‘Are you sure you’re happy to take the risk to join us at Mrs Cohen’s?’ Mr Weiss knew Iris Cohen, most people did, and had also received her invite.
He raised one eyebrow. ‘I’d rather risk being caught than letting Mrs Cohen down,’ he said dryly.
‘Very well,’ she laughed. ‘Let’s get the others and go.’
Dorotha was still smiling as she let herself into their room. But before she even took off her coat, her ghetto sixth sense told her something was wrong. Adrenaline reverberated through the airless room.
‘There was a selection earlier,’ Mrs Mordkowicz blurted.
‘I know,’ Dorotha replied. ‘I heard. Two shot and a dozen taken.’
‘One of them was Ava,’ Ruth whispered. ‘Or, at least, we have to assume so. She hasn’t returned from her walk.’
The room seemed to warp and tilt, before revealing the fifth occupant.
‘What could we do but bring her back here?’ Mrs Mordkowicz asked, wringing her hands. ‘We couldn’t leave her alone in that basement. We’re all she has now.’
Sitting on Ruth’s lap was little Gabriele Kaminski.
Dorotha had the strangest sensation of falling from a great height with no safety net to catch her. How could this be! Day to day they lived in danger and depravity, their lives a ticking time bomb, and now they had a child to care for?
The very worst had happened. With Ava in all likelihood snatched in a selection, they would all now be plunged into a void of uncertainty. Fractured thoughts crowded her mind.Where was Ava? Would she return? How could she possibly explain her mother’s absence to Gabriele?In reality, there wereno clean answers to any of these questions and, in the depths of Dorotha’s soul, she knew there was only one thing they could do. Find a way to keep living.
‘We’re due at Mrs Cohen’s shortly,’ Ruth exclaimed. ‘We can’t go now.’
‘The chance to celebrate Pesach. Are youmeshuge?’ Mrs Mordkowicz snorted. ‘Of course we go.’
And so, the group slipped out as darkness settled like a cloth over the ghetto.
‘Will my mama be there?’ Gabriele asked, her little voice heartbreaking in the darkness.
‘I’m afraid not,bubbeleh,’ Mrs Mordkowicz whispered. ‘You have to stay with us for a little while. We’ll look after you. Please God you will see your mama when the war is over.’
Gabriele accepted this answer, like so many other devastating changes she had been forced to accept in her short life.
Mrs Cohen lived in one room over the baker’s with her son Moishe, the baker, and an assortment of other people; Dorotha had no idea whether she was related to them or not. They found the blocked-off alley Mrs Cohen had told them about earlier, and Ruth moved aside some crates to the side of the baker’s to reveal the entrance. As they trod the rickety, rotten steps to her room, Dorotha’s mind wandered back to the delicious Seder meals of her childhood. Her stomach growled at the memory of the symbolic foods.
There had been charoset, a sweet mixture of apples, dates, nuts and wine, which stood for the mortar the slaves used to build the Egyptian pharaohs’ buildings. Maror, a bitter herb like horseradish, represented the bitterness of slavery. Karpas, dipped twice in salt water to remind them of the tears shed during the years of slavery in Egypt. Then her mama andbubbewould present a feast of food all cooked with love. The adults would stay up late talking, and she and Adela would beg to stayup too until their eyes grew heavy. Pesach was family, it was pure love, it was togetherness.
At the door she hesitated, her heart breaking afresh. ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’
The last Pesach had been with her beloved family. Would she be betraying them by celebrating it without them?
‘It’s what your dear mama would want,’ Mrs Mordkowicz said, reading her thoughts and gently pressing a palm on the flat of her back.
The door opened and Mrs Cohen ushered them in.
‘I have one extra, I’m afraid,’ she said, gesturing to Gabriele.
‘What a blessing to have a child with us at Pesach,’ Mrs Cohen said with a rare smile, taking Dorotha by surprise.
Inside, faces shone out from the single candle on the table, and they were warmly welcomed.
‘So, you’re the girl with the books,’ a man who must have been Moishe remarked, pulling out old crates for them to sit on. He was a tall young man whose presence seemed to fill the tiny room. ‘Mama’s been trying to persuade me to come to the library, but I’m not such a reader.’
‘So come, I’ll find you something,’ she replied.
‘She’s very persuasive,’ Oscar said. ‘Just say yes now and save yourself the trouble.’
