Mama tightens her arm around my shoulder. “Ella, at the end of life, we die. Every one of us. A lesson almost every person must learn is that with love comes inevitable consequence. You could be with the person you love for fifty years and live a beautiful life together, but one of you will have to endure losing the other at the end. Grief is a consequence of love, young and old.”
Mama’s words bring an ache to my chest. I realize what she’s saying is true, but it isn’t just grief I will live with. It will be the horrors we both faced leading up to an untimely death.
I’ve been watching the clock since Tata and Miko left. Nearly three hours have passed and each creak of the stairs in the building causes my heart to race and my stomach to twist in pain.
If Tata finds an answer—the one I’m most fearful of—I might regret giving up any chance of hope in finding him. There won’t even be a gravestone with his name. None of the people who were sent to the gas chambers will have one. Even those who were executed were sent to crematoriums. There are no remains.
Just as the sun dips beneath the horizon, I recognize the two pairs of heavy footsteps hopping up the stairs. It’s them. They’re walking fast, which tells me they know something.
I stand up from the sofa and clutch my hands over my chest, waiting for the door to open.
They burst in, both with their shoulders slouched forward and a curious lack of expression on their faces. I notice an envelope dangling from Tata’s fingers, covered in inky fingerprint marks.
“Tata,” I whisper, trying to speak against the agony riveting through me. “What did you find?”
Mama stands and holds her arm around my shoulders, waiting for him to answer.
Tata releases a slow exhale and shifts his gaze to my eyes. “We found information,” he says.
I’m still holding my breath because information could mean anything. “Is he—” I can’t get the words out. I can’t breathe.
Miko nods, but his expression doesn’t change—still flat, nothing. “Yes, he’s alive,” he says, swallowing hard after his last word.
I gasp, as the air is sucked out of my lungs. “He’s alive?”
“Yes,” Tata confirms. “But…”
“But what?” Mama follows sharply. “Say it.”
Tata hesitates despite Mama’s demand. His fingers tighten around the envelope. “We don’t know everything yet,” he says. “But, sweetheart, he’s in a displacement camp. He’s not well.”
“Wh-what do you mean? Wha-what does that mean?” I ask, my eyes searching between Tata and Miko as I step in closer to them. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s in a trauma unit for people suffering from severe memory loss whether from injury, psychological conditions, or both.”
Tata hands me the envelope and I push myself to lift my arm to take it from him. “He won’t recognize me?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t know anything more than what I’ve told you. His location is inside the envelope.”
Mama takes the envelope from my hand and pulls me into her chest, embracing me tightly. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispers. “We will.”
FIFTY-FIVE
LUKA
May 1945
Time:Nine weeks and three days, I write at the top of my journal entry after peeking at the previous page that says:Nine weeks and two days.
Name: Luka Dulski
I graze the tip of my pencil to the blank space following the prompt.
What do I remember today:
While staring at the red marked scars lining my knuckles for a moment, I collect my thoughts before jotting them down.
My family is dead, but I’m alive.
