by Jennifer Roy
in a long, long time.
There is a shout from behind us
and a gunshot.
A woman cries out, “Oh, no!”
but we keep moving forward.
I can’t see anything
except the back of the man ahead of me.
Dora squeezes my hand
from time to time
and then the crowd stops moving.
A Nazi has yelled,
“Jews, halt!”
Front of the Line
We stand in a line,
Papa first,
then Dora and me,
then Mother,
waiting for a minute,
then moving a few steps forward.
Stopping, moving,
until, after about an hour,
Papa is at the front of the line
facing a group of German soldiers.
Dora steps in front of me.
“Next!” a soldier shouts.
Papa walks up to the Nazis.
I peer around my sister’s back to watch.
I see Papa lift a large bag and toss it onto
his shoulder.
The soldiers nod and point to the right,
where a small group of men and women stand.
Papa nods back and waves to us, come.
Dora, Mother, and I walk quickly to the right
toward Papa.
Then a shrill whistle blows.
“Nein!”
The soldiers look at me with hard, angry faces.
“Nein!”
My heart is pounding, my mouth is dry.
What?
What do I do? Or say?
The Nazis are all looking at me.
I feel dizzy.
Soldiers with guns,
are pointing at me,
speaking words I do not understand.
Then Papa leaves the group to the right
and meets me and takes my hand.
The Nazis wave Dora and Mother and Papa and me
to the left,
where there is a very large crowd
of hundreds of people.
We join them.
Announcement
The loudspeakers crackle.
Zzkrrch!
Then a man’s voice announces:
“All Jews except those on the list must report to the
train station
tomorrow morning at seven.
Each Jew may bring one bag.
Repeat…
all Jews except those on the list must report…”
I press my hands against my ears
to drown out the sound.
I bury my face in Papa’s coat,
shrinking away from the crowd of tall bodies
that is buzzing with the Nazis’ orders.
I close my eyes and hide until
Dora pulls one hand away from my ear.
“It’s time to go home,”
she says.
So Papa, Mother, Dora, and I
return to the apartment
for one last night.
“What is the list?”
I ask Dora while we are trudging up the stairs
of our apartment building.
“It is a list of the names of the people that the Nazis
are keeping behind
in the ghetto,” Dora tells me.
“They need some Jews to stay here
and clean up.”
“Who is on the list?”
I ask Dora while we are climbing into our beds.
“The strongest and healthiest men and women,”
says Dora.
“Those were the people who were sent
to the right side.”
“But Papa was sent to the right side!” I exclaim.
“Is he on the list?”
Dora sighs.
“Syvia, remember when Papa lifted that
one-hundred-kilogram bag of flour?
He proved to the soldiers that he was
strong and healthy.
So, yes, his name would have been added to the list,
and Mother and I could have cleaned up, too.
We are very lucky to not be ill.”
I look at my thin, tired sister
and realize what a miracle it is
that my family is not sick
or dead
like so many of the others.
“But we were not put on the list also?”
My voice is small as I ask the question.
I already know the answer
deep down.
“No,” replies Dora.
“Papa says he would stay only if all of us
were put on the list.
‘A family stays together,’ he told the soldiers.”
“And they did not want me on the list,” I say.
“They did not want you,”
Dora echoes.
“No children on the right side.
I’m sorry, Syvia. That’s just the way it is.”
So all of us—Papa, Mother, Dora, and I—
were sent to the left together.
Right side stays.
Left side…
Trains.
Papa’s Gut
Papa’s gut is speaking to him.
That’s what he told us.
“My gut says we should not go
to the trains.”
“But, Isaac,” Mother says,
“we have no choice.
And maybe they are telling us the truth—
that the trains will take us to a place
where we will have work.”
Papa shakes his head.
“I have trusted my gut two times before,
and each time those feelings
have been right.”
“Oh, Isaac,” says Mother,
folding a dress into a small package
to tuck into a corner of her suitcase.
“Listen to reason,
not your stomach.”
Bad Dreams
I am dreaming
that I am on a ship
sailing on stormy seas.
The boat rocks violently with the waves,
rolling to its left side,
to its right side,
to its left side.
In this dream I somehow know that
I am the only one
who can save the ship,
but I am so small
and the waves are so big!
I run to the top deck
and grab a wheel to try to steer the boat to safety,
but it is too heavy and slippery
and it spins out of my hands.
“I’m sorry!” I scream,
as the salty sea spray slaps my face.
“I’m sorry!
It’s all my fault!”
“I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!”
I am shaken awake suddenly,
back in bed
between my parents.
My tongue tastes tears.
I open my eyes.
It is dark, I cannot see,
but I can feel my mother’s cool hand
stroke my forehead.
“Shhhh,” she says.
Papa is awake also.
“Syvia,” he whispers fiercely,
“it is not your fault.
It is the fault of the Nazis.
You are to blame for nothing.”
As my tears dry up
and Mother shushes me back to sleep,
I almost believe him.
Decision
The next morning,
my family walks through the streets,
carrying suitcases
with hundreds of other people,
everyone moving in the same direction.
“Isaac!”
A shout.
It is my father’s brother Haskel!
And, look, there is my uncle’s wife, Hana!
And baby Is
aac,
who is not really a baby anymore
but a little boy of three.
My aunt carries him in her arms.
Papa and my uncle stop in the middle
of the crowd and talk,
their hands and mouths moving quickly.
My uncle goes to his wife and speaks to her,
then ruffles my little cousin’s hair
and dashes ahead through the crowd.
“Let’s go,”
Papa says to us,
and my family
and my uncle’s wife and child
follow Papa.
He makes a turn away from the crowd,
away from the direction of the train station,
and toward his gut feeling.
The Plan
The Nazis are busy in the
thick, thick crowd.
People are milling everywhere,
so the soldiers don’t notice
one small family
quietly leave.
We are going to the workers’ houses,
Papa explains as we try to keep up with
his long legs.
“But we are not on the list!”
Mother and Dora say aloud.
These are the words I am thinking, too,
but do not say because I am concentrating
on making my legs move faster,
so I can catch up to Papa
and hold his hand.
“Over there are the houses where
the workers will live.”
Papa ignores all talk of lists
and points toward some buildings.
“Syvia, you wait here with baby Isaac.”
He waves at the women to follow him
to the buildings.
“We will act as if we are workers,
and, after we are settled inside,
I will return for the children.”
Papa speaks confidently,
and if there are any doubts about this plan,
no one voices them.
Baby-sitting
So here I am
with my cousin Isaac,
standing behind a big tree.
I am not used to being outside
with no grown-ups around,
not even any soldiers,
and now I am the older one
for the first time in my life.
“Would you like to see
what I have in my case?”
I ask.
Baby Isaac blinks at me.
He has huge brown eyes.
He doesn’t say anything.
I realize later that he has learned to be
very, very quiet
so as not to disturb anyone,
especially Nazis.
He sits down and watches me
open my case.
He is not interested much
in the clothing,
but he likes the thwap of the lid
when I open and shut my suitcase.
So that is how we spend our time.
Opening and closing, thwap!
Opening and closing, thwap!
Then Isaac lies down on the ground
and closes his eyes
and falls asleep.
Patience
It seems like an awfully long time
since my family left.
The ghetto is a different world
without all the people in the streets.
I can hear noises off in the distance,
but around me it is quiet,
too quiet.
My thoughts keep interrupting
the silence
with their noise.
What if the Nazis have caught my papa,
my mother,
my sister,
and taken them to the trains
or worse yet, shot them on the spot?
Then I’d be left behind,
wondering what happened,
maybe never finding out.
I cannot just stay here forever with Isaac,
but Papa said don’t move,
wait here.
More unwanted thoughts creep into my brain—
things I have tried to forget.
I once saw a man
being killed
out on the streets.
Bang! Bang!
A man in the crowd did a funny jump,
then fell on his back,
his yellow star facing the sky.
Other people jumped, too,
away from the man,
then kept walking, faster,
and Dora tugged me away
so I couldn’t see anymore.
I look down at my cousin sleeping.
Then I look toward the buildings
where the workers will stay.
Is that a person coming?
It is hard to tell from this far away, but then…
Papa?
Papa?
Papa!
My papa comes to me,
and he is grinning.
Papa!
He is here!
He is safe!
I want to dance and hug and ask questions,
but Papa puts his finger to his lips and says,
“Shhh…let Isaac sleep.
It will be easier that way.”
He scoops up baby Isaac
and lays him over one shoulder.
Next he tosses his coat over Isaac
to hide him.
Then he takes my hand.
His hand feels strong and safe,
covering my small fingers,
and, as we walk together, Papa talks softly.
I listen and
Isaac sleeps on.
One little boy is not too heavy, I think,
for a man who can lift
a one hundred-kilogram bag of flour.
And then fool the Nazis.
Entrance
This is what happened.
Papa, Mother, Dora, Aunt Hana, and Uncle Haskel
walked up to the entrance of one of the buildings
where some men and women had just entered.
Nazi soldiers guarded the door.
Papa looked right into the eyes of one of the soldiers.
“Isaac Perlmutter,” he said,
then announced the others’ names,
pointing to each one by one.
The soldier looked them all over
and nodded.
The other soldier opened the door,
and Papa, Mother, Dora, Aunt Hana,
and Uncle Haskel
went in to join the workers.
How Papa Knew
“That is the whole story?” I asked, amazed.
“What about the list? How did you know the
soldiers wouldn’t shoot you?”
“It is true that the warnings said
that everyone who did not
report to the trains would be shot,”
Papa admits,
“but I could not bring myself to do it.
My gut insisted, do not go to the trains.”
“Did your gut talk to you about the list, too?”
I ask.
“No,” Papa chuckles,
“for that I used my two eyes.
I have noticed that lately
there have been fewer and fewer
soldiers around in the ghetto,
because Germany needs its men
for fighting.
Hitler does not have the time these days
to concern himself with
one ghetto
of Jews
when the world is coming after him.
“So, I realized that there might not be enough
soldiers left here
to be organized with this liquidation,
and yesterday when I was lifting
that bag of flour,
I looked around and saw…nothing.”
“Nothing, Papa?” I trotted a
longside him.
We were getting closer to the buildings now.
“I saw that not one soldier
had pen and paper
to take names,
and today at the entrance I saw again nothing.
No paper, no pens,
no list.”
“There was no list!” I could not believe it.
Was everything the Nazis said lies?
“Only soldiers with guns.” Papa smiles.
“And I am pleased to say
that they did not use them.”
Into the Building
When we approach the two buildings
where the workers will live,
Papa says,
“Walk on my right side, Syvia,
and keep your head down.”
We walk up a path made of dirt and stones.
I watch my shoes, step…step,
and just for a moment I can’t help but
lift my head.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see
two German soldiers.
They are talking to a woman
who looks upset.
She is waving her arms around
while she speaks to the men.
Papa still carries baby Isaac over his shoulder,
and I walk close so that Papa’s body will
block me from the soldiers’ view.
But the soldiers are busy arguing with the woman,
and they don’t even look our way.
I can hardly believe how risky this plan is.
How brave Papa is.
How lucky we are.
Around to the side of one building we go!
Two children and one man—
who were not even on “the list”—
through a side door,
down a stairway,
into a cellar.
The Underground Room
I’ve never really thought about what cellars are like.
We did not have one when we lived on the second
floor of the apartment,
but one look, and I know
this is not an ordinary cellar.
Children.
There are children in this cellar.
It is dark, so I don’t know for sure,
but it looks like maybe five,
maybe six
girls and boys
are sitting on suitcases or on the floor.
Baby Isaac wakes up just then.
He looks around and cries out, “Mama?”
“It’s all right, Isaac.” Papa hushes the boy.
“Your mama and papa will be here soon.”
A hundred thoughts bubble up in my head.
Isaac’s mother and father will be here?
Where are my mother and Dora?
Am I to stay here in a room under the ground?
“Others!” I say, my voice too loud
for this silent room.
“There are other children still alive in the ghetto!”
Papa nods.
He says,
“They have been hidden, too.
We can talk more about it later,
but for now I need you to stay here
and get settled in.
Take care of your cousin.”
Papa puts baby Isaac down
and pushes him gently toward me.
I need to take care of unfinished business
