Calmly, the priest opened the door. He stared at the puddle of urine on the ground. “Be careful. There seems to be a wet spot on the floor over there. I wouldn’t want you boys to fall,” he said without any sarcasm in his voice.
“Keep your lousy sense of humor to yourself, old man,” the Nazi growled. “Do you have papers for each one of these orphans who you have here in this church?”
“Of course,” said Father Dupaul.
“Produce those papers right now or suffer the consequences.”
“I would be happy to, but they are not here in my bedroom. They are in my office,” the priest said. “Sit down. Make yourselves comfortable, and I will go and get them for you.”
“We’ll go with you. You aren’t going to have a chance to hide those Jews.”
Meanwhile, Solomon had seen the Gestapo car arrive. He followed the Nazis, hiding in the shadows and staying far enough behind the group not to be seen. Solomon followed them all to the priest's office. Now he stood outside the door just around the corner where he was able to hear them.
“Come on, then. Follow me to my office, my sons,” the priest said.
“I’m not your son,” one of the Gestapo agents said. “I want papers for each child! Now! You’re wasting my time.”
The priest did not speak. He started walking toward his office.
“Move a little faster, or I’ll kick you in your ass.”
“I’m an old man. I’m going as fast as I can.”
The Nazi glared at him, but he didn’t kick the old priest. Once they arrived at the priest's office, Father Dupaul opened a cabinet and took out a pile of papers. He placed them in front of the Gestapo agent.
“These are the legitimate papers here for each child?”
“Of course,” the priest said. The door to the office was open.
One of the older nuns, Sister Mary Agnus, must have heard the shots when the Gestapo agent shattered the statue of Jesus. And she came walking toward the priest's office, but before she got to the open door, she spotted Solomon hiding. Rushing over to him as fast as she could without running, Sister Mary Agnus grabbed Solomon’s arm and put her finger over her lip to warn him to keep silent. She led him quickly away from the priest's office and down a long corridor, then they she removed an old rug and opened a trapdoor in the floor. She motioned for him to follow her. He did as she asked. As they walked down a dark hallway, she whispered to Solomon, “I was looking everywhere for you. Thanks be to our Lord that I found you before they did.”
At the end of the hallway, Solomon saw a group of children, but it was so dark that he could not see their faces.
“Sarah,” Sister Mary Agnus called in a voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve brought your brother.”
“Solomon!” Sarah yelled.
“You must be quiet,” the nun said.
Solomon followed the sound of his sister’s voice as he ran to her and took her into his arms. Then he sat down beside her. She hugged him tightly.
“The Nazis are in our church,” the sister said firmly. “You must all stay down here and be very quiet. Father Dupaul built this secret hallway a little after the Nazi’s first came into power. He planned on helping Jewish children as soon as he heard about the way the Nazi’s were treating the Jews. He thought that there might come a time when they would need to be hidden. And it seems he was right. But don’t you worry. No one else knows that this underground area exists but me and him. So you will all be safe here. There is a chamber pot in the corner of the room. Stay together, and whatever you do, don’t leave this room. I will return with food for you later.”
Sarah and two of the other little girls started to cry. “But it’s dark in here,” the other little girl said. “I’m afraid of the dark.”
“Don’t be afraid,” the nun said. “Everything will be all right. God is here with you. I must leave you for now, but I will be back."
At first Sarah wept so hard that her small slender body shook. Solomon gently patted her head and shoulders and continued to reassure her that everything would be all right even though he wasn’t confident in his words. Finally, Sarah cried herself to sleep. As Solomon sat with his back against the wall and his sister’s head resting peacefully on his lap in the dark room under the church, his mind began to race with thoughts. I can’t believe there were so many other Jewish children at this orphanage. I never knew. But Father Dupaul knew. He knew all along. What a good soul he is. I hope the Nazis haven’t taken him. If they have taken him, will he be all right? Will we be all right—Sarah, me, the rest of these children? That’s a ridiculous question. Of course, the damn Nazis will kill the old priest, and if they find us they’ll kill all of us too. I don’t know if the rest of these children realize it, but any minute the Gestapo could find out about where we are and come rushing in here and . . .
He imagined Sarah being pulled away from him by a Gestapo agent. She would scream, that was for certain, and it would break my heart that I would be powerless to protect her against the guns. Solomon bit his lower lip and felt a shiver run up his spine. But there is also another frightening possibility. He wondered if any of the other children had even considered this horrific possibility. What if the Germans have taken poor Sister Mary Agnus and Father Dupaul away? No one else knows that we are here. We will starve to death down here, or we are going have to try to find our way out, and then what? And then Sarah and I will have to find a way back to the forest without papers or money. It’s a long way from France to Poland. I don’t know what I am going to do . . .
Solomon could not determine how many hours had passed. He drifted in and out of sleep. Sarah still lay with her head on his lap. His limbs tingled from lack of movement. His fingers and toes were so cold that he felt that they were going to fall off. None of the children had spoken for hours. Although Solomon didn’t want to move his sister because he didn’t want to risk her crying again, he had to. His body ached so badly. Gently, he stretched his legs out in front of him as Sarah stirred.
“Solomon?”
“Yes, it’s me. I’m here with you, Sarah.” He stroked her head again damning himself for having to wake her.
“Where are we?” she asked as she awakened in the blackness of that basement room.
“Solomon? Solomon?” she said, her voice filled with fear. “Is that you? Did you say you’re here or did I dream it?”
“Yes, it’s me, your brother, Sarah. I’m right here. You’re not alone. I’m with you.”
She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Are we still underground?”
“We are. We’re waiting for Sister Mary Agnus to return.”
“I have a headache. I don’t feel good, and I’m hungry too.”
“I know. Sister Mary Agnus will be back soon. She’ll bring us food. Try to go back to sleep.”
“I don’t like it here. It’s cold and it’s dark. And I think there might be monsters . . .”
“If there are any monsters, I’ll kill them. I promise. Try to sleep. It’s best if you sleep,” he said, thinking that the only monsters were the real live Nazis who were living upstairs in the light. His stomach ached with hunger; his eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough for him to see that the other children were huddled together to keep warm.
Sarah cuddled up to him. He could hear her sucking her thumb. Usually he would take her thumb out of her mouth when she started to do this, but he didn’t. He knew she needed to do everything possible to comfort herself. And he wished that he could find comfort in something so simple. Gently he rocked his body back and forth to encourage her to fall back to sleep.
“Sing to me,” she said. “Sing me the Yiddish lullaby Mama used to sing to us.”
“Sarah . . .” he said.
“Please, Sol, please . . .”
He began to sing softly, but the others heard him, and many joined in. Their voices were barely above a whisper. They were the voices of desperate and lonely children who were fighting demons that they were too young to understa
nd.
Chapter 63
It might have been another day, it might have been two, before Solomon was awakened by the opening of the door. He saw the figures of Father Dupaul and Sister Mary Agnus enter. They carried a single lit candle.
“Before we begin to explain everything that is happening, let me give all of you some food, water, and blankets,” the priest said.
Sister Mary Agnus distributed all that they had brought. Sarah began to eat. But even though he was starving, Solomon couldn’t eat or drink: he was waiting to hear their fate.
“Please . . . eat, drink,” Sister Mary Agnus said.
“Children,” the priest began, “I am so very sorry that we have been forced to keep you down here in the darkness and in the cold without food or water. It’s my fault. I should have had better plans in place before this all happened. I should have had food, blankets, and water down here . . .” The old priest's voice cracked. Solomon could not see his face, but from the sound of the father’s voice, Solomon was sure the priest was crying.
“What the good father is trying to say is that he was arrested and detained. He was just released a few hours ago. The Nazis were here in the church all night. They went through everything. But they found nothing. They do not know of your existence. The other children have been told not to ever mention having known you. I have put my trust in God that this will not be too great a task for the young ones,” Sister Mary Agnus said.
Father Dupaul cleared his throat. “I am afraid that you will have to stay down here for a while. At least until the suspicion clears.”
A little boy named Michael let out a scream. “No, I can’t stay down here. I hate it here. I have always been terrified of the dark. And it’s so dark down here.”
“I am so sorry, Michael,” Father Dupaul said, “but you must stay down here for now. Talk to God when you are afraid. He is always with you.”
Michael whimpered.
“Now, this is also important that you are very quiet at all times. Just in case anyone is upstairs, you must not scream, shout, or fight. You can speak to each other, but you must keep your voices down.”
“I’ve brought another chamber pot,” Sister Mary Agnus said, “I’ll bring a fresh one each morning, and I’ll take the other one away.”
“How long do you think we’ll be here?” Solomon asked.
“I don’t know, Solomon. I wish I had an answer,” the priest said. “If I leave you in charge of a couple of candles I know I can trust you to use them sparingly.”
“Yes, Father, you can,” Solomon said. “I will only light them when it’s necessary.”
“I will bring you a Bible and some Bible story books tomorrow when we come back,” Sister Mary Agnus said. “Will you read to the others, Solomon?”
“Yes, I will light the candles so I can read,” he said even though he hated to read.
Chapter 64
The darkness loomed over the children, and even though their eyes adjusted they became depressed. Every day either Father Dupaul or Sister Mary Agnus brought them as much food as they could scrounge up. Everyone, including Solomon, was always hungry. Each night Solomon lit one of the candles and read a single Bible story aloud. He read the story of Joseph and his wicked brothers. In the middle of the story he stopped and told the children to close their eyes and imagine what Joseph’s coat looked like.
“What do you see? What does Joseph’s coat look like?” he asked them.
For several minutes the children came alive. They offered their own versions of the coat.
“You see, when you closed your eyes, your imagination took over. So don’t be afraid of the dark because you can still see colors in the darkness,” Solomon said.
That night after the candle was extinguished, the children all discussed things they’d once seen: a black-and-white puppy, a completely lit menorah on the eighth day of Hanukkah, the performance of a dance troupe with colorful costumes. Each child offered vivid descriptions of them while the others used their imaginations to see everything come alive within their minds.
Then on another night Solomon read the story of Jonah and the whale.
“I’ll bet it was as dark inside the whale’s belly as it is down here,” one of the boys said.
“Yes, I think it probably was. And God was watching over Jonah, wasn’t he? When Jonah prayed to God for help, God made the big whale vomit so that Jonah would come back out of its mouth,” Solomon offered, sounding far older than his ten years.
“Yes, and he is watching over us, isn’t he, Solomon?” Sarah asked.
“Yes, I believe that he is,” Solomon said.
“But Jonah went against God’s wishes, and that was why he ended up in that whale’s belly,” one of the older girls said. “What did we do? How did we anger God so much that he let the Nazis do this to us? Why did God let the Nazis kill our families and trap us in this dark basement?”
Solomon shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I wish I had answers for you, but I don’t.”
Another boy who was almost fourteen said, “ All I can tell you is that we have to pray. We have to pray together that God destroys the Nazis and we are set free.”
“God did send us Father Dupaul and all of the sisters to help us. So he is doing what he can,” another child offered.
“God is all powerful. He could stop this anytime he wants to, but he doesn’t. He let my parents die. I saw them die. A Nazi beat my mother up with a big stick. He hit her in the head until her face disappeared, and then all this terrible stuff came out and her head was all crushed,” another little girl said.
“All right, all right. Now let’s not go on about this. Everyone is getting upset, and there are no answers to these questions. These are terrible things that have been done to us, but it doesn’t help us to waste our candlelight time talking about them. It only hurts. So why don’t we talk about whales. Has anyone here ever seen a picture of a whale?” Solomon asked.
The children began to talk about whales, and then they talked about sharks. They were so animated and enjoying the discussion so much that Solomon allowed the candle to burn for what he figured to be at least another full half hour. Then he said, “All right, everyone, let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll read the story of Job, and perhaps that will help us to keep our faith.” He blew out the candle and lay down with Sarah at his side. I never had much faith in God before. I heard all these stories as a child, but they had no meaning for me then. I don’t even understand how I found faith. Maybe it’s because it’s all I have left. But in my heart, for some reason, I am certain that God will not abandon us.
Chapter 65
Poland, April 1945
Once the cold weather broke and spring was on her way, Tytus was busy planting. But at night after dinner he and Dyta had begun to take long walks alone together. And by the middle of April, Dyta was no longer sharing a room with Ewa. Dyta and Tytus had become lovers and she slept in his bed. He had given her complete access to all of his wife’s things, which she generously shared with Ewa.
It was not that Ewa was ungrateful for the clean undergarments and the dresses; she was very grateful, but she couldn’t help but wonder how this man was able to give these things to Dyta and not be worried about what his wife would do when she returned. Ewa tried to put these thoughts out of her mind, telling herself that it was none of her business. But she was haunted by questions, and finally one day when Tytus was out working on the land and Ewa and Dyta were busy chopping vegetables for the noonday meal, Ewa asked Dyta, "Have you ever wondered what is going to happen when Tytus’s wife returns?”
Dyta looked up at Ewa. She laid the knife down on the cutting board next to the small squares of potatoes she’d been chopping. Then she said in a slow, deliberate voice, “I doubt she will ever be back.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I tell you something, a secret, you can’t tell Tytus that I told you.”
“Tell me what?” Ewa said.
“Do you
like Tytus?” Dyta asked.
“Of course I do. He is a good person. He has been very kind to us, and generous too,” Ewa said.
“What I am about to tell you might color your opinion of him for many reasons.”
“Go on, tell me.”
Dyta looked into her friend’s eyes, then she began, “As you know, Tytus was married.”
“Yes, I thought he was still married.”
“From what he tells me his wife was considered quite the town beauty. She was blonde, and sweet, and he adored her. But she thought she was too good for him. And”—she hesitated for a moment—“she did something that shamed him. She had an affair with a Jewish accountant. He hated her for it, but he didn’t throw her out. He tried to break up the affair, that was until she got pregnant. Once she did, he’d had enough. He told her she had to leave. He said he wanted a divorce. But he was hurt, and then to make matters even worse, she moved in with the Jew. The neighbors were talking. Tytus’s family was embarrassed. He hated her, but there was nothing he could do. He tried to come up with money for a lawyer for the divorce, but he was afraid that the Jew would take his farm. You know how they are. They steal everything. He was afraid.
But then when the Nazis came into Poland and the Jews were being rounded up, his wife had the audacity to come to Tytus and ask him for help. By that time she had given birth to a little boy who was half Jewish. Tytus still loved her, and because he hoped he could win her back, he took them all in. He hid them in the cellar, and he watched as the Nazis and the rest of the world turned its back on the Jews. Of course, and for good reason, he hated the man who had stolen his wife, and now that the Jew was in trouble, he thought his wife would come back to him. He begged her, even promised her that he would adopt her half-Jewish child and tell the world that it was his, but she refused him. So he went to the Nazis and turned them all in. A few months later, he learned that they’d all been killed.”
Ewa could not speak; it felt like a stone was lodged in her throat. I am a Jew and Dyta doesn’t know it. She thinks I am Sylwia, not Ewa. If she knew I was a Jew would she feel differently about me? It hurts to think that she might, she thought. Dyta loves Tytus and he hates Jews. I know he has been kind to me. I can’t trust him or Dyta. If they ever learned the truth about me . . .
Sarah and Solomon Page 20
