Page 7

SIX

ELLA

I rush through my apartment, the wooden framed family portraits rumbling against the hallway walls as I charge into my bedroom.

I don’t have much time to change out of my work clothes in exchange for a dress with a bit more color.

The drawers of my bureau clap and swoosh over and over until I find what I’m looking for.

Then it’s the clomp of my work boots hitting the ground one at a time.

I sweep my fingers over the disarray of cosmetic items sitting in the silver tray on my vanity table then add some rouge to my cheeks and a smudge of lipstick to my dry lips.

It’s enough to mask the look of exhaustion from the day.

There are only a couple of hours before Luka’s curfew, and I refuse to waste a minute of that time.

“Ella, where are you rushing off to again? This is the third time this week and it’s almost supper time,” Mama says, poking her head out of the kitchen, and wiping her hands on her buttercup yellow apron.

I need to find my handbag.

I always manage to put the darn thing in a different spot whenever I walk through the door.

“Out for a bit with a couple of the girls from—” I almost say church but realize lying is already a sin.

I don’t need to add to it by using the church in my lie.

“My book club.”

“Your book club?” she questions with a raised brow.

“Ella, you haven’t finished a book in—so long, I’ve lost track of time. You borrow books from the library, read a chapter and put them down until they’re due to be returned.”

I make my way over to Mama and brush a dusting of flour from her cheek.

“That’s not true, Mama. The club decided to read The Midas Touch by Margaret Kennedy, and I was quite taken by the story.”

“I haven’t seen you pick up a book, Ella,” she says, chiding with a nod of her head.

“I read at night before I go to bed.”

“I see. Who is your favorite character in this book?” Mama has read so many books, she might have read them all.

I shouldn’t be tempting my fate by discussing a book with her, but I am at least familiar with this story.

“Mrs. Carter Blake, of course. That’s a silly question, Mama,” I say with laughter.

I had to read the book last year for my final paper.

“I’ll be home before curfew.” I spot my handbag on the floor next to the sofa, scoop it up and return to the kitchen once more to give Mama a kiss on the cheek.

“What about your supper? Your tata and Miko will be home in a few moments,” she presses.

“Could you save me a plate, perhaps? If it’s too much trouble, I’ll fix myself something when I return.”

“You are the cause of my wrinkles, Ella,” she murmurs with a sigh.

“But I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama. And you’re beautiful—not a wrinkle in sight.”

The repeating tick-tocks from the miniature grandfather clock hanging on the wall add another layer of guilt and stress to my racing heart, knowing my father, and overprotective older brother—or a hound dog as I like to call him—will be coming up the stairs within minutes, ready with their interrogation of where I’m going if I haven’t already left.

I make it out of the building, unlock my bicycle chain and flee the block without spotting Tata or Miko.

I travel the narrow side streets through two small villages before crossing into the Jewish district, where I find the familiar narrow roads that led me to the square the night I was delivering the bundle of bread for Tata.

When I come to the corner block before the square, I spot the elderly woman who asked me for help, the one I couldn’t do anything for.

The sight of her despair has clung to me.

She’s only one person out of so many in the same position, but I need to do something.

I roll my bicycle up to the side of where she’s sitting and reach forward, slipping my hand into the metal basket.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you the last time you asked, but I’d like to offer you a little something.” I retrieve the brown bag with bread and canned goods I brought and hand it to her.

“Oh, my dear,” she says.

“Oh. I’m—I’m not sure what to say.” She peeks inside the bag and cups her trembling hand over her mouth.

“Bless you, sweet girl.”

“It’s not much,” I say.

I had to sneak this loaf into a bag when Tata and Miko were out earlier.

Food is scant, but so is compassion.

The woman smiles, a strain that looks as if she’s stretching unused muscles.

A sense of peace warms me.

It isn’t much, but it’s more than nothing.

“Are you giving this poor woman a hard time?” The question arises from behind me, followed by a soft laugh.

“Oh, you rascal, you,” the woman replies.

“This young lady is a gift from God, and don’t you say anything otherwise.”

An arm wraps around my shoulders, carrying the scent of spring air.

“I was wondering if you would be coming here tonight,” Luka says.

“I was collecting my coat and hat when I spotted you over here.”

“Are you aware that he writes all of the music himself?” the old lady says with a small smile.

“He has more talent than this world will ever be lucky enough to hear.”

“I was unaware of this additional talent,” I reply, stunned.

“It’s nothing but words,” he says shooing away the topic with a blush tinting his cheeks.

“Ella, Pan Monowitz lives in my apartment building.”

“But I come down here every afternoon to listen to the beautiful music. For many of us, it’s all we have left.”

I stare to the side, finding Luka’s cheeks burning from pink to red.

“I’m sure that’s not true, Pan Monowitz,” he says with a heavy exhale.

“After all, we’re still breathing, and the sun is in the sky. We’re resilient, yes?”

“With good people still left in this world, you are right, young man.”

Luka releases his arm from my shoulders and takes hold of my bike’s handlebars so I can slide off the seat.

“Have a good night, Pan Monowitz,” Luka says, dipping his head.

“Yes, have a nice night,” I follow.

“Thank you, dear. For everything,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” Luka says as we turn the corner.

“For what?”

“She begs for help often. Everyone here is in the same situation. There’s no sense in begging when we’re all hungry.”

More guilt filters through me.

I’m sure I’m not as hungry as anyone in this district, and it’s not fair.

“I brought you something, too,” I offer.

“Ella,” he says. “I don’t want the difference in our ration sizes to define?—”

“I didn’t mean?—”

“I—” he says.

“I forget about the grim world around me when I see you. It’s as if you’re a clearing in a cloudy sky. All I want is to spend time with you, learn everything about you. You bring a smile to face and it’s no easy feat these days.” He huffs a laugh and drops his gaze to the ground while pushing my bike forward.

“Why do you think I’ve been coming back here since last week?” I ask.

Luka shrugs. “I’m not sure. I’m Jewish, have nothing to offer, and I’ve been told I try too hard to be funny.”

I can’t keep myself from laughing at what likely isn’t meant to be a joke.

“I don’t care that you’re Jewish, and I’m not looking for an offer.”

“But I do try too hard to be funny?” he counters.

I sweep the fallen strands of hair from my loose braid behind my ear.

“You make people smile, Luka. In times like these, it’s a rare thing to find in someone. It’s like—when the sun breaks through the clouds after a heavy storm, it’s a reminder we’re still here and still surviving. My heart races when you sing, and when you look at me, I forget how to take my next breath. I—I didn’t think it was possible to find a shred of joy in times like these. I’ve never taken risks or acted on impulse. But now that I have, I want more. Is that strange?”

Luka shakes his head.

“Not at all. Though I worry about the trouble I could cause you.”

He’s said that a couple of times now and I’m questioning if I’m the one putting him in possible danger.

Anyone who sees us walking together can tell he’s Jewish and I’m not, by the band around his arm.

“And what about the danger I’m putting you in? I don’t want to be the reason you get caught.”

“If trouble comes, it won’t be because of you. I’m one of the only men my age here who hasn’t been sent to forced labor and I’m still not sure why, but I assume sooner or later they’ll come for me.”

My heart sinks and my gaze falls, because I didn’t stop to think he could be sent away at any given moment.

I sigh. “But—right now, in this moment…the sun is in the sky, right? So, we shouldn’t think about what could happen tomorrow.”

He twists his head, pinches his lips tight and smiles.

“Right.”

We come up to a small park surrounded with towering oak trees, full of lush greenery.

He places my bicycle up against a wooden bench and gestures for me to sit down.

“Will we be safe here? I don’t want to?—”

“The ground will vibrate from the marching soldiers before they come into view—as long as I’m not singing, that is.”

I lower myself onto the bench, smoothing the folds of my dress as he sits down beside me.

He’s close enough that our shoulders nearly touch, making my heart flutter.

It’s been so long since I’ve wanted to get to know someone.

No one seems genuine anymore, or maybe it’s that I can’t figure out who is and who isn’t.

We all want the same thing—our freedom back, but it won’t be easy or a fair battle, evenly fought by all.

Of course, I could never compare my life to Luka’s, not with the way the Jews are being treated and tormented.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” he says with a grin.

“Good. Because it likely won’t come out the right way…” I take a breath before continuing, watching Luka’s eyebrows furrow.

“How can any of the Jewish people think much of us who aren’t Jewish? My parents say we’ll never be forgiven for not doing more. But when I ask what more we could do, no one has an answer.”

Luka twists his body toward me, crossing his ankles and resting his elbow on the back of the bench.

The last of the sunlight filters through the trees and sparkles against his hazel eyes.

“We—or my family and me, don’t think that way about anyone who isn’t Jewish. The Germans have made it clear of their hatred toward us and they’ve done nothing but instill fear into everyone in Poland. Fear has a hold on all of us. It just looks different on some. These imposed laws are enforced with fear and punishment, but by giving in to them we’re complying with their demands inside of our homes. They can force us to behave in a certain way, but they can’t control the way we think.”

I twist in my seat to face him straight on and rest my hand on his.

“It’s as if I’ve lost my way and you’re the only source of light ahead,” I utter.

“Then don’t,” he says without hesitation.

“You’ve brought me happiness and I’m not willing to give that up because I’m not supposed to feel that way.”

“Then don’t,” I repeat his words.

I lean into the spine of the bench and stare at Luka for a moment, taking him all in, his dimples, the faded freckles on his nose, the shimmer of auburn in his dark hair.

He slides his arm across the bench, close to mine.

My breath trembles on my lips as he twirls a strand of my hair around his finger before reaching in a little closer.

A knot tightens in my stomach and my pulse stammers.

Yet, not as loud as the synchronous marching of boots and a whistle howling through the air…

“We should go,” Luka says, taking my hand and promptly standing up from the bench.

“I want to stay here with you,” I tell him, foolishly.

If I stay here, I can be sure he hasn’t been taken away.

“No, you don’t. Trust me, please,” he says.

“What about tomorrow?” I ask.

How long do I have before I come to find him, and he’s gone?

“What about for as long as possible?” he replies, squeezing my hand a little tighter.

“It’s against the law. You, not being Jewish and me, a Jew—it’s not allowed. We could both face severe punishment, not only me. I need you to understand that.”

“I’m well versed with the laws,” I tell him, glancing away as rejection starts to prickle at my skin.

“But,” he says, nudging my chin so I look up at him, “if I don’t tell the soldiers about us, and you don’t tell them…”

“We aren’t letting them win,” I finish his sentence, staring up into his eyes, knowing that whether they find out or not, our seconds are still running out.

They’re sending all the men away.

Like he said, it’s just a matter of when…

One thing is certain, the Germans don’t give up.

“So…” he says, swallowing hard, peering off into the distance between the tree branches.

“I can call you mine?”

Despite the fear and the clomping boots growing louder, heat rushes through my face.

I want to forget the threat hanging over our heads, even if only for a moment.

One simple moment.

“For as long as we’re breathing and the sun is in the sky,” I say, repeating his words from earlier.

We can enjoy this spark, racing hearts, flutters, and the strong desire to be together.

Anything could happen tomorrow, so today is important.

I reach into the basket of my bike and take out the other brown paper bag.

“Fresh bread and some fruit. And not because I’m sure you’re hungry. It’s payment for the songs of hope—your words that play on repeat in my head that have given me reason to believe there will always be a tomorrow.”

I pray tomorrow will come.

It’s all any of us can do now.