Sarah and Solomon

by Roberta Kagan

  “She’s a Jew. You don’t want to contaminate yourself with that filth.”

  The first one nodded. But he was staring at Ewa’s chest where he’d torn open the buttons of her shirt. “Get in the car,” he said, pulling her up from the bench by her arm.

  Ewa heard something in her shoulder snap, but she felt nothing—no pain, no fear, only pure detachment. She vomited as the Nazi pushed her into the car. He was appalled to see bits of vomit land on his uniform, and he slapped her until her nose and lips spurted blood. Then he carefully wiped his hands and his uniform on a clean white handkerchief that he took out of his pocket. After shooting a look of pure disgust at his fellow officers, he got into the car and they drove away.

  That night, as Ewa lay on the concrete floor of a dirty cell in the police station, she heard footsteps. Her heart jumped into her throat. For a moment she thought perhaps it was Gunther. Perhaps they’d lied and he wasn’t dead. Her entire body tingled with hope. But then as the form of a tall young man wearing a Nazi uniform came within her vision, she felt herself drop as if she’d fallen into a dark well.

  “Hello, Ewa,” the Nazi said, “my name is Ludwig Beck.” Even in the dark she could see his eyes. They reminded her of the eyes of a goat she’d once seen on a farm. They stared through her not really seeing her, not acknowledging her suffering. He is devoid of all human sympathy, she thought as a sinister smile came over his face. He winked at her, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. “I know you; I know you very well,” he said, “but tonight is a special night; it’s the night I have been waiting for. Tonight, you shall know me!”

  He turned the key in the lock on the iron door that kept Ewa prisoner. She jumped up and tried to fight him to get out. But he was young, healthy, and strong. He threw her across the room like a rag doll. Then he unbuttoned his pants and came toward her. Ewa closed her eyes tightly and began to pray.

  Chapter 45

  Ewa was a prisoner at the Nazi police station for a week following her arrest. Starving and filthy, she lay on the cold concrete floor trying to stop herself from willing her own death. She told herself that she must survive; the children needed her. If she died they would have no one else. But as hard as she tried to fight her longing for death, each night she was defeated because each night Ludwig returned to her cell.

  After a week, Ewa was sent to a work camp that was located on the outskirts of Paris. However, the camp was in the process of being liquidated when Ewa arrived. All of the prisoners were being transferred to another camp, a camp called Auschwitz where they were scheduled to be eliminated. Ewa was among them.

  If she could have willed herself to die, she might have chosen to do so after her horrific nights at the hands of Ludwig Beck. But she forced herself to not entertain the idea of dying. If she did, she was afraid she might will it so hard that it would happen, and that would leave Sarah and Solomon alone in the world. No, she dared not wish for death. My mother always said that life is God’s greatest gift. She constantly reminded herself even as she watched the smug Nazis walk through the camp. Her heart ached. She wanted to believe. She wanted to believe in life and in God. But it was so very hard. It would have been much easier to give up. Ewa had lost the man she loved, and then at the hands of Ludwig she’d lost her dignity. Her own body repulsed her. She was sick with hunger and a terrible rash that itched and burned all over her entire body. But somehow, against all odds, a tiny voice in her head constantly reminded her that she had to get back to the children. They needed her. She was all they had left.

  Ewa was loaded into a cattle car along with a large group of prisoners. The foul smell of unwashed bodies, fear, and feces permeated the air. People were crowded in so tightly that it was impossible to sit; they were forced to stand, each keeping the others around them from falling down. A pregnant woman was smashed in beside Ewa.

  “You look very familiar to me,” Ewa said. “What is your name?”

  “Sylwia Gorecki.”

  “I’m Ewa. You are not a Jew?”

  “No, I was a Polish partisan,” she said. “I was caught by the Nazis during a raid. My husband was killed. Now I am here and very pregnant.”

  “I can see that. When are you due?”

  “Any minute. I have been feeling labor pains since early this morning even before I boarded the train.”

  “My God,” Ewa said. “You can’t give birth here. You have nowhere to lie down. And it’s so dirty . . .”

  “I can’t stop it either,” Sylwia said. “If the baby wants to come, it will come.”

  Ewa nodded and touched Sylwia’s shoulder not knowing what to say.

  “You are a Jew?” Sylwia asked.

  “Yes, and I, too, was a partisan. My fiancé was killed by the Nazis when he was captured while on a mission.”

  Sylwia nodded. “I am sorry,” she said, then she grabbed Ewa’s arm and continued, “Listen to me. I will die here in childbirth. Once I am dead you must take my papers. Take them and become me. Put your papers in my pocket. I will die as you. Believe me, they will never know the difference.”

  “You aren’t going to die,” Ewa said.

  “Don’t be a child. I am going to die because this baby is going to try to come, and there is nowhere for me to give birth.”

  “I will help you.”

  “I understand that you will try, but just in case, listen to me. It is important.”

  “All right,” Ewa said.

  “I can’t promise anything, but I believe that life will be easier on you when you get to wherever this train is going if you are Polish instead of being a Jew. The Nazis hate the Jews worse than anyone.”

  “I know. I know they do. But you won’t die . . .” Ewa tried to sound reassuring, but she didn’t believe her own words.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Why are you doing this for me?” Ewa said.

  “Because you are fellow resister. Anyway, just look, my water has already broken. I am in terrible pain. I don’t want to bring a baby into the world just to have them kill it.”

  Sylwia reached over, took Ewa’s hand, and squeezed it hard. Her eyes were glazed over, but she stared into Ewa’s eyes and said in a deep, throaty voice, “I want you to kill me. I am begging you to do this for me. For me and for my poor, innocent baby.”

  “You’re mad. You’ve gone mad.”

  “Perhaps. The Nazis could drive anyone mad. But out of mercy you must do as I ask. Please, I am begging you, Ewa. Don’t you see? They will torture my baby. They will eventually kill it and me too. But first they’ll make me watch them torture the poor thing.”

  “Kill you? Murder you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “Here, take this.” Sylwia handed Ewa a spoon that had been sharpened to a point. “First take these papers and put them in your pocket and give me yours.”

  “I thought you wanted me to wait until after you were dead,” Ewa said, her hands shaking. “Please, Sylwia, don’t make me do this.”

  “You must do this. Put the papers in your pocket and give me yours.”

  Ewa did as Sylwia asked.

  “Now cut my wrists. I would do it myself. I planned to, but I can’t find the courage.” She let out a sad and wry laugh. “Cut this way. I will bleed out and be dead by the time the train stops. They will think I did it myself. They will think it’s suicide.”

  The metal spoon felt cold in Ewa’s hand. She’d shot a Nazi once, but she’d never killed an innocent woman and an unborn child with a sharp object. She gagged a little holding back the vomit.

  “Do it,” Sylwia demanded. Her eyes were sharp. “Do it; please hurry. Do it before I change my mind. If you don’t, my poor child will suffer. Save a child from suffering, Ewa.”

  Sylwia presented her wrist. Ewa bit her lower lip. She closed her eyes and pressed the sharp edge against Sylwia’s skin. She had to press harder. But once she felt the skin break, she pulled the spoon forward ripping as she went. It was done. Blood
poured from the open wound. Ewa dropped the spoon. She felt sick at what she’d done.

  “Now, remember, your name is Sylwia Gorecki. Quickly, here is your background. You worked as a secretary in Warsaw, but you were born and raised in Gdansk.”

  “Yes,” Ewa said. “I’m sorry, Sylwia. I’ll never forget you.”

  “You did a mitzva today. Isn’t that what you Jews call it when you do something good to help someone else? You see, I had a lot of Jewish friends,” Sylwia said. Her voice was weak and growing weaker. A sad smile came across her face.

  “A mitzva means a blessing,” Ewa said, but Sylwia never heard her. Sylwia was already dead.

  The following morning the train came to an abrupt halt throwing the passengers forward. Then the door clanged open, and several armed officers began to yell, “Get out and get in line: mach schnell!”

  Ewa’s heart was beating in her throat. Nausea overtook her, and she stopped in her tracks and began vomiting. She’d always had a weak stomach even as a child. But a woman who had been on the train beside her pushed her forward. “Don’t stop. Even if you have to throw up, keep running. A woman fell down back there and they shot her. I saw it happen.” The woman grabbed Ewa’s arm and pulled her along. Some of the vomit had spilled onto the front of Ewa’s blouse where it was mixed with Sylwia’s blood.

  A line of SS officers stood on the sidelines holding the leashes of dogs that barked and growled. Ewa trembled, but she allowed the woman to pull her along. The crowd of newcomers who had just disembarked from the train was pushed into a line. From where she stood, Ewa could see women with shaved heads wearing gray-striped uniforms. They were thin, and their skin hung off their bones. Their eyes were dark and sunken in. They moved slowly, and they looked dead. Ewa felt a chill as she observed them.

  “I need five Poles. Women. Not Jews. Send them over to the truck that’s waiting over there.” A tall, handsome man wearing a stunning pressed black uniform with a shiny hat and boots said to the guard.

  “Right away, Hauptscharführer. Where are you sending them?”

  “That is none of your affair. Do as I tell you,” the hauptscharführer commanded.

  Ewa was next in line to have her papers checked. Now she wished she had kept her own Jewish papers instead of trading them with Sylwia. These terrible men wanted five Polish women, and right now, according to her papers, she was a Polish woman. What did they plan to do with the Polish women? She felt a pain shoot through her temple. Why Poles and not Jews?

  “Next,” the guard ordered, his voice harsh.

  Ewa’s mouth was dry, and she felt the bile rise in her throat again as she handed him the only papers she had. Damn this weak stomach of mine. If I vomit they will probably shoot me right here. She swallowed the bitter bile.

  “Sylwia Gorecki,” the guard said. Then without looking up, he pointed to a place on his right side. “Stand here for now,” he commanded.

  Ewa stood and waited. She watched as the prisoners were sorted by a handsome, dark-haired man only a few feet away. “Left . . . right . . . left . . . right,” the man said. Then two little twin girls were in line with their mother. “I’ll take these,” the dark-haired man said. “Hello.” He bent down to be on the same level as the children. “I’m your new uncle. You can call me Uncle.” He smiled, handing the two twin girls a piece of candy each. “Gypsies,” he said to the mother, “aren’t you?”

  The mother answered, “Yes, Romani.” She smiled. It was obvious to Ewa that she was glad he was being kind to her children.

  “These two are twins?” the SS officer asked.

  “Yes, twins.”

  “Well, good. Then this is their lucky day. They will be under my protection.”

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you.” The mother fell to her knees and kissed his shoes.

  “Now you will go to the Gypsy camp, and the twins will be sent to my special accommodations.”

  “No! Please don’t separate us. I’m begging you, sir. Please . . .”

  “Mother, don’t you worry. I can promise you that you will see your children shortly. Now get back into the line. I’ve been very tolerant with you. But you must behave yourself before I get angry.”

  “Please, I am begging you. Take me with them. Don’t take them away from me . . .”

  She was on the ground, kneeling and holding on to one of his lower legs. He tried to shake himself free, but her grip was too tight. Finally, he took his other foot and kicked her. She flew back holding her chest.

  “Now get up and do as I tell you. You try my patience.”

  The Gypsy mother stood up still holding her chest. Her eyes were glued to her two little daughters. Ewa could see she was trembling as she bent over and placed kisses on the tops of each of their heads. Then the handsome, dark-haired SS officer shook his head. He turned to one of the guards and pointed to the Gypsy mother. “This one goes to the left,” he said, smiling at the woman, but his teeth were bared like a rabid dog.

  Ewa felt the woman’s pain as she was pulled away from the children and shuffled into a line where she soon disappeared. Ewa noted that most of the women in the line where the Gypsy mother had been sent were old and feeble, and the children in that same line were too young to work. Ewa bit her lower lip. She’d heard stories from prisoners who’d escaped these camps. Horrible stories of murder and burning bodies. She’d also heard stories of the two lines; one led to work and the other to death. Could it be true? She forced these terrible thoughts out of her mind, the same way she forced herself not to think about Gunther. If she were ever going to get back to Sarah and Solomon, she had to find a way to escape from this place. And the only way to survive minute to minute was to put every horrible possibility out of her mind.

  Finally, the Nazi guard had found five Polish women, including Ewa, to fulfill the quota that had been given to him. The five were lined up. Then they were escorted and loaded onto the back of an open truck at gunpoint. Most of the women, Ewa included, were quiet, their faces masks of grief. Only one young, pretty woman wept softly as the truck roared to life.

  Where are they taking us? Ewa thought. And why were they so specific in wanting only Polish women? Sylwia’s papers could be my saving grace or they could be the death of me. I won’t know until we arrive at our destination. She shivered as the truck moved forward.

  Chapter 46

  Sarah and Solomon

  When Ewa left the children, Sarah wept. Solomon was frightened too, but he tried to stay hopeful that all would go well. However, when Ewa did not return to the orphanage that night to pick up the children, Solomon hid his own rising fears and instead consoled Sarah. “It’s late. I’m sure she will come tomorrow,” he promised. But although he could not share his feeling with his sister, he was very worried.

  Then to make matters worse, Sarah and Solomon were separated and sent to dormitory-type rooms. Solomon was sent to sleep with other the boys, Sarah with other the girls. But Solomon knew his sister, and he knew she needed him. So once the adults closed the door to the boys dormitory room, he snuck out and went to find his sister. She was sitting on a bunk bed looking small and alone.

  “Solomon!” she exclaimed, excited to see him. “Is Ewa here?”

  “Not yet, but listen to me. I won’t be here with you all the time to remind you, but no matter how friendly you become with the other children, you must not forget that you are not Jewish.”

  “I know. You keep telling me the same thing over and over.” She scoffed. “When is Ewa coming back to get us?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  Two more days passed without any word from Ewa. That night when Solomon went to see his sister, she was weeping and inconsolable. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because Mama’s dead, and Papa’s probably dead. And even Ben might be dead . . . everyone is dead. Maybe Gunther is dead too. I don’t understand, Solomon. What does it mean to be dead, and why does everyone I love end u
p being dead? Did I do something bad? Am I being punished for something?”

  “Sarah . . .” He took her in his arms and held her for several moments, too moved by the sadness of her words to speak. She doesn’t understand. And why should she? What five-year-old child should understand such tragedy? She blames herself. And I don’t know what to say to her. I feel like I am going to break down and cry. How can I stay strong? It’s so hard for me to shoulder the burden of her heartbreak along with my own.

  “Solomon,” she said between gulps of air. She’d been crying so hard that now she was coughing. “Promise me you won’t be dead soon, or ever. Promise me you won’t go away and be dead. Because dead means I’ll never see you again. Dead means forever.”

  “I promise,” he managed. But he found that he could no longer control himself. Solomon was crying too.

  Chapter 47

  When Ludwig returned home, after he’d spent a week following Ewa, Gunther, and the children, the ghetto had been liquidated. Hedy was so angry at him for disappearing without any explanation that she almost threw him out when he appeared back at her apartment. She was sorting and folding clothes when he opened the door.

  “Where were you?” Hedy snapped at him.

  “I had business to attend to.”

  “Business? What kind of business?” She glared at him. He smiled smugly remembering the power he’d had over Ewa and the praise he’d received for the arrest of her and Gunther. He did not know what she’d done with the children. All he knew was that she had disappeared for a while and then resurfaced. But now that his sexual desire for her was satisfied, and he was to have the promotion he had been hoping for, he no longer wanted to search for the children.