“Mama?” he whispered.
She nodded, swallowing over her sobs, but still she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. My father sighed and put his arm around Jacob, helping him out the door. We huddled on the doorstep, watching as Jacob walked down the path to the truck. Other young men were sitting in the back of the truck dressed in identical uniforms. They stared at their feet or gazed into the distance with vacant expressions. Jacob paused for a moment with his back to us and steeled himself before continuing forward. Suddenly, a voice cried out his name.
“Jacob! Wait!”
We turned and saw Helena running down the sidewalk. Jacob froze. Helena stopped a few feet away, panting. She looked at him and gave a small sound, a cross between a gasp and a sigh. She reached out to him, poised to run, but her feet remained planted where she stood. They gazed at each other until her arms slowly fell to her sides. They continued to stare until the driver of the truck pressed impatiently on the horn. Jacob couldn’t take his eyes off Helena as he climbed into the truck bed. He was drinking her in, memorizing her every detail.
As the vehicle pulled away, taking my brother with it, I heard my mother sobbing against my father, but I could only watch Helena’s face. I saw her heartache and longing. I saw the hungry look in her eyes as she ran after the truck until it turned the corner. And despite my concern for my brother, a small part of me longed to be in their shoes.
We woke to the sound of sirens.
I gasped as I bolted upright in bed. “Esther!” I cried, reaching for the empty space beside me. It took only a moment to remember that Esther wasn’t there. I felt the familiar punch to the gut. Would I ever get used to the realization that Esther was gone?
I ran from my bed into the main room, my heart racing. Occasionally, the ground beneath my feet quaked, and I heard a distant boom like thunder. “Mama! Papa! What’s happening?” I cried anxiously. The twins were curled up between my parents, the blankets pulled up so only their startled eyes peered out at us. I fell into their bed as well and buried my head against my mother’s shoulder as another crash sounded, reverberating off the walls. The door to my brothers’ room opened and Sam and Isaac rushed to join us, their faces pale in the darkness. For a moment, all other sound was drowned out by a steady rumbling from overhead that caused the bed to vibrate.
“Those are planes,” Sam whispered, going to the window and parting the curtain to look out at the darkened street.
“Samuel, come away from the window!” my father hissed, but he stood up and rushed to my brother’s side, gazing out as well. There was an explosion somewhere closer now, and the whole room shook, the glass of the window rattling against the pane. I jumped and buried my head under the blankets.
“Are we at war?” I whispered, terrified. My voice caught in my throat. “Are those bombs?”
My mother wrapped her arm around me tightly, clutching me closer. “Oh, Jacob,” I heard her breathe into my hair. “My Jacob, please come home.”
“What time is it?” Isaac whispered.
“It has to be near dawn,” Sam said, pressing his palms to the glass.
“What do we do, Leibish?” my mother asked, searching my father’s face. The sirens were still sounding; the rise and fall of the alarm reverberated in my ears, undulating in time to my quickened heartbeat. “Should we take shelter? Where can we go?”
My father held up his hand. “Let me think,” he said from across the room, closing his eyes. Another blast right outside the window sent my father and brother running back to the bed. “Get up,” my father ordered, throwing back the blankets. “Hurry! Follow me!”
We ran to the kitchen table, where my father told us to duck underneath. We crowded around each other, crouched shoulder to shoulder. My teeth chattered with each explosion, and I was sure the walls would cave in around us. I put my arms over my head and squeezed my eyes shut. The minutes passed like hours, until finally the sounds became more distant, the explosions fewer, the sirens finally falling silent. “I think we’re safe,” my father whispered at long last, and my whole body relaxed against my mother. My head fell on her shoulder and my fists unclenched. Still, we didn’t move.
I didn’t realize I had begun to doze until a soft voice said, “Come, Sarah. Let’s get you back to bed.”
“Don’t want to sleep in my bed,” I muttered as my father lifted me from the floor. I felt his cheek against mine as he carried me to their mattress and laid me upon it. I don’t know how long I slept, but I woke with a start sometime later to sunshine pouring through the window. Birds chirped in the branches of the tree outside, and the clear blue sky I glimpsed through the parted curtains was in sharp contrast to the darkness and blinding explosions of the night before. Beside me, the twins were curled up, sleeping peacefully.
I frowned and got out of bed. Our front door was slightly ajar. I heard voices on the other side. I found my parents standing on the front step with my aunt and uncle. My mother glanced at me and said, “Oh, good, you’re up, Sarah. I was just about to come and wake you. Hurry up and get dressed.”
“Why?” I asked, groggy and confused. Had the previous night been a dream?
“We are all going to the Gellers,” my mother explained. “Radio Poland is off air, but they’re trying to catch the BBC from London to hear news about last night. Everyone is going over to listen.”
“Were those bombs, Mama?” I asked, my eyes scanning the street and the buildings that still stood, intact.
My mother didn’t answer. She eyed Aunt Leah, who pressed her lips together. Their silence said more than words ever could.
I noticed my cousin Gutcha standing behind them and caught her eye. She quickly walked to my side. “Come on, Sarah,” she said. “I’ll help you get ready.”
We stepped into my small alcove, letting the curtain fall closed behind us.
“Oh, Sarah,” Gutcha breathed when we were alone, sitting on my bed. “I was so scared last night.”
“Me too,” I said. “The whole house shook.”
“I know. It sounded so close. Do you think this means we are officially at war?”
I didn’t answer at first. I sat beside her, looking at the window where daylight streamed in, falling across my pillow. It felt like any other morning, yet somehow I sensed it wasn’t.
“I hope not,” I finally answered. “Mama’s so worried about Jacob. I miss him too.”
“I know,” Gutcha said quietly.
I looked at the pillows on the bed. Where I had spent most of the night, the pillow was concave like a deflated balloon, a few strands of my auburn hair glinting in the sunlight. The pillow beside mine was still plump, untouched, and I reached out a hand and gently stroked the cotton pillowcase. “I miss Esther, Gutcha,” I whispered. “I miss her all the time. I wonder what she would think if she were still here.”
Gutcha reached out and placed her hand on mine.
“And now we’re so worried about Jacob,” I said, the words falling out of my mouth before I could stop them. “What does he know about fighting? If we lose him too—”
“Don’t say that, Sarah,” Gutcha whispered.
“But what if we do, Gutcha?” I asked. “I don’t think Mama could take it. And Papa’s not himself anymore.”
Gutcha put her arms around me. Her soft brown hair tickled my cheek and her scent reminded me of spring. It was somehow familiar and comforting. I let myself imagine a field of flowers, the sun warm overhead, the sky clear, birds circling in the treetops as my sister and I lay hidden in the tall grass, weaving dandelion stems into crowns.
“Girls!” my mother’s voice called, jolting me back to reality. “Mach shnel ! Hurry up!”
We drew apart, and I blinked. I quickly dressed, and we went out to join the rest of the family. The twins were up and getting into their jumpers, grumbling because they were hungry and still half-asleep. Sam and Isaac were standi
ng by the door with my father, and my aunt and uncle were standing on the front steps with Daniel, my aunt tying her shawl beneath her chin. “Come, come, come,” my mother said, giving us a gentle push forward. Then she grabbed both twins by their hands and ushered us all out the door.
Nine
Olkusz, Poland, September 1, 1939
By our standards, the Gellers were considered well-off. Their home was larger than our own and more richly furnished, with red silk sofas and oversized settees, a large mahogany dining room table, colorful tapestries hanging from brass rods on the walls of their formal living room, a china cabinet filled with delicate cups and saucers, and tabletop lamps sparkling with crystal droplets. They displayed their gold-dipped menorah and Shabbat candlesticks proudly on their breakfront, and they even had a modern stove and radio and car.
When we entered, their home was already crowded with neighbors. In the living room, Mr. Geller stood over the radio, tuning the dial in an effort to reach the right frequency. All I heard was static occasionally broken by a distant voice whispering inaudibly before being swallowed once more by white noise. Mrs. Geller carried a tray with tea and small biscuits. The twins eagerly pulled on my mother’s skirt, asking for some, irritable because they’d missed breakfast.
“Yes, yes,” my mother said, handing each one a biscuit and shooing them away. A couple of the younger boys from our town were sitting on the thick wool carpet playing marbles, and the twins ran to join them. I saw some of my classmates standing by a window draped in a rich burgundy velvet and waved. For all intents and purposes, the Gellers were throwing a party.
“What have you heard?” my mother asked, turning back to Mrs. Geller.
“We’ve been able to make out a little from London, but we’re mostly just getting noise. We can’t get a good signal. Radio Poland is off air for now, but I believe there’s going to be a broadcast sometime today.”
“So we wait?” my mother asked, and Mrs. Geller nodded.
Gutcha tapped my shoulder and nodded at our friends standing by the window. They were waving us over. We excused ourselves and made our way through the crowded room to join them.
“Sarah,” my friend Rachel said, reaching for my hand, “is everyone all right?”
I nodded. “Yes, we’re fine. Did you all hear the bombs last night?”
My friends nodded solemnly.
“We hid under our beds,” Rachel said. “Mama was sobbing. We were so frightened!”
“We were too,” Gutcha whispered.
“There doesn’t seem to be any damage here, though,” a girl named Hannah said. “My brothers went into town this morning and said everything was still standing.”
“My Papa said Krakow was probably hit,” Rachel added.
“My aunt and uncle live in Krakow,” another girl, Idel, said, growing pale.
We exchanged silent looks. Then, to break the tension, Gutcha leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Rachel, I heard a little something about you.”
Rachel looked confused. “What do you mean?”
Gutcha raised her eyebrows and said, “A rumor reached my ears that you and Eli were seen together in the park this week.”
The other girls laughed as a blush spread over Rachel’s cheeks and her eyes grew wide. “Shhh!” she hissed. “My mama and papa are right over there! What would you know about that? Who said so?”
“Is it true?” Hannah asked, leaning forward.
Rachel gave a small, secretive smile and shrugged, but said nothing.
“Come on, Rachel. Tell us!” Gutcha urged.
“I hear Eli’s going to study at the yeshiva in Warsaw,” Idel said.
Rachel nodded dismissively. “Yes, he told me the same thing.”
“What else did he tell you?” Gutcha prodded, and we laughed again.
“That’s none of your business,” Rachel pouted, but her voice was playful.
“Do you like him, Rachel?” I asked excitedly. For the moment, it was easy to forget why we were all there. The laughter in Gutcha’s eyes, the eager expressions on my friends’ faces, and Rachel’s enigmatic answers transported me to the schoolyard, where we shared our most intimate secrets.
“I’ll only tell if you tell who you like, Sarah,” Rachel challenged. Everyone turned to look at me, and I felt my own face grow red.
“Yeah, how about it, Sarah? There must be a boy you’ve had your eye on,” Hannah giggled.
“Not really,” I said, feeling heat rise up my neck.
“Oh, come on,” Rachel said. “I’ve seen the way some of the boys look at you.”
My head shot up. “What do you mean?”
The girls glanced at each other and started to laugh. “Well, Sarah,” Rachel began, “you’ve got nice—” With her hands, she imitated lifting her bosom up and down.
“Boys like that,” Hannah nodded with a smirk.
I crossed my arms over my chest defensively, my mouth open. “That’s crude!” I gasped, but I couldn’t help smiling a little. Though I wouldn’t admit it, I liked the idea of boys noticing me the way they had noticed Esther. I knew my body was changing, and I felt a surge of emotion, something I couldn’t quite explain—something like power.
“So?” Gutcha asked. “Confess, Sarah. Who do you like?”
“Oh, all right,” I relented with a huff. “There is someone.”
“I knew it!” Rachel clapped her hands together excitedly. “Tell us everything!”
“Well, a couple of weeks ago I was in Papa’s bakery and Chaim came in.”
“Chaim?” the girls asked in unison. “Chaim Gutman?”
I nodded. Chaim attended the boys’ school where my brothers studied. Even though I had known him since we were children, that day he came into the bakery, there was something different about him. For the first time, I had noticed just how green his eyes were, how the light made a halo on the crown of his head, how his hair looked like wisps of soft down, and how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
“He is rather handsome,” Idel whispered.
“I think I saw him earlier with his parents,” Rachel said. Now my cheeks were so red I was sure they matched my hair.
“Don’t you dare say a word!” I hissed.
“I won’t if you won’t say anything about Eli,” Rachel shot back.
We exchanged looks for a moment, then we all burst out laughing.
The hours passed more slowly as morning turned into afternoon. Mrs. Geller and the other women prepared a simple lunch for everyone while the men stood around Mr. Geller, deep in discussion as each took a turn at the radio. Everyone strained to make out any news over the crackle of static. Mr. Geller occasionally shouted in triumph as he tweaked the knob and a distant, tinny voice sounded, and someone would yell, “Everyone, hush!” Still, we could not make out any news.
As the temperature began to climb outside, the press of bodies turned the air inside stagnant. The smell of cigarette smoke mingled with that of sweat, and it was obvious everyone was growing impatient. My friends and I ended up sitting on the front steps, enjoying the stray breeze that occasionally disturbed the treetops in the park across the street. Other than that, the streets were quiet, the park empty. It felt to me that Olkusz itself was waiting for something.
Finally, as the sun was lowering in the western sky, Rachel’s mother appeared at the door. “Come quick, girls!” she exclaimed, signaling us to come inside. “Radio Poland is back on!”
We ran into the now packed living room. I looked around for my parents and saw them standing near the window. I made my way to them, pushing through the bodies, straining to hear the voice issuing from the radio. Everyone stood mute as we heard the newscaster’s announcement:
The general staff has issued the following communique, number one, at 6:15 p.m. On the first of September 1939, the Germans crossed into o
ur territory. German air force and regular army unexpectedly invaded Polish territory without a declaration of hostilities. In the early morning, the German airplanes attacked a number of towns all over Poland.
We gasped. I clutched my mother’s hand as the newscaster listed the numerous cities hit by bombs in the early hours that morning. So many were attacked that I soon lost track of the number. “Casualties have been reported among the civilian population. Further bombings are taking place,” the broadcast continued.
“Those monsters,” my mother whispered, her face pale.
An evacuation train was hit by both bombs and machine gun fire. A number of churches were destroyed. The capital city of Warsaw was a target.
I felt the blood rush to my face. It flooded my ears, drowning out the broadcaster’s voice for a moment. War. War. We were at war. There was no more guessing, no more wondering. Then I heard him announce, “Fighting is going on in the frontal region. Polish defenses are outnumbered. We are receiving reports of a large number of Polish casualties.”
My mother swooned. My father steadied her before she fell. “Mama?” I asked, clutching at her in concern. She closed her eyes and turned away—but not before I heard her whisper my brother’s name.
“Jacob.”
Ten
My mother went to the post office every day that followed to see if there was a letter from Jacob. The last letter we’d had from him was dated a week before the fighting broke out. She carried that letter with her day and night, whispering silent prayers to the paper when she thought no one was looking. The list of known casualties and deaths was posted around town. Crowds gathered to see if they recognized the names of the unfortunate.
My mother was afraid to check the lists, so Sam and I went into town daily to see for ourselves. Every time I raised my eyes to the register of names, I felt fear swell in my throat, robbing me of air. Though it took moments to scan through the names, the anticipation, the not knowing, made it feel like forever. When I didn’t see Jacob’s name, warm relief rushed through my limbs, and I let out my breath. Then I ran home to report the good news. His name was not there. He was, to our knowledge, still alive.
What She Lost Page 6
