“Jealous? What could she possibly be jealous of?”
He looked down at her, amused, and they both seemed to notice at the same time that his fingertips were still on her arm. He hastily pulled away. “Well, your relationship with Aleksander, if I had to guess.”
Now Yona stopped in her tracks. “What?”
Zus looked as confused as she felt. “Do you honestly not see it? The way she acts around him?”
Yona blinked a few times. “She is friendly, I suppose.”
Zus laughed. “Well, that’s one word for it.” He glanced at her and sobered as she continued to look at him blankly.
As they walked in silence for a moment, Yona’s mind spun. Falling together with Aleksander had simply happened. How could anyone begrudge her something that felt so natural? After all, if Sulia and Aleksander had had similar feelings for each other, wouldn’t they have been drawn together in the same way before they met Yona? None of it made any sense, and Yona’s frustration mounted; how was it that she was so easily able to survive but so confused when it came to what should have felt like a basic social interaction? She shook her head and sighed. “You said you were looking for me?”
“Oh, yes.” He hesitated. “It’s actually about Aleksander. He’s the one in charge of the group, yes?”
Yona nodded. He was certainly the de facto leader, the one who made the decisions, though Sulia’s accusations about Yona controlling him still rang in her ears. “He is. He led them out of the ghetto. They trust him.”
“Good. That’s good. I was thinking that perhaps I should meet with him, man to man, to discuss what we shall do for the remainder of the winter. I know we’re a burden on all of you.”
“You’re not a burden.”
His smile was weary. “Of course we are.” He hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”
Yona nodded.
“You didn’t come out of the ghetto with them, did you?”
She shook her head, but suddenly she felt exhausted. Was Zus, too, here to point out that she didn’t belong? “Is it that obvious? I—I thought that they had become like my family. But now I think perhaps I was only seeing what I wanted to see.”
He reached for the basket of berries, wordlessly offering to carry it for her as they trudged through the snow toward the larder. “All of us are family,” he said after a few minutes. “I don’t think the details matter.”
She hesitated. “I was raised by a Jewish woman, but I wasn’t born to Jewish parents,” she blurted out. “So maybe you’re wrong about me being family. Maybe I don’t belong after all. Maybe I’m just fooling myself.”
He accepted this in silence for a moment. When they reached the larder, she pulled the door open, and he held it for her as she ducked inside. He followed, and when her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized he was staring at her. “You are our family,” he said when he caught her eye. “What matters is what’s in your heart, I think, and that’s so much more complex and personal than simply how you worship God. There’s a farmer I know, Christian as they come, wears a big cross around his neck, has a brother who’s a priest. And when the Germans came, he sheltered twenty Jews in his barn, and another five in his basement, without thinking twice. He helped because help was needed, and he couldn’t turn his back on his fellow man. He was family.”
“Besa,” Yona murmured. “What a good man.”
“And a dead man, I’m afraid. The Germans found the Jews. Killed them all, and then murdered him without a thought.”
Yona could see his eyes shining in the darkness now. “That’s terrible, Zus. I’m so sorry.”
“I am, too.” He hesitated. “Every time a good soul dies, I think the world gets a little darker.”
Yona thought of Chana, of her innocent eyes, of the bullet hole in her head, of the rough laughter she’d heard through the trees. “Then it is very dark now indeed.”
Zus nodded. “Yes. But there is light, too. In the times of greatest darkness, the light always shines through, because there are people who stand up to do brave, decent things. What I am trying to say, Yona, is that in moments like this, it doesn’t matter what you were born to be. It matters what you choose to become.”
Yona held his gaze for a long time. She didn’t know what to say. Had she chosen anything at all, in fact, or had her life been dictated by the choices of other people? Was everything she was a product of Jerusza’s decision to steal her on a warm Berlin night more than two decades earlier?
Still, though, Zus’s steady gaze, his confident assurance, brought her unexpected comfort, and she nodded, the lump in her throat suddenly making it too difficult to talk.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As the winter wore on, the new group fell slowly into the old group’s rhythm, and by the time the first buds of spring had begun to appear, they were an inseparable family. The time spent in close quarters had been undeniably difficult—the two large zemliankas were crowded, airless, packed too tightly with people. But the additional mouths to feed were outweighed by the hunting instincts of the new group—Zus and Chaim, in particular, had a sixth sense about finding and trapping animals that even Yona hadn’t been able to procure, and in the dead of winter, thrice the group had feasts of stringy, hearty red deer meat, followed by two days of watery venison stew. It was enough to see them all through the winter alive.
The arrival of the newcomers had changed the spirit of Pessia and Leah, too, and seeing the little girls merrier, giggling at the things said by Chaim’s boys, was like a tonic for the others. When the children’s hearts were lighter, the nights were lit by laughter and contented sighs rather than quiet sobs and muted nightmares.
Even Sulia seemed to thaw with the changing weather, and though she never apologized to Yona for the things she’d said in the clearing, she glared at her less, though it was clear she went out of her way to avoid her. Sometimes, if Aleksander stopped to help Sulia with something, or if he led her into the woods to show her some rudimentary hunting skills, Yona noticed the other woman smiling triumphantly at her. But she always seemed to catch herself, pasting on a syrupy smile instead. It would never be a friendship, but the tension felt as if it had abated. Yona still didn’t understand any of it, but she was glad.
The whole group was happier as they began to reemerge from underground, and though Yona knew the arrival of spring also meant that the danger of discovery increased, as there would be more enemy patrols in the forest, she was glad to be swept up in the joy of having survived to see yet another year. Nineteen forty-three was like a gift, and it wasn’t until the trees had begun to sprout leaves once again that everyone seemed to believe that they had done the impossible: they had survived the winter without losing a single soul.
But at night, while the group sat around a campfire surrounded by the last icy patches of clinging snow, quietly singing Yiddish folk songs and passing around cigarettes rolled from dried sunflower roots, Yona, who often sat alone while Aleksander patrolled the forest, felt a sense of foreboding nibbling at the sweet edges of joy. Something was coming, something dark, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. At night, while Aleksander snored beside her, his arm heavy across her, his head turned away, she closed her eyes and saw demons in the blackness.
A week after the last of the snow had melted, Yona woke up from a nightmare just before dawn and shook Aleksander awake, her heart still thudding with fear and certainty. “We must move,” she said when he opened his eyes and slowly focused on her, coming back from whatever dream world he’d inhabited without her.
He blinked a few times. “We move in a week. You know this. We are still gathering supplies.”
“No, we must go sooner.” She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t describe the sixth sense that sometimes told her things. Even after all this time, she could still hear Jerusza’s voice whispering to her, sometimes laughing at her, in the wind.
“How will I explain it to the others?” Aleksander asked, and Yona could see in his eyes that he didn’t b
elieve her.
“Tell them you’re worried. That the Germans could be on their way now that the terrain allows it again.”
“But is that true? It’s still quite cold.”
“You think that will stop them?” She closed her eyes for a minute, and all she could see were uniformed men spilling from the trees, gunfire exploding like tiny bursts of flame from machine guns designed to erase them all from the earth in the space of a few heartbeats. “It won’t, Aleksander.”
“But there are only twenty-six of us. Not worth the time it would take for them to come this deep into the forest.”
“It doesn’t matter. You know that. And now that the snow has melted, their dogs will be able to track us again. We’re in danger and we must go. Please, you must believe me.”
He stared at her for a long time, his mouth a thin line. “Not today, Yona. Tomorrow. We need time to get ready, and time to mentally prepare. We’ve been here all winter. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have a sense of home again? No, you wouldn’t, because you’ve never really had one, have you?”
The words stung. “This feels like my home, too, Aleksander. That means something to me.”
“Well then, you can understand why I can’t just ask the group to abandon this place.”
“You aren’t asking that,” she said quietly, so quietly that he didn’t seem to hear her as he sat up and pulled a sweater on over his head. “You are asking them to trust you. To trust me. To survive.”
His only response was to get out of bed, pull his coat on, and disappear without a word through the small door of their zemlianka. As she sat in silence after he was gone, she looked around for a moment, taking in the gently sloping floors, the wooden walls, the shelter that had helped keep them safe and alive, living on borrowed time. She would miss it. But she could deal with an aching heart.
She spent a half hour packing her belongings; then, emerging from the shelter, she scanned the clearing. Several people were already up, enjoying the first temperate morning they’d had in months. The four older children were chasing each other around, laughing, while Daniel watched from Ruth’s lap, clapping merrily. Yona was surprised to feel tears in her eyes as she paused for a few seconds to watch them.
Zus approached from across the clearing, where he’d been working with Chaim to clean the group’s small collection of guns.
“Aleksander says we must leave sooner than planned?” he said, his arm brushing against hers as he turned to stand beside her, watching the children play.
“Yes.” She could feel the tension in her neck, still there from the words she’d exchanged an hour earlier with Aleksander. “I know it’s not convenient. But it’s to keep the group safe. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Zus waited until she looked up at him. His eyes were full of astonishment. “Yona, don’t be sorry. You’re doing what you can to keep us safe. We should all be kissing the ground you walk on.”
She bit her lip and looked away. “You believe me?”
“Of course I do. It’s clear by now that your instincts have helped save us. Why on earth would we ignore them now?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Aleksander’s words about her never knowing a real home still burned a hole in her chest. “Aleksander said that I can’t understand how the rest of you feel because my past is so different. I think perhaps he’s right.”
“Yona.” Zus’s voice was deep, and she was surprised when he touched her arm, his fingertips lingering. She could feel goose bumps prickle where his skin met hers. “He’s not. He’s not right.”
When she looked up at him, she was startled anew by the green of his eyes, which seemed to change with the weather, with his mood. Today, his eyes were bright, alive. “Perhaps you don’t really know.”
“Or perhaps you’re listening to the wrong person,” he said softly. “Don’t forget to listen to yourself, Yona. No one knows what’s in your heart but you.” He walked away before she could say anything else.
Yona barely slept that night, worried about the day ahead and bothered by both Aleksander’s and Zus’s words. The group was on the move just after dawn the next morning. The traces of them in the forest—their zemliankas and the ground they had lived on, and under, for months—were too significant to erase, so Yona could only pray that the group was long gone by the time a German search dog found their camp.
She led them in a circuitous route, around thick underbrush, over patches of ice, even through a half-frozen swamp, which soaked their boots and made their teeth chatter. They would need to warm their feet and dry their clothing by the fire wherever they settled that night, but it was worth the risk, for neither man nor beast could follow their trail through this. She took them in directions that made no sense, trying to think of the choices trackers would make and leading them the opposite way. Finally, just before the light slipped from the early spring sky, she led the group into a small clearing surrounded by soaring pines, which would make a good camp for the night.
They were all exhausted; they’d been lulled into a false sense of security by their long winter slumber, and none were accustomed to moving the way they had that day. Their pace had been slow, largely because of Oscher and the children, but Yona knew that they had to keep moving, that they couldn’t afford to do any less. The nightmares were always there now when she closed her eyes, shadowy soldiers lurking at the edges of her conscious thought. Danger was still too near.
They moved every two days, hunting and gathering on the days they remained in place, mending clothes, treating harsh blisters earned from all the walking, warming their frozen feet and hands by the fire at night, when it was too dark for the smoke to give them away. They were tired in a way they hadn’t been during the long winter, but they were much more well nourished, now that the earth had returned to giving up her gifts. Day by day, the forest floor grew more abundant with bulbous porcini mushrooms, the bushes with bilberries, the streams with spawning fish. Animals emerged, shaking off the winter, and walked into the rudimentary neck snares that Zus’s three cousins—Israel, George, and Wenzel—had learned to set, and most nights, the whole group had plenty to eat.
In April, they celebrated Passover with matzoh made from flour taken from a village, and though Ruth and Luba burned the unleavened bread in the makeshift mud-brick oven Yona had helped them make, it was a comfort to all of them to return to a familiar tradition. Leah, Pessia, and Chaim’s two sons asked the “Mah Nishtanah,” the four questions about the Passover celebration, and Leon and Oscher took turns telling the story of the Jews’ exodus from Egypt. It was a night of peace that made Yona feel like a part of a family, and that made them all feel like survival might just be possible after all.
But late May brought a lice infestation in their camp, which made Yona’s blood run cold. The tiny bugs were a nuisance—they made everyone’s skin itchy and dry—but much more important, they were a danger. They often carried typhus, and if one among the group contracted the disease, they would all be exposed. Some would die. Yona knew they had to do something—and quickly.
“We need mercury,” she said softly one morning, pulling Aleksander and Zus aside as the rest of the group gathered around a small fire. It was dangerous to create smoke in daylight, but they needed to burn the lice, so they had no choice. They picked the tiny bugs from each other’s bodies, each other’s hair, even their eyebrows and lashes, and flicked them into the flames. Yona could see Ruth crying as she picked at Daniel’s curls.
“Mercury?” Zus asked, holding her gaze.
“You mean from a pharmacy?” Aleksander asked. “But that will be dangerous, Yona.”
Yona took a deep breath. “I know. But I think it’s the only way.”
The three of them looked at each other for a moment. One of them would need to venture into civilization, to steal something in a dangerous mission, and disappear back into the woods without a trace. But they had tried all the other things Yona knew how to do: holding their belongi
ngs over the flames, washing their clothes in boiling water, even wiping their bodies with their own urine in hopes that the acid would kill the lice. But the lice were stubborn, cheerfully embedding themselves in pores to wait out the various assaults, jumping from host to host and multiplying.
“What will mercury do?” Aleksander asked.
“The woman who raised me taught me a trick long ago that she’d learned from some Russian soldiers she helped feed for a month during the Great War,” Yona replied. Jerusza had, in fact, made Yona repeat the information back several times, warning her that she would need it someday, because lice were ruthless, dangerous invaders. “Mercury mixed with an egg, soaked in fabric and worn across the body. It’s the only thing that drives them away for good.”
Aleksander scratched his head. “That just sounds like the babbling of an old woman.”
Zus shot him a look. “It sounds more promising than anything we’re doing now. I’ll go. I know a town with a pharmacy.”
Yona gave him a grateful smile. “Then I will go with you.” Her reply was immediate, and Zus looked startled, but he didn’t refuse.
“No, you should stay here, Yona,” Aleksander said. “I’ll go with Zus.”
She turned to him. “Zus knows the villages, Aleksander, and I know the forest. It makes the most sense. You can stay and protect the others.”
Aleksander searched her eyes for a moment. “No, Yona. It’s too dangerous. If something happens to you…” He hesitated and shook his head. “No. I can’t let you do that.”
She wasn’t sure whether he was objecting because he loved her or because he was acknowledging her importance to the group. Maybe he was only trying to establish that he was the one who wrote the rules. Regardless, he was wrong. Getting swiftly to and from a village under cover of darkness and disappearing into the forest in daylight would be dangerous and would require someone who knew intimately how to vanish in the trees. She opened her mouth to explain, but Zus spoke first.
The Forest of Vanishing Stars Page 15
