The following night Zofia went to Dovid’s apartment. His artwork covered the walls. In each piece, she felt the power of his emotions and the yearning for the world before Hitler. A canvas over the living room sofa was filled with bright colors, joyful colors, surrounding a carousel at sunset. Another featured children playing in an emerald forest, and another of lovers drinking wine at an outdoor café with red and white tablecloths and matching umbrellas, their bodies leaning toward each other in intimate conversation. Then she saw Dovid’s self-portrait at the concert hall, where he sat in front of a blur of a thousand faces playing his violin. Overhead the twinkling light of a chandelier, like a thousand diamond crystals reflected in his eyes, his face fully enraptured. If she stared long enough she felt as if she could almost see the trembling of his fingers and hear the haunting strains of melancholy notes as the bow reached its arm out to caress the strings.
“They’re beautiful paintings,” she said.
“Thank you, they tell the story of my life before Hitler.”
“Is this your child?” she asked. It was a picture of a very young girl perhaps two or three smiling with only a single tooth.
“My niece, I was there when she was born. My sister’s husband was my best friend. Their family lived a few blocks away from ours. When we were growing up, Yoseph and I played kickball and walked to school together. Then as we got older, he and my sister began notice each other. And before I knew it, he was more interested in her than he was in me,” Dovid laughed. “Oh, at the time I was angry at both of them. I felt so betrayed. Of course, I got over it by the time they got married. In fact, I was Yoseph’s best man. The night Issy was born, Yoseph and I sat smoking all the way until morning, together, in the waiting room.”
She smiled.
“It was early in the morning that she came, just at the crack of dawn. We looked outside at the sunrise and I remember confiding in Yoseph that I doubted my turn would ever come.”
“Your turn?”
“Yes, my turn. My turn to find that special person who makes your heart beat just a little faster, and then to marry her, and if we are both very fortunate, to be blessed with a house filled with children. Well, I was right… I never did get married or have children of my own. Hitler invaded before I had the chance. And then everything changed. Now I wouldn’t want to bring a child into this mess. So, I suppose that’s why Issy is so special to me. She is like my own daughter.”
“You may love her, and I have no doubt that you do. But, Dovid, there is nothing in this world like your own child. The feelings that you have for a child of your own blood are indescribable.” Zofia said crossing her arms over her chest and fighting the urge to cry.
He looked at her sharply.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not offended. Just reminded of what has been stolen from me by the Nazis.” he said.
“I’m sorry, Dovid. Sometimes I am so thoughtless. I should never have said that. I was selfishly thinking of my own problems.”
“You wanted children too?” he asked
She considered telling him about Eidel but decided against it. She shrugged.
He saw the pain in her face and didn’t ask anything more. Instead, he got up and took out his violin. “Would you like to hear me play?”
“Yes… Yes… I’d love to.” It was a good way to change the subject, and besides, she did love music.
“Here, sit down, and I will play for you,” he said. They sat at a small kitchen table with two chairs.
She smiled at him. “I look forward to hearing you,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I feel like a terrible host, but I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer. I can make a pot of coffee if you would like.”
“No, thank you. I don’t want anything.” She smiled.
Dovid took the violin out of its case. He held it the way a man holds a woman he adores, fondling the glossy wood. Then he pulled the bow across the stings and began.
He played for a half hour. Painfully beautiful music filled the apartment. The tenderness in his hands and face moved her to tears. When he’d finished, he looked up from the instrument, and his eyes locked with hers.
He reached up and touched her face. She held his hand.
“Thank you for playing for me,” she said in a whisper, still in awe of the sounds that had just entranced her.
He nodded. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve touched the violin. When I play all of my feelings come to the surface. Sometimes it’s too painful.”
“I know. I saw that.”
He took her hand in his and squeezed. “I don’t want to fall in love with you, Zofia. It’s too dangerous to love anyone or anything right now. Everything can be taken away in an instant.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Yes and no…. No.” His eyes were soft, like black oil. “I am only fooling myself. I am falling in love with you. Either it’s love, or I’m just so damn lonely. I don’t know if I can tell the difference.”
“I know. I’ve been lonely for a very long time. But I have also been hurt, and I’m not ready for anything serious.”
“I would never hurt you, Zofia. Never.”
“Dovid, you are like a little boy. I can’t take care of you. I have too much to worry about on my own.”
“That was a cruel statement, Zofia. I am not a boy. Sensitive, yes. But I am a man in every sense of the word. And I might not be as strong as some men, not the he-man every girl dreams of, but I would give my life for someone I care for.”
“I’m sorry. That was terrible of me to say. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep saying awful things. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I’m just afraid, I guess. I just don’t want to get hurt. ”
“And I suppose you don’t find me attractive in that way?” he asked looking down at his hands
She studied him. He was nice looking, kind, gentle. It had been a long time since she’d felt a man’s arms around her. Sometimes late at night she’d hungered for the physical affection of a man. She’d only tasted it once, and it seemed so long ago, but somehow her body remembered and craved what it had once known. And, besides, since Eidel was gone she’d not felt the warmth and the much-needed touch of another human being. She yearned for physical contact. She ached to hold her child, she ached to hold a man, and she ached to be whole.
“Kiss me,” she said. It had been so long since she’d felt the intimate touch of a man. Her body trembled in anticipation.
Dovid touched her face, his eyes brimming with need and disbelief. Slowly, he moved closer to her, taking her face in his hands. Gently, his lips brushed hers. She put her arms around him and held him close to her. The heat of his body sent shock waves of need through hers. It was an awkward embrace at first. Clumsy. Neither knew where to put their arms or their hands. As both were trying desperately not to look foolish, their heads bumped. Then they stopped for a moment, looked at each other, and laughed.
“Just kiss me, Dovid,” she said. Unlike her relationship with Don Taylor, this time Zofia had no illusions. She was not searching for undying love, only momentary warmth and companionship.
This time his arms draped around her and hers reached up to embrace him. They kissed several times in a state of discovery. Then she took his hand and led him to his small cot. Lying back, she beckoned him to lie beside her. He did. And for a short hour, they forgot that they were Jews waiting for Hitler’s decision on whether they were to live or die. For an hour, they were just a man and a woman entwined in each other, on the precipice of love.
Chapter 37
It felt good to have somewhere to go, and something to do. If only for short periods of time, Dovid kept Zofia’s mind occupied, helping her to forget how much she missed Eidel. He began teaching her to play the violin. Learning the instrument proved harder than she’d expected, and the more she worked with it the greater her appreciation for Dovid’s talent grew. Sometimes, Dovid offered free concerts
, gathering a large enough audience to force him to play outside in the open field so there would be room enough for everyone to could come and listen. Zofia would sit in the front row, beaming with pride. In the early evening, just at sunset, she and Dovid took long walks, talking, sharing, and daring to dream. He loaned her his favorite books, books he’d sacrificed food rations to purchase from the black market. Often they sat in his apartment sipping coffee and discussing a book he’d given her to read. It was wonderful to share ideas. They even went to a theatrical play that several of the other ghetto-dwellers put on in one of the apartments. Zofia had never played cards before. Dovid purchased a dog-eared deck from the black market and he taught her.
The weeks went by. A day did not pass that Zofia did not miss Eidel, but the pain had begun to lessen a bit, and she was grateful to Dovid for the distraction. She was not in love with him. For her it was not the passionate, all encompassing relationship that it was for him. She’d been hurt, and she could not give her heart as easily as he seemed to. But she enjoyed his company. Their conversations flowed freely and effortlessly, although she still did not feel secure enough to tell him about Eidel.
One night they lay together talking and sipping wine that Dovid had purchased from the black market, his arms wrapped around her in the sweet afterglow of their lovemaking. In the darkness lit only by the radiance of the streetlights shining through the window, Zofia could see his profile. Suddenly she was overcome by great sadness, she felt sorry for him.
“Dovid, don’t fall in love with me,” she said.
“What? Why do you say that?” He reached for her hand.
“Because I’m damaged. I’ve been hurt, and I don’t think I’m capable of love anymore.”
“You’re too late. I’m already falling in love with you. I think of you all the time. You’re the only bright light in my life.”
“Dovid... Dovid…” she said and got up to walk to the window. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I would rather you hurt me then try to push me away.”
“I don’t want to do either. Can’t we just be friends? No promises, no future? I can’t make any promises Dovid…”
“Oh Zofia, I don’t know if we have a future any way. It seems as if that is not for us to decide. But for now, can’t we just be happy in what we’ve found in each other?”
“Of course it is for us to decide. What do you mean?”
“Zofia...” He choked on the words and had to turn to the side table where he had a glass of water. “I mean the Nazis plan to kill us all. And they will probably succeed.”
“Only if we let them,” she said, her chin firm, but she felt the tears welling up in her eyes.
“You’re such a fighter. I wish I had half of your courage,” he said. She turned to see him smile wryly in the darkness.
“Dovid, I’m not courageous, just stubborn. I refuse to let them win. If they kill me, then they do, but I won’t stop trying.”
“If you won’t stop trying, then at least let yourself love me. It is the least you can do for yourself, Zofia. If you can have even a little happiness, it’s worth the pain.”
“Dovid… Dovid...” She shook her head. She had no answer.
Chapter 38
Every Friday night Koppel still came to Zofia’s apartment to wish her a good Sabbath. He insisted that she accompany him on occasional walks, when he backed her against the walls of the buildings, trying to kiss and touch her. She knew better than to complain. Instead, she fended him off as gently as possible. But he didn’t seem at all discouraged. In fact, the more she pushed him away, the more he wanted her.
On one such Friday night, as the women were preparing for the Sabbath, Koppel arrived, bearing gifts of roasted chicken wrapped in white butcher paper and fresh bread, a small box of cookies and three oranges. A feast in such hard times, more delicious food than the three women had seen since they had been taken to the Ghetto.
“Good Sabbath,” he said.
Gitel frowned at him, but she answered. “Good Sabbath.”
“Good Sabbath,” Fruma said as well.
“Hello, Koppel, and good Sabbath,” Zofia said. She could not help but think that the food he brought was a gift to him from the Nazis in exchange for the lives of so many poor Jewish souls. He put the food on the table. It was already set for the Sabbath.
“It’s only right that you should invite me to dinner,” Koppel said. “After all I did bring the meal.”
“Yes, you did,” Fruma said. She was stirring a pot of soup that contained a few beans and potatoes. If Koppel had not arrived, this would have been their Shabbat dinner.
Zofia looked at the kettle that simmered softly on the stove. At least it was not provided by the blood of the innocents, she thought. Hold your tongue, she told herself. He has the power to destroy you and these two women who you care so much about. “Of course you are invited, Koppel,” Zofia said.
“Well, then…let’s have dinner…” he said.
Fruma covered her head with a shawl and began lighting the candles. Then she spoke the prayers as she closed her eyes and moved her hands, pulling the smoke towards her. With a voice soft, but firm, she began…
“Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam. Blessed are you, Lord, our God, sovereign of the universe…”
At the end of the prayers, there was a chorus of “Amen.”
Zofia could not help but wonder what God thought of a man like Koppel, a man who would sacrifice his own people to save himself.
“May I do the honors?” Koppel asked as he stood up and began to carve the chicken. Once he finished, he asked each of them, “Dark or white meat?” Then he served each of them.
Zofia was hungry. It had been months since she’d had meat, but as delicious as it tasted, it stuck in her throat. She could not swallow. She drank water, and still it felt as if it would not go down. Koppel didn’t seem to notice. He was busy talking, doing his best to charm Fruma by telling her how beautiful the embroidery was on her Shabbat tablecloth.
“Thank you, I made this when I was a young girl. I can’t see as well any more. Now such intricate needlework has become very difficult for me. It must be my old eyes.”
“You aren’t old, Fruma you’re in your prime.”
“Yes, of course, Koppel,” she said with a smile, unconvinced by his flattery.
After dinner, the women cleared the table. Koppel sat down on the cot in the adjoining room and waited for Zofia.
Zofia and Fruma went to the room where the other family who lived with them slept. They were there. Fruma knew that they had no dinner for the Sabbath, they’d run out of rations. She offered them some of the soup she’d made. They graciously accepted.
“I’ll bet they had nothing left from their rations for dinner.” Zofia said.
“I know, it’s hardly enough, and with a man living with them, it must be even harder to make ends meet. Men have such big appetites. They can’t help that.”
Once they’d finished eating, Koppel asked Zofia if she would accompany him for a walk.
“Would you like to come to my apartment?” Koppel asked as they walked down the cobblestone street.
“I don’t think so, Koppel.”
“You don’t? It’s been a long time already, that we have been seeing each other. It is time, don’t you agree?”
“Koppel, I am just not ready…”
“You’re ready when it comes to that sniveling little idiot.”
She glanced over at him quickly. What did he know? He didn’t look at her, but his face burnt r ed in spite of the cool wind.
“You know exactly what I am talking about. Nothing happens in this Ghetto that I don’t know about. I have spies everywhere. You think you’re fooling me? I know about you and Dovid. It shames me, Zofia, shames me.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed and choked on her own saliva. As hard as she tried to contain herself, she began coughing.
“So, admit it’s true. I’m no
t a jealous man. But I won’t be taken for a fool. Do you think you can sleep with him and deny me? I have given you and your dike friends so much… I could force you, and you would have nothing to say about it. Worse, I could sell you to every man here in the Ghetto if I wanted to, and you would have no one to complain to. I am the authority, Zofia. I make the choices. I decide who stays and who goes. And don’t forget it. Remember, if you get me angry enough, I could put you and your perverted little family on the next train.”
She trembled. “Koppel…”
“And don’t think I couldn’t alert the Gestapo about you sending Eidel out of here. They’d find her out there. Don’t think they wouldn’t. And… They would kill her. In a second, they would kill her.”
“No!” Zofia screamed.
He grabbed her shoulder and swung her around hard to face him. “Then stop playing the innocent, self-righteous bitch with me and act like you appreciate all that I have done for you.”
She hated him. She could hardly look at him. He was worse than any Nazi she’d ever seen, because he was a Jew just like her, and he was worse than the persecutors.
“So, enough said. You will come to my apartment and you make me feel like you are grateful. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” his voice was filled with warning.
She felt the bile rise in her throat, but she nodded and followed him as he walked several paces in front of her. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes, wetting it with her tears.
Chapter 39
As she stumbled back on shaky legs to her own apartment, Zofia turned into an alleyway and vomited. She could still smell Koppel on her skin, and the images of what had just happened would not leave her mind. She wanted to talk to Dovid, to feel his comforting arms around her, to hear the smooth soft lilt of his voice. What had happened with Koppel would hurt him, but he would understand. Dovid knew what it was like to be too weak and too caught in the web to fight. It was well after dark, and she knew she should hurry home as quickly as possible, but she could not. Careful to avoid the streetlights, she slipped through the alleyways, all the way to Dovid’s apartment. Before she knocked on the door, she looked around to be sure she had not been followed. Then she entered the building and climbed the familiar stairs. When she got to the apartment, she rapped softly on the door. There was no answer. She knocked harder, and still there was no answer. Fighting the reality that slowly seeped into her mind and heart, filtering through her blood like a lethal dose of poison, she pounded her fists on the door. “Dovid! Dovid!” she called out, knowing he would not answer, but hoping, praying she was wrong. Her voice louder than she intended, she called again, “Dovid!” Still no answer. “DOVID!”
You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Book 2) Page 17
