Once

by Elisabeth Grace Foley et al.

  Pounding tore through the air. “Open the door, you filthy Jews!”

  “Jannah,” Romek grabbed his sister by both shoulders, giving her a firm shake. “Take Aleksandra and Kasia out the back door. Go quickly to Uncle Peter’s house.”

  “But—”

  “Jannah, do as I say!” His voice was thick with urgency.

  But it was too late. The Germans had thrown open the front door, shattering the peaceful night. There were three of them, all young men with fingers curved around the triggers of their guns. One husky soldier swept his eyes across the room until they landed on me. I gripped the piano bench, my knuckles turning white.

  “What are you Jews doing?” His eyes pinned me to the bench.

  “We’re having a birthday celebration.” Romek’s father stepped in front of me. His voice was calm, but his face had lost all color. “That is not a crime, I hope?”

  My skin crawled as the soldier shared a smirk with his comrade. “Ah. It’s the little Jewess’ birthday. I would not be celebrating anything if I were you. No, Jews, you should not be celebrating another year of life.” He snatched a lighter from the side table, lit himself a cigarette, and strolled around the room. I held my breath as he stopped in front of me, exhaling a breath of smoke above my head. I tried to swallow a cough but it came out in a mangled choke.

  The third soldier didn’t appear to be enjoying himself like his comrades. His eyes roamed around the room, stopping on Romek. They shared a long glance before he snapped his attention to me.

  “You, Jewess. Play us a song.”

  His comrades began to protest, but he must have outranked them, for one sharp look shut their mouths. A sickening wave of terror seized my body, and I couldn’t move, even if I had wanted to. Romek slid onto the bench beside me and leaned into my shoulder. “Play, Kasia. We’re going to be all right. Trust me.”

  How could he possibly know that? It was a foolish promise, but I clung to it with all I had. My trembling fingers pressed down on the keys and sent a bittersweet melody into the nightmare around me.

  “Enough!” The husky soldier tossed his cigarette on the floor, grinding it into the carpet. “Line up against the wall.”

  Perspiration dripped down the nape of my neck and the room began to spin. Would I die instantly? Would it be painfully drawn out?

  The veins bulged in his neck. “Move, you lazy pigs!”

  Romek laced his fingers through mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll be all right,” he whispered again. I wanted to scream at him! We were not all right. We were on death’s doorstep. He reached out a hand to Jannah, pulling her into himself. The blood drained from her face, and her eyes blinked wildly. I couldn’t bear to look at his parents or his ten-year-old sister whose cries were smothered as she clung to her mother.

  God, please spare us!

  The third soldier grabbed the pistol from his comrade’s hand. My stomach rolled. “This is a waste of time.” He stuffed the pistol into his belt and moved toward the door. He motioned for the soldiers to follow him. “Let’s get a beer.”

  “Fine, after you take care of them.” The husky soldier pointed at the six of us lined against the parlor wall.

  “We’ll get lots of them later. God, I need a stiff drink.”

  The two soldiers hesitated, but finally relented as their free beer stormed out the front door. “Go ahead,” the husky soldier laughed. “Go ahead and celebrate while you can, Jews.” The door slammed behind them, rattling the pictures on the walls. The lightbulb flickered. The room was swallowed in silence.

  “He remembered.”

  A wave of nausea consumed me, and I collapsed onto the piano bench. “W-who did?”

  “Franz.”

  “What?”

  Romek gently brushed a tear from my cheek. I hadn’t noticed I was crying. “I knew we wouldn’t die tonight.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” My voice was as shaky as my knees.

  “We were friends when he studied in Warsaw before the war. We got in a lot of trouble, but we always looked out for each other.” He looked at his parents. “Franz stayed at our house once or twice over the holidays.”

  His father nodded, holding his wife and daughters close. “He promised to do what he could if things got bad for our family. I never doubted his word.”

  “When I saw him, I knew we’d be all right.” Romek kneeled before me, lifting my chin. His fingers trembled. “There are still good people in this world, even when they appear to be the enemy.”

  Church bells chimed the hour. None of us spoke as we listened to the lonesome bells split through the still night. Romek disappeared into the kitchen, coming out with wine glasses for each of us.

  “To the year ahead,” he whispered, raising his glass. “Happy birthday, Kasia.”

  “Happy birthday.” Trembling voices rang out in unison as we clinked our glasses together.

  I took a long sip of the wine. It tingled down my throat, swelling my insides with warmth and healing my frayed nerves. Romek leaned in and dropped a tender kiss on my cheek. His warm breath tickled my ear. “There are good people in the world. Don’t ever doubt that. If we doubt it, how can we go on?”

  I breathed in and out. I was alive, and despite the trials I was certain my nineteenth year was going to bring, I felt braver knowing that good people still walked the earth.

  III.

  I lift my fingers to my cheek. I can almost feel Romek’s warm breath on my skin as I replay the moment in my mind. But a gale of wind steals it away, twisting it into the bitter air. The thumping of jackboots grows dim, and an eerie silence falls over the wall.

  Move, Kasia.

  I duck into an alleyway and lean against the cold exterior of a building. I inhale frosty air that cuts into my lungs. I can no longer feel my feet. I’m not certain when I last ate. Where am I going? Where are my feet leading me? Clinging to the walls, I walk further into the ghetto despite the cold, despite the hunger. I’m in a dreamy haze, my mind just barely aware of my actions. I end up in front of an apartment. The door has been knocked from its hinges and inside the entryway, a young girl is curled up beside a waning candlelight. Her loose braids tumble about her emaciated shoulders. Her lips are swollen and cracked, and her skin is translucent.

  “Can I sit with you?” I ask.

  I don’t wait for a response. I slip into the shelter and slink down against the wall. The girl stares at me through hollow eyes. “Why don’t you go further inside?” I ask, nodding toward the rooms beyond.

  “They’re dead,” she says. “I’m… I’m too scared.”

  The comfort of the candle now feels cruel and cold. Any words I can conjure up to comfort her seem flat, so I say nothing.

  “They didn’t find it.” Her voice is shaky.

  I look up. “What?”

  “They didn’t find my art. I’m going to bury it. I won’t let them kill it too.” She pulls a stack of mismatched papers from beneath her tattered blanket. I reach out a hand, eager to see beauty.

  The girl tentatively hands me one sheet of paper. “This was my first drawing. My uncle smuggled the drawing pencils and gave them to me for my birthday. Do you like it? I used to love dancing.”

  I stare at the two figures expertly sketched on the page. A young man is holding the hand of a woman in a swirly, elegant gown. I can see the movement as they dance. I can feel the love as they gaze at each other.

  I can feel Romek’s hand in mine as he holds me close.

  “I know,” the girl says, taking it back. “It makes me cry, too.”

  I blink back tears, but one escapes down my cheek and lands on my lips. The girl conceals the pages under her blanket, hunching over them as if they are gold. “They’ll burn these if they find them, but I won’t let them. Someday, years from now, someone will find my art buried beneath the ruins of Poland.” The girl’s clammy face grows paler by the minute. Death lingers over both of us. Who will it take first? I don’t want to move. I ache too
much. I’m too tired, but my feet push me on.

  Stand up. Stand up!

  I lean against the wall, digging my fingers into the peeling wallpaper.

  “You’re leaving,” the girl states. “Though heaven knows where you’ll go. You’ll die out there.”

  The candlelight flickers. The girl heaves a sigh as she stares at the only light she has left. I dig into my pocket until my fingers touch the third match. “Thank you for sharing your art with me.” I place it in her palm and watch as her bony fingers close on top of it.

  I can’t erase the drawing from my mind as I wander into the street once more. No matter what they do to me, they can’t steal my memories of young love.

  A Memory

  “Romek, you’re going to get us killed!”

  Romek took my hand in his. “We’ll be back before curfew. Don’t worry.”

  I threw a wary glance over my shoulder as we hurried through the ghetto, passing a man trying to sell trinkets from a suitcase. The Jews of Warsaw didn’t need trinkets. We needed food. I had seen this man before. He and his wife once pulled their six children in carts up and down the streets. The children wore tattered rags on swollen limbs as they sang for their bread. They had such cheerful voices, and as Romek and I walked past them, we’d sometimes slip a piece of bread into their hands. Then the children began to disappear. Then the carts. Then the wife. Now the father wandered the streets. I longed to tell him he had such beautiful children, but his mind was somewhere else. Somewhere distant.

  “We’re going to get shot,” I whispered.

  Romek said to come prepared to dance, but where in the ghetto could two Jews find peace and solitude, let alone a place to dance?

  He stopped walking and glanced down at me. “Kasia, please trust me.”

  I nodded, swallowing back my fear. “All right.”

  He led me inside the bakery where a bespectacled man was kneading dough. The counter was no longer filled with creamy pastries. The smell of yeast hung in the air, and sacks of sawdust-flour were piled in the corner. The man looked up as we entered.

  “‘All people are equal brothers,’” whispered Romek.

  The baker wiped his hands across his apron, and motioned for us to follow him. Without a word he pushed aside the sacks of flour, revealing a trap door. As he pulled it open, the plucking of violin strings and laughter wafted into the bakery.

  “Go on,” the baker’s voice cracked.

  We hurried down a creaky set of stairs into a dimly lit basement. The trap door closed, and I heard the sacks being dragged across. Rows of chairs were filled with young men and women listening to the light hearted melody of a violinist who stood on a stage of crates. Beyond the makeshift concert, young couples held each other closely as they waltzed in the light of carbide lamps.

  Here, beneath the Nazis’ feet, we could all pretend we were free.

  A young man approached us immediately and gave Romek a firm handshake. He had a mop of red hair that he kept neatly trimmed and slicked back from his broad face. “Well, look who finally decided to show up! And I see you have a girlfriend? It’s about time.” He nodded approvingly at me.

  Romek took my hand with a smile. “Benson, this is Kasia Heim.”

  “A pleasure,” said Benson, firmly shaking my hand. He turned his attention to Romek. “You are coming to the meeting on Friday night?”

  “Yes, I’ll be there.”

  “What meeting?” I peered at Romek, but Benson cut in before he could say anything.

  “A meeting of youth who won’t be passive anymore,” Benson lowered his voice and stepped in closer. “We’re preparing for armed resistance. We all know they’re not taking the very young and old to labor camps. We have contacts on the Aryan side where we can get weapons. The Polish Home Army has given the fighters a small cache of guns, but hardly enough to crow over.”

  Perhaps it was the sense of security being underneath the ghetto, but suddenly I felt reckless. “I want to join the resistance.”

  “No.” Romek’s eyes locked with mine.

  Benson gave him a befuddled look. “Why can’t she?”

  I was confused by the glare between them. “I can do it, Romek.”

  “I know you can do it, but—”

  Benson interrupted us with a glance at his watch. “Look, we’re here to dance and have a bit of fun before curfew. Bring her on Friday. We’ll make a compromise.” Benson didn’t wait for a response. He strolled away, offering a dance to a shy girl sitting in the corner.

  We were silent for a long moment as we took a seat, each lost in our own thoughts.

  “Kasia?” Romek whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t want anything to happen…”

  I reached out and patted his hand. “I know.”

  We were silent again, listening as the violinist changed his tune to a slow waltz.

  “Do you like to dance?”

  I smiled at him. “Of course I do.”

  He looked away, seemingly embarrassed. “I mean… do you want to dance right now?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yeah, I mean, we don’t have to. I don’t know. I just—”

  “I would like that.” I stood up, brushing the wrinkles from my dress.

  That produced a relieved smile. He took my hand, and we walked to the back of the room to join the dancers. He placed one hand on the small of my back. He held my hand firmly in his own, as if he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. “I have a confession to make,” he said, pulling me a bit closer. “I don’t know how to dance.”

  I stared at him, momentarily dazed. “What?”

  He ducked his head sheepishly, but I caught a shy grin. “How else was I supposed to get this close to you?”

  I tried to hold back a smile, but it broke through. “Romek, you’re terrible.”

  “I’m sorry.” But he didn’t look sorry.

  “Well, I could teach you how to dance.”

  “You could try.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But I think it only fair to warn you that I have two left feet.”

  “Honestly, you never learned?”

  “My mother tried teaching me, but she gave up very quickly.” He winked.

  “It’s easy. Just move your left foot toward me. Then move right, two, three. Left, two, three.”

  He caught on quickly, so quickly in fact that I suddenly wondered if he had been teasing me all along. His steps mirrored mine, and he didn’t once step on my toes.

  “You lied to me.”

  He furrowed his brow and squeezed my hand. “What do you mean?”

  “You know how to dance.”

  His face broke into smile. “You’re a good teacher.”

  Our hearts pounded against each other. I could see the gold specks in his eyes and the stubble on his chin in the warm, murky light. I released his hand as the room began to sway. “Maybe we should sit. I’m… I’m feeling a little light headed.”

  “Oh.” He nodded, rubbing his jaw and seeming a bit disoriented. “All right.”

  We sat against the wall, stretching our legs in front of us. I stared at my tattered boots, frowning at the sole that was peeling off my right foot. My stockings were ripped at the knee, but my dress was still in tolerable condition.

  “The Nazis can’t touch us down here,” Romek sighed, as if he actually believed those words.

  I didn’t dare entertain the very real possibility that they could find the trapdoor. Instead I pretended that I believed him. “Then let’s never go back.”

  “Okay.” He was close now. I could feel his breath tickle my neck. His eyes lingered on my face, searching and studying every detail. I dropped my eyes.

  “Don’t stare at me.”

  But this time he didn’t feign innocence, and he didn’t look away. “But you’re beautiful.”

  My hair was grimy, and my skin was frightfully pale. I placed a hand over his eyes. “I’m a product of this ghetto now. I don’t want you st
aring at me like that.”

  His eyelashes brushed against my palm. “Stop it.” He pulled my hand away with annoyance. “Don’t talk like that.”

  I dropped my hands into my lap and lifted my eyes to meet his, quickly losing myself in his gaze.

  “I love you,” he said.

  My stomach flipped, and a smile spread across my face. “Thanks.”

  “I just confessed my love for you, and all you say is thanks?” He laughed.

  My face burned. “I meant to say… I don’t know what to say.” I stared at my shoes and chided myself for messing up the most beautiful of moments.

  “Well, you have two options,” Romek teased. “You could throw yourself at me like they do in the movies and say something really romantic, or you could tell me to jump in a lake.”

  I was amused by his options. “Or I could do both.”

  He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “But that would just confuse me.”

  “Then I suppose I’ll just keep this as simple as possible. Romek, I love you too.”

  “Thanks.” The dancers and the music faded away as he grew closer. “I’ll keep this as simple as possible too. Can I kiss you?”

  I nodded. We were blissfully ignorant of all that lay ahead. The only thing on our minds was a future together. I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. He placed both hands on my face, and I closed my eyes as his lips met mine.

  IV.

  I’m nearing the resistance headquarters, but how did I end up here? I peek over my shoulder as the snow tumbles from the sky and is laid across the cobblestone like a blanket. I’m blocks away from home and still my body pushes me deeper into the ghetto.

  “Kasia?”

  My breath quickens.

  “It’s me, Benson.”

  I recognize the tall figure as he emerges from the shadows, a pistol shoved into the top of his pants. His face becomes sharper in the glimmer of the snow. The last time I saw him was through a haze of tears when he told me of Romek’s fate.

  “What are you doing out here?” he whispers.