His chest bucks in and out, rattling me around. “She’s alive,” he cries out.
Mama’s hand presses to my cheek. I would recognize the touch of her hand out of all the hands in the world. “My sweet girl,” she squeaks through a held breath. “I didn’t think—” Her words trail into a grim sob, one I feel in my chest, but doesn’t do anything to me. I’ve forgotten how to cry. I’ve forgotten how to live.
“Come on, let’s get her home and out of the cold.”
Miko cradles me like Tata, but squeezes me tighter against his chest and walks harder with heavier steps.
“This is real,” I whisper. I clench my eyes shut again, trying to convince myself. If I say it enough, it must be true. But also, no one is looking for Luka—or waiting for him here at home.That, too, is real.
Mama lets me sit in her rocking chair with the knitted blanket I used to sleep with when I was little. Our apartment is the same, unchanged, but also, foreign. I can’t differentiate the life in Auschwitz from the comfort of a home.
Mama, Tata, and Miko haven’t left my side in the two weeks I’ve been home. The grocery store is closed temporarily, even though I asked them not to do that to the people who might be depending on them. “There are plenty of other markets around. They can go elsewhere for now,” he said.
Mama keeps replacing the cup of hot tea I hold in my hands most of the day. It never becomes cool. They all stare at me most of the time, as if they’re waiting for me to start talking and tell them what I’ve gone through. But I’ve decided I won’t do that to them after putting them through the torture of thinking I was dead. They’ve dealt with enough and don’t deserve the added burden of the truth.
“I’m well enough to start looking for Luka,” I finally get the courage to tell them. I’m not sure how they will react. It’s hard to assume what they might know about my arrest or what is still a mystery to them.
“Luka,” Tata repeats. “You were trying to save him when you were arrested, isn’t that right?” I suppose he gathered that much. He was part of the resistance; I shouldn’t be too surprised at his insight.
“Yes,” I say, staring down into the honey brown liquid in my cup.
“God made you good, my sweetheart. No one can fault you for that. I blame myself for not realizing what obstacles you were moving through to care for him and his family. Arte’sfather found me shortly after the two of you were arrested and told me what had been going on. He blamed himself as much as I did. Arte was helping you so he could help his family with the food you were bartering with, and you were helping Luka by risking your life. Your acts of bravery far surpassed anything your brother and I were ever doing, and I would have stopped you had I been aware of the danger you were putting yourself in. But none can fault you for having a heart of gold.”
“It might have been for nothing. That might change your mind,” I say.
“For nothing? How can that be?”
“He was taken to Auschwitz, too. Luka. I’m not sure if he survived. If he didn’t, all I did was keep his family alive long enough to endure the most unthinkable?—”
“Endure what?” Tata asks, pressing me to finish my statement.
I stare past him, my eyes blurring. “Auschwitz.”
Tata reaches for the coffee table behind him and tears off a piece of the newspaper.
“Miko, grab a pencil.” He stands from the corner he’s been sitting beside me every day and does as Tata asks, hurrying back within a few seconds. “Jot out his name and birthday.”
“Luka?” I ask.
“Yes. Whatever information you have about him, write it down.”
Mama takes a book from the mantel and places it on my lap, trading it for the teacup I’m holding. “There you go,” she says.
Tata places the torn newspaper down on the book and Miko hands me the pencil. All of them watch as I carefully jot out Luka’s information. I place the pencil down and Tata takes the scrap of newspaper and folds it up as Mama takes the book and pencil.
Tata steps away, his movements filled with tension. He trembles as she slips his coat over his shoulders and slips the folded scrap into his pocket.
“Where are you going?” I ask, pushing myself up from the rocking chair, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. My voice cracks, punctuating how frail my strength still is.
Tata glances at me, his eyes tired with a web of red veins. “I’ll find the right people to speak to, dear. I won’t let it all be in vain if I can help it. Stay with your mother and rest.”
“I need to—I need to know,” I whisper through my tight throat. “I can’t bear?—”
“We will find answers,” Miko says. “We will. I promise.”
The two of them leave the apartment, and the door closes with a hollow thud leaving us in stark silence. Mama bends down to lift the fallen blanket and wraps it back around my shoulders, leading me to the sofa rather than the rocking chair. She helps me sit and takes the seat beside me, holding me within her arms. “It wasn’t for nothing,” she says. “It was for love.”
“Love. I might have to live forever without it now,” I say.
