Author's note - The character, Zalman Frydrych, mentioned below was real. He escaped from the Warsaw Ghetto to confirm rumors about the death camps and returned to try and warn the Jews of the fate that lay ahead of them. Frydrych also took part in the Ghetto Uprising and was killed just outside of Warsaw in May 1943.

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Chapter 18

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Starsky pushed the yellow mass of scrambled eggs around on his plate. Usually, breakfast was the one meal that even hospitals couldn't screw up, but this one certainly had. Deciding he could last until lunchtime, Starsky shoved the tray table away and glanced around his room in search of some distraction. His eyes eventually settled on the chest tube poking out from his side and running underneath the blanket.

"God, this sucks," he muttered and let out a long sigh.

Although Starsky had never told Hutch, the IV lines and tubes he'd get stuck with during 'visits' to the hospital always scared the crap out of him. He'd read too many stories of people ending up attached to pumps and machines forever. It was bad enough when he knew he'd be going in, but this last time had been the worst.

When he'd awakened in the hospital and reentered the real world, Starsky hadn't remembered right off what had earned him another trip. All he knew was there was a tube down his throat and he couldn't breathe right. A millisecond later, a colossal rip of pain had torn through his chest. He'd tried to crawl out of his body, but a woman dressed in white, wearing a little hat, appeared and held him down. The woman's twin came up beside her, holding a syringe. As she leaned forward, Starsky instinctively stiffened, but she only grabbed the IV taped to his arm. Instantly, the hurt lifted away like a sticker being peeled off its slick backing. His vision got blurry, along with his thought processes and he'd gratefully slipped back into a deep sleep.

The next time he awoke, he immediately saw Hutch's face and, thankfully, there was no hose crammed down his throat. Still, he had wires attached to him like some string-puppet and IV lines poking out from his arms. Particularly unnerving was the way everyone treated him like fragile glass. Starsky figured it took another day or so before he was lucid enough to understand what had happened. It was then that Hutch sat by his side and painstakingly told him everything about the shooting and the damage it had caused.

Now, he was confined to a bed and to an uncertain future as a cop.

Before he could sink deeper into depression, Hutch appeared in the doorway with that same, stupid grin he'd been wearing since Starsky had first spoken to him in ICU. Stupid or not, it was a good thing to see every day.

"Hey, partner, how's it going?" Hutch asked, eyeing the half-eaten plate of food by the bed.

"Don't start with the mothering act, okay? At least not until you try some of that first," Starsky complained, nodding towards the tray table.

Hutch walked over to the bedside and inspected the mashed and mutilated contents on the plate.

"Well, looks like you drank your orange juice and ate maybe half of the toast, which, for a two year old, would've been pretty good."

"Hey, not today…alright?"

The stupid grin shrank to a tight smile. "Rough night?"

"You could call it that." Starsky lifted a corner of the blanket and exposed the chest tube. "Seemed like every time I tried to move, this damn hose bit me."

"It should be gone in another day or so." Hutch picked up a pillow from one of the chairs and tossed it onto an empty one. Taking a seat, he asked, "Your doctor make it by, yet?"

"Yeah," Starsky answered, unable to hide his disgust. "Brought in the boy scout troop again. Wouldn't have been so bad if there'd been a few girl scouts tagging along." He glanced up at the wall clock. "What time are David and Kendrick coming?"

Hutch suddenly looked dumbfounded. "I didn't think to ask them last night. I'm sure they'll be here pretty soon."

Starsky let his head sink into the pillow. For the first time since meeting this new relative, he wasn't sure if hearing David's story was the best thing for either of them.

"Hutch? Maybe this isn't such a good idea…"

"What are you talking about?"

"David talkin' about the war. I have a feeling losin' his kid wasn't the worst thing that happened to him."

Hutch lifted a hand and smoothed out his mustache. "You're probably right. Question is, is he talking because of you or because he needs to?"

"Why would he 'need to'?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Hutch replied, "It can be therapeutic, talking about a traumatic event. For some people, it makes it easier to deal with."

"But this wasn't just one event; and what about Kendrick? Man, he hasn't been walking through a rose garden either."

"Knock, knock," David called out.

Starsky turned to see him and Kendrick standing in the doorway.

"Hey guys, c'mon in," said Hutch.

The two men walked into the room. Starsky studied their faces, but neither looked as though they'd heard any of his and Hutch's conversation.

"You're looking much better, Starsky," David commented.

"Well, they say looks aren't everything," Starsky joked as he shot a quick glance at Hutch. Figuring it was now or never, he cleared his throat. "Uh, guys, Hutch and I were talkin' and we wanted you to know that…if it's too much, you don't…uh…"

"What my partner is trying to say," Hutch cut in, "is we'll understand if you don't feel comfortable talking about what happened to you during the war."

David looked at Kendrick, who gave a slight nod, and said, "I won't lie; a lot of what happened was terrible, both for me and Kendrick." He stuck his hands in his pant pockets and peered at Starsky. "But as hard as it is to talk about, at least I am alive to do so. Millions…millions of people never got that chance. And the only thing I find uncomfortable, is that I can only speak for just a small handful."

A brief silence ensued, after which Starsky said, "Well, where were we, then?"

Spring 1942—Warsaw Ghetto

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"Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe who brings forth bread from the earth. Amen."

Sitting at the wooden table, David raised his head after Shlomo had given the blessing. Seated with him and Shlomo were Papa and Uncle Emir. The women were sitting on the couch. Tonight's meal was special, in a sense, because it was Shlomo and Anka's wedding anniversary. The food, watery soup and bread, wasn't much different from an average meal, but this time Malinka and Hannah had added a few extra turnips and an onion for the occasion.

"The soup is delicious!" Anka said, turning to look at the two. "You both did an excellent job!"

"Oh, Mother," Malinka blushed. "It's not like we prepared a gourmet meal."

"Well, it certainly tastes like one," Shlomo added. He tore off a piece of bread and dipped it in his bowl. "We are fortunate that we still have a roof over our heads and bread to offer a blessing for. So many didn't survive the winter; certainly one of the harshest I've ever seen."

"Yes, Shlomo, it was harsh," Uncle Emir piped up. "Especially when there was no heat and people were starving to death. But none of that ever seems to matter to our hosts. They still keep cramming people in here like there is no tomorrow." He stifled a little laugh. "You can really tell who the newcomers are…their faces are fat and their clothes have no holes—"

"Brother!" Jakob hushed. "We are celebrating a special occasion tonight, not talking politics."

Emir glanced sheepishly at Shlomo. "Jakob is right. Forgive my choice of topic, Herr Vilozny."

"No harm done," Shlomo replied. "We all know what is happening outside of our front door. But the blessed Yahweh is watching over his children. Our people have survived worse times; we will survive this, too."

All the men grunted an acknowledgement and went back to eating their meal. So far, David's family had been holding their own. Everyone, including Anka and Hannah, had found work of some sort, and with their combined incomes and food rations, they'd been able to keep themselves from starving. But it was still a day to day struggle, with no guarantees their good fortune would continue.

When Malinka began talking about the conditions at the hospital, David realized it was lucky none of them had gotten sick lately.

"Oh mother, it's getting so bad," she explained. "We can only admit those with contagious diseases now. Just today, we took in 150 people. All of our beds have at least two people in them, some even have three! The doctors are overwhelmed. I don't see how they can do it, day after day."

"Malinka, you know I worry about you working there," Anka remarked. "You need to be very careful, child. You could easily become sick as well."

"I'm being careful, but it's so hard to watch the patients die, especially the orphans."

"Well, if the Nazis have their way, we'll soon be calling those who've died here the lucky ones," Emir grunted, eating the rest of his soup.

"Brother!" Jakob growled. "Not again…"

"What?" Shlomo asked, looking at Uncle Emir. "Why do you say such a thing?"

David studied the faces of his uncle and father. He hadn't seen Papa look that angry in a long time.

"It's nothing," Jakob replied. "He just heard some rumors today, that's all."

"What rumors? Tell us," Anka insisted, resting her bowl on her lap.

"They're not rumors," Emir declared, dropping his spoon on the table. "People have seen it with their own eyes!"

"Nonsense!" Jakob spat. "If what they claimed actually happened, then how are they still alive to tell it?"

"Because they escaped!" yelled Emir. "Why is it so hard for you to believe, Jakob? Look around you. Does this ghetto look like the promised land?"

"Quiet! Quiet!" Shlomo exclaimed before Jakob could answer. "I say we let Emir tell his story and then we can decide for ourselves."

Jakob looked at David and then over at the women on the couch. "It will only cause people to worry for nothing," he muttered.

"We can be the judge of that, too," Shlomo argued. "Go on, Emir; tell us what you have heard."

"There is another ghetto," he began, "In Lodz, very much like this one."

"Yes, yes, we know," Shlomo said. "Tell us what we don't know."

"Alright," Emir griped. He laid his hands on the table and settled back in his chair. "A few months ago, tens of thousands of Jews from the ghetto and Pomerania, along with Gypsies from Bessarabia, were murdered by the Nazis. Men, women, even children. Three people escaped from that massacre, and have lived to tell us what is happening to the Polish Jews."

"Ten thousand?" Anka gasped, her eyes big and wide. She dropped her spoon and grabbed Malinka's arm. "And children?"

David glanced at Hannah, unsure at how she would react to this news. She stayed still and quiet, her attention glued to Emir like everyone else. But behind the soft-tinted eyes, David could read her feelings. They mimicked his. More innocent life had been ripped from their people, as if it were nothing of value.

"Yes, even children," Emir said in a low, angry voice. "They were told they were being taken for work and to bring their valuables along in hand luggage. When they arrived at a big house, a mansion, the Germans said they'd have to take a bath first, to disinfect them. So everyone was stripped naked and given towels and soap." Emir stopped. He uncharacteristically dipped his head and acted as if he couldn't go on. Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly continued. "Then they were led from the house in groups and put into the back of a big truck, with walls on all sides; sixty or more people crammed inside. Once the truck was full, the doors were closed and locked. The engine was started and they were all killed by the exhaust. The Germans had hooked up the tailpipe so the fumes would go into the back."

"Why would they kill them if they were supposed to be workers?" Anka asked incredulously, her face still frozen in shock.

"That was just a lie, to get them to go willingly," Emir answered. "What better way to slaughter thousands, than to lead them like docile sheep?"

"That's preposterous," grumbled Jakob. "It's no secret the Nazis want us to work as slaves, but to kill your work force? What sense does that make?"

"Who says the Germans have to make sense? You need to get your head out of the sand, brother."

"And what if this is true?" Jakob asked. "What are we to do? Rise against our captors and conquer them on empty stomachs?"

"Yes, Emir. Your brother makes a good point," challenged Anka. "We know how the Nazis respond to troublemakers. They wipe out an entire building because of one person."

"But don't you see? We are many here, hundreds of thousands, and they rule over us with a handful of soldiers," Emir fired back, opening his hand and then closing it in a fist. "David slew Goliath, did he not? We are God's chosen people; all we need is to have faith that we can overcome these devils!"

"And what if we are wrong? How do we know these killings were no more than misbehavior of victory-drunk troops?" admonished Shlomo, not sounding as if he even believed that himself. "We are civilized people living in modern times and yet you want us to believe that the Germans are orchestrating some diabolical plan to exterminate all the Jews?"

Uncle Emir let out a loud sigh, his shoulders and head dropping like he'd just lost the fight for his life.

"You can believe what you want to," Emir conceded. "But this is exactly how the Nazis will win." He stood and picked up his bowl. "But when you are standing naked in one of those trucks, I hope you will not be thinking 'how did this happen?'"

Uncle Emir set his dish by the sink and went to his bedroom. Shlomo and Anka exchanged nervous glances and slowly continued with their meals. Jakob and Malinka followed suit. Hannah looked down and after swallowing one last spoonful of soup, got up and went over to the kitchen counter. She started placing the dishes in the sink.

"Hannah," Malinka called out, "you washed the dishes last night. It's my turn tonight."

"Are you sure?" Hannah asked softly.

"Yes. Go and relax," Malinka said, leaving the couch to join her in the kitchen.

Hannah smiled appreciatively and went over to the front door, stopping briefly to grab her coat off of the metal stand. David got up from the table and, snatching his own jacket, followed her as she went out the door.

Once they were in the hallway, David called, "Hannah? Where are you going? It's almost time for curfew."

She continued walking until she reached the banister at the head of the stairs. Turning to face him, she said, "I just need some fresh air, David. I'll be alright."

David paused for a moment as Hannah started down the stairway. It had been almost nine months since they'd lost Isaac, but his death still felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. David had tried to put the incident behind him, but that was impossible. Each day, he observed the changes in Hannah's eyes and mannerisms, and wondered if the woman he'd married would ever return. Only on rare occasions could David even mention Isaac's name without Hannah immediately retreating into a somber mood, either unwilling, or unable, to talk to him.

Now, as she slowly disappeared from view, David couldn't let her go off on her own and hurried after her. Reaching the ground floor, he headed out into the night. In the dimly lit street, he could see the solitary figure walking slowly away. Within a few seconds, he'd caught up, then slowed his pace to match hers.

Glancing up at the clear sky, David said, "It's nice out here tonight. You can even see the stars."

"Yes, it is," Hannah answered, but kept her attention focused straight ahead.

"Hannah, I've been thinking…would you like to have another child?"

She stopped dead in her tracks. "You want another child?" she snapped, her eyes burning with anger.

Stunned by the reaction, David wasn't sure how to answer. "I didn't mean to upset you, it's just that…"

"What? So you can watch this one die, too? This time in the back of a truck?"

David felt the sting of her words all the way to his core, but maybe this is what Hannah and he needed, a way to vent their anguish.

"Of course I don't want that, Hannah. Who on earth would?" He reached out and took a firm hold of her arm. "I was there, remember? When Isaac died, I was there, too. Feeling my heart rip and wanting to die myself. But I couldn't let my feelings show; because as much as I hurt, I knew you were hurting more."

Hannah's head dipped, the anger fading in her eyes.

"I can't bear losing anyone else I love, David. Please, don't leave me," Hannah sobbed, reaching up to grasp his shoulders. "I couldn't live—not without you."

David gathered her into his arms. "I'm not going anywhere without you," he murmured as he buried his face in her hair. "Whatever happens, as long as we're together that's all that matters." David lifted his head and tucked hers under his chin. "I know losing Isaac was hard, but you can't let yourself die with him, Hannah."

She pulled back a little and stared at him with tear-filled eyes. "Please, David, don't leave me," she begged again.

He cupped the back of her head and settled it against his chest. "I won't, Hannah. I won't ever leave you."

His attention was suddenly drawn to the street by the sound of an approaching car. Instinctively, David pulled Hannah back and ducked into the dark shadow of an entryway. He watched apprehensively as an open convertible pulled up to an apartment house across the street and stopped. Several SS men got out of the vehicle and darted into the building. Anxious to put more distance between them, David grabbed Hannah and started to head back, making sure they stayed immersed in the darkness as much as possible. Just before reaching the safety of their building, David heard voices yelling in German.

He stopped and looked back to see what was happening. Two of the soldiers were dragging a man into the middle of the cobblestone street.

Gripping David's hand hard, Hannah said, "That's Otto Donawitz! He's a social worker for the Judenrat. What do the Nazis want with—"

A burst of gun fire erupted from the street and Otto fell bonelessly to the ground.

"C'mon!"

David shoved Hannah into the lobby and rushed up the stairs with her. They raced down the hall and into the illusive safety of their apartment.

Kendrick walked alongside Willy down a dirt road. The air was crisp, and the grassy fields on each side of them were a brilliant green. As they approached the outskirts of the Russian village, Kendrick steered them towards a crude bench by the side of an old storeroom. Sunlight was shining on the building's wall, promising a warm place to sit. Other men from their unit followed, and one by one, sat down in pairs or small groups amongst the tall birch trees and small buildings. They still had to travel eight more kilometers, to yet another village, but this break was long overdue.

Willy flung off his backpack and sat on the bench, legs stretched out wide in front of him. He dug for a cigarette somewhere inside his jacket. After pulling a crumpled pack out, Willy offered it to Kendrick.

"No, thanks," he said. Kendrick had smoked at least two or three since leaving the last village, but the tobacco had done little to clear his head today, something that he'd found interesting. Usually, smoking gave his mind a chance to escape into another realm or at least allow some warm air to enter his lungs instead of the frigid, biting air of the Russian winter landscape. But now that the weather had warmed, that wasn't necessary. Along with the increase in temperature, the ground had become softer and easier to dig, especially when a large grave was needed. Not that Kendrick or anyone else in his platoon had to worry about that; it was just a statement of fact.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" Willy asked. He raised a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. "You're making me tired just looking at you."

"Alright," Kendrick replied, "but if I can't get up again, you're going to have to carry me."

"That'll be a cold day in hell," Willy quipped.

Kendrick sat down on the bench and took his helmet off. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to comb the errant strands into place. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wooden planks.

"That kid was really something, huh?" Willy said abruptly. Kendrick glanced over at him. "I think it was Hans' shot that finally brought him down. Son of a bitch ran like a scared Cossack."

Oh, yes, the 'kid.'

"But, between you and me," Willy nudged him with an elbow, "I think we need more of those gas vans. It's much cleaner, ja?"

"Of course, much cleaner."

Kendrick closed his eyes again; this time hoping for a long, peaceful moment. He concentrated on the sweet smell of the grass and the rich aroma of the plowed fields around them. Spring had definitely arrived, a time of rebirth and of new beginnings. Color had once more overtaken the landscape, painting the barren and white winter canvas with radiant shades of green, yellow and red. Hopefully, the red would fade soon, replaced by cooler, deeper colors like purple and blue.

Yes, that would be much better—a world with no red.

Chapter 19

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"We did not want to leave or most people in the Ghetto did not want to leave because you figured the misery you knew would be better than the misery you didn't know."

Lucille Eichengreen – Survivor of the Lodz Ghetto and Auschwitz

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David stood in the living room, looking out the window at the street below. So far, he hadn't seen any German patrols, which was good, but until Hannah and the other women made it home, he'd continue to watch for them.

"How much more proof do you need, Jakob?"

David turned his mental focus to the heated conversation going on at the kitchen table. Papa, Shlomo and Uncle Emir were seated there. Lately, anytime the women were gone, the older men would argue over the latest rumors flooding the ghetto.

"Even the BBC is aware of it; 700,000 have already been killed in Poland! And your own son is a witness to what happened just two months ago!" Emir emphasized his point by hitting the wooden table with his fist. "Social workers pulled out of their homes and slaughtered like dogs out on the street!"

"That was only because the Nazis wanted to send a message," Jakob argued. "The Judenrat should've known the Germans weren't going to tolerate all the illegal activities going on."

"And those executions were just a way to get the more vocal people out of the way," Emir said. "The Nazis want to sit back and watch us all meekly accept our fate, just like the Jews in Lublin and Bialystok."

"We don't know for sure if these exterminations are really happening," Shlomo added, adjusting his spectacles, "but I can tell you, if just a handful of us tries to do something about it, the Nazis will retaliate against the whole ghetto."

"Perhaps," Jakob said. "But even they wouldn't murder tens of thousands of people when Germany is in such short supply of manpower. It just doesn't make sense."

"Yes, we have jobs and we are established, but for how long?" pleaded Uncle Emir. "I've heard anyone who isn't working will be sent to labor camps—or worse. David could be one of those people, Jakob."

David glanced over at his father. Uncle Emir's words must have affected him because, for a long moment, Papa looked very lost.

"Well, we have been here over a year now. If they wanted to kill us so bad, why haven't they done it already?" Jakob reasoned, as he got up and joined David at the window. "I think the best thing we can do is wait, and do as we are told. America is fighting Germany now. Hitler may think he can conquer the world, but soon he'll be too busy hiding in bomb shelters to worry about the Jews."

"Knowing Hitler, he'll make a bomb shelter out of Jews," Shlomo replied. "Why die when you can have a Jew do it for you?"

David suppressed wanting to chuckle at Shlomo's stab at gallows' humor. Laughter had long since vanished in the ghetto, and now it seemed, only macabre jokes could elicit anything close to a smile. The sad thing was, Shlomo's statement wasn't far from the actual truth.

The front door suddenly flew open, getting everyone's attention. Malinka entered, followed by Anka, and both were out of breath. Just as David was about to ask about Hannah, she came in behind them.

"Malinka! Anka! What is it?" Shlomo anxiously asked.

"Papa, they arrested all the doctors at the hospital and sent them to Pawiak Prison!" Malinka cried out as she ran into her father's arms.

Shlomo cradled his daughter, looking to Anka for confirmation.

"It's true, my beloved," she said. "People are saying that the SS came to the Council building this morning, along with the Umsiedlungsstab, the Deportation Board. The rumors must be true; they're going to liquidate the ghetto."

"David, go down to the square. See if anyone has more news or if there are any notices posted." Jakob's voice was tense, but controlled.

David nodded at him and turned to his wife. "Come, Hannah," he said, nerves churning his belly into a pool of acid.

Hand in hand, David and Hannah left the apartment and started walking to the market. The air felt muggy, and the summer sun was shining relentlessly, baking the pavement all around them. Uncharacteristically, neither said anything, but given the circumstances, the silence wasn't that unusual. Talk of the Nazis emptying the ghetto had been going around for weeks. Normally, when everyone was together in the apartment, depressing conversation was avoided. But within the past few days, the overwhelming fear arising from these newest rumors was making it hard for David, or anyone else, to keep silent anymore.

Walking along the busy sidewalks, David studied the faces of people passing by. It could have been his imagination, but every single one looked tense and uneasy, no doubt mirroring his own face. The apprehensive expressions only caused a faster buildup of fear clenching in his gut.

Strange how he'd never felt this frightened before, considering all he and his family had been through since arriving here. While the brick walls of the ghetto had imprisoned them, it had also kept the people who hated Jews away, giving them their own place to live. He'd easily fallen into the mindset of day to day survival; keep working, keep living one more day, and before long, Germany would be defeated and everyone could go back to their own lives again. But now, what did this new development mean? Were they really going to be taken somewhere and shoved naked into a truck to be gassed to death? Or, were they headed to some vast labor camp, the location and living conditions as yet unknown?

Closer to the square, the crowds of people grew thicker. There was definitely a feeling of tension in the air. Conversations were heated and sparked here and there by panic-stricken voices. David held Hannah's hand tighter, not only let her know he was near, but also to squeeze out some assurance that she was there, ready to be his lifeline.

After what seemed like ages, they finally got to the front of the public notice board. There, in black and white, hung an official proclamation on a large wall poster.

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Resettlement Order

The Judenrat is informed of the following:

All Jewish persons living in Warsaw, regardless of age and sex, will be resettled to the East.

Every Jew being resettled may take 15 kgs. of his property as baggage. All valuables such as gold, jewelry, money, etc., may be taken. Food is to be taken for three days.

The following are excluded from the resettlement:

Jews working for German institutions or companies

Jews working for the Judenrat

Jewish Hospital staff

Members of the Jewish Order Service

Wives and children of the above mentioned persons

Patients in Jewish Hospitals on the first day of the resettlement action

Assembly point is the Jewish Hospital at Stawki Street which must be emptied so that the building can be used for the people being resettled.

Punishments:

Any Jew who leaves the ghetto during the resettlement action will be shot.

Any Jew who acts against the resettlement will be shot.

Any Jew who does not belong to the above mentioned categories and who is discovered after the resettlement action will be shot.

The resettlement will begin at 11:00 o'clock on July 22, 1942. In the course of the resettlement the Judenrat will have the following tasks, for the precise execution of which the members of the Judenrat will answer with their lives. Six thousand souls have to be supplied by 4 o'clock today…

David swallowed hard. He briefly skimmed over the rest of the announcement, his eyes at last falling on the final sentence.

…and this (at least) is how it will be every day.

Every day? He went back and reread the list of those who could be excluded. Only Shlomo and Malinka could qualify, but nobody else from their apartment.

"David, this is for today," Hannah noted, looking at the poster. "How are they going to find six thousand people in just a few hours?"

Not liking the possibilities that came to mind, David said, "We need to get work permits, and fast." He quickly led Hannah away to a less crowded spot. "What's the name of that German businessman, the one that runs the textile factory?"

"Toebbens, I think," Hannah answered. "But everyone will be going to places like that. What chance will we have?"

David sighed. Hannah was right; there were probably already hundreds if not thousands of people flocking to the ghetto's German employers. Before he could think of an alternative, a loud commotion in the market drew his attention. A middle-aged woman and younger man were fighting over a loaf of bread. Apparently, it was the last one the seller had to offer and both buyers felt they had a claim. In that single moment, David could see the future of the ghetto—survival of the fittest. Even though they were all one race here, the Nazis had succeeded in dividing them. Now it would be Jew against Jew—each trying to hang on to whatever 'life' he had left.

A week after the posting of the resettlement notice, David noticed conditions in the ghetto deteriorating rapidly. Rumors had grown by the hour as people ran scared, not knowing whether 'resettlement' meant being shipped to the East or death in a gas chamber. Food prices skyrocketed; the last remaining soup kitchens disappeared. While trying to hunt down productive work, David had heard that the chairman of the Jewish Council had committed suicide after refusing to sign an order that would've increased the daily quota of deportees to 9,000.

So far, the Nazis had satisfied their lust for numbers by emptying the refugee shelters, jails and children's homes. When a few thousand more were needed, they'd surround a block and take everyone out of the buildings, whether they had work permits or not, or gather up the beggars and starvelings off the streets. Ever resourceful, the Germans had recently introduced a new twist for compliance. Posters had gone up announcing that each person who voluntarily registered for resettlement would receive three kilograms of bread and one kilogram of marmalade. Apparently, the magnanimous offer had been found acceptable. According to a friend of Malinka's who worked down by the Umschlagplatz, so many hungry and starving Jews had come the first day that even two train transports could not accommodate them all.

This newest propaganda scheme had people questioning whether being deported from the ghetto was such a bad thing after all, and wondering if the rumors about the death camps were really true.

"Why would the Nazis be giving bread away if they intended to murder the Jews?"

Uncle Emir had laughed harshly in the face of the first person who'd offered that observation.

"Did you not hear of the pregnant woman who fell down while crossing the street and was shot before she could get back up?" he'd declared. "Or of the three orphaned children, sitting one behind the other in front of a hospital, killed with one bullet by an SS officer?" Emir believed the ghetto was being liquidated for only one reason, so the Jews could be taken to a place out of the public view and killed like helpless lambs. David was finding that opinion easier and easier to believe.

As more days went by, life for the two families become a game of watching and waiting. Which street would be blockaded today? What unlucky person would find himself suddenly grabbed and thrown into the column of deportees being marched to the trains? Rumors still persisted, spawned by those who refused to believe the Germans capable of such a hideous crime as mass murder—

"No more than 50,000, 70,000 at the most, would be deported. Once the 'unproductive' were gone—prisoners, beggars, the sick and old people—the Action would be finished."

For David, the truth of what was really happening became clear after talking to a member of the underground resistance movement, Zalman Frydrych. He'd been approached by the fighter at the market while the young man was looking for rations or money, anything to help support those who'd chosen to start fighting the Nazis.

"I've heard so many rumors," David said, looking around nervously. He knew at any moment, a lorry could drive up full of armed soldiers searching for people to deport. "But that's all they've been, just rumors. No one knows for sure where the transports are going, or what is happening to the people on them."

"I can tell you the truth, David, for I have seen it with my own eyes." Zalman's voice was steady, but his eyes were burning with fire. "I followed one of the transports, not more than a week ago. When I got outside of Sokolow, I found the tracks fork outside of town, with one branch leading to Treblinka. Workers on the railroad there told me every day they see a large train travel in that direction, loaded with people." The sound of a car horn beeping momentarily startled them both, but the sedan quickly continued on its way after maneuvering around a nearby crowd. "Anyway, they said it contained at least 60 cars! Then, when the train returns—it's empty. No transports of food are ever seen, just people, and no one is allowed to approach the station. Believe me; 'resettlement' is not for work, but death instead."

David switched his focus from Zalman and looked out over the market square. He knew what he was hearing was the truth, but it was still hard to believe. Ever since leaving Germany, he'd hoped that some day he and Papa and Hannah would return home and go on living their lives, meager as they were. But that wasn't going to happen. All the pain and sacrifice they'd endured up until now was for nothing!

"Why don't you join us?" Zalman asked, interrupting David's thoughts. "We could use good, strong, young men."

In his heart, David wanted to. He'd have a chance, at least, to avenge Isaac's death, and most likely, Michael's also. But he still had a wife and family that needed him, or more truthfully, that he needed. Armed with only a few pistols and hand grenades, David didn't think the small group of fighters had much chance of causing an army loaded with tanks and bombers any grief. No, he didn't want to sacrifice his life like that, but neither did he want to go meekly to his death with thousands of other stunned victims.

"I'll think about it," David answered, and quickly left before Zalman could say anymore. This latest news had his mind racing in all directions. At a crossroad, David had to see the one person whose opinion and advice truly mattered—Hannah.

Tucked away in a small cubbyhole in back of an apartment building, David and Hannah cuddled together. He'd found the spot months ago, and since then they'd come here often to be by themselves. The scraps of newspaper and cardboard left on the ground indicated others were probably using it, but right now, the little hideaway belonged to them. However, unlike before, this time they couldn't pretend the ghetto didn't exist, and that life as they'd known it would return. Tonight, they had to accept the ugly reality of death, and how to say that last goodbye.

"So," Hannah said after lying still and silent in David's arms for several minutes, "what if the worst happens? What if tomorrow it is our block's turn and we are marched down to the Umschlag? Shouldn't we take some kind of clothing, or silverware? Just in case?"

David briefly tightened his grip around her. "Just in case what? That we end up at a labor camp?" A nod of the head underneath his chin indicated her answer. "I suppose so," he said.

"You don't believe that though, do you?" she pressed, the sound of her voice echoing against his chest.

"No," he answered flatly. "I still remember Kristallnacht; the look of the man who pushed me down, and the men who beat that old Jew. I'd never seen hate like that before. The Nazis want us…" His voice trailed off. How could he really say what they wanted? For the Jews to die, or live as slaves?

One of Hannah's hands slipped out from under his grasp and rested on his forearm.

"It's okay, I understand," she said, using her fingers to rub little circles on his arm. "I've heard there are police who will let certain people avoid the transports. The price is high, but if it saves us from the camps…should we use the diamonds?"

David heaved in a big breath of air. "What about Papa, and Uncle Emir? Or the Viloznys? Could we stay and watch them go?"

Hannah shook her head decisively. "No, I couldn't. But Papa would want you to survive…" She leaned forward and turned around so she could see him. "And I would want that, too."

Stunned for a moment, David quickly gathered his thoughts. "Hannah, I swore I would never leave. Even if I had a choice, I couldn't live without you, don't you know that?"

"I thought the same thing…with Isaac." Her head dipped slightly, and tears began to flow freely from under thick lashes. "I didn't want to go on, David. I didn't. It hurt my heart so much." Slowly, she raised her head. "I had to believe that wherever he was, he was being loved and taken care of. I could've lost you, too, but you didn't let go. You were strong."

David wanted to stop her and tell her that she was wrong. She was the strong one; his rock solid foundation that had kept him from sinking into despair. Just a smile from her could help him survive anything.

"If death comes for me, I won't be afraid. I'll feel your love, David, even if I'm not here—"

"Hannah—"

"No," she said, placing a finger on his lips. "If there's ever a choice, you need to go on with your life."

"That's not going to happen—"

"David, we can't control this." Her hands cupped his chin. "I don't want our last moments to be spent not knowing what to do or say."

David stared into her eyes, but there was no fear or pain hiding behind them, only acceptance.

"You want me to try and say goodbye to you right now?" he asked shakily, knowing that was impossible.

"No, I don't need you to say anything," Hannah replied, sliding her hands down. She undid the first button on his shirt, then the second, and another. Placing a palm on his bare chest, she leaned forward and kissed him passionately on the lips. "Make love to me, David," she whispered.

David drew back a little. "I don't want to have you like some animal in a dirty pen," he said, scanning their cramped little nook.

"All I see is the man I love, not an animal."

David let his soul be drawn into her eyes and time quickly lost all meaning.

Their lovemaking went beyond sensual. Every care was pushed away as they concentrated only on their need to become one. Passions rose and fell as David found he could sense each change in Hannah's response, knowing when to kiss, and when it was right to fill her with as much of him as possible. Loving Hannah like this was unlike anything he'd experienced before. Stars appeared and danced in front of his eyes as the long awaited climax hit, making every muscle quiver.

Finally, as each lay spent and sated, nestled in each other's arms, David could only think of one thing.

"If I had to leave you forever, right now," he said, wiping a strand of hair from Hannah's forehead, "what would I hear you say?"

"Nothing," she answered quietly. "But your heart would hear mine saying, 'I love you.'"

TBC