If I Should Die Before I Wake (12 page)

Everyone listened, especially Jakub and Anya. Will it really work? How big is the hole. How big is the space above the hole? Is it dark? Could we hide in the corners behind the rafters? Should we try it? Do we dare?

No one was capable of making this decision. Round and round we went. I could see that Jakub was enthusiastic about the idea, but he wasn't going to be the one to press us into action. The burden of guilt he carried around after the death of the two brothers still weighed heavily upon him.

Bubbe, too, was hesitant, believing now more than ever that it was best just to let life unfold and not get in one's own way with so much plotting and planning, to leave it all in God's hands.

Mrs. Hurwitz felt her plan, to go on the truck instead of Anya, was the best one, and whether we hid or not, she would stay and let fate run its course.

Mama just didn't know. "Should we hide, only to be discovered and shot on the spot, or take a chance on the trucks? Would our fate be any different either way?" she asked.

We had so little time to make up our minds, and as events closed in on us, the decision seemed impossible to make. Hunger, fear, outrage all made it hard to think clearly, to be certain we were even making sense. The workshops and the soup kitchens were closed. There was almost no food to be had anywhere, and by late afternoon new notices had been posted. Beginning at 5:00
P.M.
there was to be a general
szpera,
a curfew, until further notice. If we were going to hide, we would have to get out right away, before the curfew. We would have to hurry through the streets to our new home, a hole in the ceiling, and stay hidden for who knew how many days without food or water, sweltering in the attic heat.

It was Anya who finally helped us make up our minds. She had slid down off Mrs. Hurwitz's lap and now stood behind Mama, her arms wrapped around Mama's shoulders, her head resting on her own arms.

"Mama, I am tired," she said. "Are you not tired, too? Can we just lie down together?" She lifted her head and squeezed Mama's shoulders. "I want to do that more than anything in the world, just lie down with you."

We didn't hide. We slept, we prayed, we worried, and we watched through our window, that night and all through the next day. We also starved. There was nothing to eat, and we realized that if this kept up much longer, they wouldn't need to deport us, they could just drag us all to the cemetery.

The evening of that third night, we gathered around the table again. Already the Jewish Police had raided the old-age home on Dworska Street and had gone to Rybna Street, to people's homes, and had torn the children out of their mothers' arms. The news had spread in hushed, desperate tones like the leaves sweeping through the streets, and we knew that in the next day or two, it would be our turn.

As I looked around the table at Jakub, my mother and grandmother, Mrs. Hurwitz and Anya, I saw that we had all changed in the last two days. It wasn't just the hollowing of our cheeks and the ashen color of our skin, it was also our attitude. We had each reached a certain peace within ourselves, a certain understanding of how it was going to be, and, yes, a certain acceptance. Perhaps it was Bubbe's words drummed into our heads all these years about trusting in God, knowing where to put one's faith, waiting and hoping—always hoping. Perhaps, too, we were just following Jewish tradition—having inherited thousands of years of suffering and persecution, we had learned how to adapt and accept, and believe that through our strength and our faith, we would survive. Or perhaps we were all going insane. Maybe this was some middle stage of insanity, this peace and acceptance a self-deception. Maybe in a day or two we'd run screaming through the streets, but for now it was enough to gather around the table and hold hands, and perhaps for the last time, share our thoughts.

"I do not know how it will be these next few days. We have no control over any of the things going on around us," Mama said, looking pointedly at Jakub and me. "So much have they taken from us already, but what is inside us, they can never take away, unless we let them, unless we give it away.

"I go out into the streets and see the guards on the other side of the fence mocking us, laughing at us with their warm coats and overfed bodies, but I laugh at them. I pity them, those beasts. They think that by taking away our homes, our rights, and by starving us, they have taken everything and we are nothing, less than the rats and the lice that feed on us. They do not see that it is they who are nothing. They are hardened layers of skin, and what is beneath that skin? Nothing. They have lost it all. All that will ever matter, they have lost. And I laugh at them, and mock them, because they do not even know it."

"Yes, but Mama, I want them to know it," Anya said.

"Then be brave and hold your head up high. Do not let them get inside you."

Jakub shook his head. "If you hold up your head you have just given them a better target to shoot."

"Jakub, if I am to die at their hands, I want to make sure it gives them no satisfaction. I want the memory of my face, my eyes, to burn on their souls forever."

Jakub laughed. "You forget, Mama, they have no souls."

We all laughed.

Then Mama got serious again.

"Anya and I will go together when the time comes, and Jakub, Chana, you will remain here with Bubbe and do as she says. And please, when this is all over, find Nadzia. Let her know how we loved her."

"But, Mama!" I began to cry.

"I cannot send her off on her own," Mama said, as she rubbed my back.

"I know, but it is not fair." I looked up. "I am going, too. I want to go with you. How can I let you go and never know what happened to you?"

"No, Chana. You are sixteen years old now. That's old enough to understand what is happening. I must ask you to stay here with Bubbe. You must honor this last request."

I hung my head and didn't say anything. What was I going to do without Mama and Anya? With Bubbe always so busy at the hospital and Jakub busy with his underground work, I had come to rely on Mama and Anya; they were my best friends.

It must have been no later than six o'clock the next morning when we heard a round of gunshots in the courtyard below and a harsh German voice shout, "
Alles raus!
—Everybody out!"

We scrambled to our feet and hurried to the stairs. We could hear the wagons rolling into the yard. We knew instantly what had happened. The Jewish Police hadn't done a thorough enough job of rounding us up and so the Germans had taken over. There would be no chance for pleading now.

We raced out into the yard and stood erect and still, waiting for others to hobble over the stones on weak and swollen legs and join the line.

I saw Mr. Eliasberg stumble out. He was old and weak, looking dazed from being awakened from a deep sleep. His thin gray hair was standing straight up on his head. He tried to hurry out to the yard, but someone brushed too close to him and knocked him down. He struggled to get back up, but before he could even get to his hands and knees, they shot him.

Good-bye to Mr. Eliasberg. Do not look at him. Do not think about him. Harden your heart. Remember, the softhearted do not survive. The softhearted do not survive! Good-bye, clumsy, silly Mr. Eliasberg.

The Germans fired more shots as mothers wailed and pleaded, as children were discovered hidden in barrels and closets, as latecomers made their way across the yard, their treasures loaded onto their backs. The message was clear: Do only as they say, exactly as they say, or your yellow, bilious blood will be all that runs over these stones.

Poor Anya tried to stand tall, her eyes like two black stones staring out from sockets too large for her head. She wanted to appear older than she was, but her body was too thin, too frail, too tiny. She still looked six years old, but she held her head high and I knew, despite her appearance, there stood a child with the wisdom of an old woman and a heart so big and soft it had cushioned the blows of the ghetto for all of us.

A gloved hand came down on her shoulder and yanked her from the line, and Mama, who had been holding on tightly to Anya's left hand, came flying out with her, almost knocking over the
Krippo.
He was young, maybe eighteen or nineteen, and his rosy, blue-eyed face bore such an expression of hatred I thought he would shoot them both right there before my eyes. Had Bubbe not been holding on to me, I would have flung myself onto the man, and with any luck, at least have scraped off the crazy smile frozen like winter on his face.

Two Jewish Police came up behind the
Krippo
and grabbed Mama and Anya and tossed them onto the wagon before the
Krippo
could decide whether to shoot or toss. It was all that they could do now, and perhaps it was futile, this attempt to prevent more bloodshed. They were merely delaying the inevitable, weren't they? I was grateful to them just the same.

Mrs. Hurwitz now stood to my right, filling in the space that Mama and Anya had left. Her body was bent forward, her head flopped onto her chest, and as I stared at this woman who had aged maybe twenty years in the past week, I could not believe that she was the same person who worked by my side, her thick, strong arms scrubbing back and forth on the stairs, just a few years ago. I had wanted to be like her, but now I saw her strength was only muscular and easily stripped away by starvation.

Of course they pulled her out of the line and tossed her onto the wagon, the silly fool. If they hadn't, I think I would have. Her they could have; just give me back Mama and Anya.

I looked over at the wagon already overflowing with arms and legs. It was ready to pull out. Mama and Anya stood up and blew final kisses. I tried to blow some back, but my mouth had frozen into some horrible contortion that I could see mirrored on the faces of others, like me, who were left behind. It was a wild look, our mouths open and drawn back across our faces, our cries, our screams, no more than air escaping from our lungs, soundlessly bellowed across the yard.

As the wagon began to jerk forward and move out toward the street, I saw Mrs. Hurwitz rise up from the heap, and with her head held as high and proud as Mama's and Anya's, she waved to me. She had gotten what she wanted. Then the three of them turned away from us and linked arms. They were ready.

I didn't need my secret friend, with the face that had peered so knowingly at me every time I faced death in some way, to whisper to me that they would be all right. That the Germans, no matter what they chose to do with them, would never defeat them, I already knew. Still, she came, and that was a comfort.

I CAN'T SEE.

It doesn't matter. I don't want to see, or hear. I'm all alone here.

I'm so cold.

"Hil? Hil, it's me. It's Brad. I probably don't have much time. Your mother just went to get some coffee. She's crazy, you know that?"

Please, I want Mama. I want Anya back. How can they just do that? How can they just take them and treat them like—like...

"Things are good. We've got some more people, more warriors, and that other girl—that Megan O'Toole. Remember her?"

They should have taken me, not Anya. She was so good. She was always so cheerful, full of life. What am I? I'm a burden. I'm a burden to Bubbe and Jakub.

"There's a parade next week down in Washington, D.C., and a bunch of us are going. We'll show them how big we are. We're going to march in full uniform. We've got those leaflets, too, and we're going to drop them out of a window somewhere. It's big, Hil, like we wanted, remember? They'll be coming from all over the U.S."

She always had extra food for me. Why would God take her? She was the strong one. And Mama, so good. I need her. I need them. Doesn't God see? Doesn't He know?

God, listen to me.

"The police, they're on our backs, they're on us all the time, and they don't see we're doing them a favor. Hey, we're just getting rid of all the undesirable elements. Right, babe? The Jew lovers."

God, it should have been me. Why didn't I volunteer to go on that truck? Why did I hold back? How could I have let Mama and Anya just go? Where are they? God?

"That Megan, the new girl, she's one violent piece of work. Tiny, like you, but all fire. Pure hate, you know? She's here, now, in this building. I—I said it was all right if she wore your jacket. You left it down in the meeting room. It's a good thing, huh, or it would have gotten all tore up in the wreck. You wouldn't want my birthday present to you in shreds. She's taking good care of it. It fits her."

Could I pray? Would that help?

"Hey, two Jews were shot a couple of nights ago. That's good, huh? It was one of us, but I
don't know who. No one's saying. They'll be all over me again, now that they got my name. Hey, who cares, right? For the cause. Heil, Hitler, man. It's worth it to go to jail, but if I go, I'm going to take a Jew out first, even if it's just a little Jew, a little Simon Jew. It's one less, right? Yeah, if I'm going to jail, I'm going to make sure I did something worth going for."

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven....

"Things are heating up, Hil. That's a pun, in case you didn't know. Right now, while I'm talking, things are heating up. Megan's down in one of them ladies' rooms setting up the fireworks. This whole building's going to go up in flames. You're a hero, Hil, Remember that. You're dying for the cause. White Power!"

Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Yes. Deliver us from evil. Dear God, deliver us from evil.

"Hil, I've got to go. I can hear your mother coming. How does she walk in those pointy-heeled slipper things she wears? She's crazy. Heil, Hitler, babe. See you in hell."

"
BUBBE
, why are we still here?" I heard myself asking as I sat in the dark, huddled on the floor, my throbbing head resting against a strange wall.