He takes my free hand within his and smoothes the pad of his thumb over my fingers. “Everyone is sick. People are dropping dead right before my eyes every day, and that’s not including the bodies I collect from the streets. Grandmother is sick again. It’s worse this time. Every time she regains her health, something else hits her. She’s so weak and fragile. It’s as if she’s aged ten years since last October. My mother is terrified. She hardly speaks. She spends her day chopping up whatever herb you’ve sent to her and stares at walls without blinking.Everyonejust stares lately—it’s as if our bodies have become shells of the people we once were.”
“Luka, you are a fighter—a survivor. You can’t think otherwise. Not now. Not ever.”
“I’ve checked in with the Jewish council a dozen times now and there’s no record of my father or grandfather anywhere. I haven’t told my mother this, fearful of where her mind might go if I do.”
There is so much pain in his eyes. I doubt any amount of food or supplies I give him will be enough to help. I loop my arms around his waist and rest my cheek on his chest, listening to the fast beat of his heart, his heavy breaths, the tremor when he takes a deep inhale.
“I’ll go on a hunt for more herbs tomorrow. The crops are drying up in the heat, but I’m sure the farmers have something.”
“The farms? Ella, those are outside the city. How will you get there?”
“I’ll find a way.”
“No. I can’t imagine what the rest of the city is like right now, but I’m sure it isn’t much better than what I’m living with.”
“I’m not going to let your grandmother stay sick.”
“Please. I—I can’t—promise me you’re not leaving the city tomorrow. This is why I was hesitant to say anything. I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Stop it, Luka. You’re talking nonsense now. I asked you what was wrong. I knew something wasn’t right.”
“Promise me you won’t leave Warsaw. If you can’t find the herbs in the city, we’ll find another way to help her feel more comfortable.”
Luka slides his hand beneath my chin, forcing me to peer up at him—forcing me to witness the plea within his tired eyes.
“I’ll search the city, high and low,” I utter. “I won’t leave.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs, pulling me back into his chest, folding me into his arms and resting his chin on top of my head. “I could convince myself this moment is a dream. What more could I ask for than you in my arms?”
I’m at odds with my brain and heart, one telling me to go one way and the other saying something else. His poor grandmother. I can’t stomach the thought of how much they’re all suffering. I must find whatever herbs I can tomorrow. They’ve helped her regain her health each of the three times she’s fallen ill since arriving within the encampment ten months ago.
I climb up the wet, metal rungs of the ladder until I make it to street level. “Hurry, Ella, they’re close by. Too close tonight,” Arte says. “Was there anyone else behind you?”
“No, not that I saw.” He pulls me away from the sewer hole and drags the cover into place. “Come on now, let’s get you home.” He tugs my arm, pulling me down the block and to the main street I’ll take home.
“Arte, I can get home just fine, but I appreciate the offer,” I say, curious why he’s determined to walk me home tonight. He hasn’t since the first night I found the tunnels and bargained the exchange deal with him.
“Ella, please…I received a warning that officials were heading in our direction,” Arte whispers. “I just want to make sure?—”
“Ella Bosko, is that you?” someone calls out from behind us with an unfamiliar sound of glee.
My heart leaps into my throat as I clutch the collar of my dress, feeling choked. I recognize the voice, and I’m thankful I’m not too close to the sewer entrance.
A former acquaintance I haven’t seen in years steps out of the shadows of a dark road.Daniel Kuziakow.We went to school together. His father was a police officer, often patrolling the streets bordering the school yard. All the children knew him. He was a nice man who knew everyone by name, greeted us on the streets daily. It was never a question of how much he loved his job. Therefore, it isn’t a surprise to see Daniel follow in his father’s footsteps. Except, Daniel isn’t an ordinary police officer—he’s one of the Blue Police, working for the Germans—a traitor.
“I didn’t realize you had become a Blue?—”
“I’m with the Polish Police,” he states as if I don’t realize there’s a difference. Their affiliations are marked by uniform.
A laugh threatens to come out in the form of anger and resentment, but for the purpose of getting home safely tonight, I hold my tongue.
“How wonderful of you to follow in your father’s path. I’m sure he’s proud,” I say.
“Indeed, he is. And you, how are your family?” he asks. “I haven’t seen Miko in a while. What is he doing with his life?”
“Everyone is well,” I say, keeping my response short.
“Ella, I promised your father you’d be home on time,” Arte speaks up.
