Dorotha drank in the warmth of their smiles, as they traded news and hugs with friends on their one precious day out of the stifling workshops and factories. Dorotha had seen the hardening of hearts in the ghetto, but here, in this little book-lined room, people remembered what it was to be human. The ghetto was a tapestry of misery, but tug at a few spare threads and reminders of kindness and humanity quickly unravelled.
By this point, people had started giving her their books in return for one of hers, and in many ways, it had become more of an unofficial swap shop than a library.
Lily Shapiro, who worked in a tailoring factory on Brzezinska Street, wove her way through the cramped room until she reached Dorotha. She pressed a copy ofThe War of the Jewsby Lion Feuchtwanger into her hands and then, to Dorotha’s surprise, a small, slightly tattered piece of fabric embroidered with the wordsBooks Unite Us With A Future.
‘To say thank you,’ she said.
‘It’s beautiful, Lily,’ Dorotha said, humbled by the gift. ‘I shall treasure it.’
‘I worked for a couturier in Paris before the war,’ she said wistfully, and it struck Dorotha how much wasted talent there was in this godforsaken place. She had met booksellers, seamstresses, teachers, actors, accountants, carpenters, shoemakers, linguists, watchmakers, poets, painters and professors from all corners of Europe. How much richer humanity could be for the hands and minds of these people. The waste was catastrophic. Only last week, Ruth had pointed out a famous violinist pushing a coal cart.
Interrupting the poignant moment, the door to their room suddenly flung open. A wide-eyed Milly Hauser stood on the threshold, carrying a copy of the anti-fascist novel,Bread and Wine, by popular author Ignazio Silone, and bringing news. ‘The Wechsler brothers have been arrested!’
Conversations tailed off. Everyone suspected the two popular young bakers were involved in the resistance.
Oscar, who had come in behind her, nodded. ‘It’s true, they were charged with listening to a BBC broadcast on a clandestine receiver.’
‘The Red House?’ Mrs Cohen asked. Oscar nodded.
‘Those poor young men,’ she murmured.
‘But wait until you hear what they told people before they were arrested,’ Millie went on. ‘Last month, the Allies landed in France and are fighting their way from the west, with the Soviet Army approaching from the east!’
‘That explains a lot,’ added a woman who had been browsing in silence, dread written all over her face.
‘Explain,’ ordered Mrs Cohen.
‘Yesterday, Biebow came into our workshop with the commander of the Gestapo and made a speech.’
‘Biebow himself came into your workshop?’ Mrs Mordkowicz questioned disbelievingly.
‘We thought it strange. He gave us some flannel about why we must ready ourselves to move to the Reich. Told us the conditions would be better; we shall have good living conditions, more food and medical care. Even told us to bring our pots and pans... Apparently, he is working his way round all the factories urging people to present themselves at assembly points.’
Her voice was drowned out by a chorus of protests.
Does he take us for fools? We all know what medical care means.
Dorotha’s heart stumbled. She had heard rumours that this was happening, but nothing until now to confirm them. No one ever truly knew what to believe in this place, but now it really did seem that the long-awaited liquidation had finally begun.
The afternoon took on something of the quality of a fever dream as the new German proclamation, ordering prisonersto present themselves to the assembly points in readiness for deportation, was picked over. The only thing Dorotha’s patrons could agree on was the fact that the Germans were lying. Wherever they were destined to be sent was undoubtedly not going to be better.
‘But wherever the trains are going, it surely can’t beworsethan here?’ Mrs Mordkowicz pointed out.
Mrs Cohen snorted. ‘Can’t it? I for one will not be complying.’
‘I’d rather risk it than stay here and starve to death,’ Milly countered.
Back and forth people went, discussing the dilemma upon which all their lives hung. Dorotha shot a nervous glance at Gabriele, who was sitting quietly in the corner, staring into space. She didn’t like the listless look of the girl. Oscar seemed to sense her disquiet.
‘The library will be closing now,’ he announced. ‘But before you all go, I want to say thank you to Dorotha.’ He turned to her, a softness spreading over his usually serious face.
‘You’ve given people so much hope and joy with your little library. Reading has satiated our hunger and nourished our minds. I’m reminded of a quote by Frederick Douglass, the American writer and abolitionist, a man born into slavery, who said, “Once you learn to read, you will be forever free.”’
Heads nodded in agreement.
‘Dorotha,’ Oscar went on. ‘You have given us freedom through reading.’
Amazement prickled up Dorotha’s spine as she heard the slogan of the Secret Society of Librarians spoken out loud. Oscar had read her like a book.
