Traveling the same route every day for the last few months has left me with nothing but questions as I witness the deterioration of our community grow at a rate that should be impossible.
The Germans have plans and secrets for Warsaw, and none of them are public knowledge. We’re left to make assumptions and hope that we’re wrong. It was easier to do when Jewish families weren’t being evicted from their homes by other Jews. Luka said there’s been a formation of a Jewish council, the Judenrat, leading the Jewish communities through the hardships, but lately their objectives have seemed amiss as more and more people are being forced to move closer to the center of the city.
The square where he used to sing is crowded with people trying to barter and sell belongings or trades. Even children are set up on the ground, displaying gemstones they’re hoping to collect some coins for. There’s no food, though. No one is selling food. Their grocery store has a line wrapped around the building and the door never seems to open.
A brick building three blocks away from the square has been closed, windows boarded up the sides. But on the side of thebuilding where an alleyway no longer than the length of my body exists in the dark, is a door that leads down into a stone cellar.
I’ve stopped riding my bicycle down here after learning that Jewish people aren’t allowed to have them anymore. It would be rude to ride through their quarter on mine. I knock gently on the wooden door, buried in the shadow of the building. The door opens a sliver, enough for someone to catch sight of my eyes. Then the door opens. I’m ushered in and closed inside just as quickly.
At the bottom of the stone stairs, round tables and chairs fill the space and, in the center, Luka stands like a centerpiece on an empty table, singing his heart out. His voice, honeyed and warm, fills the air. The people watching him are all smiling, something never seen on the streets now. His eyes are closed as they always are when he’s composing lyrics that often formulate mid-song. I’ve never known anyone to think in rhymes woven with beautiful prose. Although, I’ve never known anyone who can sing like he can either.
I sit in the back, hoping not to disturb his focus, but between songs he scans the space until he spots me, knowing I show up every afternoon. Then, his eyes remain open as he stares directly at me through each song he has left to sing.
“It’s time,” a gentleman by the door announces. “Wrap it up.”
Everyone scatters from their seats and hustles up the stairs to leave the building. Luka reaches out for my hand, and I follow him up and onto the street. “There’s a place…with a good tree,” I tell him, nudging my elbow into his. It’s become one of our favorite places to go, and one of the onlyplaces wecango. If only we didn’t have to climb down to get home before curfew, I could easily spend every night in the crook of his arm, telling him stories, listening to his, laughing, kissing, feeling my heart swell with an unfamiliar type of love. It’s just us in our tree, avoiding the world around us.
Luka loops his arms around my waist and kisses my cheek. “Actually, I want to bring you home to meet my mother and grandmother. If you think you’re up to it, of course.”
The skin on my arm prickles despite the summer heat still floating through the air. I wasn’t expecting him to suggest this.
“I’m afraid they won’t like me, and where would that leave us?” We’ve had this conversation a few times before in the last month or so, which we’ve spent fervently making use of every free moment together. He wants to meet my family, too, but it’s too dangerous. Jewish people are not allowed to have a relationship with non-Jewish people, and we knew that before we met and did nothing to stop what was happening between us. I still don’t regret our decision, but I worry about disrespecting our parents.
“They will love you,” he assures me. He’s never said otherwise but has been worried about causing them more concern than they already have with everyone being kicked out of their homes or sent to forced labor.
“And if they don’t?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
“It doesn’t matter, Ella. I’m twenty. I’m a man of my own and I love you. No one can change that, not even the two women who try to control my life with their stabbing glares.” He chuckles.
“Of course, I’d love to meet them.”
“Do you remember everything I’ve told you about them?” he asks.
“Sure, I do.”
We travel down the slim side streets until we reach his apartment building, all windows dark with curtains, no flowerbeds, and no children playing out front. It looks empty from the outside.
I clench my hand around my satchel as we make our way up the steps. He pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks one of the three doors on the fourth floor.
The aroma of lavender and vanilla wafts out into the hallway, pulling me in as if I was smelling a freshly baked pastry. The apartment is spotless and minimally furnished with what looks to be the bare necessities. Luka curls his arm around my back and guides me around a shallow corner where we find two women sitting on a sofa, knitting.
They both glance up at us in silence, wide-eyed, and their mouths identically parted. They look alike, but with a twenty-something age difference.
“Mother, Grandmother, I would like you to meet?—”
“I was right. I told you, Ma, he has a girlfriend,” the younger of the two women says, standing from the sofa. “When a boy smiles in a certain way, you can just see it, and I saw it, didn’t I?”
“Mother,” Luka interrupts her. “This is Ella.”
“Oy, what a beauty you are,” she says, coming toward me with her arms open wide. “Welcome, darling. Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you so much. You’re so kind, and I see where Luka gets his lovely smile from.”
She pulls me in for a hug, squeezing quite tightly before she wraps her hands around my arms to take a step back. “Where’s your armband, dear? It’s against the law to leave the house without it on.”
“Mother,” Luka says, taking his mother by the arm and breathing deeply, “Ella isn’t Jewish.”
There’s a pause, and then, “This is why you haven’t brought her to meet me in all this time, is it?” she scolds Luka.
