Page 11

TEN

ELLA

October 1940

Warsaw, Poland

I can’t believe what I’m watching.

The German soldiers are forcing all the Jewish citizens in through a set of gates between the rising wall they’ve been building for months.

I watched as Luka walked inside, then disappeared among the crowd.

I’ve had my hands gripped on the corner of a brick building for so long, watching, that I can’t straighten my fingers.

How can they do this?

How many times can I ask this same question?

Every person walking through the gates has grim, matching looks of confusion painted across their faces, each clutching their valuables within a suitcase or knapsack.

There isn’t enough space within the confines for everyone.

Even though the wall consumes around four-hundred streets made up of small city blocks, it merely makes up three percent of the populated living space in Warsaw.

Yet they’re forcing over a third of the population to live between the enclosure.

I don’t know how I’ll find Luka now.

The line is endless, people forcefully waiting for their admission.

With my heart heavy and my chest burning, I turn away and run to the shop.

I can hardly breathe by the time I spot the line of customers waiting outside to be let in.

Some of the locals call my name as I burst in through the door, dodging questions of “what’s wrong?” I can’t be the only one witnessing these atrocities.

Are people just acting as if they don’t see what I see?

“Ella, what’s the matter?” Tata asks while counting change from the register.

“They’re pushing all the Jewish people into the walls. They made Luka and his family leave their home. They all had suitcases and knapsacks. The soldiers were banging on every door, telling them all to leave.”

Tata glances past me toward the shop window and I turn, too, finding many pairs of eyes staring at the silent scene.

Tata takes my hand and pulls me to the back of the store.

“How are you so well informed about this?” he asks.

“After I brought Luka the food and left, I stood behind a corner and watched the soldiers as they paraded into the Jewish quarter, storming through the buildings with rage. I watched them force Luka out. They took them to the walls where so many people are now in line, waiting to get inside, against their will. They’re locking up the Jews, Tata.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this soon,” he says.

“What does that mean?” I snap, throwing my hands in the air.

“You knew this was happening?”

“I can only depend on the words I hear from others. There wasn’t much logic to building a wall encircling part of the city if they didn’t intend to use the space. The Germans have made it clear they want to segregate the Jewish people.”

“I have to get to him before it’s too late, Tata. I must.”

“You can’t go into that confinement, you may never make it back out,” Tata argues.

“He could be in any one of those buildings within the walls.”

“There must be a method to reach him. Would the Judenrat deliver a message?”

“Ella, sweetheart, you are moving into a dangerous territory. No one knows what’s allowed and what isn’t. This isn’t what you want to hear, but?—”

“But, what? Should I give up on him? Forget that he’s just been forced into a prison where he can’t communicate with anyone beyond those walls?”

“No citizen of Poland wants this, darling. We want to see the Wehrmacht go, but nothing is going to happen overnight. People are trying. We are. We’re doing all we can.”

No, we aren’t.

Tata drops his head and makes his way into the back room, passing Miko on the way.

“What’s the matter with you?” my brother asks.

His question doesn’t come out in his usual irritating older brother tone, but with concern instead.

“It’s nothing you would worry about,” I reply, knowing he hasn’t shown much support for my feelings toward Luka.

He never even got to meet him, which just makes him another Jewish person in this city.

Miko leans his head to the side and places down a sack of onions.

“What is it?” he asks again, peering at me with a hard look.

I grit my teeth, knowing I’ll likely regret telling him, but I can’t keep it inside either.

“Luka’s family was forced out of their house this morning and sent to part of the city within the brick walls. I may never find him again.”

Miko pulls in a heavy breath and peers up to the ceiling.

“This is what I was worried about.”

“I love him,” I remind him.

“That didn’t happen overnight. I’ve been spending much of my free time with him since the end of April. He’s the most wonderful?—”

“All right, I don’t need more details. I understand. It’s unfortunate we didn’t get a chance to meet him.”

“Miko…is there a way I can have a message delivered to him? Is there anyone who can help me?”

He shakes his head before looking back over his shoulder toward the back door.

“Are we allowed through the gates, or is it only Jewish people who are entering?”

“I’m not sure.”

Miko places his hand down on my shoulder.

“Let me see what I can find out from the others tonight during our meeting.”

“I want to go with you,” I tell him.

“Ella—the people in the resistance…they’re not like you. They want our freedom back. They aren’t trying to save just one person. This isn’t meant to be an insult. I know you better than anyone else in the world, and I can’t let you become mixed up with these people.”

“Why are you mixed up with them then?”

“I want what they want, and Tata shouldn’t be there alone.” I get the sense it’s more of the latter than the former reason.

I don’t think Miko would have joined if it hadn’t been for our father.

He prefers routine simplicities in life—work, sleep, food.

“I want what they want, too,” I argue.

“Give me a day to find out if I can get a message sent to a connection within the enclosure, and don’t follow us tonight, you hear me?”

I cross my fingers hard behind my back when I agree.

They’re letting non-Jewish Poles inside the gates.

I’ve watched day after day for almost three weeks now, still searching for a way to reach Luka.

Miko had no connections to help me.

He said there was a lot of black-market action—people trading goods through inconspicuous holes amid the walls, risking their lives with each pass.

He also said that the SS troops were aware and killing people trying to bring goods into the confinement.

Even children.

I tried my luck yesterday, the proper way, at the gates and with identification, stating my need to visit a friend.

The guards told me if I had no business matters to conduct within the confinement, my visit wasn’t necessary.

I haven’t done much else but watch the square from outside the gate, hoping I could catch sight of Luka walking by, but the walls cover almost two dozen city blocks on each square side.

The sun has fallen beneath the horizon and darkness is beginning to cloak the city streets and, again, defeat falls over me, just as it has every other day I’ve stood here with any flicker of hope.

I walk along the exterior of the wall, avoiding the soldiers when I see them patrolling a block, dragging my fingertips along the brick, wishing I could see inside.

My heart leaps into my throat as the warm, low tones of a song rise through the air, taking me hostage as I press my ear to the stone, pleading for more.

The sky is dark and gray

but behind the clouds, it’s blue.

Lovely days will come

soon for me and you.

Luka? I claw my fingertips into the grooves of the brick wall, trying to find a way up.

“Luka?” I call out in a whisper.

Keep me in your dreams,

and I’ll come to you each night.

Hold me in your arms

until the morning light.

I try to climb up to the top until my fingers become raw, until the singing stops, until it’s clear no one hears me calling Luka’s name.

Maybe he’s on the very other side, trying to reach me, too.

It shouldn’t be this way.

A scuffle along the curb startles me into jumping away from the wall, searching for whoever else is on this darkening street.

The steps don’t sound like they come from a soldier’s boots, but I won’t chance the risk.

I hurry across the street to hide along a protruding arch entrance to a building, waiting for the person to walk by.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I confirm they aren’t a soldier, but they are walking swiftly with an assault rifle tucked under their arm, a satchel hanging from the other, and dressed in dark civilian clothing.

The members of the resistance try to blend in, but I’ve become more cognizant of their presence lately.

I want to know where he’s going, especially this close to the enclosure.

I follow, but with space between us, trying to be quiet with each step.

The man moves along around corners and blocks, checking the surrounding area once every few steps.

After reaching a protruding corner, he bolts to the left, crossing the street to head in a different direction.

I hesitate to follow, now unsure if he’s here for a similar reason to me.

I wait until he’s two blocks ahead, watching him move along at the same pace he’s been going, and make the quick decision to continue pursuing him.

Where there’s one man of resistance, there must be more.

He finally comes to a stop where three other men are waiting for him, and descends into a hole in the ground.

The sewer tunnel. No matter how many times I’ve followed Tata and Miko, it’s only been to a decrepit hole in the wall where they go in through a cellar door.

I watch for a while, wondering if anyone else will go down the sewer tunnel.

No one does, and one of the others who must be guarding the sewer hole says his goodbyes to the other two and heads in my direction.

I back myself into a nook of a building, but when he passes, I can’t help myself.

“Excuse me,” I call out.

The man stops short and turns toward me, his hands gripping tightly around his rifle.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, but I’m wondering if you can help me.”

He steps toward me, his face still dark until he’s within reach.

“Arte Bandoa?” I recognize him from secondary school.

“Ella?” he searches around for prying eyes and ears before continuing.

“What are you doing over here, alone in the dark?”

“It might be too much to explain.”

“You shouldn’t be over here. It’s dangerous.” He shuffles his satchel higher on his shoulder and conceals his weapon, tighter beneath his arm.

“I understand, but I’m looking for someone in the ghetto.”

“You can’t. Tomorrow, an announcement will be made public that no one else will be coming or going from inside. The Jewish people will be locked up in there for good.”

“The tunnels…they go beneath the walls, don’t they?”

Arte exhales sharply.

“Yes, but it’s not a corridor. It’s a sewer with water knee high.”

“I’ll join the resistance. I’ll help,” I offer.

“Have you hit your head or something? You’re talking nonsense. I’m going to walk you home.”

“No, no, Arte, I haven’t hit my head. Can people from within the walls go through a sewer tunnel on their end?”

“Yes, that’s why we’re?—”

“Show me, please.”

“You’re out of your mind. I’m taking you home. Your father wouldn’t want you here.”