“Ella—the people in the resistance…they’re not like you. They want our freedom back. They aren’t trying to save just one person. This isn’t meant to be an insult. I know you better than anyone else in the world, and I can’t let you become mixed up with these people.”
“Why are you mixed up with them then?”
“I want what they want, and Tata shouldn’t be there alone.” I get the sense it’s more of the latter than the former reason. I don’t think Miko would have joined if it hadn’t been for our father. He prefers routine simplicities in life—work, sleep, food.
“I want what they want, too,” I argue.
“Give me a day to find out if I can get a message sent to a connection within the enclosure, and don’t follow us tonight, you hear me?”
I cross my fingers hard behind my back when I agree.
They’re letting non-Jewish Poles inside the gates. I’ve watched day after day for almost three weeks now, still searching for a way to reach Luka. Miko had no connections to help me. He said there was a lot of black-market action—people trading goods through inconspicuous holes amid the walls, risking their lives with each pass. He also said that the SS troops were aware and killing people trying to bring goods into the confinement. Even children.
I tried my luck yesterday, the proper way, at the gates and with identification, stating my need to visit a friend. The guards told me if I had no business matters to conduct within the confinement, my visit wasn’t necessary.
I haven’t done much else but watch the square from outside the gate, hoping I could catch sight of Luka walking by, but the walls cover almost two dozen city blocks on each square side.
The sun has fallen beneath the horizon and darkness is beginning to cloak the city streets and, again, defeat falls over me, just as it has every other day I’ve stood here with any flicker of hope.
I walk along the exterior of the wall, avoiding the soldiers when I see them patrolling a block, dragging my fingertips along the brick, wishing I could see inside.
My heart leaps into my throat as the warm, low tones of a song rise through the air, taking me hostage as I press my ear to the stone, pleading for more.
The sky is dark and gray
but behind the clouds, it’s blue.
Lovely days will come
soon for me and you.
Luka?I claw my fingertips into the grooves of the brick wall, trying to find a way up. “Luka?” I call out in a whisper.
Keep me in your dreams,
and I’ll come to you each night.
Hold me in your arms
until the morning light.
I try to climb up to the top until my fingers become raw, until the singing stops, until it’s clear no one hears me calling Luka’s name. Maybe he’s on the very other side, trying to reach me, too.
It shouldn’t be this way.
A scuffle along the curb startles me into jumping away from the wall, searching for whoever else is on this darkening street. The steps don’t sound like they come from a soldier’s boots, but I won’t chance the risk. I hurry across the street to hide along a protruding arch entrance to a building, waiting for the person to walk by.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I confirm they aren’t a soldier, but they are walking swiftly with an assault rifle tucked under their arm, a satchel hanging from the other, and dressed in dark civilian clothing. The members of the resistance try to blend in, but I’ve become more cognizant of their presence lately. I want to know where he’s going, especially this close to the enclosure.
I follow, but with space between us, trying to be quiet with each step. The man moves along around corners and blocks, checking the surrounding area once every few steps. After reaching a protruding corner, he bolts to the left, crossing the street to head in a different direction. I hesitate to follow, now unsure if he’s here for a similar reason to me. I wait untilhe’s two blocks ahead, watching him move along at the same pace he’s been going, and make the quick decision to continue pursuing him. Where there’s one man of resistance, there must be more.
He finally comes to a stop where three other men are waiting for him, and descends into a hole in the ground. The sewer tunnel. No matter how many times I’ve followed Tata and Miko, it’s only been to a decrepit hole in the wall where they go in through a cellar door.
I watch for a while, wondering if anyone else will go down the sewer tunnel. No one does, and one of the others who must be guarding the sewer hole says his goodbyes to the other two and heads in my direction. I back myself into a nook of a building, but when he passes, I can’t help myself.
“Excuse me,” I call out. The man stops short and turns toward me, his hands gripping tightly around his rifle. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I’m wondering if you can help me.”
He steps toward me, his face still dark until he’s within reach. “Arte Bandoa?” I recognize him from secondary school.
