Page 14

THIRTEEN

ELLA

August 1941

Since Luka was banished to Warsaw’s ghetto last October, I searched for nearly four months until fate finally reunited us.

Now, ten months into his imprisonment between the walls, night after night—through February’s frozen waters to August’s stale heat—nothing has stopped me, and nothing will, from making my way to him in the dark world beneath our city.

His grandmother is better and they have more food.

His cheekbones were less defined, making me think I’ve done something to help them at least. It will never be enough.

I want to take them all away from the ghetto and keep them somewhere safe, but with each day that passes, more German soldiers are flooding the street.

There’s no end in sight and there’s no saying how long anyone can continue surviving within those walls.

The German soldiers are preparing for something, another something we’re all in the dark about.

All we can do is speculate and fear the worst. I want to block it all out and pretend these horrors don’t exist and our forbidden exchanges aren’t anything more than a little secret, but even if I could, it would be impossible for Luka to imagine this is all a nightmare.

Then I’m left wondering how long this luck will last—how long will Luka and I get away with our rendezvous?

Each night the walls of the tunnel squeeze tighter, as if they’re closing in on me, threatening to close completely and never set me free.

“Papers!” another German shouts at me from down the block.

It’s rare to go a day without having to prove my identity now.

It makes me wonder how many Jewish people have managed to escape relocation to the ghetto, and if they have, whether they dare step foot on the street.

I retrieve my identification out of my pocket, staring at my hand as if I could summon it to hold still.

The soldier glares at me, his eyes narrow and beady as if I’m vermin he’s forced to share the same air with.

To think I’ve spent my life looking for friendship, ensuring I show kindness to all, and still question myself if someone doesn’t take a liking to me, makes me realize my attempt to please everyone is impossible.

I will never be able to get everyone to like me and it’s something I must live with.

Still, I wonder who could hate a person they’ve never met.

I tell myself it shows their true character, not mine.

Regardless, the nerve and fear hasn’t diminished in the face of these German soldiers parading through our city as if they’re royalty.

Despite how many times I’ve shown my papers and been sent along on my way, my conscience gets the best of me just knowing I appear innocent when really I’m elbow-to-elbow with many of the resistance members of our city every night.

Do they see the guilt in my eyes?

“Papers!” the soldier shouts to someone behind me as he hands mine back.

I hurry around the next corner where trees line the center of the street so I can move more freely, until reaching the street connected to the sewer entrance.

“Good evening, Miss Ella,” Arte greets me from his usual guard spot behind the open sewer cover.

“Arte,” I reply, before handing him a loaf of bread and a paper bag filled with flour for his mother.

It’s an agreement we’ve made.

He won’t tell my father what I’m doing or where I am, and I’ll give him extra rations in return.

My family’s routine is rigid, Mama tends to her embroidery while Tata and Miko venture out into the night with an unusual amount of understanding from Mama who rarely questions what they’re doing, especially with the threatening ten o’clock curfew hanging over all non-Jewish citizens’ heads.

I suppose she lives by her infamous motto of “A secret is a burden of the truth.” If someone is gossiping, she’ll remind us of how she feels.

It’s understandable, being forced to live with information we’d rather go without.

As for me, I climb out my bedroom window each night, thankful we live just above the awning of the grocery store with a trellis on the side.

Unlike Tata and Miko, I make sure to be home before the instituted curfew.

“Thank you,” Arte says.

“Thank you,” I reply.

I wade through sewer water, holding my dress up above my knees, moving quicker and quicker each night so as not to waste a single moment of our time together.

With every encounter, a renewed sense of relief fills my heart, knowing he’s still holding on to hope as much as I am.

His hands always find me before I spot him, stealing my breath once again when he claims my lips.

Tonight, his muscles are tense, neck stiff, palms are hot and clammy, at least much more than usual.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, grasping at the loose fabric on his sleeves.

“I’m just delighted to see you,” he says.

“Something’s wrong. I can hear it in your voice.”

Our torches both flicker and crackle as we stare at each other and I’m trying to understand why he isn’t responding, why his eyes look more lethargic than they did yesterday and the day before, why his lips won’t hint at even a small smile.

“I want these moments to be the light in my day,” he says.

“Tell me,” I plead, my heart racing as questions flash through my mind like wind-blown pages of a book.

He takes my free hand within his and smoothes the pad of his thumb over my fingers.

“Everyone is sick. People are dropping dead right before my eyes every day, and that’s not including the bodies I collect from the streets. Grandmother is sick again. It’s worse this time. Every time she regains her health, something else hits her. She’s so weak and fragile. It’s as if she’s aged ten years since last October. My mother is terrified. She hardly speaks. She spends her day chopping up whatever herb you’ve sent to her and stares at walls without blinking. Everyone just stares lately—it’s as if our bodies have become shells of the people we once were.”

“Luka, you are a fighter—a survivor. You can’t think otherwise. Not now. Not ever.”

“I’ve checked in with the Jewish council a dozen times now and there’s no record of my father or grandfather anywhere. I haven’t told my mother this, fearful of where her mind might go if I do.”

There is so much pain in his eyes.

I doubt any amount of food or supplies I give him will be enough to help.

I loop my arms around his waist and rest my cheek on his chest, listening to the fast beat of his heart, his heavy breaths, the tremor when he takes a deep inhale.

“I’ll go on a hunt for more herbs tomorrow. The crops are drying up in the heat, but I’m sure the farmers have something.”

“The farms? Ella, those are outside the city. How will you get there?”

“I’ll find a way.”

“No. I can’t imagine what the rest of the city is like right now, but I’m sure it isn’t much better than what I’m living with.”

“I’m not going to let your grandmother stay sick.”

“Please. I—I can’t—promise me you’re not leaving the city tomorrow. This is why I was hesitant to say anything. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Stop it, Luka. You’re talking nonsense now. I asked you what was wrong. I knew something wasn’t right.”

“Promise me you won’t leave Warsaw. If you can’t find the herbs in the city, we’ll find another way to help her feel more comfortable.”

Luka slides his hand beneath my chin, forcing me to peer up at him—forcing me to witness the plea within his tired eyes.

“I’ll search the city, high and low,” I utter.

“I won’t leave.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, pulling me back into his chest, folding me into his arms and resting his chin on top of my head.

“I could convince myself this moment is a dream. What more could I ask for than you in my arms?”

I’m at odds with my brain and heart, one telling me to go one way and the other saying something else.

His poor grandmother.

I can’t stomach the thought of how much they’re all suffering.

I must find whatever herbs I can tomorrow.

They’ve helped her regain her health each of the three times she’s fallen ill since arriving within the encampment ten months ago.

I climb up the wet, metal rungs of the ladder until I make it to street level.

“Hurry, Ella, they’re close by. Too close tonight,” Arte says.

“Was there anyone else behind you?”

“No, not that I saw.” He pulls me away from the sewer hole and drags the cover into place.

“Come on now, let’s get you home.” He tugs my arm, pulling me down the block and to the main street I’ll take home.

“Arte, I can get home just fine, but I appreciate the offer,” I say, curious why he’s determined to walk me home tonight.

He hasn’t since the first night I found the tunnels and bargained the exchange deal with him.

“Ella, please…I received a warning that officials were heading in our direction,” Arte whispers.

“I just want to make sure?—”

“Ella Bosko, is that you?” someone calls out from behind us with an unfamiliar sound of glee.

My heart leaps into my throat as I clutch the collar of my dress, feeling choked.

I recognize the voice, and I’m thankful I’m not too close to the sewer entrance.

A former acquaintance I haven’t seen in years steps out of the shadows of a dark road.

Daniel Kuziakow. We went to school together.

His father was a police officer, often patrolling the streets bordering the school yard.

All the children knew him.

He was a nice man who knew everyone by name, greeted us on the streets daily.

It was never a question of how much he loved his job.

Therefore, it isn’t a surprise to see Daniel follow in his father’s footsteps.

Except, Daniel isn’t an ordinary police officer—he’s one of the Blue Police, working for the Germans—a traitor.

“I didn’t realize you had become a Blue?—”

“I’m with the Polish Police,” he states as if I don’t realize there’s a difference.

Their affiliations are marked by uniform.

A laugh threatens to come out in the form of anger and resentment, but for the purpose of getting home safely tonight, I hold my tongue.

“How wonderful of you to follow in your father’s path. I’m sure he’s proud,” I say.

“Indeed, he is. And you, how are your family?” he asks.

“I haven’t seen Miko in a while. What is he doing with his life?”

“Everyone is well,” I say, keeping my response short.

“Ella, I promised your father you’d be home on time,” Arte speaks up.

“Yes, he’s right. I should be going,” I say, wanting to end this rendezvous.

“Are you two…?” Daniel asks bluntly.

“No, just friends,” I say.

Immediately, I regret my answer.

If I had said yes, Daniel would walk away.

Luka had popped into my mind before I could think it through.

“How nice,” Daniel says.

“Arte, if you don’t mind, I’d love to have a moment to catch up with Ella. I’m happy to make sure she makes it home on time.”

Arte’s eyes light with terror, but it might be due to the two of them not getting along well in school.

I shared common friends with Daniel and there was a time when he was persistent about the two of us dating, though things never turned out that way.

“I’ll be all right,” I assure Arte.

I’m sure he can hear the lie in the strain of my voice.

I don’t want to cause any bad blood with someone on the Blue Police.

He’ll take me home and that will be the end of it.

Arte is hesitant to walk away, but my forced smile tells him he must.

“Have a good night,” Daniel tells Arte.

“Nice to see you!”

His friendly salutation to Arte isn’t fooling me.

“How have you been?” I ask Daniel, hoping this walk and conversation go by quickly.

“Well, and you?” he asks, walking alongside me in the direction of home.

“As well as possible, I suppose.” I could only wish for an awkward silence to follow my response.

“You sure look beautiful,” he says, jumping right to his plan of attack.

I should consider myself lucky that the night’s sky hides the sewer grime covering my bare legs beneath the hem of my skirt, and my black boots hide the rest. Since the city reeks of sewage from overcrowding in the ghetto, lack of running water, and broken sewer lines, the clinging odors seamlessly blend into the air, shielding the truth of my earlier whereabouts.

“That’s kind of you. You look sharp in your uniform.” My words come out dry and lifeless, hard to make them sound any other way.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. We should really spend some time together.”

“I work a lot of hours in my family’s store. I don’t get out much except for a quick walk before curfew most nights.”

“I understand,” he says.

Without waiting on another breath, he continues.

“Say, my family is having some people over this weekend. An end of summer hurrah of sorts. Would you be interested in accompanying me?” He clears his throat and coughs against his clenched fist. “I assure you the party will make you forget about the grimness of the city for a bit.”

I clamp my teeth together and catch the side of my tongue, anger seething out of me.

The copper taste of blood fills the back of my mouth, and I regret telling Arte to leave.

I should have let him walk me home.

But I’m confident this conversation would have been much harder to steer if Arte was walking with us too.

This city is grim because of the Wehrmacht.

Who could throw a party to forget about life when innocent people are being starved and caged between walls just blocks away?

I wouldn’t have expected his father could be capable of such disgrace.

“I’m not much into hurrahs,” I say, repeating his disgraceful word.

“Come on, Ella, you belong with the elite crowd. Come join us. There will be entertainment and life will seem somewhat normal compared to what we’ve all been living through.” This must be a nice way of calling my family poor since we live above our grocery store.

Or maybe he’s inferring that I’m just another hungry Polish citizen with no rights.

“Your offer is truly hard to pass up, but I am in a relationship, just not with Arte. In fact, we’re likely getting married soon. My love is visiting some relatives for the next week, and so it wouldn’t be appropriate to join you as your guest this weekend.”

He clears his throat again.

“My apologies for assuming you’re free. I should have known someone would sweep you up. You’re quite a catch.”

The fight to stop myself from making a sound or rolling my eyes is becoming painful.

“Thank you.”

“Ah, how about the two of you join us when he returns then? Maybe in a few weeks? I would love to meet the man lucky enough to capture your attention.”

“I don’t think that will work out.” I speak too quickly.

It’s a telltale sign I’m hiding something.

He’ll read right into it.

“Well, why not?”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Daniel stops walking and grabs a hold of my wrist. “We used to be friends, Ella.”

I yank my hand away.

“People change. War changes people. I should get home before my father comes looking for me.”

“I’m quite sure he’ll understand if you’re with me. We used to get along great.”

I’m losing my ability to take a full a breath.

He’s crowding me and I can feel his hand all over me despite shaking it off.

“No, I don’t think he will. It was nice catching up, Daniel. Have a good night.”

I take my chance and run, praying he doesn’t chase me.