“No, you must stay here to take care of Mama,” I correct him.
“But she has Uncle Igor and?—”
“No, David. You need to stay here in case they need you.”
“I won’t agree to this,” Mama cries out. “There’s no way. How will you get your father back to Poland? We don’t know if they are allowing more German Jews into the country.”
“It’s Papa,” I say, staring at her with the dread I feel inside. “I’ll do what it takes to get him back here.”
The argument ensued for the rest of the afternoon and evening until Mama couldn’t argue anymore. I would never dream of pushing her to the point of throwing her arms up in defeat, but this is one fight I couldn’t afford to lose.
Despite knowing how the disagreement ended, Igor was gone when we woke up this morning, as were my forms of identification. I decided to keep that part to myself until hereturned. Mama was not in the mood to speak or converse about the topic any further. David was still bitter about the idea of me leaving him behind. I would never intentionally hurt anyone in my family, but I know this is something I must do for the sake of our family.
Great-Aunt Eunika, Mama, David, and I have been sitting at the kitchen table in silence, all looking toward the two front windows every time we hear the sound of a twig crunching. It’s just a family of squirrels running circles around the nearby trees.
Great-Uncle Igor’s footsteps are much louder and too quick for anyone to spot him out the window before the front door flies open. He closes us inside and draws the curtains. He’s out of breath and a bit pale as he approaches me. “I’ve got everything you need,” he says, reaching into the inside pocket of his coat. He retrieves my forms of identification and hands them to me with a trembling grip.
I scan through the papers and booklet, finding my name changed to Albert Amsler. My occupation is listed as: Cook, rather than the blank space that was there before.
I’ve taken more than enough time to inspect the papers, dreading the thought of peering up and finding the look on Mama’s face.
“When—” I begin to ask.
“I’ve purchased you a train ticket for later today, but first, you’ll want to use this…” Great-Uncle Igor reaches into the front pocket of his coat and pulls out a small container with a brown label I can’t make out.
“Is that hair dye?” Mama snaps.
“Blonde hair will be best to avoid unnecessary questions. Many women have been doing so and it works just fine.”
“Listen to you. What do you know about what women are doing?” Eunika lashes out at him.
“He’s right. It’s been happening for years,” I agree. “I’ll use the dye.”
My deep-set brown eyes and long nose are enough to look at and question.
I’m unrecognizable even to myself after coloring my hair, giving me hope it will do enough to help me through this train ride without being questioned.
While combing my hair into place, Great-Uncle Igor steps up to the door of the washroom. “Listen to me carefully, Danner,” he says. “You’re a personal chef for an SS-Obergruppenführer, sent to Poland on a special request to collect bottles of Dwójniak Mead for a dinner party you’re responsible for preparing. You’re returning to Germany from your quest. You will have four bottles of Dwójniak in a crate to carry with you as your proof.”
Dwójniak is a mead only made in Poland because of their access to honeydew and heather honey. The rest of Europe is used to paying a hefty price for such a valuable brand of mead. Great-Uncle Igor had a different experience in his years of raising bees than Papa did. Being in Poland was a great advantage to contributing to a product constantly in demand. Before the war, we would receive bottles of honey from the uncle from Poland, who we had never met. I always asked Papa why his uncle would be sending us honey if we made our own, but I quickly came to learn the difference between Polish honey and German honey.
“Okay, I’ll use that story if approached,” I agree.
“You mustn’t look nervous or unsure. You will stare them in the eyes and tell them this is your job and believe it as well as they should.”
“I understand.” I’ve never been a good liar, but my life will depend on it now.
“We need to be going. The train leaves in a couple of hours.”
I swallow against my dry throat and leave the washroom to collect my suitcase and coat. On the cot I’ve been sleeping on, is a small wooden crate.
With my hands full, I make my way to the front door, finding Mama in tears and David with a stiff jaw. “I’ll find him and bring him here,” I tell them.
“What if you don’t find him?” David asks.
“I won’t give up.”
“I can’t lose you too,” he mumbles.
