You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Book 2)

by Roberta Kagan

  “You should not even be in this neighborhood. Get out now, and be glad that we don’t arrest you too.” He pushed Helen against the wall slamming her hard. The pain sobered her. She rubbed her shoulder. Helen watched the man. Her eyes were filled with fright. She glanced at Lars, suddenly afraid for him.

  “Mach schnell. You have five minutes to gather your things together. Let’s go! Move!” he shouted at the three women.

  Gitel looked at Fruma. Zofia stood glued to the floor. It felt as if her feet would not obey.

  “MOVE, I said!” The Gestapo agent took a club from the side of his uniform and hit Gitel across the face. Blood flew across the room onto the wall, covering the birthday cake. Fruma ran to Gitel, but the man raised the club to hit them both again.

  “Move, now!”

  Gitel spit a tooth into her hand.

  Everyone scampered. Esther grabbed Manny, who was crying, and raced out of the apartment. Helen took Lars and left as quickly as she could. And within minutes, Gitel, Fruma, Zofia, and Eidel were being driven away in the notorious black car that had taken so many of their neighbors. Gitel was holding a towel against the side of her face. As the car rounded the corner, Zofia saw Helen standing on the sidewalk with Lars in her arms. The baby was crying, and so was Helen.

  Chapter 27

  Every day more families arrived in the already overcrowded Warsaw Ghetto. Food was scarce, and the rations were controlled by the Nazis, who gave each person less than 200 calories worth of food per day. Soap was a luxury, and everything was filthy. Bouts of typhoid and plague erupted, seizing the healthy and ending in death within hours. Work was hard to find, and so women, out of need, resorted to the only commodity they had to sell, their bodies. Children begged for money or food. And the black market flourished. At night, those who could escape over the wall and out of the ghetto to make deals with the Polish returned with food, medicines, and other necessities to sell. Those who were able survived. The sick or elderly perished within days. The worst of it all were the Judenrats. The Jews who collaborated with the Nazis had put them in charge of the Ghetto. The Judenrats were instructed to select a certain number of Jews to be taken to the trains each day. Everyone was led to believe that the trains led to work camps where the Jews would be employed in the Nazi war effort. At least at first, everyone believed.

  But where there is life, there is hope, and those who lived made the best of the situation. Schools were put together for the children, plays were performed, music and art thrived, and people still fell in love, and married. All this continued with the hope that soon the nightmare would end.

  Zofia, Gitel, Fruma, and the baby found housing in a crowded apartment building. They shared a small two-bedroom flat with another family, the Gursteins: a young mother whose wrinkled brow gave her a far older appearance than her thirty-five years, a consumptively thin father, and two daughters, one ten and the other eleven. The water, when it worked, was icy cold, making bathing an uncomfortable, but necessary evil. Zofia noticed that the parents who lived in the other room gave most of their food to their children. The two girls attended a makeshift school, where they learned music and drama in addition to the basics of reading, writing and arithmetic. Often Mara, the older of the two daughters would come home singing a song from an opera. Her sister would join in, and even though the house was crowded, there was joy. Little Eidel loved the girls who picked her up and played with her as if she were a human doll. They carried her around the apartment, singing to her, or they sat on the floor talking amongst themselves and playing with Eidel. Between the two preteens, her mother, and grandmothers, Eidel never lacked for attention. She was a happy baby, laughing and smiling all the time. The child took her first steps in that small apartment in the Warsaw Ghetto. Everyone laughed and cheered as she toddled along, holding on to the worn threadbare furniture.

  It came to Fruma’s mind one afternoon as she walked home from the market with a measly small bag of food for the entire family that her sewing services might be of use to those on the other side of the wall. After all, she was a master seamstress and Zofia could embroider better than most. Perhaps there was work they could do, work that would buy them more food on the black market. Everyone knew where to go to find the sellers who dealt in black market goods, everyone except the Judenrats, who were kept in the dark because they were not to be trusted.

  Fruma rounded the corner and ducked into the alleyway. There she saw the young man who everyone knew as Karl Abdenstern. He was making some sort of a deal with another man. She saw Karl pull a vial of something out of his pocket, which was exchanged for a few coins. Once the man took the vial and left. Fruma approached.

  “You are Karl Abdenstern?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Fruma Kowolsky. I’m a seamstress. My daughter, Zofia is also. We can do sewing and embroidery very well. We will work cheap, anything is better than nothing. Is there any call for such things outside the Ghetto?”

  Karl looked at the woman. He felt sorry for her. Although he’d never looked into the sale of such services, he could do so the next time he went to the other side.

  “I don’t know. I can look into it,” Karl said.

  “You will? Please. Of course, I would expect you to take a cut. I understand that everyone must make a living,” Fruma said.

  “Where can I find you?” Karl asked.

  “I will come back if you tell me when to be here.”

  “Come the day after tomorrow and I will have some information for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I am not sure that I can get you any work, but I will try,” he said, his eyes scanning the old woman. She was painfully thin.

  “I am grateful that you should even try,” Fruma said.

  Karl gazed at Fruma who began to walk away. “Wait,” he said pulling a hard piece of bread out of his coat pocket. “Here, it’s not much, but take this.” Karl handed her the food.

  “Are you sure?” Fruma asked.

  “Yes, take it please.” Karl was suddenly embarrassed.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Karl nodded. “It’s all right. I’ll find out what I can.”

  Fruma nodded her head and left. As she walked home, she was excited. It was a large, heavy roll, of dark, grainy bread. She would share it with Gitel and Zofia.

  Chapter 28

  There was work! Karl said he would bring them work. The Polish with whom he traded with were willing to use their services as long as the work was done cheaply, more cheaply than any seamstress would charge outside the wall.

  Zofia was thrilled. It was good to have work. She and Fruma were busy all day long. Gitel took care of Eidel until the young girls returned from school, when they happily took over the job. Mrs. Gurstein prepared the evening meal, while Mr. Gurstein went out and did whatever work he was able to find. Karl Abdenstern brought fabrics to be embroidered, pearls to be sewn on, carefully and individually, hems to be taken up, and various other tasks. The pay was not even half of what they earned when they had the shop, but it was enough to help buy some small extras, like a bar of soap, and some food, although there was barely enough for the three of them. Fruma, Gitel and Zofia talked among themselves and decided to share with the Gursteins. Things were better than they were before.

  One afternoon as Zofia returned from the bakery, Koppel Bergman, a well-known Judenrat walked over to her. She had noticed that he had watched her come and go through the market for the past month. Zofia took him to be about forty years old, but he was in good shape and could easily have passed for thirty.. He was tall, with an arrogance about him, with pleasant, even features, dark, deep-set eyes, and straight dark hair combed away from his face. His clothes fit his slender frame and it was obvious to Zofia that he thought himself a ladies’ man. Most women probably fell at his feet, and why not? He was a Judendrat. That meant he had access to better food, more quantity, and he could offer safety. After all, he was one of
those with the power to decide who was to be selected for the next train to the work camp.

  “Hello,” Koppel said, smiling. “I’m Koppel Bergman. I don’t think we’ve ever formally met.”

  “Hello,” Zofia said, walking more quickly.

  “Wait, what’s your hurry? You haven’t even told me your name. That’s rude.”

  “I’m sorry. My name is Zofia. But I have to get home.” She kept walking.

  “I’m sure you could spare a few minutes. If you would like, I could offer a pastry and a cup of coffee if you would like to share them with me.”

  Dear God, she was hungry. The idea of a sweet pastry and a cup of coffee made her mouth water. But it was dangerous to become too involved with this man. Better to stay out of his way. “No, I’m sorry. I really must go.”

  “Wait, just a minute, slow down, you’re practically running. I only want to talk to you.” Koppel said.

  Zofia was afraid. Best not anger him. She stopped.

  “There you go. Now we can talk. Would you like to go with me and have that pastry?”

  “I’m sorry. I would like to, but I have to get home.”

  “It will only take a few minutes. I promise you it is delicious.”

  “All right, then.”

  “I knew you would see reason. Come on, follow me,” he smiled.

  Even as she followed him, Zofia felt uncomfortable. She wanted to go home but if she did, he would be angry. Then who knew if he might decide to put her on the next list for the train to the work camp?

  They walked for three blocks, he stomping confidently ahead of her, she slowly behind him. When they arrived at his apartment, Zofia felt a sick twitch penetrate her stomach.

  “Well, come in. I won’t bite you.’ Koppel said, his smile charming as his eyes glanced over her.

  She entered. The apartment was the nicest she’d ever entered inside of the ghetto.

  “I live here with my mother, but she is old and she won’t bother us” he said. “So make yourself comfortable.” Then Koppel put on a pot of boiling water. The aroma of the coffee filled the room. Zofia felt herself salivating in response. It had been so long since she’d even smelled good-quality coffee brewing. Koppel saw the look on her face and laughed.

  “As you can see, I have access to the better things in life.”

  He took a small plate with three white, doughy cookies on it out of the pantry. It was covered with a waxy white paper. He removed the paper and set the dish in front of Zofia

  “Go ahead. Enjoy,” Koppel said.

  Zofia took one of the cookies and bit into it. It was as if she had never tasted sugar before. All of her senses came alive. She chewed slowly savoring every morsel. But even as she enjoyed the incredible sensations, her thoughts turned to guilt as she thought of Eidel and her family.

  “May I take the rest of these for my daughter?” She could easily have devoured the entire plate’s contents in seconds. And it took every ounce of restraint for her not to.

  “Of course. They are all for you,” Koppel said.

  Quickly, feeling like a thief, Zofia wrapped the cookies in the paper and stuffed them into the pocket of her skirt. Powdered sugar fell onto her black skirt. If she’d been alone, she would have licked it off. Instead, as discreetly as she could, she rubbed her finger into the white powder and brought it to her lips. Closing her eyes, she delighted in the sweet pleasure.

  “They are very good, yes?”

  “Yes, thank you, very good.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed them. I can always get more,” he said, clearing his throat. “Now, Zofia, that is your name, correct? I have a little proposition for you.”

  She didn’t answer. She sat there, listening, knowing how vulnerable she was here alone with him, in his apartment. She was constantly aware of his position, of the power he had to decide who would stay in the ragged safety of the Ghetto and who would be forced to the unknown destinations on the train.

  “I can get you work, money, and plenty of food. I know that has to sound good to you,” Koppel said.

  Zofia nodded. “Yes, of course. I would appreciate any work.” He must never find out about the work she and Fruma did through the black market.

  “You’re young and very pretty. That’s in your favor. And may I be so bold as to say that I have been watching you and I know that you have a child, so you are not unfamiliar to the ways of the world.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Zofia said her voice cracking like icicles falling from tree branches.

  “Well, there are a lot of men here who would give up their food rations, money too, for an afternoon of badly needed release. Do you understand?”

  She understood, of course she understood. Zofia coughed, and cleared her throat, stifling the desire to slap his pretty face, to see her hand print on that perfect chiseled cheek.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t. It’s just not something I could ever do.”

  “So many women are doing what they have to do in order to survive, this would be an easy way for you to get the things you need, and what is the big problem? It’s really nothing, just a few hours doing what you’ve done before.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry,” Zofia said, getting up and heading for the door. It felt as if a lump had formed in her throat and she couldn’t swallow.

  “Wait…” he said again.

  She stopped, only because she knew she must. It was danger to offend him.

  “I understand…” he smiled at her. It was a wide-open smile, but she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “I like you Zofia. I’m not going to hold it against you that you have so arrogantly refused my kind offer. Instead, I am going to assume that you are a decent girl and instead of being offended, I am going to ask you if you would like to see me again.”

  She would like never to see him again.

  “Of course I would, but I am so busy with my daughter that I don’t have much time for socializing.”

  “Well, you realize that it could be arranged for your daughter to be on the next transport. Then you would have time, right?” He put his finger up to his lips.

  She felt her knees buckle. He could do it. It was in his power. Here was a Jew as bad as a Nazi. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Please, don’t do that. I will see you again. I will arrange whatever must be arranged in order to see you. Just please leave my child alone,” Zofia said.

  “I thought you would see reason. I know where you live. I will come by to get you tomorrow night. We can have a nice evening together,” Koppel said.

  Zofia nodded and left. A cold wind blew as she walked towards home. Without thinking, she put her hand in the breast pocket of her blouse and felt the cookies. She took them out and put them into the bag that she’d gotten when she went to the bakery before her confrontation with Koppel. Tears attacked her eyes. She could not tell Fruma or Gitel what was going on or they would force her to refuse Koppel and then what? Worse yet, if Karl, the man from the black market found out that she was keeping company with a Judenrat, he would stay away from the whole family. And then she and Fruma would not have any work. All the way home, she agonized, until she decided that she must tell Fruma and Gitel everything. There was no other way. They, in turn, must explain to Karl. This was not her doing, but if she dared to refuse Koppel, the consequences were far more than she was willing to pay.

  When Zofia arrived at the apartment, she put the bag on the kitchen table and took off her coat. Fruma was sitting at the sewing machine looking at her strangely.

  “Where have you been? You’ve been gone over an hour. We were afraid that something happened to you,” Fruma said her voice stern.

  “I need to talk to you and to Gitel. Is anyone else at home?”

  “No, the young girls are at school, and both of their parents have found some day labor for the week. What is it, Zofia? You are as white as a winter storm.”

  “Fruma…” She burst into tears, realizing how vulnerable she wa
s. “Do you know who Koppel is?”

  “Stop crying, I can hardly understand you.” Fruma said her voice still stern, but her eyes kind. As she got up from the machine, Fruma stretched letting out a gasp from the pain of constant sitting. Then Fruma walked over and put her arms around Zofia, leading her to the small cot at the side of the room. “Sit down, and take a breath. I’ll get you some water and then we will talk, yes?”

  Zofia nodded her head. The room was cold. There had been no heat for several days. Fruma took a long piece of wool from the bolts of fabric that were to be used for upcoming jobs and draped it around Zofia’s shoulders like a shawl. Then she got her a glass of water. Zofia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sipped.

  “Koppel, you know him, he is the Judenrat, the young one.”

  “Yes, I know who he is. He is a pimp.”

  “You know that?”

  “Of course I know that. Everyone knows that,” Fruma said.

  “I didn’t. Maybe I just wasn’t paying attention,” Zofia said. “Any way, he tried to recruit me for his prostitution ring. When I refused, he decided that he would like to see me socially.”

  Fruma shook her head. “No, don’t do it.”

  “I have to. He threatened to have Eidel taken away. He has the power to do that. I have to do it. I can’t put Eidel in danger. She is child, my life. I love her.” Zofia began to weep in powerful gusts of pain and anguish.

  “I know. I love her too,” Fruma said, patting Zofia’s back as if she were a little girl.

  “I must do as he says. I must or he will do something terrible to us. He can.”

  “And, he is a Jew. He believes that the Nazis are his friends, stupid fool. What he doesn’t realize is that one day the Nazis will turn on him and he will end up in worse shape than all the rest of us.” Fruma’s eyes had a glazed-over look. Zofia had seen this before it happened when Fruma was seeing visions of the future.

  Both women sat quietly for several minutes and watched Eidel, asleep in the dresser drawer that Gitel had made into a cradle.