Tata pinches at his mustache and narrows his eyes at me.
“A better question is, how are you so sure about where we go every night?” Miko adds, taking a long drag of his cigarette, asking the obvious question Tata was debating whether to ask.
I hold my arms out to the side. The answer should be somewhat obvious. “I’ve followed you. How else?”
“Ella, you can’t—this isn’t a place for you, sweetheart,” Tata says, reaching out for my hand. His warm hugs and gentle explanations for everything could easily persuade me out of everything I want to do, but the thoughts that follow when he releases me are too loud to ignore.
I pull away from him so I can speak my mind before I allow myself to become weak as Tata’s little girl—the way he still seesme, even as a grown woman. “Why, because I’m a girl? Plenty of women are part of the resistance. I’ve seen them walking around with rifles.”
“So, you want to walk around town with a rifle under your arm now? You think that’ll end well for you?” Tata says, frustration evident.
“I want to help the Jewish people who are starving to death in our own city, in front of our foggy vision. It may take years to push the Wehrmacht out of here, but the Jewish will all be dead by then.”
“Where is this all coming from? How are you so sure?” Miko adds with a raised brow.
“I had to deliver bread to Madame Kaminsky, remember?” I remind them. Tata stares up at the ceiling and closes his eyes.
“Right, of course.”
He can’t act as if we don’t know what the Jewish ration cards look like. We don’t need to see the quarter they live in to realize the truth. Those who live nearby shop in our store, too, and we can only give them what they’re allowed to collect, which is far less than what non-Jewish people receive. What if everyone in this city who isn’t Jewish is just avoiding the truth—because we’re all scared? Where will that leave us in the end?
I pause, and take a deep breath, steeling myself.
“I’ve been seeing a man. He’s Jewish. His name is Luka Dulski. He’s twenty years old, brilliant, incredibly talented, and simply wonderful. In fact, I love him. And I’m watching him starve to death along with his mother and grandmother. His father and grandfather were already sent away for forced labor to some German factory. They haven’t returned home since. And that wall in the center of Warsaw…the one no one talks about—we all see it. We all feel something brewing in the air.”
Tata shoves the heels of his hands against his temples so hard it looks as if his head might explode. “How long has thisbeen going on? Why haven’t you told me? You love this man and we’re just now finding out? You’ve never even had a boyfriend for more than a few weeks.”
“Shall I get a mirror so you can see the reason I’ve kept this to myself?”
“Ella, calm down. You’re angry at the wrong person,” Tata says.
“So are you.”
“Luka Dulski, huh?” Miko says, leaning forward inquisitively.
“If I thought you’d remember his name five minutes from now, I’d be worried,” I snap at him. “Stay out of this.”
“What is going on out here?” Mama asks. She steps into the living room with a dish rag pinched between her hands.
“I need to tell you something,” I say, holding my chin up with a show of strength. “There’s a young man I’ve been seeing… He’s Jewish.”
Mama’s bottom lip falls and her brows rise toward her hairline. “Why haven’t you told us?” she echoes Tata.
“He’s Jewish,” Miko repeats. “I think that might be why.”
“Do not speak like that in my home, son. We will not disrespect any Polish person, no matter what their faith,” Mama snaps.
Miko drops back into his chair and rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t an offensive statement, just a fact. We aren’t supposed to be mingling with them.”
“Them?” I demand.
“Everyone, calm down,” Tata says.
“Bring him here for us to meet,” Mama says before returning to the kitchen.
Papa drops his head to his tented fingers. “Yes, I agree with your mother. I want to meet this man you’re willing to sacrifice your safety for.”
“Thank you,” I say.
