Thanks guys!
.
.
Chapter 12
David was beyond tired and sore. He'd been walking for miles along the city streets of Warsaw carrying suitcases and bags in, under and around both arms, stretching his endurance to the breaking point. Worse still was that neither Jakob nor Uncle Emir knew exactly where they were going. As tired as David was, Hannah probably felt worse. She was toting two large bags herself, and had insisted on wearing her dressiest shoes, not realizing how far they'd be walking today.
About an hour ago, they'd come across a group who were traveling towards the 'Jewish Quarter' and had decided to follow them. One family in particular had drawn David's attention. They were escorting a horse-drawn wagon piled full of boxes and bags, tables, chairs, a couch, several bed frames—even a couple of large dressers. Looking at the big pile of furniture, David was glad none of his family had proposed bringing things like that along; what would they have used to haul it all, anyway? As heavy as his load was, he couldn't complain. He still had practically everything he'd brought with him from Germany. And David didn't mind helping his uncle out by carrying some old heirlooms that otherwise would have been left behind.
Uncle Emir had to leave many of his cherished possessions as it was: an old grandfather clock, beautiful wood carvings and a fine set of silverware. He'd sold the more valuable items, although, like Papa, he hadn't come close to getting a good deal. David had offered to give back the ring and diamonds, but his uncle had adamantly refused. For now, David could only hope their financial situation would change soon, so they could again have things like beds and tables and chairs.
When the people ahead of them started to slow down, David sensed they were nearing their destination. More deportees had joined the march during the last mile or so, and now their numbers stretched across the entire width of the two-lane street in a column that extended for several blocks. Several buildings in this part of the city looked like old Roman ruins. They were completely gutted by aerial bombing with only the outer walls standing. David stared at the obliterated floors, unable to comprehend how many people must have died when the Germans dropped their bombs. These buildings weren't factories; they'd been home to thousands. What mindset could rationalize the killing of so many civilians who'd be powerless to stop such an invasive and overwhelming force?
He turned his attention away from the devastation and towards the Poles who had lined the sidewalks, curiously watching the procession of Jews pass by. The expressions on the onlookers' faces made him feel like some unwelcome rodent. The angry stares weren't all that surprising, but the arrogant looks disturbed him the most. It was like they didn't even consider the Jews human any longer.
Walking down to the next block, David noticed several marchers in front of him turn their heads to look at a sign posted over the doorway of a restaurant. When he finally got close enough to read it, he couldn't believe the brazenness of the poster—
"ENTRANCE FORBIDDEN TO POLES, JEWS AND DOGS"
David turned to Hannah. "Just who do they expect to be their customers…Russians?"
It took another half hour before they arrived at the ghetto entrance. After everyone in front of them had slowly proceeded on through, David's family finally stood in front of a low steel gate guarded by German soldiers and a few Polish police officers. As Jakob and Emir pulled out their papers to be inspected, David gratefully set his load down and glanced around the wide boulevard. A group of laborers, all wearing white arm bands, were laying down a thick course of bricks out on the sidewalk. He got an uneasy feeling watching the men because the brick wall they were constructing would cut straight across the street when finished.
"That's an odd place to build a wall, isn't it?" Hannah noted. "How will any traffic get through?"
David took a closer look at the guarded gate and examined the makeshift wooden posts and barbed wire strung on either side of it. Uncle Emir had been right—the Jews were being incarcerated. This place resembled a prison, just one without a roof.
"And where do we find the Judenrat?" David heard Jakob asking one of the guards. So far, the German had seemed tolerant, but his cohorts were eying their group with utter distain. Maybe living in an area restricted only for Jews wouldn't be so bad; at least they wouldn't be looked at as if they were dirt.
Once Jakob got directions to the Jewish council office, they picked up their bags and started walking again. Now that they were officially inside the ghetto, the crowds out on the streets were much heavier than in the other parts of Warsaw. David was surprised that many of the people seemed to look at them in the same way that the guards at the gate had.
After traveling across a few more blocks, they arrived at the Judenrat building. David and Hannah decided to wait out on the steps while Jakob and Emir went inside to get their housing assignments. Hannah took her shoes off and rubbed her feet. She looked very tired.
"Are you doing okay?" David asked.
"Yes. I just didn't think we'd be walking so far today. Maybe it won't be too much further to our apartment. I hope it's nice."
David glanced at the surrounding buildings. Some looked old and dirty, probably from being built several decades ago. But beyond these few weather-beaten structures, the entire neighborhood seemed just as grey and lifeless. There were no flags or banners hanging anywhere, no colorful advertisements, no decorative window displays. Worse yet, David hadn't seen a park, a single spot of bare land, or so much as a flower box set in a window sill. Granted, it was already October, but the thought of what this place would look like in winter sent chills down his spine.
Twenty minutes later, Jakob and Emir came out of the front doors each holding papers in their hands. Jakob unfolded a map of the area and he and Emir tried to figure out which way to go. Once they got their bearings, everyone gathered their bags; eager to be done with this last leg of their journey.
"So it's a two-bedroom apartment?" Hannah asked.
"Yes, that's what they said," Uncle Emir answered. "I didn't like the look on their faces, though. Damn Slovakians, I've never met one that could tell the truth."
"So what are you saying, brother? That they gave us an apartment that doesn't exist?" Jakob grunted, hoisting the bag he was carrying higher onto his shoulder.
"Oh it probably exists—" Emir looked up at the top floor of a building they were passing. "Of course, it might have a small problem like that one there." A large gaping hole which once had been a window peered down at them like an ugly black eye. "You can't trust a Slav."
David quietly sighed. You mean you can't trust anyone who's not a Polish Jew, he thought.
After making their way through a few more crowded streets, the family at last stood in front of a five-story apartment building.
Cranking his head back, David muttered, "I hope we're not all the way up there."
"Number 312," Uncle Emir stated. "Almost, nephew."
Tugging at the despised baggage one more time, they headed up the narrow staircase. When they reached the apartment, David was surprised that the door was ajar and there were voices coming from inside. Uncle Emir set his suitcases down. Announcing himself, he knocked loudly on the door. A short, middle-aged man appeared and looked blankly at his visitors.
"Excuse me," Uncle Emir began, glancing at the three metal numbers at eye level, "But I think you are in our apartment."
The fellow adjusted the glasses on his nose and opened the door wider. Inside, a woman walked up and stood behind him. "No, we are in the right place," he answered. He turned to the woman and, in Yiddish, said, "Go move the bags from their room." When she left, he stepped back a bit. "We didn't know when you would arrive," he explained, motioning for them to come inside. "It will just take a moment for my wife to move our things."
"You mean you are living here, too?" Jakob asked incredulously. "Surely there has been some mistake. We have four people here, and this apartment has only two bedrooms!"
The man smiled sympathetically. "I assure you, sir, there has been no mistake. Many of our neighbors have complained about the same thing. I've heard some apartments have nine, ten people in them, and they are not even as big as ours."
Warily, David and Hannah followed Jakob and Emir inside. The foyer was very narrow and immediately opened into the kitchen. In front of them was a small sink alongside a set of cabinets, and on the left, an open door to the washroom. To the right, was a dining table with four chairs. Directly behind the table was a small living area where a large but worn couch sat against the wall. On one side of the couch, a large window provided a source of light and on the other side was another door leading to one of the bedrooms. Turning back towards the foyer, David could see that the hallway separated the first bedroom from the second. He couldn't help but wonder how they'd all live together in here. Compared to Uncle Emir's house, this apartment was only half its size.
"My name is Shlomo Vilozny and this is my wife, Anka," the man said, pointing to the woman as she came out of the second bedroom. "We've lived in Warsaw for years, but we're originally from Skierniewice."
"That is not far from where we lived," Uncle Emir said. He was still looking around the apartment, as if hoping that any moment it would grow bigger. "I am Emir Starsky; this is my brother Jakob and his son, David." He set his bags on the floor and reached out to shake Shlomo's hand. "The lovely woman with us is Hannah, David's wife."
David and Jakob set their luggage down. While Jakob said hello to the Viloznys, David took Hannah's bags and laid them on top of the other suitcases.
"Nice to meet you, even if it is under these difficult conditions." Hannah said to Anka, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
David shook Shlomo's hand, nodding a greeting.
"You must be tired after carrying all those bags," Anka said. "Please, sit down while I'll see if we have some tea."
Emir turned to Shlomo. "So, this is your home, and they're making you share it with strangers?"
"We use to live about three kilometers away," he answered. "The Germans evicted us a month ago and put us here. The Polish families who were living in this building had to move out. The Nazis want all the Jews in one place, blocked off from the rest of the city."
"Is that why they're building those brick walls?" David asked, stepping a little closer to the window so he could see out.
"Yes. To keep us separated from the goyims. But all the factories, businesses, they're on the Aryan side. Unless you have a work permit, you can't leave the ghetto."
Uncle Emir shook his head. "Well, since this is where we must live now, how do we settle the sleeping arrangements? The two women in one room and the men in the other?"
David's heart sank. He glanced around the apartment and stared at the bathroom entrance, wondering if that would be the only place he and Hannah could ever share some privacy.
"Oh, I forgot to mention," Shlomo remarked, "we also have a daughter, Malinka. She is out right now trying to get us work passes."
"How old is she?" Hannah asked eagerly. Her quick response caught David off guard; he'd focused on the words 'work passes'.
"She'll be eighteen in a few weeks," Anka answered, smiling warmly at Hannah. "Perhaps she's about your age?"
"I'm twenty," Hannah said, stepping around the pile of luggage on the floor to join Anka in the kitchen.
"Here, I should help you move these," Shlomo offered, grabbing the bags. "The men can stay in this bedroom; the women will have the one next to the washroom."
David grabbed a few bundles and followed the other men into the bedroom they were to share. It was a little larger than his and Michael's, but not by much. There was one bed and a small standing closet, but nothing else.
Figuring his place would be on the floor, David picked a logical spot and dropped one of the mattress bundles and set the other bags on the bed. The last thing he'd expected was having to share a room with three other men and a small apartment with another family. Although there were still probably many things he needed to learn about the ghetto, the option of moving into a place of his own with Hannah seemed as remote as the Nazis wanting to surrender. He glanced over at Jakob and saw the same forlorn expression that David was sure mirrored his own. Papa would join him on the floor, unselfishly leaving the bed to his elder brother and Shlomo.
After a short discussion, the men picked out certain places in the room for their personal things; underwear, shaving kits, mementos, and continued to unpack. David hastily arranged his few belongings, including Michael's dictionary, and left the crowded enclosure to see how Hannah was doing.
The women's bedroom was about the same size as his, and similarly furnished with a single bed and closet. He noticed Hannah's mattress pad on the floor and assumed that she, too, had volunteered to sleep there. Standing in the doorway, David watched for a moment as Hannah showed Anka some of the dishes and kitchen utensils they'd brought along. It was good to see her talking casually with another woman, something she hadn't had the opportunity to do very often since they'd left Germany. David hoped that Hannah could become good friends with Malinka; she at least deserved that much after having lived with just Starsky men for the past year and a half.
"David!" Anka called, seeing him standing there. "Hannah tells me you two are betrothed. Mazel Tov!"
"Thank you, Frau Vilozny."
"It's a shame we do not have more room here, for you. Young couples, they should be together." She clasped her hands together and said, "Ah, well, when the war is over we can all go back to our lives, yes?"
David smiled accordingly, but couldn't believe in Anka's optimism. Slowly, and meticulously, the Nazis were stripping Jews of everything they had—homes, jobs, possessions. Even if England or France could beat Germany, did Anka actually believe they would have lives to return to? And just how likely was it that their Gentile neighbors would suddenly experience a change of heart and welcome them back with open arms?
The sound of the front door opening and closing brought Anka to her feet. "That must be Malinka," she said.
David turned and locked eyes with the young female who had just emerged from the foyer. Obviously stunned for a moment, Malinka stared anxiously back at him, but relaxed at the sight of her mother coming out of the bedroom.
"It's alright, my dear," Anka beckoned. "This is the Starsky family. They will be sharing the apartment with us."
David introduced himself first and then Hannah.
Shlomo came out and after greeting his daughter, introduced her to Papa and Uncle Emir. Malinka was a little shorter than Hannah, but similarly attractive. Brown, doe-like eyes complemented the round face and her long, chestnut hair was braided on both sides, making her look younger than her years. As for the rest of her figure, David left it to his imagination, but had no doubt she would please any future husband.
Anka's voice interrupted his musings. "So, Malinka, did you get the passes?"
The girlish face instantly looked sad. "No, mother. They won't put your name on a waiting list unless you have 100 zlotys to hand over."
"100 zlotys? Who demands this?" Jakob asked.
"The Judenrat," Shlomo responded, with a disgusted tone. "The Ghetto has its own set of laws, the most important being 'money talks'. You must have money—to work, to eat, to barter. If you have things to sell—gold, diamonds, jewelry—there are plenty of buyers. Tens of thousands of dollars are exchanged every day here on the Black Market. A loaf of bread, smuggled from the Aryan side, is now up to 3 zlotys. And people gladly pay that."
"Why do people have to buy so much and drive up the prices?" Uncle Emir reached in a pocket and pulled out a food ration card. He quickly glanced at the front of it, then shoved it at Shlomo. "Here. We all got these today. It has bread on it…"
"Did you look at it closely?" Shlomo snapped. "It's only for 180 grams. That's a quarter of a loaf per day, plus a spoonful of fat and a couple of potatoes. No meat, no vegetables, fruit, or milk—" He stopped for a moment while Emir studied the card. "Jews get 800 calories a day, Poles twice that and Germans over three times that amount. Trust me, if you're smart, you'll find a good smuggler to do business with. I know a few; it's how we get a few extra carrots or a head of cabbage each week. If you want, I can put you in touch with them, but because you're new, they might charge you extra."
Emir took a step forward and pointed a finger at Shlomo. "I wouldn't give one groszy…"
Jakob immediately stepped in between the two men and took hold of Emir. "Come, brother. We have more things to unpack." He firmly escorted the angry man into the bedroom.
As the door slammed shut behind them, David turned to Shlomo. "He's just tired from the journey today," he said sheepishly. "But I'd like to know more about finding work here." He glanced over to Malinka. "Are there other ways to find a job without going through the council's office?"
"If you're asking are there more ways than one to make money, then yes. But they are all very risky. It's safer to try and get work at the factories."
"By bribing someone to get a work pass? That's being safe?"
Malinka looked nervously at her father. "That's not where all the money goes," she said. "The Judenrat is responsible for running everything here. Hospitals, orphanages, schools. They're even being made to pay for building the wall around the ghetto. Naturally, they look for money anywhere they can find it."
"They're just puppets, working for the Nazis," Shlomo countered, raising an arm in disgust and slicing it through the air. "They fill their own pockets first, and whatever meager change is left gets doled out to the community. Like I said before, here the rich get richer, and the poor…well, they're fools if they expect the rich to help them."
"We intend to support ourselves," David proclaimed. Looking at Malinka, he asked, "Can you show us where we need to start?"
"First you'll need your identity cards," she said, and glanced at her watch. "It's too late to get those today, though. But I could show you where the market place is, and you can see what's being offered for sale."
David turned to Hannah. "Do you want to go?"
"Of course," she answered.
"Malinka, wait," Anka called before she stepped back into the bedroom. A few seconds later she emerged holding a few crumpled bills in her hand. "Here," she said, stuffing the money into her daughter's coat pocket. "See if you can pick up some extra potatoes for the soup tonight. It looks like there will be more than the three of us."
"Frau Vilozny, you don't have to do that," David implored. "We brought along some extra food."
"Keep it," Shlomo remarked, laying a hand across his wife's shoulders. "Perhaps some other night you can return the favor."
"Of course we will," Hannah replied. "Thank you."
"Well then, shall we go?" Malinka asked.
"I'll go grab my coat," Hannah said and went into her room. David glanced down at his long sleeved shirt. His jacket would be warmer, but he didn't want to disturb the heated conversation that was already leaking out from behind the closed bedroom door. When Hannah returned, he took her hand and they followed Malinka out of the apartment.
Once outside on the street, Malinka stopped them for a moment. "I just want to tell you something. Sometimes it's not a pretty sight down there. Often, I see little children without anyone to take care of them, begging for a piece of bread. Other children, older ones, will try to steal whatever they can. The police, Poles and Jews, don't hesitate to beat anyone they catch. It's just how life is here."
"We know about the police," David said, casting a glance at Hannah. The look on her face told him she was also thinking about Michael. "But we'll keep our eyes open."
.
Chapter 13
.
Kendrick walked slowly but determinedly on the snow packed road. Willy trudged along beside him, smoking like a chimney. He'd already lit his second cigarette since they'd left the town square. For weeks, Kendrick had been hoping he'd eventually arrive in David's town as his regiment systematically worked its way through this part of Poland. Their job was to insure that all the resident Jews had been evicted, and lend any assistance to the local authorities. So far, it appeared as though people had complied with the order, and for that Kendrick was grateful. His orders were to shoot anyone who hadn't obeyed.
When Kendrick was given a list of names and addresses to check, he'd been extremely relieved to see Emir Starsky's name on that list. In his last letter, David had mentioned his family would have to move, but it was his friend's thick streak of stubbornness that had Kendrick worried. It wouldn't surprise him if David or one of his relatives had elected to stay and take their chances. Now, as each step drew him closer to the address, Kendrick's anxiety steadily increased.
"You know, all of these Polish towns look exactly the same," Willy said, blowing smoke out in the frigid air. "I bet all we've done in the last month is walk around in circles while some dupek keeps running ahead of us changing the signs."
Kendrick glanced over at his companion. No matter what the situation, Willy could always be counted on to lighten the mood. Kendrick just shook his head with a smile.
"What? You don't believe me?" Willy challenged. "I've seen the same shitty houses for weeks now. Why should we care if a few Jews want to live in such shacks?"
Switching his rifle over to his other shoulder, Kendrick thought about Willy's comment. Like himself, Willy had grown tired of being in the army. While neither wanted to be back on a battlefield, these last several months had consisted of nothing but marching all day long, from one village to another, toting heavy packs that mercilessly dug into their shoulders like wooden yokes. And Kendrick couldn't remember the last time he'd slept on a real mattress instead of a pallet, with nothing but a tiny pup tent for shelter.
Even these hardships paled in comparison to what was really tormenting Kendrick. In nearly every town they had gone through, he'd seen the platoon leaders hunt down the top community leaders. After dragging these men out from their homes or offices in full view of the public, they'd be placed under arrest as political dissidents. Any protest from family members or friends would be quickly silenced by heavy blows.
After taking the victims to a secluded spot outside of the town, Kendrick's orders were clear. These people were their enemies, or so the party line dictated. If left alive, these community heads would regroup and form a resistance movement against their conquerors, the valiant Third Reich. Hundreds, if not thousands, of German soldiers could die from partisan attacks and the welfare of untold numbers of Deutsch Volk settlers—men, women and children—would be at risk.
My Honor is Loyalty.
Before he had to shoot, Kendrick would recite the SS motto in his head over and over again. He couldn't be weak, not when it would endanger his fellow soldiers. These men would kill and gladly give their lives for him; he had to feel the same way. But every time he pulled the trigger and killed another civilian, Kendrick felt a piece of his own soul die. What kind of war was he fighting, anyway? Was this how Hitler planned to conquer the world?
Orders are orders.
He didn't have any deep rooted hatred for these people, so the best he could do was to provide them with a quick death. That's what he'd been trained for, and why he always chose the heart. Perhaps that's how his commander could so coldly order each execution. Once you give up your compassion, letting go of your humanity and conscience probably followed naturally.
Just remember, this isn't David standing in front of you.
This was Kendrick's last bit of reasoning. As long as he didn't know these victims, he could pretend they were simply not real people. Instead, they were targets, inanimate and faceless, nothing else. Once you were done with them, you could just throw them away.
Kendrick wiped the morbid thoughts from his head and refocused on his and Willy's task. The sound of their heavy steps hitting the frozen and crunchy ground brought him back to the present. Skozenka. Just one more Polish village, identical to the last, but this was David's home—
"Kendrick!"
Willy's yell from behind froze Kendrick in his tracks. Was there a threat he hadn't seen? Partisan fighters ready to ambush them? Kendrick needed to turn around, but fear had him in an unbreakable grip.
"Isn't this one of the houses?"
Kendrick spun around, feeling a mixture of relief and the frantic beating of his heart. Willy was pointing his rifle at a small, wooden cottage. Kendrick stared at him, held motionless as the shock drained out of his body.
"Well, isn't it?"
Clumsily, Kendrick pulled the list out and tried to find the address of the house they were standing in front of. He'd let himself get so involved in thinking about David that he'd lost sight of where they were. Even though this was a rural town, he and Willy were still enemy soldiers in an occupied country. Resistance fighters were few and scattered, but their aim was generally deadly.
Finally locating the house number, Kendrick nodded at his partner. "Yes, you're right—let's check it out."
They walked up to the front door and Willy kicked it in. Most of the Jewish homes they had inspected were vacant, although a few had been 'taken over' by local residents, no doubt in search of better accommodations. As long as the new occupants weren't related to the previous owners, the soldiers had orders to let them stay.
This house was like hundreds of others they'd seen. Kitchen cupboards were emptied, and while most of the furniture was still in place, beds had been stripped of linens and the mattresses were gone, as well. Perhaps most eerily, though, a stillness hung in the air as if they'd stepped into some other time period where they didn't belong. Willy never seemed to notice it, but to Kendrick, the feeling was all-consuming. His skin would feel prickly, almost tingly, and a heavy pressure would wrap around him. At times it would be so bad, he'd have to dash out of the house.
This time, the sensation wasn't as intense, but Kendrick completed his search as fast as he could and scrambled to escape from the stuffy confines of the house. Making it out the front door, he stopped for a long moment on the front porch. He inhaled deeply, not caring about the sharp pain as the frigid air bit into his lungs. A small group of people watched him warily from the across the street.
"Go on your way!" Willy yelled at the townspeople. "Before we start thinking that you're Jews!"
As the onlookers hurried away, Kendrick shook off the odd feeling and joined Willy as he headed to the next house. Although the town was rather small, the well-kept homes and streets indicated a certain civic pride. Many cottages still had the old thatched roofs which looked particularly nice under the blanket of snow. Kendrick could see David and Hannah walking hand in hand in the neighborhood, forgetting for the moment that they were a targeted race. It was a peaceful here. The Polish inhabitants were obviously not happy that the Germans were in town, but they still gave courteous nods to the two soldiers; as well as a wide berth.
With David's house close by, Kendrick had a hard time keeping his attention focused on the people milling about in the neighborhood, wary of encountering partisans. He would rather scan ahead for the one place he'd been waiting forever to find. Finally, he and Willy arrived at a pale beige cottage with a large metal awning and two birch trees in the front yard. This was it; Emir Starsky's address.
Stepping onto the front porch, Kendrick barely caught Willy before he kicked in the door.
"No, wait!" Kendrick hollered.
He brushed past Willy, ignoring his confused look and tried the door knob. Relief shot through him when it turned easily. Slowly, he pushed the door open and quickly scanned the empty parlor. Willy pressed in from behind, but Kendrick was no longer worried about finding any inhabitants. That uneasy sensation hung thickly around him, absolutely guaranteeing that they were the only two people inside the house. With a sense of relief, and sad resignation, Kendrick started to check the other rooms.
While Willy searched the kitchen, Kendrick poked his head into the first bedroom he came to. It was small, with just one bed and a dresser. The next one, right across the hall, was a little larger and contained a desk and chair. He could hear Willy approaching behind him, and they quickly checked the last bedroom.
"Just like the others—empty," Willy noted, turning to leave.
Kendrick paused in the hallway, not sure what to do next. He wanted to stay and imagine the people and scenes that must have taken place here in the last year. Birthday celebrations, evening meals, family talks. Walking slowly, he reached the doorway of one of the bedrooms and stood there, looking at the bare tree in the backyard that he could see through the window. Was this where David stayed? Writing letters that spoke of Hannah's loneliness, of Michael's abduction, and of not knowing where life would take him next?
"Kendrick? Was ist los?"
Willy's irritated tone shook him out of his pondering. Numbly, he walked out to where Willy was waiting in the parlor room. Before he reached the front door, though, a hand grabbed his arm.
"What's wrong with you today?" Willy asked, tensing his grip.
Kendrick was about to say it was nothing, but the look of concern in the man's eyes struck a chord deep inside of him. "This…is where my friend used to live…" Kendrick said, his voice starting to break.
Willy let go and gazed at Kendrick, his face masked in bewilderment.
"Your friend?" he muttered quietly. Willy glanced around the room and then focused back on Kendrick. "A Jewish friend?" His voice was harder now.
Kendrick nodded. "Since childhood."
Willy's face relaxed. Taking a step back, he asked, "This must be a girl, ja?"
A wave of apprehension rushed through Kendrick. "No," he admitted softly.
Willy's eyebrows rose. He tipped his helmet back and set his rifle and backpack down beside the chair behind him. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a package of cigarettes. After sticking one in his mouth, he offered the pack to Kendrick.
"Tell me about this friend," Willy said.
David stood apprehensively by the washroom door. Hannah was inside and obviously preferred to be alone while she was throwing up. She'd rushed into the small room twice this morning, carrying a small metal pail.
Listening as the distressed moans of his wife escaped from the washroom, David was anxious to get her to the hospital. Maybe Malinka would know a doctor who could see Hannah right away. Just last week, she'd been hired as a nurse's assistant at one of the small hospitals.
"Is Hannah still not feeling well?" Anka said, coming up behind him.
David nodded his head and stepped away from the door so Hannah wouldn't hear him. "She's been getting sick like this for almost two weeks," he said. "I'm worried it's something serious."
Anka placed a hand on his shoulder. "David, I don't think what Hannah has is anything for you to worry over."
"What makes you think that?" he asked.
Lately, Anka had been the family's live-in doctor, treating the entire household with her home remedies as one after the other of them either caught a cold or suffered with the flu.
"She's vomiting so often, she can barely keep anything in her stomach," David added. "I think she's really sick."
"Call it a woman's intuition," Anka ventured, "but is it possible your wife could be pregnant?"
"Pregnant?" David exclaimed, then grimaced at having spoken so loudly. In a quieter voice, he asked, "You think she's actually…you mean I'm…a baby?" The last word immediately erased a lot of his fears and sent a tingle through him.
A satisfied smile appeared on Anka's face. "Yes, it's possible. Many women have upset stomachs in the beginning. It's nothing to worry about—the feeling passes before too long."
Before David had a chance for this information to really sink in, the washroom door opened. A pale, but otherwise healthy-looking Hannah stepped out and dabbed her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Mother Anka, you think I could be pregnant?" she asked softly, her eyes wide open with anticipation.
"I went through much the same thing with Malinka. The mornings were the worst."
"Maybe we should still go to the hospital," David said, not sure if he wanted to take Anka's word. "Wouldn't a doctor know for certain if she was?"
Anka glanced down at Hannah's belly. "When I was young, there was a woman in our village who all the wives went to when they thought they might be pregnant. Somehow, she was always able to tell. Many didn't even have their babies until almost eight months later! But maybe the best thing to do is wait. By this time next month, you'll know for sure."
"Is that what you want to do, Hannah?" David shifted nervously on his feet. If what Anka had said was true, they didn't have anything to worry about. But if she was wrong—
"I think I'll be all right. Besides, you know how busy they are at the hospital."
David understood Hannah's concern. Every night at supper, Malinka would tell them about the latest happenings at her job. Faced with a lack of medicine and beds, the over-worked staff focused their efforts on the most seriously ill patients. The rest would usually have to wait for hours before they could be seen by a doctor or, in some cases, only a nurse. If Hannah's main complaint was just an upset stomach, they'd likely be waiting there a very long time.
"Well, I think, at the very least, you should lie down." David glanced at Anka. He was hoping she'd know that he didn't mean on the bedroom floor. Gratefully, she did.
"Of course," Anka said. "I'll go turn the covers on the bed right now."
The couch could've been an option, especially since it was daytime and Jakob wasn't home, but David wanted his wife to be as comfortable as possible. Papa had been sleeping on the couch at night and had given his mattress to Hannah, who was delighted to have the extra padding. David wondered if pregnancy was a good reason for Hannah to start sleeping on the bed.
"Everything is ready, Hannah," Anka said, coming out from the room. "Take your shoes off, dear, and go make yourself comfortable. David can help." She nodded with contentment when Hannah complied instantly. "I'll go see if there's any tea left."
"Thank you," Hannah said, and entered the bedroom. She climbed on the mattress and lay back on the pillows, eying David happily. He grinned at her—it wasn't often they had such luxury.
Within a few moments, Anka returned with a cup of tea. "Now, you drink all of this," she said, handing the cup to Hannah. "I have some shopping to do. Frau Kelkman told me she'd have some turnips to sell today." Anka grabbed a scarf from the top of the dresser and wrapping it around her neck, quickly left the apartment.
"I think that was just an excuse to leave us alone," David said.
"I'm not going to argue about it with her, are you?" Hannah asked mischievously. "Come," she said, patting the mattress. "I need some company."
"So, do you think Anka's right?" David asked as he slipped his shoes off and climbed onto the bed. "Could you really be…you know, a mommy?"
A slight chuckle escaped her. "Would that make you happy?" she asked.
David leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. "You know it would."
The radiant look on Hannah's face faded a little. "Even if we have to raise the child here? Is that still what you would want?"
Momentarily losing some of his enthusiasm, David replied, "No. I mean, this isn't a place where a child should grow up. But it won't be like this forever. Things are bound to change, and when they do, we'll be a family who won't ever take anything for granted."
That seemed to put a glow back into Hannah. "All right, my husband. Then what would you prefer to have first? A boy or a girl?"
"First?" David exclaimed. He thought for a moment. "How about we wait and see what this one will be. Then I'll want another one just like it, and another, and another…"
They both started to laugh. Every time David looked at his wife, and saw her giggling, he started to laugh all over again. It had been a long time since they'd had something so joyous to feel good about.
So far, 1941 had started out worse than the previous year. Unexpectedly, the Germans had cut off heating fuel for the ghetto, causing untold hundreds to freeze to death in their own homes. With no money to pay for funerals, the families' only choice was to lay the dead on the sidewalks, so the bodies could be taken to the cemetery and buried in a mass grave. David cringed every time he stepped outside and saw the corpses scattered down the block—the frozen and naked figures spoke volumes about the Jews' condition.
But as quickly as the dead were carried off, more people than ever were arriving to replace them. Water and sewer systems, completely overloaded, ceased to function properly anymore. Several times, Anka had to wait nearly an hour for enough water to trickle from the spigot to cook with. Worse yet, there was nowhere to escape from the miserable conditions. The ghetto was now completely surrounded by three-meter high brick walls, topped with broken glass and barbed wire. The prisoners locked inside could only dream of freedom.
Hannah shifted on the bed beside him, pulling David into a more pleasurable moment.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked, using a finger to trace down his nose.
David took hold of the slim hand and pressed it against his cheek. "How good it will be to have our own family."
A smile blossomed on Hannah's face, one that David hadn't seen since their wedding night.
Both had wanted to be married in the apartment, with only the two families present. The ceremony had been simple and short, but David would never forget how everyone pitched in to make the occasion a night that both of them would always remember—
.
Uncle Emir had bartered a pair of wool pants in return for two wedding candles and a bridal veil for Hannah. Malinka had graciously lent Hannah her best dress, so she'd have something new to wear; even taking the hem out so it would fit her better. And Papa. He'd given David a new shirt. Whatever Papa had done to get it, must have been incredible since new clothing was unheard of in the ghetto. Lastly, Shlomo and Anka had offered to prepare a celebratory meal and promised there would even be some wine.
Just before sunset on the Sabbath, David sat alone in his bedroom, nervously picking off stray pieces of lint from his clothing. Even though, legally, he and Hannah had been husband and wife for almost two years, the ceremony would make their union final. David felt like he was preparing to meet his bride for the first time, as if they had been brought together by the village matchmaker. He wondered if Hannah felt the same way. She was across the hall in the other bedroom with Anka and Malinka.
A soft knock at the door drew his attention.
"David? Are you ready?" Papa asked, sticking his head in.
David rose from the bed and straightened out his new shirt. "I think so. I can't remember when I've been this nervous."
He watched as Jakob entered the room and closed the door behind him. "I was much the same way when I married your mother," he said with a glint in his eye. Then, in a more serious tone, added, "But you can't rightfully marry Hannah yet, my son."
David felt his smile fade. "Why not, Papa?"
"Because you haven't given her everything that is required by law."
"Oh," David said, relief flooding back into him. "I've got a ring. Uncle Emir gave it to me before we left Skozenka."
"I'm not talking about a ring, David." Jakob took a few steps closer. "You've never completed your kiddushin."
Before David could ask another question, Jakob smiled and pulled out something he was hiding behind his back. David gasped when he saw a beautifully made ketubah, scripted in calligraphy and encased a thin, metal picture frame.
"I hope you don't mind, but I copied this from my own contract with your mother. We didn't have much at the time, either, so ours was very simple."
David took the plaque from Jakob's hands, finding it hard to take his eyes off of it. He'd thought about trying to make one himself, but gave up when it became apparent he could never create a ketubah pretty enough to give to Hannah.
"It's beautiful, Papa," David uttered, struggling to keep his voice from breaking.
Jakob came closer and put his arm on David's shoulder. "I know how hard you've tried to provide for Hannah…and me. You've been a good son, and you will be an even better husband. I don't say this as often as I should, but you make me proud." Jakob's voice cracked a little. Clearing his throat, he said, "I only wish I could be standing here with your mother."
"I think she's here, Papa."
Jakob smiled. "Come then; we don't want to keep your lovely bride waiting."
Before stepping out of the bedroom, Jakob replaced the plaque in David's hand with a braided candle. After lighting the three wicks, he switched off the ceiling light and opened the door. David caught his breath as both men walked out into the candlelit apartment. Across the room, Shlomo, Anka and Emir stood together, each holding a small candle. Once David was led up to them, he heard the other bedroom door open and turned to see Malinka come out. Behind her, was Hannah.
As the two women approached, David took in the stunning beauty of his bride. Even from behind the veil, Hannah's eyes shown bright and lovely, and the graceful sway of her walk accentuated her femininity. The yellow dress she wore hugged every curve of her body perfectly. There were two handmade daisies in her hair, at the temples, the white color contrasting nicely with her dark curls. And tied around the candle she held in both hands, was a bow made of pink ribbon. This vision, right now, would be forever locked in his memory.
Hannah came along side him, then circled around one time. Shlomo gave Malinka his candle and picked up a bottle of wine off of the table. He poured some in a glass and handed it to David. After Shlomo made a blessing, David took a sip and then offered the glass to Hannah. She delicately lifted the veil from her face and took a drink. When she was done, Jakob and Emir, with the help of Shlomo and Anka, raised a crude canopy over the couple's heads. It was made from a folded bed sheet tied at each corner to four broom handles. David nervously dug into his pocket and pulled out a gold ring.
Taking the bride's hand, he slipped the ring on her finger and recited the marriage vow.
"Hannah, be consecrated to me with this ring according to the law of Moses and Israel."
Hannah's face glowed with happiness.
Malinka stepped forward and placed a piece of broken glass on the floor. David raised his foot and eagerly smashed it.
"Mazel Tov!" cheered everyone.
David removed the veil and gave Hannah her first kiss as his fully fledged wife…
.
"You're giving me that look again," Hannah said, staring into his eyes.
David's mind reluctantly left that special evening and came back to the present. "What look is that?" he asked, lifting his head from the pillow.
"The one you gave me on our wedding night."
David took Hannah's teacup and set it on the little night stand. He slipped underneath the covers and cuddled up next to her soft body, draping an arm and leg over her, and then easing his other arm under her head.
"So you remember that night, huh?" he asked, running his fingers lightly over her arm.
"Yes, but we weren't alone like we are now," she murmured seductively.
David remembered that visit to his bedroom for a little private time before they joined the others for the celebratory dinner. Since that night, he'd sworn to find some secret, out of the way place where they could truly partake in all of the joys of matrimony, without the fear of an audience close by. Now, in the quiet and cool room, he began to lavish the future mother of his children with kisses and tender caresses.
This wasn't heaven, where they were at. But what David knew, and what he had known for a long time, was any place he could be with Hannah, even if it was in the midst of hell, was heaven enough for him.
Kendrick pulled a cigarette out from the pack Willy offered him and dug around in his coat pocket until he found a matchbook. After lighting up, he set his gear on the floor in the parlor. He pulled up an armchair next to Willy's, feeling anything but a guest in David's house.
Once the first inhalation hit his lungs, Kendrick paused for a moment to collect his thoughts.
"My real parents died when I was twelve," he began. "Before that, my mother and David's were very good friends."
"David…that's your friend's name?" Willy asked, crossing his legs.
Kendrick nodded. For now, David's last name wasn't important. "His mother was actually an American. She'd come to Germany to study art and met David's father while they were students at the University of Berlin."
"Ah, an American. I've always wanted to see Hollywood, you know, with all those movie stars." Willy jutted his chin up in the air, showing Kendrick his profile. "Can't you see me doing a love scene with Marlene Dietrich, huh? Or, what's her name…Mae West!" Willy put his chin on his shoulder and in a sultry, feminine voice said, "Come up and see me sometime, big boy."
Chuckling, Kendrick let out a puff of smoke. Willy didn't show his playful side very often, but when he did, he could be very entertaining.
"So, how did your mother and his meet?" asked Willy.
"At an art exhibit. My mother was showing some of her paintings."
"Really?" Willy exclaimed. "She must have been very good."
Kendrick shrugged his shoulders. "I guess. To me, her paintings looked the same as others I'd seen. I didn't realize then how much talent it took to create something like that."
"And that's when you met David?"
"Yes. We were almost the same age; I was a little older, but not by much. We got along as if we'd known each other all of our lives."
Willy shifted in his seat. "And it didn't bother you that he was a Jew?"
"Why should it have?" Kendrick answered, angered by the question. "He was a kid, just like me. If some other boy made fun or tried to fight me, David was always there, making sure I wasn't alone. If I needed an extra pfennig to buy candy, he'd give me his without me even asking, and his family wasn't rich, believe me."
"Alright, so he acted like a good friend. But what makes him so special?"
Kendrick hesitated. He wasn't sure how much to tell the cadet, but ever since he'd known him, Willy had never given any reason why he couldn't be trusted.
"When I lost my parents, I didn't have any other family that I could go to. David wanted me to come live with him, so did his mother, but David's father…" Kendrick sighed. "I don't think he liked our families spending time together. I got the impression he wanted them to be more involved with other Jews. He certainly didn't want me; I'd never felt more alone in my life."
"So what happened?" Willy asked, flicking the ashes from his cigarette.
"I was sent to an orphanage. It was horrible. I mean, I got taken care of, but I was the oldest one there. Every time a couple came to adopt a kid, they'd brush right past me and go straight to the little ones. So one day I decided to run away—actually, I wanted to do more than that…"
Kendrick jammed the cigarette back in his mouth, drawing in as much of the acrid smoke as he could. Keeping the dose in his lungs for several moments, he finally exhaled.
"I found David and said my goodbyes. I think he must have suspected something because he never left my side. He dragged me home with him, but by then it was very late. When his parents asked what happened, David protected me by lying. The next day, instead of taking me back to the orphanage, his mother brought me to a Catholic church and had a long talk with the priest. That night, I stayed with his family and the following day I met my new parents."
Willy exhaled and snuffed out his cigarette. "You wanted to kill yourself, didn't you?"
"Yes," Kendrick admitted. "I never told David that, but somehow he knew. When he convinced me to go home with him…well, he saved my life."
"And you think his mother knew this as well?"
"I'm not sure," said Kendrick, letting out a final puff. "I think David trusted her enough to tell her the truth. Maybe he also told his father, but I doubt it."
Willy leaned forward and grabbed his rifle. "This friend, he certainly doesn't sound very Jewish. Maybe he's a…what do they call it, an 'exception to the rule'? Ja?"
Kendrick stood and snatched his rifle and backpack. "Call it whatever you want, Willy. Believe everything they say about the Jews, I don't care. But David is my friend and he will always be my friend. Just because he believes in a certain religion, doesn't make him any different. At least, not to me."
Willy got up and reached for his pack. As he slipped it on, he asked, "So what do you tell yourself, when you're aiming your rifle at these people who 'believe in a certain religion'?"
Kendrick started to open the front door, and stopped. Turning to Willy, he said, "I tell myself that I don't know them, and that orders are orders. Then I try to convince myself they're not real people. And at the end of the day, when I'm tired of lying to myself, I begin to accept the fact that I'll be going to hell for what I've done to them."
TBC
