by Liz Tolsma
Natia gasped for air, her chest swelling. Two very different people in very different circumstances but bound by this common faith. Sharing the same words in different languages. The beauty and the pain of it. What might they have been in another time and place?
Elfriede rested her Bible on her lap and caressed the page. “So you sing, and we give thanks. What we do.” She bowed her head, and Natia followed suit. “Thank you, God, for helping us. We don’t know what to do. Natia want her husband. My husband is bad. But you are good. You show us.”
Natia worked to control her emotions so she could speak. “You know how much I miss Teodor, Lord. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. Somehow, Father, let me know where he is and how he is. Give us strength to do what we have to do.”
The little alarm clock on the table beside the bed tick-tocked away the minutes as they sat without saying a word, each lost in their own prayers. While the verses promised joy, that sensation didn’t flood Natia’s heart.
“Hello? Pani Fromm? Pani Palinska? Is anyone home?”
Natia bolted upright. Dr. Bosco? What did he want?
After several failed attempts at knocking, Pawel cracked open the Fromms’ front door and called inside. “Pani Fromm? Pani Palinska? Is anyone home?”
A little stirring sounded from upstairs, and a few minutes later, the women entered the living room. They both smiled at him, a little sad, a little weak, but smiles nonetheless. Pani Fromm waved him in, Dominik in her arms. “Welcome, Dr. Bosco. The baby is not sick. Why you come?”
“We’re all well.” Natia glanced around the room. Was she looking for someone?
“Is Pan Fromm home?”
“Nie. My husband works. Natia, we have coffee.”
Pani Palinska turned to fetch the refreshments.
“Wait. I need to speak to you, Pani Palinska.” He doffed his felt fedora and swallowed. “Alone, if I may.”
Pani Fromm bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know. What you have to talk about?”
He couldn’t tell Pani Palinska his news in front of the German woman, especially since her husband ran the factory. Nie, this was for her ears only. “A personal medical matter.”
“I don’t understand.”
“About her.”
“Fine. I take Dominik to kitchen. But you don’t say anything bad.” Pani Fromm scuttled into the next room. Not far enough away for his tastes, but it would have to do.
“Please, can we sit down?”
Pani Palinska gestured for him to take a place on the couch and positioned herself in the flowered wing chair across from him. “What do you need to speak to me about? I’ve been fine, as fine as one can be in these times.”
“You’re thinner than the last time I saw you.”
“I could say the same of you.” She pursed her lips. No use in pursuing that line of questioning anymore. Everyone experienced low food rations. That’s how it was, with the Russians pressing in from one side and the Allies from the other.
“I need to speak quietly, so Pani Fromm doesn’t hear us. Her husband summoned me to the factory this morning to treat a patient. That patient was your husband.”
She covered her wide-open mouth. “He’s alive?”
“When was the last time you heard from him?”
“Before Christmas. I thought, I thought . . . You said he was a patient. What’s wrong?”
“He spent the last six months in prison. While I tried to get him to tell me about the ordeal, he didn’t say much. I imagine it was horrific. He’s thin, but not as thin as you would expect. A kind guard took pity on him and fed him.” He almost told her about the torture, but she didn’t need to know.
“He’s ill?”
“Nie. He’s healthy, much to my surprise. Covered in flea and lice bites, but not sick, by God’s grace alone.”
“Then why did they send for you?”
“The Germans fear an outbreak of typhus, like the one the Russians brought.”
She slumped against the back of the chair, closed her eyes, and moved her lips. No doubt sending up a prayer of thanksgiving.
“He told me to tell you that he misses you and loves you.”
Dishes clanked in the kitchen. “You want coffee?”
“Nie, dziękuję Ci, Pani Fromm. We’re fine.” Pawel returned his attention to the woman in front of him. Her hands shook as she finger-combed her dark, loose hair.
“I want to see him.”
“I’m sure you do, but it’s impossible. I don’t know how long they’ll hold him in quarantine before they release him to the floor. If I take you to him, you put not only yourself at risk, but him.”
“I can’t go sing to him anymore.”
“Why not?”
She brushed her cheek. “Pan Fromm has forbidden me from leaving the house, ever, under any circumstance. If I do, he will kill not only me, but also Pani Fromm. How can I disobey when another woman’s life depends on my absolute obedience?”
A pain struck behind Pawel’s eyes, his temple pounding. “What has he done to you?”
“Nothing.” She studied her hands.
“There is something.”
Elfriede popped into the room. “I go upstairs. Dominik spill milk on his pants.”
Natia straightened. “Nie, I will change him in a few minutes. Can you get coffee?”
Pani Fromm nodded and returned to the kitchen.
“She doesn’t know?” Pawel trembled.
Natia shook her head. “I can’t trust her. Look at who her husband is. I always change Dominik. But one of these days, I’m afraid she’ll discover his secret.”
“What will you do then?”
“Not much. I just pray and pray.” Natia leaned forward. “Pan Fromm believes I’m sending secret messages to Teodor. Is that why they took him to prison? He was gone so long. Since the inspectors were here.”
“He’s been involved in some sabotage.”
“Sabotage?” She almost shrieked.
“Keep your voice down. You should be very proud of your husband. He’s a leader in the camp, and he’s doing his part to make sure this war ends soon. He wants to get back to you as much as you want to get back to him, I assure you.”
She stood, crushing the corner of her apron in her fist. “He is taking crazy chances. Tell me the truth. He could have died in that prison, nie?”
How much should he tell her? For the act of sabotage, which he admitted to, the Nazis should have executed him. Another act of God’s mercy. “He didn’t. That is the important part to remember.”
“If you see him again, tell him to be safe. To live until this is over.”
If any of them survived, it would be by God’s grace, and only by his grace.
Elfriede held to Dominik’s hand as they came from the bakery and approached the grocer’s shop. The child babbled and laughed as they went along. Such a joy.
She rubbed her flat stomach. No baby grew in her womb. And maybe it was better this way. To have Erich for a Vater was not a good thing for a little one. The nights when Erich was drunk or in a foul mood, in other words, most nights, were hard on Dominik. He would either hide behind her skirts or Natia’s. He would whimper but had learned not to cry.
That didn’t halt the slicing pain through her heart. Would the hurt of losing her baby ever go away? Would a night ever come that she didn’t cry herself to sleep? Erich called her a failure, and that was what she was. Vater was disappointed in her because she couldn’t produce a son. Erich was disappointed in her because she didn’t produce the coveted promotions.
She squeezed Dominik’s hand, her one ray of light in this dark and disturbing world. What would happen to them when the war ended? The Russians were nearing. Soon, they would have to let their prisoners go and would return to Germany. Would she lose Dominik? Nein, she couldn’t. The pain would be too great to bear. Then again, Erich already hated the boy. Her husband would never allow the child to stay.
She peered at him as he stopped to pick
up a pebble.
“Nein, you don’t want to eat that. Nein.”
Dominik dropped it.
The cloudless sky smiled on Elfriede, the sun warming her chilled arms. Red and yellow and orange flowers danced in window boxes. A gaggle of geese honked as they careened overhead.
Hard to believe that just a few hundred kilometers away, a war raged. For today, it was enough to enjoy the beauty of the town. Tomorrow and its cares and sorrows would arrive soon enough.
They passed a house with a picket fence surrounding the front yard, a patch of cucumbers and beets and beans filling the narrow space between the home and the street. Dominik cried.
“Hush, now.” But when she looked at him to wipe away his tears, Dominik’s face was dry. In fact, he flashed Elfriede a toothy grin. There came the cry again. If not Dominik, then who? She gazed around. The street remained empty. She peered over the fence.
A scrawny, filthy child, not more than eight or nine, huddled in a ball in the corner of the garden. Poor thing must be lost. “What are you doing?”
Tears washed ditches in the dirt on the child’s face and snot poured from his nose. His light-colored hair lay matted to his head. He curled up ever tighter.
“What is wrong?” Elfriede opened the gate.
The boy screeched. “Go away.”
She approached, her steps tiny and hesitant. “I not hurt you.”
The boy sprang up, then collapsed. He held up his hands as if to shield himself. Dominik reached out to him.
“What is your name?”
He turned his back to her and covered his head.
“I not hurt you.”
He tugged himself lower.
“What is wrong? Where you come from?” This wasn’t a lost child. He couldn’t stand. Perhaps he broke his leg. “I can help you. My name is Elfriede. I’m a nice lady. My friend, we can get a doctor.”
She touched his bony shoulder, and he flinched. For a long time, she crouched beside him in the squash patch as he sniveled, then quieted. No sooner did he sneak a peek at her when a group of soldiers rounded the corner. He gasped and then hid his face.
Her mouth went dry. He feared them. But she wouldn’t let them find him. She turned and sat on him, spreading her red polka-dot skirt over his bony frame. She didn’t press down, but just touched his back, then released Dominik.
“Guten abend.” One of the officers tipped his hat to her.
She avoided his gaze, staring at the ground, holding her breath.
“Ah, another Pole who thinks she’s better than us. We should teach her a lesson.” This one’s voice had barely changed.
“Not now. We need to hurry, before Untersturmführer Fromm has our hides for being late again.”
She didn’t release her breath until they were long gone. Then it rushed out in one large gust. Should she laugh or cry?
The boy stirred, and she rose and helped him to his feet. “See, I good lady. I take care of you.” She handed him her handkerchief edged with pink embroidery and nodded at him. He wiped his face.
Not until then did she glance at his chest. A yellow diamond with a P was sewn onto his shirt.
Nein, it couldn’t be. That patch was for Polish laborers. Natia wore one. But this was just a child. A young boy. “Where you come from?”
He shook his head. She didn’t need his answer to know. She grasped him by the hand. “Turn shirt.” She motioned for what she wanted him to do. He obeyed.
“Now, we hurry.” She pulled him out of the garden, through the gate, and onto the street. The heels of her brown oxfords clicked on the cobblestones as they scampered toward her house. They created a spectacle, but if they didn’t hurry, more soldiers might turn the corner and spot them.
The two blocks might as well have been two hundred kilometers. Would the house never get closer? Dominik got heavier with each step. With one last mighty push, they stumbled through the kitchen door and into the house.
Natia turned from stirring the borscht on the old black stove. “What? Who is this?” She waved the spoon in the air.
“A Polish child. A worker.”
Natia’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened. She slumped to the floor, trembling all over.
Elfriede went to her, shaking her by the shoulder. “What wrong?”
“That’s not just any Polish boy.”
The scrawny, bony boy standing in the kitchen, right in front of Natia, was none other than Zygmunt. “This child is my brother. He’s been held at the factory for eighteen months.”
Elfriede shook her head. “It can’t be true.”
“About a year ago, Dr. Bosco brought me to see him at his office. Zygmunt had lost one of his fingers.”
Zygmunt peered at Natia, his green eyes large. “Is it really you?”
Her vocal chords refused to work. Instead, she gestured for him to come to her, and they held each other for a long time, there on the floor, tears pouring down both of their faces. Just the sight of him stole the breath from her lungs. She tried not to blink lest he disappear, nothing more than a vision.
Elfriede brought them a glass of water, which Natia shared with her brother. “What happened?”
“I found him. He was hiding. In a garden. What could I do? So, I bring him here.”
The only part of him that sparked recognition in Natia was his missing finger. That and his blond hair. Otherwise, he didn’t resemble the child she’d helped to raise. He’d grown so gaunt, his eyes so hollow. “Do you remember seeing me when you were at the doctor’s office?”
“Nie, but Teodor was there. I was happy even though my hand hurt. He told me you were living with some Germans.”
She nodded even as a cold lump settled in the pit of her stomach. He couldn’t stay here. Pan Fromm likely knew him. And if he found Zygmunt, neither he nor Natia would survive. “Pani Fromm, do you feel up to dishing out some soup for him?”
Elfriede nodded.
“I’ll start heating the bath water.”
With orders to follow, Elfriede perked up and got to work, fussing over Zygmunt, ladling his bowl full until it almost overflowed. “Not so much, or he’ll get sick. Like Dominik when he was a baby.”
Elfriede’s cheeks pinked, but she returned a portion of the soup to the pot. By the time he downed the borscht, Natia had the bath ready, the water very warm. She helped him pull off his coveralls, little more than a thin rag by this time. His ribs and collarbone jutted out. She gasped, her pulse pounding at the injustice her brother had suffered. “What have they done to you?” If a child was in this condition, what about Teodor?
With Dominik on her hip, Elfriede entered the bathroom. “Is there anything . . .”
Natia forced herself to smile at Zygmunt so as not to frighten him. “Can you manage everything else on your own? If so, we’ll leave you to your bath in private.”
“I can do it.”
“Be sure to scrub well. The soap doesn’t have the pleasantest smell, but it will get you good and clean.”
He laughed, the sound as beautiful as water rushing over the rocks in the creek. “You always used to say that to me.”
“Mama always told me the same thing.” Oh, how wonderful to be near to someone who knew the same people she did, to have this connection to her former life. She had to tear herself away from him as she backed out of the room.
Elfriede covered her mouth with one hand. “Did you see him? He is very skinny. And very dirty.”
“I saw.” Natia fisted her hands to prevent herself from spewing out her venom on Elfriede. She wasn’t to blame just because of her nationality. Her husband was another matter. “Pan Fromm oversees the factory.”
Elfriede blanched like an apple stripped of its peel. “I know.” She leaned against the rose-papered wall. “How can he do it? Look at what he does to little children. They do nothing to him. They were not bad. They should play. But nie, they work and work. What does Erich do to them?”
“I don’t know. What an awful life.”
Elfriede gazed at her. “I help him. He run away from the factory.”
“Tak.”
“They will look for him. But not here. They think he would not be here. But Erich cannot know. He would—”
“How are we going to do that?”
“I don’t know.” Elfriede rubbed her forehead, her hands still shaking. “Dr. Bosco? He come when Dominik come. He help you. Maybe he help again?”
As much as Natia’s heart cried out for Zygmunt to stay, pulling it off would be impossible. But perhaps the doctor could give them a hand. “You’ll have to ring for him.”
“Of course.” Elfriede left to make the call.
Natia knocked on the bathroom door. “How are you doing?”
“This is great. I’ve never been so happy to take a bath in my life.”
She chuckled. Spoken like a true boy. Pan Fromm hadn’t completely broken him. “If you finish up now, Dr. Bosco will come and look at you.”
“Nie. He’ll send me back. He did once before.” Water sloshed inside the bathroom, like he was climbing from the tub.
“He couldn’t help it. The guards came to get you before he could rescue you. But we won’t let that happen this time. He’s a good man, someone we can trust. Don’t worry. We’re going to make sure you stay safe. You’ll never have to return to the factory. That, I promise.” No matter how hard the promise would be to keep.
On Teodor’s second day back at the factory, Untersturmführer Fromm wandered over, his hands clasped behind his back. “Well, well. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. After all, you admitted your guilt. Why you survived, I’ll never know. Had it been up to me, you wouldn’t have. And I’m not going to make your time here pleasant or easy. Don’t expect to hear your wife’s songs.”
Teodor bit the inside of his cheek. If he blurted out the caustic thoughts that danced on the end of his tongue, he’d be back in prison faster than the blitzkrieg.
