“You’re almost there, Estherly! You can do it,” Oren cheers.
“Would you please let me take these last few steps on my own?”
His forehead crinkles and his mouth parts as if protesting, but he lets go. Standing nearby, he’s ready should I fall. But, I don’t. I take one step, then two, then three… all on my own, until I finally reach the bench and lower myself onto it.
“You did it!”
I smile and giggle. “What time can we leave tomorrow?”
1 June 1945
Looking up, I read the numbers on the building where I left my Meir two years ago, remembering that terrible night. In the light of day, the brick is a bright red, and it looks nothing like it did that evening. The air even smells different; this time, there’s no earthy scent of rain or smoky fireplaces. That night was a cold one for April, and today the sun shines bright above me.
Oren takes my hand and squeezes. He helps me take each step to the front door of the Kubises’ house. My breath hitches as he raises his hand and gives the door a powerful knock. We wait. There are no noises coming from inside. Oren knocks again, this time louder. My heart plummets to my feet when I realize what the troops told Oren is true. No one is here. He lets go of my hand and stretches over, peeking in a clouded window.
“It looks empty, Estherly. I don’t think they’ve been here for a while, based on the condition of these windows.”
“Please, knock again.”
He does, and no one comes to the door.
“You wait here. I’m going to the neighbors and see if they know anything.”
“I’d like to come with you.”
He nods and takes my arm, assisting me back down the steps. We walk down the street to the next house. I look at the stairs and then at Oren with wide eyes.
“Is it too much?”
“I will do this. I’ll make it up those stairs for my son.”
“I’ve got you,” he says, gripping me tighter.
It takes every effort I have, but we reach the top, and Oren knocks on the door.
An older woman opens it and speaks in a language I can’t comprehend.
Oren looks at me and shrugs. Assuming he’s asking if I understand her, I shake my head.
“I think she’s speaking Polish,” I say.
“Wait here. I’ll get the soldier who drove us here. He knows Polish.”
The woman stares at me with a raised eyebrow while Oren hurries to the Jeep. It’s an awkward silence as we wait for them.
The young soldier comes up the stairs, and Oren explains the situation in German.
Looking us up and down, seemingly deciding if it’s okay to provide us with information, the woman speaks. Her hand falls over her chest, and her expression softens.
“What did she say?” The question falls from my lips.
The soldier’s face saddens. “I’m sorry. They were killed a couple years ago by the Nazis.”
She raises her hand and points. The woman speaks as the soldier interprets what she says.
“She says they were shot right there in the street. And that she’s very sorry.”
My lower lip trembles, and weakness overcomes me.
“They were caught helping the Jews,” the soldier interprets, “and the Nazis came for them in the night. She says it was disgraceful the way they took them from their home and shot them in the street, as if their lives meant nothing.”
“Do you know if they have any relatives or anyone who may know more about them? What happened to their belongings?” Oren asks.
Translating, the soldier asks the woman the questions.
“They had no family that I know of. The Nazis ransacked their home after they murdered them. They took everything or destroyed it right there in the street near their bodies. The house is empty and has been except an occasional vagabond,” the soldier says, as the woman speaks over his voice.
Unable to control my sobs, my knees give way, and I fall on the woman’s doorstep, heaving. Oren gets on his knees and takes me into his arms, running fingers through my hair. “Can you please ask her for some water?” he asks the soldier.
I cry, “My son. My son. How will I find him if the Kubises are dead? Where is he? How will I find my son?” I weep.
“We’ll keep looking. I’ll help you. We won’t stop until we find him,” he soothes.
The woman returns with a glass of water, and I can barely hold my breath long enough to take a sip.
“Are you sure there’s no one who has any more information on them?” Oren asks, looking up at the young man.
“She says she didn’t know them well, but what she did know of them was that they were loners. They kept to themselves. Once in passing, they mentioned to her that they didn’t have any family except each other.”
The words cripple me and cause every bit of hope to flutter away with the breeze. I cry in Oren’s arms for what seems like an eternity before he lifts me and carries me to the Jeep we came in.
I whisper, “I have to tell Klara and Oskar. The Kubises helped their children escape, too. Can you please take me to them? Now?”
“I’ll get a ride back to base,” says the soldier, as he trails behind us.
Oren nods and places me in the Jeep. Before getting inside, he stops near the young soldier, shakes his hand and salutes him.
Dust swirls near the entrance to the camp. There’s a foul smell in the air, which causes a sour taste in my mouth. While Oren goes into the camp, I wait in the truck, searching my thoughts for another way of finding Meir, but nothing comes. I’m too distraught for rational thinking. Looking through the gates, I realize that “displaced person camp” is other words for “work camp.” Behind the fence, freed Jews are still clothed in prisoner uniforms. Through tear-fogged eyes, I see Klara and Oskar coming towards the Jeep with Oren. Each of them wears a worried expression, and I don’t know how I’ll break the news to them. When they’re close, I step out of the Jeep and lean against it to steady myself. All the crying I’ve done since we left the Kubises neighborhood has left me in a frail state.
“What’s happened?” Klara asks.
I throw my arms around Klara and cry harder.
She pulls away. “What is it, dear?”
I can’t utter a word through my tears. Oren places his hand on mine, then breaks the news to Klara and Oskar for me. As he speaks, I double over, hysterical. Oskar falls to his knees and raises his hands to the heavens, asking, “Why?”
“This doesn’t mean we won’t find them,” Klara gasps.
“How?” I scream. “How will we find our children when they were the only ones who knew where they were?”
“We can still keep searching,” Oren says.
I use the Jeep to pull myself away from all of them and place my hands over my face, leaning into it with my body.
Klara goes to Oskar, and Oren comes to comfort me.
“Estherly, shh. We will do all we can to find your son. I promise you.”
“You can’t make promises that you can’t guarantee you can keep.”
“I can promise you this: as long as I’m able to, I will try to help you find your son. You have my word.”
Oren opens his arms, and I don’t hesitate to fall into them. Near my ear, he speaks encouraging words, but they do nothing to soothe my pain and doubt. Over Oren’s shoulder, I look on as Oskar cradles Klara in his arms. They bellow together as people behind the fences stare at us. Oren holds me away from his body by my shoulders and stares into my eyes with his bright-blue ones. Tears pool in the corners of his eyes, and empathy is in his gaze.
“Let’s get you back into the Jeep. You’re growing weaker, and I don’t want you fainting. I’ll help Klara and Oskar back to their quarters. Will you be okay while I take them back?”
“Please, let me sit with them for a while.”
“Of course. It’s too hot to sit in the Jeep for any longer than you already have. Let me go find a place where you can all have privacy. In the meantime, ha
ve a seat inside, but keep the door open.”
It doesn’t take Oren long before he comes back and drives all of us into the camp. I’m shocked at the state of it. It’s nothing as I imagined when Klara and Oskar told me they were coming here. It’s filthy and overcrowded. I become concerned with the safety of my friends.
Oren finds us an empty room with chairs, and we all take seats.
“Tell us what happened, Estherly,” Oskar says.
“Their neighbor said they were caught helping Jews and the Nazis shot them dead in the street. She said they had no family and that the Nazis ransacked their house, taking everything. The records of our children were probably in that house.”
“What if the Nazis found the records and found our babies?” Klara asks.
“You don’t know that happened,” Oren says, in what seems like an attempt to calm all of us.
“There must be someone else that knows something,” Oskar demands.
“I’m going to go back and question the other neighbors, but I wanted to get Estherly back to the hospital first. This is a lot for her.”
“Will you please?” Klara asks. “Someone must know more.”
“Can you please recount exactly what happened when you took your children to the Kubises? I need every detail you can remember. Oskar, let’s start with you.”
Oren takes out a pad of paper and a pencil and scratches notes.
We spend an hour going over the moment we gave our children up to the Kubises before Oren finally shuts his notebook and puts his pencil down. “I’m going to enlist some of my men to help me gather as much information as we can on what happened to the Kubises and see if we can locate any of their belongings. We’ll start there and with interviews of all the people living in that neighborhood. We’ll do our best for you. Estherly, you look very tired, and I’m afraid today may set you into a relapse. We must get you back to the hospital.”
I nod, even though I don’t want to leave Klara and Oskar in this awful place. “Are Klara and Oskar safe here?”
“Yes. Here they have shelter and food. We’re doing our best to take care of all the survivors,” Oren says.
“Don’t worry for us,” Oskar says. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“They feed us three meals a day and gave us blankets and pillows. We’ve already made friends here,” Klara says.
“I don’t want to leave you,” I say, tossing my arms around her shoulders.
“You go back to the hospital with Oren. He’s right; you don’t look well. Today has been exhausting for me. I can only imagine what you’re feeling.”
“My grief is no greater than both of yours,” I say.
“We really must be going, Estherly,” Oren says, standing.
Klara pushes me away. “Go now. Get rest. Perhaps we can come and visit you soon.”
I look at Oren, and he nods.
“I’d be happy to bring them to the hospital or you to them. Now, let’s get going.” Oren takes my hand and helps me off the chair.
We walk to the Jeep together, where I give Klara and Oskar one more hug before we say goodbye.
2 June 1945
The next morning when my eyes open, I find Oren sitting across from my hospital bed with a brown, paper package tied up with string in his lap. His crooked smile is contagious, and I can’t help but grin back. Even with my heart broken, he always finds a way to soothe it.
“Good morning,” he says. Leaning into me, he runs his fingers down my cheek. “How did you sleep?”
“When I finally fell asleep, I slept well,” I say, remembering how I tossed and turned, unable to get my mind off Meir.
“I have something for you. It’s not much, but when I saw it, it reminded me of you, so I had to get it,” he says, handing me the package.
Sitting up, I take the small bundle and place it on my lap. “You shouldn’t have,” I say. My soul warms at the thought of his sentiment.
“Open it.” His smile reaches for his eyes.
I can tell by his expression that I’m keeping him in suspense. Sliding my fingers up the paper, I tear open the package. Inside is a small, white book etched in gold with pink roses in the centre. Gliding my fingers over the floral pattern, I’m at a loss for words.
“I know how you love writing in your diary. I hope you like it.”
“It’s the most beautiful book I have ever seen,” I say, clutching it to my chest. “Thank you so much.”
“Look, this one locks on the side,” he says, pointing to the diary.
“It’s perfect. Thank you,”
“You’re very welcome. I’m so glad you like it,” he says, stroking my arm.
Placing the book on my nightstand, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pull Oren into a hug. We linger slightly for a moment, and his hand grazes the small of my back. The moment, though short, sends me reeling. It’s a feeling that I haven’t had in a very long time. Pulling away, he takes both of my hands into his.
“I have to talk to you. I have news about your siblings.”
The strain in his face and sadness in his eyes reveals what he is about to tell me isn’t the news I’ve been hoping for. I have wished for a good outcome for Gavi and Oma, but deep down in my heart, I always knew that they would be gone. Even with realizing what I think he is about to tell me, my soul does not feel prepared to hear it.
“Both your brother and sister were taken to Auschwitz. I was informed that your brother, Gavi, passed away on May 11th, 1942.”
Shaking my head, I look down at the floor, and Oren holds my hands tighter. Anger and sadness stir inside me, and tears creep out of the corners of my eyes. “How did Gavi die?”
“Estherly, are you sure you want those details?”
“I need to know,” I cry.
He squeezes my hands. “He was the victim of a mass gassing.”
His words echo in my head and cut through me like a knife. Closing my eyes, thoughts of my brother run through my mind. Was he scared? Did he know what his fate would be? I gasp, thinking about the way the gas chambers were described to me by survivors in the hospital. Imagining my brother stripped down and herded into a room sickens me.
“My brother was a smart young man and a good person. I don’t understand how others can be so heartless.”
“I don’t, either. I truly can’t comprehend the type of evil that’s gone on over here,” he says.
Looking back up at Oren, I wait for him to tell me the fate of my sister.
“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this about your brother, but I do have some good news about your sister, Oma. She’s alive. She was relocated to the U.S. on a refugee visa a week ago. Estherly, she is alive.”
My heart skips a beat when I take in his words. “My sister is alive?” I ask, not believing what comes from his lips.
“Yes, she is,” he says, taking me into his arms.
I inhale his clean, fresh scent. Melting into him, I burst into joyful sobs. “How can I reach her? Where in the U.S. is she?”
“I don’t have that information yet, but I should be able to obtain it soon. All I know as of now is that she is somewhere in the U.S. If I were a guessing man, which I’m not, I’d guess New York or another large city. With it only being a week since her group was sent over, information will filter to us. You must be patient.”
Sitting in silence, I weep for the loss of my brother, but I’m overwhelmed with happiness from hearing I’m not the only person in my family that’s survived these terrible times.
9 June 1945
A week later, walking near Oren, I take steps without his aid down the hallway of the hospital. I gain strength each day and worry that soon I’ll have to leave the hospital and him. The thought of it brings anxiety because I’ve become dependent on not only his care, but his friendship. I can’t imagine a day where I won’t wake up to a new bunch of flowers or have a long conversation with him.
“How did you sleep last night?” he asks, breaking my thoughts.
&n
bsp; “I slept good. I’m still dealing with the grief over Gavi’s death and not knowing where Meir is, but knowing Oma is out there alive and well helps me get through the night.”
“I have something for you,” he says, pulling a folded paper from his pocket. “This is the telephone number to reach your sister. I’ve found out she’s been sponsored by a Jewish family from Chicago. She’s living with them until she gets on her feet.”
I stop moving and take the paper from Oren’s hand while watching mine tremble.
Looking into his big, blue eyes, tears swell in mine. I exhale, letting out the tension I’ve been holding onto. “I don’t know how to thank you. I… I don’t have the words.”
“All I want to do is help you in any way that I can.”
“You’re an amazing man. I don’t know what else to say.”
A smile crosses his face, and his cheeks redden. His gaze goes to the floor, avoiding mine. I’ve noticed that he turns bashful when I praise him, and I find it endearing.
“Do you think you can make it to the bench today? It’s a lovely day.”
“You know I can.” I smile.
We take up our stride again. This time, he latches his arm with mine. Something about the way he holds me near makes me wonder if it is out of affection rather than necessity.
We make it through the doorway to the courtyard. Large, fluffy clouds float in the sky, and I remember summer days with my sisters at the farmhouse. It’s hard to hold back tears, but with him by my side, it makes my pain bearable.
Pointing to the sky, I say, “Do you see that cloud there? What does it look like to you?”
He shrugs.
“You don’t see it?”
He cocks his head to the side and studies the cloud I’m still pointing at. “I think you’re going to have to tell me.” He laughs.
“It’s a butterfly. It’s clear as day.”
“Looks like a glob of cotton.”
I giggle. “Typical man.”
Reaching the bench, Oren takes my hand as I lower myself onto it, and then sits close to me.
Remember the Stars Page 22
