Last Stork Summer (10 page)

The large wings of a stork “catch” the rising streams of air. The storks travel like gliders taking advantage of air movement
.
Once airborne, they don’t need to flap their wings; they merely glide on the wind
.

Glory happens when persistence enables us to achieve a goal despite its many obstacles. It was hard to differentiate between the subtle changes that affected our day to day routines. Perhaps, because we’d learned to accept whatever changes the Nazis threw our way, we couldn’t distinguish between the changes that were life-altering and the changes that merely added to our misery. In one way we’d become like the storks I loved so much. We were mute – we had no voice.

* * *

Finally, we were three days away from the Red Cross visit. I was assigned to be a playground helper for the length of the visit. A playground had been constructed next to the school, but none of the children were allowed to play on it until the day of the inspection. Some of the children in this camp had arrived here so young that they’d never been to a playground. Would they even know how to use the giant stride swing, slide or merry-go-round?

None of the girls in our barrack were assigned to the performance. I hated the thought of missing out on the singing and special foods of the festival even if it was only pretend. I thought about what it must be like for the children to put on the show. Not only would they sing and entertain, but they would also
have to put a smile on their faces and pretend they were happy little puppets, strings of coercion attached to their movements. With this realization, I was glad I hadn’t been chosen to sing in the show. With my job, I didn’t have to pretend I was having fun. I only had to monitor the children playing on the playground and step in if something went wrong. So there had been no rehearsals or practices for me or anyone in our barrack. Last night, after we were supposed to be asleep, we were whispering about the upcoming visit. The children involved in the performance were having to stay up later than usual to rehearse their parts, and I was relieved I hadn’t been chosen, because I didn’t know how I would have done it. Anna had been reassigned to the classroom for the visit, but had been severely threatened that she was to speak only if spoken to. She was not to ask any questions or do anything that would draw special attention to herself. I knew Anna took the warning seriously, and wouldn’t dare cause a problem.

For the next two days we did our regular jobs until the last hour before dinner when we were instructed to report to the job assignment we’d be performing for the visit. We were rehearsing. When I arrived at the playground there were only a few children and they clearly didn’t know how to use the play equipment. Eyeing the tall strider swings, confusion filled their faces like a massive flock of starlings, turning and twisting in the sky during flight.

I asked them if they wanted to swing, but they looked at me like they didn’t understand, so I gently picked them up, one by one, and showed them how to hang on to the swings. Then I gently pushed them. They squealed with delight and their eyes turned into huge, wide openings of excitement as they tried to hold on with one hand and cover their mouth with the other. I could tell it was their first time and it nearly made me cry.
How did we end up in this place? How was it even possible that small children had never been to a playground and experienced the joy of
swinging on a swing?
I felt so thankful that I’d had so many years at home before being sent here. I had so many great memories. I had the ability to recall, with abundant detail, many wonderful days I’d shared with my family and friends. These little ones didn’t have that. I couldn’t imagine surviving in this camp without my past to carry me. These youngsters had been born after the war had started. They had never known Poland before Hitler’s domination, a land of nature and natural beauty, culture, traditions, and music. They had only known war, hunger and labor camps. They had come from caves in the woods, sewers in the cities and ghettos, orphanages and impoverished homes. They weren’t empty inside, but had so little to draw strength from, so every day was just like the previous day. They could not remember their home and had nothing to look forward to. They had very few dreams and ideas about what their life could be like away from this regimented routine of suffering.

Maybe that was the glory…realizing what it took for a child to survive this camp, holding on persistently, despite hardships, even though there were so few memories to sustain them or help them look forward to a future. I thought about the blessings in my life. I couldn’t help feeling that tightness in my chest, my eyes filling with tears. I was desperately afraid of crying, partly because if the guards saw or heard me I would receive a beating, but also I was afraid that if I started crying I would never be able to stop the flow of tears. There was a sadness in me that ran so deep I feared it was bottomless. I didn’t know if I could survive knowing the depth of my grief. I pulled myself together. I had to, telling myself, “look around, take a breath, say hello to the first star of the night.” Reassured, I could endure if these small children could, and I continued showing the children how to play.

* * *

The big day finally arrived. The guards woke us extra early and herded us to the showers. We were scrubbed down, rinsed off and thrown clean clothes to put on. I was grateful I’d hidden my coat in Hardy’s dog house the day before. It was the one thing I still had from home, and I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if I lost it, or had it taken from me. I knew it’d be safe with Hardy. No one entered the dog houses except for the dogs and me. Thank goodness the guard hadn’t noticed that I’d arrived with a coat and left without one.

After our showers we were sent to eat an early breakfast. The smell was so different from our usual food. It actually smelled like breakfast; sweet and delicious, soon my mouth was watering. We received milk, sausage and a sweet toast that reminded me of a pastry. Then we were commanded to go to the compound for our instructions.

I hardly recognized the compound. A brightly painted stage had been constructed and we were told we would be viewing the dress rehearsal. Instead of standing, we were seated on wooden benches. I couldn’t help think that all of this excitement was having the exact reaction the Nazis had hoped for. The children looked surprised. You could have heard a feather floating on a breeze, it was so quiet. The seated audience of clean children eagerly anticipated the show they’d heard so much about in the past weeks. The commander came out to speak to us. Our briefing of misrepresentation and fabrication was about to commence.

An avalanche of good-will with a smile on his face, our commander began the day. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile. Usually, his speeches were like a drenching of cold, gray Nazi dogma, dragging us to the depths of our unworthiness, showing us the flaws of being Polish. I couldn’t believe this was the same sour, stern-faced, man who had admonished us monthly over the last several years. Was this the same intimidating monster, who had released his fury on countless victims to
make an example of them? If everything went as planned, the Nazis were actually going to pull off this huge, terrible hoax. I felt sick. I willed the disgust churning in my stomach to stay quiet. I wanted to hear the commander’s message, to witness one more time, the distortion of his message of good will.

How was it possible to fool all of the delegates from the Red Cross? Would they look beyond the surface and see the skinny bodies and vacant faces? I only needed to look around for the answer, though. Hundreds of smiling, clean children wearing new clothes, new paint on the barracks, flowers, playground, school, nutritious meals – it was all part of the plan to keep their crimes hidden.

I grabbed Anna’s hand, so small and cold. I looked down at my lap, willing my mind to return from the disgust at the mountain of deception I was witnessing all around me. I had to find a way to get through this day. I shook my head and vowed to myself that I would never forget the injustice of this place. I would spend the rest of my life letting the world know what Adolf Hitler and his Nazis had done to destroy the lives, hopes, and dreams of the children of Poland. Glory is the power to renounce obstacles, and complete with full consciousness, the journey before us. The storks showed us that, year after year. I had a journey to complete also.

The overall population of white storks in Western Europe has declined steadily over the past century
.

The Red Cross visit had come and gone. Everything had worked just as the Germans expected. That very night, after the delegates were gone and a safe distance from our camp, the old ways of doing things resumed. Clean straw mattresses were taken off our beds, and the old ones were put back on. Dinner that night was watery soup with a few potato peels. Soldiers congratulated one another on pulling off the big hoax. The camp commander had us stand at attention for over an hour and listen to another tirade about Germany’s greatness.

There was a heavy, quiet grief that hung over our camp. A rug had been pulled out from under us. We lay scattered on the floor like pixie sticks…only there was no one to pick us up. For the first time in years, we had gotten to experience what life used to be like for some of us, and what life could be like for others. It lasted for what seemed like an instant and then it was gone…poof…just like a mirage. Not only was all our hard work for the last several weeks gone, but now there was nothing to look forward to.

Faced again with the cruel, oppressive austerity of camp life, I escaped to my world of memories. I thought about a trip my father and I had taken about a year before the war. We were going to drop off one of his herding dogs. We drove to a small German village in our work truck. We arrived at a farm a few miles out of a village. The farm looked very tidy and clean. When we entered the house to speak with the farmer my father realized something wasn’t right. He told me to take the dog and go sit in the truck. I was very confused, but quickly did what he’d told me. I had
never seen him decide to take a dog back home, but I didn’t question him. The dog and I sat in the truck waiting for my father to return. I’d noticed the thin, large-eyed woman with three small children clinging to her skirts. I also remembered the sparseness of the house, but I couldn’t understand what my father had seen that I hadn’t. For some reason he was able to detect that his dog wouldn’t be treated properly, and to this day I don’t know what he saw. He only said that it wouldn’t work, but he never told me why. I hoped against all odds that at least one of those Red Cross delegates had the ability to see beyond the façade; to see all of the misery and sadness that existed here with these children. Surely one of the delegates would be able to see beneath the veneer and detect the abuse?

At least one “student” escaped minutes before the Red Cross delegates arrived. It was Berta. From all the stories being told about her escape, I figured there had to be some truth in it. She was able to escape because our schedule was totally different with the Red Cross delegates here, so the sentries wouldn’t expect it. Even if her escape had been detected right away it was a sure bet that an all-out manhunt wouldn’t be launched. A manhunt wouldn’t look good to the delegates and wouldn’t fit in with the Nazis’ story of an ideal school. After all, why would children want to leave if everything was so good here?

Someone thought she had hidden in a pile of fresh straw that was on the bed of a cart. When the farmer came to take back his wagon, she rode out of the camp underneath all the straw. The timing was perfect…just before the delegates’ arrival. But even though there was lots of speculation, no one really knew. I was sure about one thing though; Berta was too smart and too caring to have told her plan to anyone. She knew how the girls in her barrack would suffer after the guards started questioning. If the girls knew nothing, the guards would recognize that immediately. After an escape, the rest of the children in the barrack usually paid the price of starvation or beatings until someone
told what they knew. Since this escape was planned and carried out by Berta only, the guards realized quickly that no other children were involved.

I questioned in my mind if she had help from the outside. Could the Resistance have helped her or was it truly an unsuspecting farmer just doing his job? Was he a resister, who put himself and his family at great risk, or was he a collaborator with the Nazis in order avoid trouble? What would happen to the farmer who pulled the wagon out of the camp…what would happen to his family? I hoped and prayed her escape would be successful and that she would find her way back to her family. I had a feeling of great pleasure seeing the Nazis outsmarted by a young girl. I prayed that the soldiers wouldn’t find her. Now like the storks, she was free to glide on the wind. If anyone could do it, Berta could. I whispered a blessing for Berta’s safe passage. It gave me hope. Now I knew our turn to leave this place would come.

Every year Poland welcomes home roughly twenty-five percent of the storks in Europe. That is why the Polish people feel every fourth stork is Polish!

Manifestation means a public demonstration, materialization, exhibition or declaration. The Nazis had shown the world the manifestation of their beliefs. A doctrine of Aryan superiority that included murder, plunder, hatred, suffering and insanity. How was it possible that anything good could come out of all that evil?

For me personally, seeing all the bad simply made me look harder for the good. It wasn’t enough to see it; I wanted to search for it, feel it, touch it, connect to it – in my memories, dreams, nature, and small details of life. Some call it divine light, God’s qualities, goodness or God. It didn’t matter what people called it, but I knew that somewhere deep in my soul, if I could hang on to some part of goodness that still existed in the world, then the evil wouldn’t win, and it wouldn’t consume me like it had so many others. I suppose I owe that drive to see the good to my family. It was how they lived their life every day. An unspoken belief that divine light was always there; it was merely my job to find it, in every situation. A candle that burns day and night shows up more in the dark. I’d managed to find a few small burning candles here. The tricky part was recognizing goodness once I saw it.

* * *

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. Four full
months passed since the delegates visited our camp. The size of our camp was steadily diminishing as children were shipped to other camps. I felt like the Germans were working at a frenzied pace…but maybe I was so tired it just seemed that way. Some days felt like I was walking through syrup. The heaviness of my arms and legs were weighed down by a force I could not explain.

Memories continued to sustain me and got me thinking about how much I missed school. The thought of reading a book again, or sitting in a warm classroom and learning something new, was exhilarating. I longed to pick an apple from the tree I passed every day on my way to school. Not just any apple – a paper apple, with ivory skin and flesh. They dotted the tree on the road from our farm to school. So juicy, the memory made my mouth water. I would eat at least two every day. Basil loved them as well.

I wondered what had happened to the rest of my school mates, children I had known for my entire life. Had they ended up in similar camps? There was only one child from my town in this camp, but I hadn’t had an opportunity to speak with her.

A new girl named, Kashia, told us how her whole village had escaped by abandoning their homes and farms and running into the woods. She told us how they’d dug caves, chopped small trees and used the logs to reinforce the walls. She said it was dirty and cold and it seemed like you were always wet. Kashia spoke about the barbed wire fence being the only difference between this camp and her cave. She said it was hard to be quiet and hungry and cold all the time. The children weren’t allowed to play for fear of being heard by German patrols. Fires were only allowed on days when the weather was so bad that smoke couldn’t be detected. I felt like Kashia might be able to show Anna and me how to survive once we got out of here. Like I used to, she knew which plants to eat and which ones were poisonous. She seemed to know things that living in the woods for years will teach you….like using caution when something doesn’t look
quite right, knowing which stars to use for directions, choosing water that is safe to drink, and building a small shelter. I didn’t trust that I would remember everything I used to know about the forest. When our freedom came, I hoped I could convince Kashia to travel with us for a few days at least.

Some of the children had come here from orphanages. They spoke of similarly overcrowded, miserable conditions before coming here, but there wasn’t barbed wire, soldiers on patrol, or factory work. That always took time to adjust to.

In our camp, several conditions remained constant: work, hunger, exhaustion and fear. My work in the kennel wasn’t as exhausting as it had been. I was actually getting stronger from sneaking small bits of dog food every day. My stomach wasn’t as empty as it had been when I started working in the kennels. Anna had been assigned to the kitchen for one week now, so the potato peels she was sneaking were making a difference. At last our hunger didn’t wake us up at night, like it used to. I was feeling slightly hopeful today.
Maybe we would be out of this place soon
. So many “maybes.” Life teetered on the possibilities; like walking through a maze blindfolded, I felt my way, unsure of where I would end up.

Several months had passed since the soldier had spoken to me about taking Hardy. I considered what that conversation might mean as I started my work in the kennel. Hardy wasn’t around today and I missed him terribly.
He must be out on patrol
. I cleaned the kennel, hauled fresh water, brushed the few dogs that were there and started hauling the waste to the pit just outside the camp. It was always a bit scary being outside the camp fence, as I worried that a soldier would think I was trying to escape and shoot me. I kept a slow, deliberate pace and hummed a song I’d learned in school so my behavior wouldn’t be seen as threatening in any way. I pulled the wagon to the edge of the pit and began shoveling out the waste. There was the forest, just a few yards away, as beautiful as ever, begging me to take a
short walk and forget about all I’d been forced to endure over the last few years. Leaves changing color, squirrels stocking up for winter, cones falling in preparation for renewal and new growth to begin again in the spring, life still resided there.

I looked up at the guard tower. Guns ready, helmets in place, stance of control and authority; the Nazis were ready to defend their territory, and all of the children that now belonged to them. I didn’t think they really cared about the land or children they were patrolling. I was at a dead-end. Would I be able to find a way out of here? The Ghetto we were housed in was being liquidated and we could hear the sounds of terror and grief as families were ripped apart and lives were hurled to destruction. I could hear the storks out on their nests, occasionally clattering their bills; it sounded a bit like distant machine gun fire. It was their way of greeting one another. It was reassuring and yet a bit unsettling how nature went on with its natural rhythm and flow when all of mankind and the world seemed to be acting so crazy and chaotic. They would be leaving any day now for their winter feeding grounds in Africa, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I would survive another winter in captivity and be alive to see them upon their return in the spring.

Winter would be coming soon, and I’d naïvely planned on the war being over by now. Disappointment weighed me down as if I was hauling a backpack full of rocks. My legs felt heavy; my heart was beating slowly from the effort to keep going despite my miscalculation.

“Look for the light, Ewa,” Grandfather whispered in my ear.

My heart lightened. “I will, grandpa.”

I turned the wagon around and headed back through the gate.