely sat on. “I mostly need a friend…a friend like you…”
She gazed into his eyes and smiled. Then they both sat there quietly and mused. Their eyes met from time to time, and their friendship grew as the minutes went by.
The more they were silent and the more their glances met, the more he was attracted to her. He wanted very much to kiss her lovely lips, to hug her and hold her close. Her youthful charm made him a little uneasy. While he was confessing his secrets, he looked at her and saw how young she was, how beautiful and noble the lines of her face were. He could feel her body so close to his because of the crowded space they sat in, and it electrified him. He hugged her waist, and it made him drunk with a feeling that had lain dormant during all the years of the war. He murmured, “It’s always better when there are two, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.”
She permitted him to tighten his arm around her waist and hold her hand. She also put her arm around his waist, and so they sat close to each other like a pair of lovers, two young bodies hungry for a way to release their mounting passion. When he could no longer control himself, he pressed his hungry lips to hers.
“Oh, you men!” she murmured after she broke away from his embrace.
He seemed not to hear her words as he covered her face with kisses, unable to satisfy his thirst for the love and the warmth her body aroused in him. While he was kissing her, he slipped off the suitcase onto the heads of some people and pulled Rachel after him. One of the women awakened and shouted at him angrily.
“Son of a bitch! Who’s stomping on other people’s heads, huh?”
Right after her, a man woke up and filled the place with swearing and cursing at all the world.
“Couldn’t you find a better place to paw each other, huh? The hell with you!”
“Please forgive me,” said the embarrassed Jacob to the angry people. “It wasn’t intentional… Excuse…”
“Yeah, we know it wasn’t intentional,” the angry man said as he rubbed his eyes, but he was still half asleep and soon returned to his slumbers and began to snore loudly. The woman, who was sleeping under the same blanket, stroked her husband’s neck, pressed herself against him, and fell asleep again.
Jacob gave Rachel a meaningful look, and they both burst into stifled laughter.
“That’s what the war causes,” Jacob said with a broad smile. “You can’t even make love when you want to.”
“In wartime, it’s forbidden to love.” She smiled frivolously.
“Thank God the war is over and people will be able to make love without being disturbed. Let’s sit on the floor like all the rest. You can sit on my knees; that’ll be more comfortable. Come on!”
“All right,” she agreed and blinded him with her smile.
He sat on the floor, and she sat on his lap.
“This way, we won’t bother anyone,” he whispered.
“Maybe.” She put her arms around his neck like a small child sitting on her father’s lap. Feelings that had calmed down in the meantime were aroused once more. Again, he sank into a wonderful world. Nothing bothered him anymore, not what was and not what would be. These were moments of pure happiness, and they bound him closely to the young woman whom he still knew very little about. But, thinking of this, he asked himself, Why did he have to know any more? What did he care who she was? Passion, real passion, was international. The hunger for love was the same for everyone. This young woman, like a ripe peach, made him happy.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “I… I hope that we won’t ever part. If you come with me to America, we’ll fill out the parts of our lives that the war took away from us. We are both alone, and that binds us even closer. You can’t imagine how happy I am that we met. Even bad conditions sometimes bring indescribable happiness.”
“Shh… Shh, quiet.” She put her hand on his mouth. “This isn’t the time to talk.”
“You’re right, dear.” He kissed her fingers.
He couldn’t get enough of her. He calmed down only when dawn’s first light began to show at the top of the rain-spattered windows of the station house. The rain had stopped a short while ago, but they hadn’t noticed it. The night had passed like a wonderful dream.
After the rain came a nice sunny day. Someone opened some of the windows, and the scent of lilacs burst into the room. The sound of singing birds that had hidden under the roof woke up the sleepers. Most of them didn’t try to rise immediately, as if they knew they hadn’t a chance of continuing their travels.
Some of them lay there and stretched their stiff muscles and murmured through dry lips. They swore and cursed and vented their rage about the misery of their lives on all those near them. Some of them rose and went out, hoping to get a ticket or find some other opportunity to reach their homes.
With daybreak, the noise and bedlam increased. Those who had slept outside and were wet from the rain began to dry their blankets and the clothes in their suitcases that had also gotten wet. The air was full of their curses. Now the inside of the station house was not so crowded.
Two women in white aprons opened a wretched lunch counter where they sold a thin soup very cheaply. The people, standing in long lines, greedily gobbled up the watery broth from tin plates without spoons. Spoons might be stolen and also dipped in other people’s plates. Only one portion was sold at a time, and if you wanted more, you had to go to the end of the line and wait again. Nobody complained about the unwashed plates, just hurried those in front of them, so hungry were they for a warm drink.
“Hurry up… Eat faster!”
They looked with envy at the two soup sellers: to own a whole boiler full of soup!
Jacob and his new friend Rachel also joined the soup line. Their embracing and kissing hadn’t assuaged their hunger—quite the opposite—and they were very hungry and tired.
“Come on!” Jacob pressed the Russian who stood and ate in front of them.
The Russian’s long, thick mustache got in his way and was full of the soup, barley strewn all over it.
“Hurry up! We’re also hungry!”
“Let me lick the plate!” The Russian smiled as he licked his mustache. “I waited longer than you.”
Finally, they received their portion of soup, ate it quickly, and went outside. Only now, in the fresh air, did they realize how desensitized t
hey had become to the smell of the perspiring, unwashed bodies inside, and they thirstily breathed in deeply of the fresh air.
“How good it is outside!” she said as she scrutinized her partner in the light of day. Both of them examined one another as if to prove that their chance meeting had been worthwhile. Jacob was curious to see if the young woman was as beautiful in the daylight as she had been in the dim corner last night.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
“In the light of day, you look even more beautiful than you looked last night. Your hair is like gold, and your eyes are as blue as the sky, and you’re so charming; there’s no one like you.” He took her arm as if they were old friends, and they walked on.
She smiled affectionately.
“Where shall we go?” she asked.
“It’s all the same to me as long as we’re together,” he said, and he pressed her arm. “What a wonderful day! I haven’t seen one like this for a long time. Look how lovely the trees are, budding white buds like a bride going up to the chuppah.”
“All that’s lacking is the groom!” She laughed.
“The groom is here, too.” He smiled.
“Like in the fairy tale,” she joked.
Jacob felt carefree and peaceful for the first time since the war had ended. It had been such an uncomfortable night, but it had done him so much good.
Now they walked away from the station, treading on yesteryear’s dried flowers and new fresh green shoots. In the distance, they could see endless fields and, on the horizon, the silhouettes of trees.
Flocks didn’t graze here, as Jacob was accustomed to seeing in the fields of America. How far he was from there. A strong feeling of longing for his country seized him.
“We’ve gone too far away from the station.” She dislodged him from his thoughts.
“It’s so good here!”
“Ahh, yes… Wonderful!”