Rebekah craned her head for a better look at the Pinkiert crew. “They’re wearing masks and gloves,” she said. “I didn’t think the fever had reached here.”
“Maybe it has.”
“I’d hate to be them—doing that all day. What a depressing business.”
“They’re well paid,” Shosha said.
“They’re helping on the Kirkut bridge—for nothing.”
“Don’t kid yourself, mama. They’ve been well paid for that, too.”
“How can you separate good deed from good business in these times?” Rebekah asked.
“I’m happy about Kirkut. That’s all I will say.”
The front door slammed.
“They’re coming,” Leiozia yelled.
Shosha stood and Leiozia appeared at the door of the drawing room.
“Greens,” she said. Soldiers. “We’re the first house.”
“Go upstairs—tell the boarders,” Rebekah said. “Get the furs.”
Shosha ran down to the cellar and opened a trunk filled with furs. She lifted out a sealskin coat. She heard pounding on the front door and her hands shook. She fitted the furs inside dust coats and rain jackets. She heard pounding again and loud voices and pricked her index finger pinning the collars and sleeves of the coats together so they would appear as one. She came up from the cellar, weighted with coats in both arms. She motioned to her mother and a soldier saw her.
“No time for that. No time for that.” the soldier cried as Shosha slipped a camouflaged fur on her mother. She gave the other coats to Leiozia and one of the male boarders, and she slipped one on herself. She took her mother’s hand and slid off the wedding ring and stuck it in her bra.
“Out. Out. Schnell! Schnell!” The soldiers marched four boarders and Leiozia, Shosha, and Rebekah down the stairs and into a van crammed with people. Shosha saw sanitary personnel enter the house as the van started down the street. It stopped at the church of St. Augustan on Dzielna Street, in front of an iron-fenced square crowded with people. Two women opened the van’s rear doors.
“Out! This way.” They herded the twelve through a gate.
Children cried. The old and sick and the depressed and hopeless moaned. Those with hope and defiance—or mental illness—swore and shouted.
“So—we sit, we stand, what?” Leiozia said.
“Mama needs to sit,” Shosha said. She led Rebekah where others sat along the fence. “Please, please—she needs to sit—she needs to sit,” Shosha said. “Here please.”
People standing stepped aside and Shosha lowered Rebekah, who today looked faint and old. She sat, huddled and singular, crowded against an old man on one side squatting and smoking a cigarette and on the other side, a woman of about thirty with her skinny knees tucked under her chin. The woman held one arm around her daughter, who stood combing her mother’s hair.
Shosha looked beyond the fence, at guards in green and blue. Her mother’s stomach rumbled and whined. She squatted and touched Rebekah’s cheek.
“It will be all right,” Shosha said. “We’ll be home soon, after they’re finished.”
Rebekah looked at her.
“How long can it take, right?” Rebekah asked. “We don’t have anything left.”
“Hey—spare a little?” Leiozia spoke to the man with the cigarette. He handed it to her and she dragged on it and handed it back.
“Ah—that was good,” she said. “You’re a good fella.”
The man squinted and smiled. Snow fell, at first a flake here and there. He opened his mouth and let the flakes settle on his tongue and lips.
“Shosha.” Leiozia said. She motioned with her head toward the corner of the square, at some people beyond the fence. “They have food.”
“So?”
“They’re trading.”
“For what?”
“What else—the coats.”
Shosha recoiled. “How do you know?”
“I’ve heard about it,” Leiozia said. “From the Aryan side. They bribe the guards. Everybody gets a cut.”
Shosha looked at her coat. Leiozia wrapped her hands around her friend’s shrunken waist. “You need food more than a coat,” Leiozia said.
Shosha bent down to Rebekah. “I’m going with Leiozia,” she said. “Just over there,” she pointed, “and not for long.”
Shosha and Leiozia pushed through the crowd, stepping over the heads of squatters and dodging obscenities.
“You have to take it off,” Leiozia told Shosha. “The top coat.”
“The guards will see.”
“No they won’t. I’ll cover you. Just make sure the traders see you.”
Leiozia stood between Shosha and the line of sight of the two nearest soldiers. Shosha took off the topcoat. She unpinned the raincoat sleeve and rolled it up to reveal the fur.
“Miss! You—in the brown coat,” a man said. “I’ll give you a kilo of chops for the fur—okay?” He stood next to two burlap bags tied shut.
Before Shosha could open her mouth, Leiozia interceded.
“Not enough,” she said. “The fur’s worth more. Never worn and top quality.”
“One and a half kilos and some sausage. I have to eat too. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Shosha said. She started pulling the fur off, but Leiozia stopped her.
“Let’s see the meat,” Leiozia said to the trader.
He approached the fence. “You have to look fast,” he said, untying the bags. He opened them and Leiozia peered in.
“In the light more,” she said.
The man directed the bags toward the faint, cold light in the sky. Shosha had the coat off. “Give me the sack and I’ll throw it over,” she said.
“I can’t give you the sack,” he said. “I’ll need it for the coat.” He pulled the meat out, wrapped in butcher’s paper and the sausage in a clear casing.
“Open the paper,” Leiozia said.
“The meat’s good—I have to hurry,” the man said.
“Open the paper or no coat.”
“Leiozia!” Shosha said.
The man unwrapped the butcher paper and revealed lamb, red and turning brown at the edges.
“Slaughtered kosher,” he said. “Satisfied?”
“Let me smell it,” Leiozia said.
“You’re crazy.”
“And you’re cold. You want the coats?”
The man held up the meat and the two women leaned down to sniff it. Shosha nearly swooned. “Oh—”
“Shh!” Leiozia said.
“Satisfied?” the man snapped.
“No,” Shosha interrupted.
“Shosha!”
“What’s the sausage?” she said.
“Venison,” the man said. “Also Kashrut. Take it or leave it.”
“Take it!” Leiozia said. She reached through the bars. The man re-wrapped the meat and placed it in her hands. Leiozia and Shosha wrapped it again in the dust coat. Shosha passed the fur through.
“What an ordeal,” Shosha said.
“Now my coat,” Leiozia said.
“We’re going to freeze out here,” Shosha said.
“Better to freeze on a full belly.”
Leiozia slipped off her topcoat. “Cover me.” With Shosha between her and the guards, she pranced by the fence.
“Nice coat—aren’t you the fortunate one?” said a woman inside leaning against the bars.
“At least you still have that,” said another woman. “You won’t die, not like the rest of us.”
“Shut up,” Leiozia said.
“Miss—come over here.”
Leiozia saw an old woman sprouting little whiskers outside the bars. “That fur—real or fake?” the woman said.
“Real seal,” Leiozia said.
The woman put her hand through the bars. “Touch, please.”
Leiozia extended her arm and the woman felt the fur. “Wonderful,” she said.
“What do you offer for it?” Shosha asked.
“Butter and ch
eese, potatoes and yams, and beets—the reddest, freshest beets you’ve ever seen.”
“This fur is new,” Leiozia said. “It would be worth more food than we could carry back.”
“I can deliver it,” the old woman said. “When you get out of here, my sons can bring it to wherever you’re going.”
“Thirty Eight Pawia Street,” Shosha said.
“I’ll see you there. I watch this place to see when you leave,” the old woman said.
They walked back toward Rebekah. One of their boarders, Henryk, came up to them carrying a plain topcoat in his arms. He unfolded it a little to reveal a pile of pletzlach (flat onion rolls); four round onions; two bunches of carrots; radishes; and two large, full beef sausages. Henryk was tall so Shosha stood on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek.
The snow had fallen to an inch or so by three in the morning, when the guards opened the gates of the makeshift cage. “Out,” they yelled. They entered with clubs and short ropes and herded the people into the street. “Out. Get out. Go on! Go home!”
Seven people from the Mordechai household came to the enclosure, but only six walked out together in the snow and darkness.
“Where’s Rudi?” Rebekah asked. “Anyone seen Rudi?” Her voice was faint.
“He’ll show up,” Shosha said. “He probably took a detour.”
“Oh.” Rebekah stumbled and wailed.
“Mama—here—take some.” Shosha held out a piece of bread.
“I told you before—no,” Rebekah said. “I want to wait. I want to savor it.”
They walked up the steps to the house. Shosha saw a crack and missing glass in a downstairs window in the moonlight. She opened the door and went in first. She lit oil lamps and candles and watched the light illuminate the latest work of vandals and thieves. She said nothing, only led everyone in and upstairs, to their rooms, where furniture lay overturned and blankets lay stripped from the mattresses on the floors.
Everyone dropped where they stood and slept. In the morning Shosha and Leiozia fried the sausage and onions and made a gravy with flour and laid it over the pletzlach.
“That is the most wonderful thing I’ve smelled since I last smelled your papa’s cheeks,” Rebekah told Shosha.
“Sit. We eat,” Leiozia said.
The old woman didn’t come with the food for the seal coat, which they discussed and dismissed as probably expected. They wondered about Rudi, the missing boarder, but no one seemed worried because Rudi was sometimes gone for days. The Mordechais and their boarders were sitting and talking and luxuriating in fullness when they heard a knock at the door on the alley.
“I bet I know who that is,” Leiozia said, and she stood and went to the back. The people at the table heard her greet the rabbi and she brought him into the room.
“Rabbi,” Rebekah said. “Please, sit! You must eat—we have plenty left.”
“I haven’t come to eat, but I will join you,” he said. He sat and the women laid food before him.
“Kashrut,” Leiozia said. “Or so they told us.”
“You know, I concern myself less about that these days,” the rabbi said. “But it’s good to know.” He took a bite of the venison. “Oh,” he said. “Oy, that’s terrific!” He ate another bite and drank coffee. “I have something to say that must be kept quiet,” he said. “I know I can trust you all.”
“Certainly,” Rebekah said.
The rabbi paused and sipped. “I’ve spoken of an armed rising,” he said. “The time is near, according to everything I’m hearing.”
“When?” Shosha said. “I’ve heard the same—from Frenkel, up the street. But he never knows when.”
“In weeks,” the rabbi said. “We have to dig tunnels, we have to build enclosures, we have to store food and get weapons.”
“How can we help?” Henryk asked.
“We need as many people as possible,” the rabbi said. “We keep losing people to the fever and the camps.”
“I’ve heard,” Shosha said. “Stutthof.”
“That’s where they make the soap from Jewish fat,” Leiozia said.
“Leia,” Rebekah said. “That’s a rumor.”
“Is not. Professor Spanner and his Reines Judische Fett.” Pure Jewish fat. “It gets you clean because it’s Kosher.”
“Leia! Rabbi—it’s a rumor. Tell her. And tell her not to be sacrilegious.”
“Don’t be sacrilegious,” the rabbi said. “But it’s probably true.”
Six
The rabbi stood outside club Sztuka watching a queer scene. A man in dark glasses with hair that shined in the sun stood behind a large motion picture camera yelling at some locals. He started the camera and looked up from behind it and yelled again, setting uniformed police after the group. Then he yelled at the police and they stopped, while soldiers stopped the locals. He walked over and talked to the police.
“Positions,” he commanded. He walked back to the camera, stood behind it and adjusted it. “Action!” He filmed the same scene, but this time the police raised batons and looked more menacing. “Cut!” the rabbi heard.
“You!” one of the soldiers said. “You can help with this.”
“With what?” the rabbi asked.
“With this—with the filming. We are making a movie—you want to be a movie star?” The soldier whistled at the young director and motioned him over. “Everyone wants to be a movie star,” the soldier said.
The director waved off the soldier and looked behind his camera again.
“Hey,” the soldier called.
The director didn’t look up.
“Goddamn it.”
The soldier huffed and walked toward the director and the rabbi turned and hurried into a maze of alleys, dodging blue uniforms and ducking away at any sound that indicated soldiers nearby. He emerged behind a kiosk in the marketplace, Kercely Square, where he saw Poles and Jews and a few guards.
“Rabbi!”
He jumped. The man behind him, selling leather hides, reached for his hand.
“You’re a good omen today,” the man said.
“A good omen?” the rabbi said.
“I keep the faith,” the man said.
“You almost scared me out of what little faith I have left,” the rabbi said.
The two men thought they heard firecrackers. Pop, pop, pop, pop. Then something zinged overhead and people in the front of the square ducked and someone screamed. The rabbi and the merchant crouched and the rabbi squirreled behind the kiosk. Another pop and a window broke over their heads, sending glass crashing near their hands.
“Who’s shooting?” the rabbi said.
“Who else?” the merchant said.
They heard more screams and trucks growling and braking. The rabbi looked up and saw soldiers pushing men and women with their hands over their heads beyond the edge of the square and storming the narrow aisles between booths and stands. The rabbi watched a soldier raise his rifle to a man who held his hands over his eyes. The soldier forced the man to his knees, out of the rabbi’s sight. Pop. The rabbi saw the rifle kick. The soldier kicked at something twice, then walked down another aisle. The rabbi looked at the entrance to the alley. He thought about running, but the soldiers would shoot. He thought about crawling, but he saw the soldiers watching the ground, looking for crawlers. He took hold of a leg of the kiosk and pulled it. It was light and had wheels but stones blocked the wheels so he reached over and pushed one of them away.
“What are you doing—stay put,” the merchant said.
“Move the other rocks,” the rabbi said. “Stay behind this.”
“What are you up to?”
Pop. Pop. Pop. They heard a man’s deep voice above the screaming crowd.
“Fuck them!” the voice said.
The rabbi dragged the kiosk but the merchant grabbed his wrist.
“Fuck them,” the rabbi said and he yanked hard on the cart and moved it toward the alley. The merchant understood.
“Not all at once
. Not all at once,” the merchant said. “A little at a time.”
“Okay—together,” the rabbi said. They pulled the kiosk a little farther. “Again.”
Again, a little farther. Again, and again, until they were in almost in front of the alley.
“I hate to leave this,” the merchant said. “How do I feed my family?”
“You leave here on foot or on your back,” the rabbi said. “At least this way, you can feed them one more day.”
They pulled the kiosk hard in the noise of gunfire and bullets hitting glass and ricocheting off the high brick walls around the square. Then the alley was behind them.
“Stay down and run,” the rabbi said.
They stayed low and ran down the alley and turned at the first corner, a city block from the square. They stopped but stayed down, bent forward with their hands on their knees, panting.
“I’m this way,” the merchant said and he grabbed the rabbi’s hand and motioned toward the other side of the street. The rabbi saw a placard on a wooden post over the merchant’s head.
Die With Honor.
The letters were red and outlined in black. The merchant looked up and saw the placard. He took it down and crumpled it in his fist.
“Not today,” he said, and threw the wadded paper in the street.
REBEKAH NEVER OPENED THE BACK DOOR to anyone but her household or the rabbi, especially now, at night. But here stood a boy with fat red cheeks, eleven or twelve, holding a small burlap sack. Rebekah said the first words that entered her mind.
“You’re a healthy looking one.”
“Rabbi asked me to bring these.” The boy held up the bag and Rebekah saw impressions in the bottom that resembled eggs. She reached for the bag but the boy withdrew it.
“Rabbi told me under no circumstances was I to open the bag anywhere but inside the house.”
“Well—if that’s what he said, come in with it and let’s have a look.”
The boy stepped inside. One of the boarders, a heavyset man who had lost three dozen pounds in two months and had leftover flesh hanging from his arms, sat in the downstairs drawing room reading an old newspaper in the dim light from the street. He saw the bag before he saw the boy.
“Eggs. Fresh eggs! By god, who’s sent them?”
The Fires of Lilliput Page 5