Don't Tell the Nazis

by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

  “The Soviets put my father in a slave-labor camp in Siberia,” said the girl. “Mutter and I were rescued by the Germans. This whole area is now part of the Reich, so there will be a lot more of us Volksdeutsche settling here.”

  “Volksdeutsche?”

  “Ethnic Germans from the Slavic countries,” the mother explained.

  This conversation made me think of the lists the Germans made, and how they thought Germans were better. But even though people from Viteretz were suffering because of the German occupation, this bedraggled mother and daughter hadn’t had it easy either. They were stuck in the middle of warring countries just like we were.

  “Let me get you that milk,” I said.

  The girl took a battered tin cup from her knapsack and handed it to me.

  I rubbed my face against Krasa’s cheek and whispered, “I know it’s not time to milk you, but just a cup?”

  Krasa snorted as if she understood. I knelt down and milked her, then handed the cup to the mother. I felt sorry for them, but where would all these Volksdeutsche live? Where would we all live?

  “Thank you for your kindness,” said the mother. “And at least tell me your name.”

  “I’m Krystia Fediuk.”

  “Good to meet you, Krystia Fediuk. My name is Frau Gertrude Schneider, and this is Marga, my daughter.”

  “Good luck to both of you,” I said as I grabbed the cows’ tethers and started back on my way to the pasture.

  “Get your fill,” I said to Lysa as I let her off the rope so she could graze in Auntie Iryna’s pasture. “Who knows what will happen to you tomorrow?”

  As the cows grazed, I sat on Uncle Roman’s rock and watched the road. So many Germans coming to our town—including ragged Volksdeutsche fleeing the Soviet Union, better-off civilians coming from Germany, and the military.

  Standing on top of the rock, I could see the surrounding countryside where Ukrainian farmers had lived for hundreds of years. It made me wonder whether the whole area would soon be filled with Germans.

  I spotted the familiar blue-roofed house and wondered if Polina Semko was home yet. And that gave me an idea. Auntie Polina could take Lysa for now. That way, we wouldn’t raise suspicions by having two cows in our shed, yet Auntie Iryna wouldn’t have to give up Lysa.

  “Sorry to do this to you, Krasa,” I said, caressing the cow’s neck one last time as I left her tethered in a hidden shady spot in Auntie Iryna’s pasture. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I wrapped Lysa’s rope around my fist and led her off the main road and through a grassy shortcut. The walk took nearly an hour, and many of the farms I passed had already been taken over by new people. As I led Lysa onward, I had a growing sense that the Germans had not come to liberate Ukraine, but to take us over.

  The familiar blue roof came into view. Thankfully, there was no truck around, or soldiers, but Polina Semko’s buildings and fields were in shambles. Just a portion of her house still stood, and her barn looked like a lean-to. The fruit trees had been hacked down, and where wheat should have been growing, there were only weeds.

  I rapped on her door. “Auntie Polina, are you home?”

  She stepped out and looked from me to Lysa. “Krystia! What are you doing here?”

  “Any chance you’d be able to look after Auntie Iryna’s cow?” I explained about Auntie Iryna being forced out of her house.

  “I can keep her here,” said Auntie Polina. “And I’ll appreciate the milk, as my only cow is dry.”

  “What happened to your farm, Auntie?”

  She threw up her hands in frustration. “The Soviets, of course.”

  “Do you have enough to live on?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I have a cow that gives milk now. And the Soviets couldn’t steal or destroy everything. I will get by as I always have.”

  By the time I got back to the pasture, Krasa had worked herself free of her tether, but fortunately she hadn’t wandered off. She was happily munching away at a patch of grass under some trees. I wrapped her rope around my fist and gave it a gentle tug. “Come on, Krasa,” I said. “Mama will wonder what is taking us so long.”

  Ahead of me on the road were soldiers who were gathering the newly arriving refugees into a work unit. One of them was passing out shovels, and a second was giving instructions. I overheard snippets of conversation—something about digging a ditch in the woods.

  I stayed a dozen or so meters behind the group practically all the way home and watched as it grew in size. I felt sorry for these refugees. Even before they could rest for the night or find something to eat, they were being assigned to heavy labor. I didn’t see Frau Schneider or her daughter in the group, but they would have been farther ahead, as it had taken me some time to get Lysa into the country. Had they been assigned work as well?

  When I finally got home, Mama was standing on our doorstep, hands on her hips and a worried look on her face. She followed me to the shed as I settled Krasa in. “Where is Lysa?” she asked.

  “With Auntie Polina,” I said.

  Mama’s face lit up. “Good thinking.”

  In the wee hours of the night, low voices in the kitchen startled me awake. One was Auntie’s, and another … Could it be? I crept silently out of bed, taking care not to wake Mama or Maria. I had to see for myself. With Auntie Iryna was Cousin Borys!

  “You’re alive,” I whispered, running to him and wrapping my arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of smoke and pine as I hugged him tight. “I was so worried about you!”

  “I’m not ready to die yet, my dear cousin,” he said, planting a kiss on the top of my head.

  “I thought I saw you at Josip’s funeral.”

  “I was there briefly,” he said. “But I didn’t want the Germans to see me. And I cannot stay long now. Go back to bed, Krystia, and don’t wake your mother or sister. I came to see Mama so we could remember Josip together. And I’m trying to convince her to come with me to the forest.”

  “Will you visit again?” I asked.

  “There are things that need to be done,” he said. “But I’m never far away.”

  “Stay safe, Borys,” I said, hugging him again before reluctantly going back to the bedroom.

  As I tried to get to sleep, I thought about what Borys had said about things that needed to be done, and that maybe Auntie Iryna would be going to the forest to live with him. What were they working on?

  When I got back from the pasture the next morning, people were clustered around the closed doors of our church. I stood on my toes to peer over their shoulders and saw Dolik close to the front. I wormed my way through the crowd and poked him. “What’s so interesting?”

  “A poster. All the original townspeople are ordered to assemble in the main square today at noon,” he said. “Any disobedience will be considered an act of treason.”

  Treason meant death. My knees suddenly felt weak. “I need to find Mama.”

  “I saw her go to the Tarnowsky place about an hour ago. But I haven’t seen her since.”

  As I rushed into town, I passed a large group of ragged and tired newcomers, and like the refugees from yesterday, they were carrying shovels. These ones were mostly men, and younger. From the fresh dirt smeared on their clothing and faces, it looked like they were on their way back from a job.

  When I got to the Tarnowsky house, I hurried upstairs to find Mama. She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the bathroom floor. She sat back on her heels and looked at me.

  “Mama, there’s an important notice,” I said. “All the original inhabitants must come to the town square at noon, and those who don’t will be considered traitors.”

  “The square’s just outside,” said Mama, pushing a loose piece of hair away from her eye. “I’ll go out as soon as the municipal clock begins to chime.”

  “But what about Borys and Uncle Ivan?” I whispered.

  “Neither was counted on the Germans’ lists, so they won’t be missed—” Suddenly, Mama stood up and rip
ped off her apron. “But your sister! I sent her to look for stray eggs in the fields. She may not even know about this order. You need to finish this room for me. If Frau Hermann comes in, introduce yourself.”

  She shoved the apron at me and left.

  I stepped out of the servants’ door just as the clock in the square rang out the first of twelve chimes. It seemed that everyone in town, both original and newcomers, had crowded in to hear what the Commandant had to say. Even in this back alleyway it was hard to move with the crush of people.

  I tried to press forward, but a large man stumbled backward and his boot landed on my big toe. I screamed.

  “Sorry, girl,” said the man, grabbing my arm as I balanced on one foot. “You’re not going to have much luck getting through here.”

  He was right. Everywhere I looked was a wall of people. The huge crowd gave us all some anonymity, though. Even if Mama couldn’t find Maria, perhaps she wouldn’t be missed.

  I still needed to hear the announcement for myself, and I figured walking through the Tarnowsky house would get me closer to the front of the crowd than trying to push any farther through the alley. I hobbled back into the servants’ entrance, holding on to furniture and railings as I went. I had just placed my hand on the front-door handle when the clomping of boots sounded on the floor behind me. I did a hop-turn on one foot to see who it was.

  Commandant Hermann.

  “You’re the cleaner’s daughter, aren’t you?” he asked, his light brown eyebrows creasing into a frown.

  “I am, Herr Commandant,” I said. “I was helping my mother today.”

  “You should be outside with the others.”

  “I am sorry, Herr Commandant,” I said, bowing slightly, still balancing on one foot and clutching the door handle for balance. “I was out in the alleyway but got pushed back in. And someone nearly crushed my toe. I’m going out the front door.”

  He glanced down at my toe and then back at my face. “You can’t use the front door. Go upstairs. You can watch from the balcony.”

  “Yes, Herr Commandant,” I said, bowing again. “Thank you, Herr Commandant.”

  When I got to the big bedroom, I opened the latch on the double windows and stepped out onto the balcony. I could see the entire town square and all the people heaving and pushing down below.

  Maria was there, thank goodness! She and Nathan were at the opposite end of the square, their backs nearly pinned against the wall of the bakery. Mama and Auntie Iryna stood close by, in front of the New Synagogue, which shared a wall with the bakery. Above them, Petro Zhuk sat cross-legged on the flat roof of the New Synagogue. Close to Mama were Mr. Kitai and Doctor Mina, with Leon and Dolik.

  It felt odd to be up here with everyone else across the square and on the ground. I wondered whether, centuries ago, old Princess Tarnowska would gaze down at her subjects from here.

  Mr. Segal stood on the top step of our town hall, his camera pointed at a few soldiers who were directing the crowd to leave a wide-open space in the middle of the square. Mrs. Segal stood beside her husband, without her cane, taking pictures of civilians instead of soldiers. She turned her camera to me and clicked.

  A couple of soldiers walked from the square toward me, clearing a path for the Commandant. One of them was the soldier who had helped us retrieve Josip’s body. The big double doors creaked open below me as Commandant Hermann stepped out. I peered over the balcony and saw the round top of his cap, and his shoulders with their SS epaulettes. He marched with the soldiers to the open space in the middle of the square.

  The crowd was suddenly quiet.

  “If you hear your name, you must come forward,” announced the Commandant.

  A soldier handed him a sheet of paper.

  I looked around the crowd and said a silent prayer: Please don’t call Mama’s name. Please don’t call Auntie Iryna’s.

  “Samuel Steinburg,” the Commandant said, reading from the paper.

  Our dogcatcher.

  There were whispers in front of the synagogue, and then the crowd parted. Samuel Steinburg stepped farther into the square, wringing his leather cap.

  “Aaron Bronsky.”

  A skinny young man wearing a white apron over a white shirt and pants emerged from the cluster near the bakery and stood beside the dogcatcher.

  “David Kohn … Zachary Goldblum …”

  More names were called that I didn’t recognize, but I kept count of the number. One hundred had been called, all men of army age. It seemed to me that the names could all be Jewish.

  “These hundred men standing before you are murderers!” said Commandant Hermann in a loud and clear voice.

  There was a collective gasp from the crowd.

  “These Jews are guilty of torturing, mutilating, and killing the hundreds of men that we found in the prisons of Velicky Selo.”

  That was not true! The Soviets had done the killing. Why would the Commandant say that?

  “I sentence them to death,” said the Commandant, pacing.

  A hum of whispers and shrieks punctured the air.

  “Kill them!” shouted a man’s voice from the depths of the crowd. A woman that I didn’t know chimed in, “The Jews deserve to die. Let’s get them all.”

  The Commandant stopped pacing. He looked out into the crowd, almost as if he expected more people to say awful things about Jews.

  “Shut your drunken mouth!” yelled Petro Zhuk from the rooftop.

  Silence.

  Commandant Hermann scanned the crowd, as if trying to pinpoint where that shout had come from.

  My mind was whirling. Those who had murdered our men were long gone back to Moscow. The hundred men now huddled in the square had suffered under the Soviets just as we all had.

  The crowd was silent as Commandant Hermann paced. It was as if he were a match and we were his dry wood. But the crowd had not yet begun to burn.

  Just then I noticed some movement from across the square. Mr. Kitai had left Doctor Mina and Dolik and Leon and was pushing through to the edge of the crowd. “Commandant Hermann,” he said in a polite but firm voice, “those murders were an affront to us all, and we all thank you for trying to punish the culprits.”

  A murmur of agreement rippled through some of the onlookers.

  “But these men did not do it.”

  “He’s right!” a woman shouted.

  “It was the Soviet secret police—the NKVD—who killed and tortured those young men, but the murderers left before you got here,” Mr. Kitai went on. “If I may … Herr Commandant … my own father fought in the German army during the Great War. You saved us from the Russians then. We thank you for ousting the Soviets now.”

  “And whom might you be?” asked the Commandant.

  He bowed his head slightly. “Mr. Herschel Kitai at your service, Herr Commandant.”

  “You are Jewish?” the Commandant asked.

  “I am, Herr Commandant,” Mr. Kitai said in a clear and strong voice. “And like these men who have been gathered together, we admire German culture and democracy.”

  I felt myself nodding in agreement.

  “Stand with these murderers,” the Commandant ordered.

  I gasped.

  Mr. Kitai stayed where he was for a long, silent moment. Then he took one deep breath and said, “I will stand with the others who have been unjustly accused.”

  “Take them all,” Commandant Hermann ordered the soldiers.

  “Please,” cried Dolik, pushing through the onlookers. “Don’t kill my father!”

  It was as if the air had been sucked out of the square. The Commandant regarded Dolik. “You can die with him if you like, boy.”

  Doctor Mina rushed over, wrapped her arm around Dolik’s waist, and yanked him backward, into the crowd.

  “You will control your brat in future, madam, if you know what is good for you,” said the Commandant.

  Dolik struggled to get out of his mother’s grip.

  The Commandant paced some more and l
ooked out into the crush of people. Behind him, his soldiers pointed their Lugers at the hundred and one Jewish scapegoats. The men were herded off the square toward Esther Street. Mr. Kitai had his eyes fixed on his family as he was marched out.

  From my vantage point, I could see where they were heading—to the wooded area beside the Jewish cemetery.

  No one in the crowd spoke.

  The Commandant stopped pacing. He rested a palm on the holster of his own Luger and glared at people in the crowd. “I am your Commandant,” he said. “You had best remember that. We have plenty of room for new graves.”

  He turned and walked back toward me—and into the Tarnowsky house.

  I was frozen to my spot on the balcony. Doctor Mina gripped Dolik and the two of them stumbled together toward home, Maria, Nathan, and Auntie Iryna close behind. A few meters behind them was Mama, who held a flailing Leon in both arms.

  The Commandant wouldn’t really have all those men killed, would he? Was this a ploy to scare us?

  The Commandant approached the house, but not once did he look up. I guess he didn’t think of me at all—which was a good thing—but I desperately didn’t want to be in his house when he got here. I would make my escape using the servants’ stairs at the back.

  I turned. And gasped.

  A woman blocked the balcony door. Her light brown hair framed a hard-looking face. “What are you doing on my balcony?”

  “It’s an … an honor to meet you, Frau Hermann,” I said, my heart still pounding from what I had just witnessed. “My name is Krystia Fediuk. My mother is Kataryna Fediuk. She cleans for the Commandant, and my sister and I help her.” The words tumbled out breathlessly. “Commandant Hermann told me to attend the announcement from here.”

  “What an odd thing for him to do,” said Frau Hermann. “He is a very kind man, though, so in some ways not unexpected.”

  His performance in the town square was not the act of a kind man. Ensuring that I would witness everything clearly was also not the act of a kind man. But I bobbed my head and said, “Yes, ma’am, he very kindly let me watch from here because someone stepped on my toe and I couldn’t get through the crowd.”