“I’m sorry,” she whispered at last, and when he looked at her, his face softened a bit.
“Yona, I didn’t mean—” His voice caught and he stopped abruptly. She could see the storm in his eyes, the confusion, and she hated that she was the cause of it. Still, when he reached for her hand, she squeezed back, and when he pulled her to him, so that her head rested against his heart, she held him tightly. “I wish you had known them, too, Yona. I wish that life was different. That it had taken a different path. None of us should be freezing to death in the damned woods. People shouldn’t hate us in the name of God. But they do. And we are here. We are surviving. We are living to honor our dead.” His voice broke again. “We have to. Don’t we?”
She listened to his heartbeat before speaking. It was rapid and insistent, thudding against his rib cage like it was trying to break free. “I knew a nun once,” she whispered. “She told me that those of us who live good lives will be reunited in the afterlife. Do you believe that? That you will see Helena and Shifra again someday?”
He didn’t reply right away, and in the quiet, she could hear him sobbing again, could feel the tremors of grief that shook his body. “I do,” he said at last.
“Then maybe they are closer than you think, Zus.” She imagined the ghost of his wife watching them now in the forest, the way Jerusza sometimes watched her, and it was enough to make her pull away from him. Would the woman who’d loved him begrudge Yona for being here, in his arms? Would she hate Yona for taking a place she would never again be able to fill? “They are with you always,” she added after a moment. “As they should be.”
Zus sighed, but he didn’t step closer, didn’t take her back into his arms, and somehow, though she’d been the one to put distance between them, she was hurt by his inaction.
He looked away again, deep into the impenetrable dark of the forest. “I love you, Yona,” he said at last, not looking at her. “I love you, but that love breaks my heart. The further I step into this life with you, the more I leave my life with them behind.”
And then, without warning, he turned away and ran, his footfalls heavy on the dusting of snow, the woods closing around him before Yona could dislodge the lump in her throat. By the time she could speak past her shock and sadness, he had vanished, and with him, her newfound sense of belonging.
She wiped away tears she hadn’t known she was crying and then wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. The snow continued to drift down, and as she looked skyward, a few flakes landed on her cheeks, washing away the salty rivers.
Behind her, the camp slept, and the night was still. She couldn’t go back, not yet, and so she walked in the opposite direction from which Zus had fled.
Ahead of her lay a cluster of fallen trees, and she settled on one of the toppled trunks, studying the stump it had broken off from. It had been here for a while, from the looks of things, and over time, the sharp lines of the tree had softened. Now they were crusted in ice, hard and unforgiving, and Yona wondered if she’d been wrong when she told Zus that their broken edges were meant to fit together. Maybe the jagged pieces never fit anywhere again. Maybe they were destined to wear thin at the edges, and to freeze over, impenetrable and incompatible. Had she been fooling herself to think that she and Zus could fill each other’s empty spaces?
She lost track of time as she sat on the stump, staring up at the soft snow and the dark, moonlit sky, and the gentle canopy of branches above. Finally, she closed her eyes and sighed. She had to keep moving forward, and so did Zus. Their pasts would always be with them, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t some sort of future ahead. Dawn was coming, the sky to the east just beginning to lighten as the stars continued to keep watch overhead in patient silence. She was just about to get up to return to camp—surely the group would be worried if they awoke and found both her and Zus gone—when she heard distinct footsteps to the west, crunching in the snow. She leapt to her feet, all her senses suddenly on alert as she stared into the dark, impenetrable depths of the forest, trying to see the source of the sound. It had been something large, as large as a man. Could it have been a bear? A large wolf? She hadn’t brought a gun, but she reached for the knife in her boot, the one that was always strapped against her ankle. She had just closed her hand on its hilt when a voice came from behind her.
“Yona?”
She spun again and saw Zus standing there, his eyes wide with concern. She stared at him, confused. Grief had thrown her senses off; she had thought the footfalls were coming from the opposite direction, but the sound must have echoed across the cluster of trees, confusing her trained ear. She blinked a few times to right herself, and Zus’s forehead creased.
“Yona, are you all right? What is it?”
“I—I thought I heard something.” She shook her head and forced a laugh. “Perhaps I’ve been out in the cold too long.”
He smiled and stepped into the small clearing of fallen trees. He was still several meters away, illuminated by the faint light of the coming dawn. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’m sorry for the things I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Of course you didn’t, Zus. I know that.”
All around them, the stars twinkled and the snow continued to drift quietly down. For a second Yona felt as if they were suspended in a world that wasn’t theirs, like the tiny trees in the snow globe in the bedroom of the home Jüttner had commandeered.
“Zus—” she began.
He took another step closer, putting up a hand to stop her. His expression was tender, anguished. “Please. Yona, there’s something I need to say. I shouldn’t have—”
But his words were lost, for in the middle of his sentence, something crashed through the trees behind them, and they both whirled, alarmed, expecting to see a wild animal.
Instead, it was a man, crouched like a beast. His eyes were wild, his hair and beard bushy and unkempt. He was wearing a tattered wool coat with swastika-emblazoned epaulettes. “Hello, daughter,” he said, his voice a growl, and in a terrified flash, she recognized him behind the beard, the fury, and the anguish.
“Jüttner,” she murmured. And in the silence that followed, she could hear the cocking of his pistol, which was now aimed straight at Zus’s heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Yona could hear the sharp intake of Zus’s breath, could feel his shock and fear as he took a step closer to her, stopping abruptly when Jüttner waved his gun and growled in warning.
“So is this why you fled back to the forest? For this dirty Jew? I bet you didn’t tell him about me,” Jüttner said in German, jerking his head in Zus’s direction. Spittle flew from the corners of his dried, cracked lips. How long had he been wandering the woods? His cheeks had hollowed, and the coat hung from his frame like a garment from a hanger. “I bet you didn’t tell him that your father is a Nazi.”
Zus inched a bit closer to Yona as if he could protect her, but he was still several meters away. “Yona is nothing like you,” he said in careful German. Yona hadn’t even known he spoke the language.
Jüttner’s eyes darkened. “Her name is Inge,” he spat.
“What are you doing here, Papa?” Yona asked quickly, trying to keep her tone even. She used the term of endearment in hopes of relaxing him, and it seemed to work a little.
“I came for you, Inge.” His voice softened a bit, and some of the anger went out of his eyes. He lowered his gun, and she exhaled in relief. He was looking only at Yona, almost as if he had instantly forgotten that Zus was there. “You left because of the nuns, but that was not my fault. Surely you can see that. I was trying to save them for you.”
Her heart ached; she could still see Sister Maria Andrzeja lying dead on the altar, before God. “I left,” she said softly, “because I never belonged there with you. I could not stay.”
“You only believe that because of the woman who took you. She made you forget who you are, Inge. But you are my daughter. You belong to me.” His voice, a low whine,
was rising again. “You humiliated me, Inge. What do you think it looked like to have my daughter run away so soon after she came back? They mocked me, Inge. I’ve been looking for you for months now. I’ve come to save you, to show everyone where you really belong. To bring you home.”
“But this is my home.”
Jüttner looked confused, as if it was not the answer he expected. His eyes flicked to Zus, back to Yona, and to Zus again. “And this Jew? He is forcing you to stay here, yes?” His gun went up again, pointed at Zus. Yona could feel her heart slamming against her rib cage.
“No.” She took a deep breath. She could pretend he meant nothing to her, and then her father might let him go. But what if he killed Zus anyhow? She couldn’t let his last memory be one of denial, erasure. And so she stood a little taller and looked right at Zus as she murmured, “His name is Zus. And I love him. I will never forgive you if you harm him.”
“But he’s a Jew!” The fury in Jüttner’s voice was gathering like the clouds before a terrible storm. “He has tricked you! That’s what the Jews do, Yona. He is only using you.”
“He loves me, too,” Yona said softly.
“Don’t be a fool, Inge. Jews aren’t capable of such a thing. They’re animals! How could you let him influence you this way, take you away from the life you could have with your family?”
“He’s my family now. He’s my future.” Yona knew she should stop. Jüttner had a gun, and he looked unhinged. But it was as if all the light and pain poured into her heart had finally burst the vessel, and she couldn’t keep it in anymore. “How could you think I would come back with you? Do you see what you’ve become?”
“Enough!” her father roared, his anger suddenly exploding. He waved his gun wildly, and Yona felt a pang of fear. Jüttner was gaunt, exhausted. If she and Zus turned to run, there was a chance they could get away from him before he began firing, and in minutes, they could vanish into the forest. But if his instincts were still sharp, they’d both be dead before they took a few steps. It was too risky. “You are my daughter,” her father said, his voice sinking to a low growl. “You will leave all of this foolishness behind and come with me now.”
“She is not going anywhere with you.” Zus’s words were firm and calm.
“You think you can tell me what to do? She is my blood,” Jüttner spat, spinning unsteadily toward him. “Don’t you people care about that, too? That you’re a Jew because of what’s in your blood?”
Zus didn’t say anything.
“What, you can’t speak now, you filthy Jewish dog? Answer me! What makes a Jew? In your fancy religion, with all its rules and its plans for taking over humanity, what is the one thing that makes a Jew?”
Yona could feel the tension escalating.
“According to halakha, a child with a Jewish mother’s blood is always Jewish,” Zus said calmly. “Is that what you’re referring to?”
“Stop, Zus,” Yona murmured. He was making it worse. She could see Jüttner beginning to spin out of control, his eyes bulging, his movements growing more erratic. He looked crazed, and with a loaded gun and a simmering hatred of Jews, there was only one way this could go.
“And you think that by tricking my daughter into loving you, you can purify your own dirty soul? That if you have children, they won’t be Jews like you? Is that it? That’s your plan?”
“I—” Zus began, but Jüttner cut him off.
“Well then, joke’s on you, Jew. You want to know my dirty little secret? I married a Jew.” He turned to Yona, his features twisted, his eyes wild. “She lied to me about it, but your mother was a half-Jewish whore, the daughter of a Jewish mother and a Christian father. She tried to hide who she was, but you can’t hide a thing like that. Not in Germany. She didn’t even tell me, the ungrateful bitch. She was long dead by the time the records surfaced. And it’s a good thing, because I might have killed her myself. She could have ruined me, Inge. You understand that, right?”
She felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. “My mother was Jewish?” she whispered.
Jüttner’s laugh was cruel. “Oh, she fell to her knees in church every Sunday, just like everyone else did. You never would have known that her blood was tainted. She was hiding it, Inge. Hiding it from me.”
Yona’s head was spinning. Was that why Jerusza had chosen her? Not just a random desire to steal a baby from a blooming Nazi, but a premonition about the day the truth might be revealed? Had Jerusza realized that if things had unfolded without her interruption, Yona and her mother might have one day been sent away to their own deaths by the man who was supposed to love them most?
“I’ve been Jewish all along,” Yona murmured.
“No,” Jüttner said firmly. “No. You are a Mischling of the second degree, not a Jew. My blood is strong, Inge. I have done enough for Germany to erase the stain of your mother’s lies. It’s why I had to bring you back. It’s why I’ve been wandering the woods for months now, looking for you. I have to save you, Inge, before someone sees what you really are.”
She finally found her voice. “I don’t need saving. Not by you.”
“But you do!” He waved his arms wildly. “It’s obvious now! Don’t you understand? The second you join your life to his, you become once again a full Jew by law.”
Yona took another step backward. Why wasn’t Zus moving away? “Papa.” She tried the word again, to soften the tension, but it was too late. Jüttner seemed to hardly hear her.
“You were stolen from me once!” He was almost screaming now. “I won’t let it happen again!”
Now he raised his gun with purpose, pointing it at Zus, his eyes suddenly focused, his gaze hard and steely. No longer was he an out-of-control madman; he was every inch a determined German officer prepared to carry out an execution he deemed necessary. “Look away, Inge,” Jüttner said, his voice suddenly flat, emotionless. “It will be better that way.”
“Don’t do this.”
“It is for the best. You will understand one day.”
Zus was moving slowly backward, his hands raised defensively, but as time slowed to a crawl, Yona knew it wouldn’t be enough. Jüttner would not miss.
It was her choices—and perhaps the war in her blood, too—that had led all of them here, to this moment, and she couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t be responsible for the death of the only person on earth who loved her for who she was, not for who she might become. Her parents had barely known her, and if her mother was trying to hide her heritage from her father, perhaps a baby had only been a regret, a complication. Jerusza had always wanted more from her, too, an apprentice in her image rather than a child with her own hopes and fears and dreams. Her father wanted her to be a Nazi like him, and even Aleksander had wanted her to change, to become meeker, more servile. But she could only be herself, and Zus knew that and loved her not despite it, but because of it. She could see it in his eyes every time he looked at her, even through his grief, even now, through his fear.
The world was frozen in time, the seconds drifting down like the soft snowflakes all around them. As Jüttner leveled his gun and took one step, then two, toward Zus, who was still backing away, Yona found herself flying forward, stride after stride, her legs stretching with the strength of a lynx until finally, she leapt, her body arcing between the two men at the exact moment Jüttner fired.
And then, time moved again. The snowflakes fell, the crows overhead cawed in agony, the rabbits near the clearing fled in fear. And in the fading moonlight of early dawn, Yona tumbled to the ground, the driven snow around her suddenly crimson with her blood.
“What have you done, Inge?” Jüttner’s voice was suddenly anguished, and he sounded very far away. “Oh God, what have you done?” Then suddenly he was beside her, kneeling at her left shoulder, his face appearing from the blurriness of the world, his eyes full of grief. He was still clutching his pistol, but he seemed unaware of anything but Yona’s body in the snow, the blood pumping slowly, surely out of the hole i
n her torso.
“Yona!” It was Zus, and he was beside her, too, on her right side, separated only by Yona’s body from the man who had tried to kill him only seconds before. She wanted to tell him to run, because the second Jüttner stopped to gather his thoughts, he would finish what he started. But she couldn’t make her tongue work, couldn’t get her mouth to say the words. All she could do was breathe in and out, in and out, as the snow around her melted and she drifted nearer to the frozen ground beneath.
“Yona, no, no, you can’t leave me,” Zus said, and he was crying now, his whole body heaving as he begged her to stay.
“Please,” Yona managed to say, and then it was her father’s face hovering above her, just as it had once hovered over her cradle, one of the few memories she had of life before Jerusza had taken her. She listened for Jerusza’s voice now, but it wasn’t there. Nothing was. The world was silent, though she could see the lips of both men moving as they hovered above her, pleading with her to stay alive. She could feel the light leaving her, seeping out with her blood, and already, she weighed less than the air. She was a dove, ready for flight.
But there was one last thing binding her to the earth, for the moment Yona died, Jüttner would kill Zus, and she could not let that happen, could not let her final legacy be the death of a good man, a man who deserved to live. And so she summoned the last of her strength and reached slowly, slowly for the knife at her ankle. As her father leaned over her, his tears falling, grieving the daughter he’d never known at all, she held his gaze, and before she could vanish into the deep well of grief and hatred and fear she saw in his eyes, she brought the weapon up to his left wrist and sliced, cleanly and perfectly, taking the blade swiftly up the length of the radial artery, and splaying it wide open, nearly to his elbow just as Jerusza had taught her long ago, the summer she was eight, the summer Yona said she could never imagine taking a man’s life.
The Forest of Vanishing Stars Page 30
