I take my chance and run, praying he doesn’t chase me.
FOURTEEN
LUKA
The daytime hours in the ghetto carry on as if they might never end, especially in the dead heat of summer. By noon, I’m exhausted to the point of wondering whether I’ll make it back to our tenement. Yet somehow, here I am. The lights are out as some try to sleep. Others lie awake all night. Some never wake up at all.
The heat inside is worse than it is outside, even with the windows open. The walls sweat along with the constant fog of heavy breaths that clings to every one of us. It’s no wonder Grandmother can’t seem to get well. Today might be like the longest day I’ve faced since arriving in the ghetto ten months ago. All day beneath the grueling sun dragging loads of bodies through the streets, my mind spun around the conversation that Ella and I had last night in the tunnel. I might have put too much pressure on her to find herbs for Grandmother. I shouldn’t have said anything. She promised not to leave Warsaw, but every crumb of bread is a challenge to find, and there’s no question in my mind that she would go to the ends of the earth to help.
It’s hard enough living with the fact that I can’t keep her safe from inside these walls. I also know her life would be much easier without me, and it’s a hard concept to sit with. Am Iselfish for holding on to her? The thought of her is the only thing that keeps me going here. None of the four-hundred-thousand Jewish people imprisoned within these walls should have to fight for their lives. The Germans have ensured this by making certain everything has been taken away from us.
But I do have a reason to fight.
With little space between any one of us, I sit here in silence between Mother and Grandmother, who are trying to sleep through the deafening symphony of sickness while I wait out the minutes until I can move again. Mother is aware I leave every night, but by waiting until she’s asleep, it saves her from having to question where I’m going and when I’ll be back. What matters is that I return with extra food for us. I fear causing her extra worry, especially in her weak state. She isn’t sick like Grandmother but she’s beyond pale, almost gray some days. The skin on her face sags and her eyelids are heavier than I’ve ever seen them. It’s as if her soul has left her body. She’s living in agony, worrying about Grandmother’s health and wondering if Father and Grandfather are well. I’m sure she’s imagining the worst, just as I am.
Grandmother doesn’t talk in her sleep, but she falls into a state of unconsciousness each night that often scares me. Before leaving, I lean in closer to make sure I can hear her still breathing, for peace of mind. We aren’t sure what she’s sick with, but I fear it’s something more than what can be cured. She coughs so hard, there’s a rattle in her resting breaths, and she hardly moves when she is awake.
Watching her has caused me so much desperation—to the point of asking Ella for help, possibly endangering her. God, I hope she’s safe and okay.
I stare over at Apollo to see if he’s ready to leave the building and head down to the tunnels, but one of his sisters is whimpering and he’s brushing his fingers through herhair, smiling and talking. His mother is lying down with his other sister, doing the same, trying to assure them both that everything is okay. The poor girls never leave this room. Apollo tries to bring them home “treasures” every day, scraps from the factory that he bends into shapes. He gives them parts of his portioned food and reads them stories, teaches them math and English. He does all of this after working all day. It’s as if he’s taken on the responsibility of being their father and he’s only twenty years old. I don’t envy the additional amount of worry he carries on his shoulders. He’s a better man than I.
FIFTEEN
ELLA
Tata and Miko’s silverware clash against their plates nearly at the same moment after they both shovel in the small portions of potato stew with legumes. “That was wonderful. Thank you, dear,” Tata says to Mama as he dabs his face with a napkin. We’re eating much later than usual. Missing inventory at the store caused a hold up with reconciliation. People steal from us daily and there are so many in the store at once, it’s hard to spot.
“Yes, wonderful, Mama,” Miko echoes.
“It isn’t a race to see who can swallow their supper first,” she reminds them. “It takes me hours to prepare the food you devour in mere minutes.”
Despite my urgency to get up from the table, too, it’s the same complaint every night—one I can’t quite blame her for. Mama is tired of Tata and Miko running out of the apartment after dinner to their resistance meetings—or “citizen-aide-meetings” as they call them. It breaks my heart to see the despondence and worry in Mama’s eyes as she watches them walk out the door.
“I love you, my darling,” Tata tells Mama, giving her a kiss on the head. “And you my, sweetheart.” He kisses me next.
Miko grabs his satchel and pulls it over his head, crossing it over his body to hang by his side. “Be home soon, Mama,” he says. “Ella…stay out of trouble,” Miko utters to me as he passes by.
“Did you hear about the increase of SS troops?” Miko asks Tata as they walk out the door.
“What am I going to do with the two of them? They leave every night, thinking they’re helping the city in some way, and nothing has gotten any better. If anything, it’s just getting worse. This is just another reason I don’t ask questions. It’s better not knowing. Of course, unless someone forces information upon me. Then I must sit and stir over it,” she says with a grumble. “Although I did hear something quite interesting from a neighbor today.”
“Mama, it could be gossip—” I say.
“It’s not,” she says, her stare widening as she continues. “The Germans killed a woman for smuggling food in through the ghetto wall. They killed her right on the spot without warning. And apparently, it isn’t the first time this has happened. It’s unfathomable, really.”
Sweat from my chest soaks through my work dress, hearing the looming threat I face every night. I understand the risks involved in helping Luka and his family, but I can’t sit here day after day knowing what they’re suffering through, and do nothing for the sake of fearing the soldiers.
“Here, I’ll do the dishes so you can go sit down and rest,” I tell her, standing from my seat at the table.
“No, that’s all right. I’d rather stay busy, but thank you, dear.”
Guilt slithers through me like slime every time I walk away from Mama at night. “If you insist. I’m going to go read for a bit before bed,” I lie.
“I’m so glad to see you reading so much again,” she says with a faint smile.
“Me too,” I say, swallowing hard against the continued lie.
Mama knows me better than anyone else, which leaves me wondering if she’s aware of what I do at night, but chooses not to say anything. She doesn’t ask about Luka, and I don’t mention his name, not since he was taken to the ghetto. I don’t want her to ask me questions about whether I’ve tried to visit.
