Sarah and Solomon

by Roberta Kagan

  “Sol?”

  “Yes.”

  “I got everything you asked for.” It was Wiktor.

  “Good,” Solomon said, then he turned to Sarah and said, “Stay here and wait.” Then he stepped out of the shadows.

  “Do you know how to use this gun?” Wiktor asked.

  “Show me once. I’ll remember.”

  “How is a nine-year-old child so sure of himself?” Wiktor asked, shaking his head.

  “Because I’ve had to be. Now show me.”

  Wiktor showed Solomon how to use the gun, but they did not fire it because of the noise, and they also wanted to conserve bullets.

  “I also got you some bread. And here’s the doll you wanted.”

  “How much for all of it?” Solomon asked. “The ring. I thought we agreed on the ring,” Wiktor said as he cast his eyes on Solomon.

  “The ring is worth so much more than this,” Solomon said.

  “It’s your decision. But you’ll have a hard time getting your hands on a gun. If you want the gun, I want the ring in exchange.”

  “All right,” Solomon moaned, stuffing the gun and ammunition into his pocket.

  “It’s none of my business, of course, but why do you need a gun?” Wiktor asked suddenly.

  “It’s strange that you would ask so many questions. Why do you want to know?”

  “Because yesterday I heard a rumor. I heard they were taking all the children out of the ghetto and sending them away to some kind of prison camp. Is it true?”

  “It’s true.”

  “Are you going back there? With the gun?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I don’t think you should go back, even with a gun,” Wiktor said. “Listen to me. I have a place for you to go. I happen to know of a farmer who needs workers. His place is way out in the country. He wouldn’t need to know you were Jewish. I’d tell him you and your sister are the children of friends of mine. I’ll say your parents can’t afford to keep you and that’s why you need to go out and work.”

  “What’s in it for you, Wiktor? I know you’re not doing this out of the kindness of your heart.” Solomon stood there in the shadow holding the doll by one arm and wishing he could see the older man’s eyes. He trusted no one.

  “I’ll get paid from the farmer for bringing him help, workers who will work for him.”

  “He’ll give you money?”

  “Not money, but extra food.”

  “And Sarah and me? Do we get paid anything?”

  “You get a place to sleep and food to fill your belly. What more do you want? You could end up in a prison camp. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out the Nazi bastards killed those children. They are heartless.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Solomon nodded, raising one eyebrow as he considered the proposal. “A farm wouldn’t be bad."

  “It’s hard work; I won’t lie to you. But you’ll have a fighting chance at survival.”

  “We’ll take it.”

  “I have a truck I can use to drive the two of you out to the farm tomorrow night. Meet me here at the same time.”

  “We’ll be here,” Solomon said as he watched Wiktor walk away. He had no reason not to trust this man, but even so, Solomon had learned that anyone could have an agenda. After all, there was a reward for turning in Jews. Solomon had a price tag on his head. That made him very cautious. So he trusted no one except Sarah.

  Sarah had been waiting quietly in the alley. When Solomon returned, he heard her sigh with relief. Then he handed her the doll.

  “Solomon!” she exclaimed and wrapped her small arms around his neck and hugged him. “Is she mine?”

  “Yes, of course she’s yours.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Sarah said.

  They could hardly see the doll in the darkness, but Solomon could tell the doll was far from new. She was a doll made from rags, very similar to the one Sarah lost, but probably dirtier and older. They would be able to see her better in the morning light. Still, Solomon could tell how happy Sarah was by the way she held the doll close to her chest, and he was glad that he’d spent the extra money even though they needed every penny they could get their hands on for food.

  “Come on,” he said. “We have to get back under the stairwell for the night.” Taking Sarah’s hand, he led her away from his meeting spot near the ghetto wall where he always met with Wiktor or Majec.

  That night, Solomon was dog tired but he couldn't sleep. Watching Sarah as she snored softly, he felt a strange mixture of protective love and resentment. If he were alone, he could take risks more easily. He’d always been fast on his feet and able to escape when necessary, but with Sarah at his side, he was encumbered. She might not be able to keep up, and he would never leave her behind. Solomon sighed, and his thoughts shifted to his parents, especially his mother. He’d never cared for his father who had beaten him more times than he could count. But his mother, he loved his mother, and he wondered if he would ever see her again. He felt his eyes well up, but he dared not cry. I must be the grown-up, and if Sarah awakens and sees me crying she will be afraid. No, I must not cry. Not now, not ever.

  Taking a deep breath, he thought about Wiktor and the Polish underground. So far, they’d been fair with him. They’d overcharged him sometimes, but that was to be expected. At least they had not turned him in to the Nazis. But Solomon believed that he’d only survived for this long because of his instincts. And right now, his instincts were flashing a warning. Wiktor had proven to him that he was truly a hater of Nazis, but Solomon knew that Wiktor was also a lover of money. Could he put his life and Sarah’s life in Wiktor’s hands? What if he was planning to sell them to the Nazis? How was it that he knew that all the Jewish children were being removed from the ghetto? Would he be so cunning as to lure Solomon and his sister so as to claim a reward? Solomon bit his lower lip and assessed his situation. If he didn’t go with Wiktor, he and Sarah could escape to the forests and wander until they found a farm on their own then ask for work. If they did this, there would be no risk because no one would know they were really Jews. If they went with Wiktor, he could always hold the truth over their heads.

  Glancing over at Sarah as she slept, he looked at her trusting face and wished someone other than he were making the decisions. Feeling the cold steel of the gun in his pocket, he felt a little more secure. Next to the gun was the cross he bought. He felt the beads and sighed. Tomorrow he would make his way to the cobbler and see if he could find a way to get his hands on a leather cord to attach to the cross instead of the beads. Then he would wear it around his neck. At least neither he nor Sarah wore the yellow star on their clothing anymore, so they appeared to be regular Polish children.

  Again, Solomon glanced over at Sarah. She was bathed in moonlight as she held the doll tightly in her little arms. A smile came over his face. Some people might think the doll was a waste of money, but he didn’t. He was glad about how happy it made her. It gave her comfort. And God knows, he thought, the poor child needs some comfort.

  Chapter 6

  In the morning before Solomon took Sarah into town with him, he warned her several times not to tell anyone that they were Jewish.

  “Now we are going to have to use different names.”

  “Why?”

  “Because our names are Jewish names.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “You don’t have to understand everything. Just do what I tell you. I am going to give you a new name, and you are going to use that name.”

  “You always boss me around, Solomon. Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you can lord it over me.”

  “Sarah”—he sighed exasperated—“please, just do as I ask. Will you? I am saying please. I’m not lording it over you.”

  She looked down at the ground and nodded.

  “All right,” he said, fluffing her hair. “How do you like the name Maria? It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  Sarah shrugged. “Yes, I suppose it is.
”

  “And my name will be Artur.”

  “Maria and Artur Rabinowitz?”

  “No, not Rabinowitz.” He smiled. “How do you like the surname Zajec?”

  “I don’t know. But Mama says it’s wrong to lie. And this is like lying.”

  “No, it’s like playing pretend.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes, but you must be sure that no one ever finds out the truth. It’s very important. Very important.”

  “So if anyone asks, my name is Maria Zajec?”

  “Exactly. We are strict Catholics. We go to church on Sunday.”

  “I don’t think Mama would like this. This is really lying.”

  “Sarah . . . do as I tell you. I am doing this for your own good. And I can’t keep begging you. Please, Sarah? Please?”

  She nodded.

  “My name is Maria, and your name is Artur; our last name is Zajec, and we are Catholics.”

  “Right. Our parents were killed in a fire. We are looking for work.”

  “We’re orphans? Isn’t it bad luck to say that? Our parents might get killed because we said it.”

  “We’re just playing pretend, remember?”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “It’s all right. You’ll see. You can play pretend, and nothing bad will happen.”

  “And Solomon . . . thank you for the doll.”

  He smiled.

  Chapter 7

  The following night they didn’t show up to meet with Wiktor. Solomon decided he and Sarah would make a go of it on their own. He felt it was safer than putting his trust in Wiktor. For five nights they took shelter under the stairwell, but with each passing day, their food supply was dwindling more and more, and the weather was growing colder. Solomon knew he could steal food from the carts of vendors, which would keep them alive at least for now, but once the upcoming winter set in they would need shelter.

  In the afternoons when the sun was shining it was not nearly as chilly as it was at night. Sarah shivered as she tried to sleep. And even though Solomon told her many times that he was trying to steal blankets for them, she continued to complain about how cold she was. So in order to keep her quiet, he gave her the use of his jacket, which left him freezing and angry.

  By the end of the week, all of their food was gone, and Solomon was stealing food from the carts of the street vendors. He’d leave Sarah for a few hours in the morning and go off to see what he could find. Once, he returned with an apple and several small raw potatoes, which Sarah had complained tasted funny. He considered trying to find work of some sort. Because of his height and heavy bone structure, it would be easy to lie about his age. But he was afraid that a potential employer would ask for papers. When Solomon had no papers, the employer might suspect he was Jewish and have him arrested. He was terrified of being arrested because he’d seen the cruelty of the Nazis firsthand when they’d beaten an old woman to death in the ghetto. And he was certain they would do even worse to a Jewish child who had evaded the transport in the Lodz ghetto. Those chilling facts were always lingering in the back of his mind. But there was even more to consider: if Solomon were arrested and taken away, that would leave Sarah waiting for him under the stairwell. She would be there all alone waiting for a brother who would not return.

  Solomon bit his lower lip as he allowed himself to consider Sarah. The poor thing was just a child. She was much more of a child than he’d ever been, and he knew she would never be able to fend for herself. She would starve or turn herself in, hoping to find sympathy from the local people. A sympathy that he was convinced did not exist. They would turn her right in to the Nazis and collect whatever reward was offered, he thought. To make matters even worse, Sarah and I are not blonde-haired, blue-eyed children which the Nazis love. No, both of us have dark hair and dark eyes. Both of us look Jewish.

  “Sol, is this all we have to eat?” Sarah asked, shivering as the sun began to set. She bit into a potato that had begun sprouting eyes.

  “Yes, for now it is.”

  “Why can’t we get some bread?”

  “Because there is no bread,” he said. “How am I supposed to get us bread?”

  “Don’t you have any money left?”

  “No, I spent it all on food and this gun.”

  “And my dolly, right? My dolly cost us money, and now we are going to starve. It’s all my fault.” She looked down, and there were tears in her eyes.

  “Don’t cry, Sarah. It’s not your fault. I’ll do what I can to get us some bread tomorrow,” he said, trying to soothe her. But he was thinking that she was driving him crazy. She needed constant reassurance, and she was always crying. It was hard enough on him to try and find food and keep them safe, but he had to comfort her too.

  She laid her head on his lap. “I wish we could go back to Mama,” she said.

  “I know. But we can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because its not safe. We can’t go back there,” he said, trying to keep his voice kind and gentle, but his patience was waning. She asks me the same questions over and over.

  “I want to . . .” she said, ready to throw a fit. “I don’t care what happens; I want to go back to Mama.”

  “I know, but stop asking me about it, will you, please? Because we can’t go back.”

  Chapter 8

  The following morning, Solomon left early and went out to see what food he might steal. The market had been busy which made it easy for him to lift two apples and a small loaf of bread. He hummed softly to himself as he returned to the stairwell where he’d left Sarah. This will make a wonderful meal for Sarah and I. She’ll be so happy. I know how hard it is for her to eat the raw potatoes. Things sure went well this morning. I’ll have to go out earlier from now on when the market is busy and the vendors are distracted.

  As Solomon swung his body over the railing that hid the deep stairwell where he’d left his little sister, he heard her saying something. It was a muffled cry, but it sounded like she was calling for him. Something's wrong. Taking the stairs two at a time he reached the bottom quickly. There he saw an old man with greasy gray hair and a filthy white shirt. The man’s pants were around his knees. His bare buttocks were pale and wrinkled, and his hand covered Sarah’s mouth. She was trapped in the corner. Her face was filled with tears; her eyes were wide with horror.

  His breath caught in his throat. This terrible man was about to do something unspeakable to his little sister. Not even a second passed before Solomon pulled the gun out of his pocket and started walking toward the man. Instinctively, he knew to stay far enough away from the old bastard just in case he might try to take the gun away and use it on him or Sarah. His heart raced, but there was no time to think. Moving quickly, within seconds he was within firing distance. Without allowing himself to think, Solomon pulled the trigger. The man fell on Sarah like a giant rag doll. She let out a scream. Blood flew into Solomon’s face. He wiped it away with his hand and then with all of his strength, he pulled the man off his sister. It was only once Sarah was free that he realized the smell of alcohol that permeated the room. He recognized it from the days when his father would drink too much and beat him or his mother.

  “Sarah? Are you all right?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she ran into his arms. Her face was wet with tears and the man’s splattered blood. “Are you all right?” he asked again, falling to his knees. How could he let this happen? He blamed himself. He should never have left her alone. Solomon held his sister tightly. “Did he hurt you?” he asked again.

  “He hit me,” she said.

  “Come over here where there is some light and let me see,” Solomon said.

  Sarah’s face was red and already starting to bruise, but there was only a little blood around her nose and lip.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Between heart-wrenching sobs, she said, “It was my fault. I went outside. I didn’t want to stay down here; it was so dark,
and I was scared because I was all alone. I wanted to see if I could find a little girl to play with. There was no one out there, so I just sat outside under a tree for a little while. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She was choking on her tears. “Then I saw this man looking at me and I got a bad feeling. So I ran back down here. But he followed me, and he tried to put his hands under my dress. I told him no. But he got mad, and I was so scared, Solomon. Then he hit me. I fell down, and I hurt my knee, but he still kept trying to touch me in my private place. Mama said I should never let anyone do that to me. But when I said no, he put his hand over my mouth. I was so scared. It was horrible. He was like a monster. Please, Solomon, I want to go home to Mama. I want to go home.”

  Solomon hugged his sister tightly.

  “Did he touch you in your private place?”

  “He tried, but I kept moving around, and he couldn’t touch me there. He said that he was going to kill me. He was so angry, and his eyes were red like a demon. But then you came . . .”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Solomon said. He wanted to vomit. Bile rose into his mouth. Fighting to keep it down, he looked away from her.

  Solomon was shaking. He’d killed a man today. He was glad he’d come in time, and he was glad he’d been able to help his sister before that bastard had really hurt her. But he couldn’t get over the fact that he’d killed another human being. Before this he’d never so much as hurt another living thing.

  As they emerged out into the light, Solomon saw the blood on his jacket and on his sister’s face and dress. Both her knees were skinned. So he decided if anyone stopped them and asked questions, he would tell them Sarah had taken a fall and that was where the blood came from.