Page 13

TWELVE

ELLA

January 1941

Warsaw, Poland

No one can see inside the walls, and they can’t see out here.

Our city is divided like black and white colors without an ounce of gray between.

The brick layers don’t stop the sounds from escaping—children crying, women and men pleading with others, and ghostly screams that mimic the whistling of wind.

I’ve overheard people in the store saying things like the walls are an enclosure for the burial ground of Jews, which isn’t shocking with what I see in the underground tunnels at night.

For months, I’ve done nothing more than work then map my way around the sewers, calling out for Luka with hope of finding him or someone who might know him.

I was losing hope until last night someone finally responded to my calls.

Whoever that man was, he agreed to take Luka my letter.

The odds of this happening seem too slim.

Many of the Jewish people I’ve seen underground are in a mentally ill state of mind, talking to themselves, pleading with the air in front of them for help, keeling over, and worse.

I climb down the cold, wet metal ladder to the bottom of the tunnel where three passageways meet.

I’ve explored all three but found only one that connects to the passages where the Jewish people wander from within the walls.

From this tunnel and its wading water that rises to my knees, several other tunnels branch away.

I keep a note in my pocket with the directions I’ve followed because my fear is that I’ll run out of matches, or my torch will become too damp to light.

Without fire, I’ll be blinder than a cloud covered night in an endless field.

The narrow confines are the tunneled walls that breathe a life of their own, exhaling cold air filled with a foul odor of rotting waste from the city streets above, then inhaling the air from my lungs, leaving me unbalanced and dizzy.

As the water splashes against me with each step, flickers of light and shadows pass by slight openings to other tunnels, a mystery of who else might be traveling through the dark underground.

I try to glide to avoid extra movement within the water, but it’s a strain moving against the current.

That and the cold temperatures against my wet stockings and boots leave me numb after a few short minutes of walking.

I keep promising myself my persistence will pay off and I’ll find Luka before he becomes a part of this enclosed cemetery people speak about.

It’s hard to notice others down here until we’re right beside each other.

Many choose narrow divots in the wall to set up shop and sell whatever they hope the Jewish people will buy with whatever they have to offer.

It won’t be long before the Germans are tipped off to the great amount of activity occurring down here each night but until then, we all forge ahead.

I drag my hand along the damp stone wall, searching for the next extruding tunnel where the black market is the busiest as there’s extra space between the connecting tunnels in this one area.

It’s also where someone responded to my call for Luka last night.

It’s lit up with more torches and the water level reduces to puddles.

Crates are used as tables and people form lines to conduct trades.

“Luka,” I call out above the hum of chatter, holding my torch out in every direction to scan my surroundings.

There isn’t a familiar face among the crowd, and I must sound like I’ve lost my mind after doing this night after night here.

Each call for his name tears away another small piece of my heart as silence returns with the answer I keep dreading.

Between the flares of light from the torches, the people are lost in the shadows walking around as silhouettes.

I imagine his face, the thought of finding him, the pain that would ease knowing he’s at least still alive.

With a tug, I tighten my coat around my chest, turning in each direction to call out his name as my voice breaks from the cold.

With my arm out to the side, I search for the nearest wall, making sure not to walk into anyone on the way.

“Luka?” I call out again, holding up my torch.

I will myself not to cry from holding on to too much hope after last night.

A lick of fire flashes in front of my face, briefly blinding me.

When the darkness returns, a hand presses to my cheek, fingers curling around my ear.

My heart pounds, fearful of who’s touching me, and what they might want.

I gasp for breath when a mouth closes around mine.

Familiar lips, plump and consuming, his body pressed against mine, pinning me against the wall, offering me a warmth that spreads through the numbness.

My eyes close as I lose myself in his touch, his embrace, his gentle but affirmative movements that define the meaning of longing.

For a moment, the tunnels vanish from around us and we’re beneath the golden sun setting above us as we dangle our legs from the tree branch, laughing and listening to the songs he wrote just for me—a place where the world didn’t exist.

His heart fights mine, pounding against each other as he envelops every part of me, refusing to let go or take a breath.

He inhales without moving his lips from mine, then claws his hand through my loose braid, cradling my head.

Words aren’t needed when this moment could last me a lifetime and beyond.

When our lips break apart, I open my eyes, finding a gentle glow from above us, his hand resting on the wall above my head with a lit torch.

“My girl, my love,” he utters.

“You’re here in the center of unimaginable danger.”

“I’ve been trying so hard to find you. I was beginning to think I never would,” I say, my voice cracking into a squeak of despair.

“I’ve been so scared something happened. The rumors are so ugly, Luka.”

“They’re all true,” he says.

I reach for his cheek, finding his face even thinner and more defined.

His hair is longer on the nape of his neck.

“When someone told me they knew you here last night, I thought I was dreaming. I thought I had driven myself so mad trying to find you that I was imagining it all. But in the chance that I wasn’t, I brought food, as much as I could pack into my satchel.”

Luka sweeps his nose to the side of mine, kissing the corner of my lips, and I wonder how easy it might be to take him home with me and hide him.

“I can’t believe you’ve been searching for me all this time. I was afraid to come down here, not knowing the risks involved. And yet, here you were, risking it all for me.”

“I will keep doing it, for however long it takes to make sure you’re well.”

“It’s so dangerous, Ella. People are shot coming in and out of the sewer holes.”

“The one I’ve been using is guarded by the resistance,” I whisper.

“If I could, I’d take you, your mother and grandmother home with me. I would hide you, keep you all safe.”

He swallows hard and exhales heavily.

“My grandmother isn’t well, and my mother is falling apart. I wouldn’t be able to get them down here and?—”

“I understand,” I tell him.

The risk would be enormous, but I would do it if it meant helping them.

I wish there was a solution that could help the three of them.

“What is your grandmother sick with?”

“I’m not sure. Whatever it is has made its way into her lungs, though.”

“What can I bring you? Your mother can fix her some herbal remedies, right?”

Luka tilts his head back, staring up toward the burning torch.

“How much of a risk will it be to you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Tell me what you need. Let me help. Let me see you again.”

“Thyme leaves, honey, or garlic and ginger. But I don’t want you going anywhere you shouldn’t to find these items, Ella. I don’t want you to go outside the city. You must listen to me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you when I’m stuck here and can’t help you.”

“I’m stronger than I might appear,” I tell him.

I won’t let fear take me down.

“I never questioned your strength,” he says.

“I just love you too much to be the reason you are ever in danger.”

A clatter against metal rails above our head means the resistance guards are calling everyone back up, but it’s hard to decipher if the demands are coming from inside or outside the ghetto walls.

Luka inhales sharply through his nose and closes his eyes then kisses me again.

He feathers his knuckles down my cheek, my neck, and across my shoulder.

“If I ever get the chance to keep you, I hope you’ll be mine forever.”

“And ever,” I utter in return.

“But until then, I’ll be back tomorrow night. Same time, same place, with more.”

“I love you so much it aches through every bone in my body,” he says.

“I’m familiar with that pain.” I rest my cheek against his chest, memorizing the rhythm of his beating heart.

I slide my fingers between his and squeeze gently as a heaviness presses against my shoulders.

He lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles.

“Tomorrow, my love.”

He steps away but doesn’t take the satchel.

“Wait,” I call out.

He turns back and I hold out the bag.

“Take it.”

His chin trembles as he takes it from my hand.

“Thank you,” he says with a faint breath.

We part ways through opposite tunnels, not knowing if tomorrow will come.