Alicia, p.17
Alicia, page 17
I continued to work in the fields for my slice of bread and cup of sour milk, plus an additional piece of bread if any was left over from lunch. I had learned a neat trick to discover whether the farmers were Poles or Ukrainians. I have said before that the people of that area were highly religious. The Poles were Roman Catholics and the Ukrainians, Greek Orthodox. The standard greeting in both languages was “Praised be Jesus Christ” and the response would be “Forever and ever, Amen.” Polish and Ukrainian are very similar languages. I decided to mumble the greetings. The listener really could not tell which language I was using. I would listen carefully for the reply and then use whichever language I heard. This worked wonderfully well and gave me a chance to select either my Polish name, “Helka,” or the Ukrainian name, “Slavka,” which I had borrowed from my friend.
I also tried, whenever possible, to work the fields where there were only women, children, and older men; I avoided fields where young men worked. If the field belonged to a Ukrainian farmer, such young men might belong to the police or to the Bandera national organization. They could be on leave to help their family with farm work and would be more likely to notice me and turn me in.
On this particular morning, however, I could find work only in a Ukrainian field where there were young men present. Looking back on it, I think it must have been fate that placed me there in that particular spot at that exact time, because as I weeded I overheard part of a conversation between two other workers weeding nearby.
“Are you certain they were Jews?” asked one fellow.
“Of course! Who else could they be?”
“Gypsies, maybe?”
“Jews.”
“Did you give them anything?”
“What do you take me for?”
“Jews in this area. I can’t get over it. How long has it been?”
“Not long enough.” The two men laughed. Then:
“What is being done about taking them to Buczacz?”
“Don’t worry about that; Stephen is already seeing to it.”
“How so?”
“He followed them after they left the village. Tonight he and the boys will bring them to the police station in Buczacz.”
“He knows where they are, then?”
“In the wheat field. You know, the one near the flour mill.”
“It’s funny, you know? I thought all the Jews were dead.”
“Oh, they are; these are just the last few. Don’t worry, we’ll get them too.”
Laughter.
It was only a brief conversation, but it was all I needed to hear. My first fear, of course, had been that they had discovered my mother, who was hiding in a wheat field. But not a field near the flour mill, thank God. And the man had said there was more than one. Who could it be? Basia, her mother, and sister? God forbid; I felt a cold fear grip my insides. I began to tremble, and had to sit down for a moment to control my wobbly knees. But I knew I must not attract attention; in fact, I must find a way to disappear from the field altogether.
I continued to weed around the same spot, not moving forward row by row as the others were doing. After a while everyone else was ahead of me; no one behind. I crept backward a few inches at a time, still facing forward in case anyone looked back. When the others were far enough away I bolted from the field, running for the nearest row of bushes. I gasped for breath and peeked through the leaves; no one had followed me. Good. Now it was onward to the field near the flour mill.
That field was actually quite a distance from Wujciu’s. People went to the mill regularly. Basia and her sister and mother were not likely to hide there if they had decided to spend the day in the fields. Besides, they had told me that they didn’t go begging; so I realized that the Jews hiding in the field could only be strangers.
It took me quite a while to reach the mill. I had to be very careful when walking in broad daylight. I walked at the edge of the fields and whenever I saw people even from far away I dove into the field until they were out of sight. I had noticed the mill before, but I had to retrace my steps several times before I finally found it.
I stood still for a minute, trying to plan how best to handle the situation. I had to guess which was the field that the men had talked about. From where I stood, the nearest field looked undisturbed. But when I came near it and circled around its edges, I saw the revealing crushed wheat stalks. I went down on my hands and knees and crawled into the field. As I moved through the stalks I realized at once that these people knew nothing about hiding in fields. They had not parted the wheat but had trod it down. They had not moved in a zigzag fashion or started false trails. It was easy to track them, shockingly easy.
As I went farther into the field it occurred to me that the sound of my approach would be frightening to people who were hiding to save their lives, and that I should somehow let them know who I was. So I began to recite the Hebrew prayer every Jew knows. I repeated the words over and over again softly: “Shema Yisrael—Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God; the Lord is One.” It was the first time I had thought of the prayer since the death march outside of Kopechince. I had recited those Hebrew words instinctively in the face of death.
Eventually I could see dark shapes ahead. There, in a tiny clearing they had crushed down, were a woman and two children. A little girl was clinging to her mother and the mother was holding her tightly in her arms. The child could have been about six years old. At the mother’s side was a boy, younger than myself, holding her hand. The three of them stared at me wild-eyed, tensed, and ready to flee. They looked strangely familiar.
“You heard me recite the prayer?” I asked. The woman nodded her head.
“You can’t stay here. You went begging in the early morning in a Ukrainian village. There were Banderovcy in that village and they are coming for you tonight.”
They said nothing, only stared. It was a heartbreaking sight. Lost in the fields at the mercy of murderers, three innocent human beings were to be hunted down like wild animals and killed only because they were of a different religion from that of the hunters. They looked so pitiful, so thin, so afraid.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
The woman cleared her throat. “Buczacz,” she said.
“I thought so. I thought you looked familiar. I am also from Buczacz.”
They relaxed a little at hearing this. I looked at the children’s faces. Hunger and fear had left deep circles around their eyes, which seemed to have sunk deeply into their sockets. Looking at them, I felt I was seeing the last remnants of our people, surviving in agony and fear until whatever destiny time would bring.
“I am going to get you out of here,” I said. “But first you have to know some things.” The woman nodded. I quickly explained how they were to move through the wheat. I even gave a small demonstration, parting the stalks and disappearing for a moment, then working my way back quickly. The woman nodded again. There was no response from the children; I didn’t know if they understood or not.
“Now,” I said, “when we leave this field we are not going to bother to take care. When they arrive tonight they will see that you have been here; we can’t hide that. But when we reach the next field, I want you to do as I have told you, and stay behind me. Don’t talk until I say you can.” That seemed like a wasted point, the children had yet to say a word.
I quickly led them from the field; we crawled on our hands and knees. I made them wait just inside while I checked the area for other people. Luckily there were none. I hurried them out. I took them around edges of fields, not through them. It was wise not to cross inside a wheat field if it could be avoided, since even with the greatest care some sort of trail would be left behind. So we moved quickly past the fields, bending down all the while to make ourselves less visible.
As we moved along, my mind raced. Where could I take these people? To Wujciu? No. Absolutely not. There were already five people hiding in his tiny kitchen. I couldn’t raise the number to eight. Even if I wanted to, Wujciu would never stand for it. What else, then? The ravine? It was fairly safe, but I would not be able to feed them all by myself.
They would have to go begging again or starve. None of them could work. They looked pitiful in their old city clothes and would be spotted as Jews the minute they were seen. Besides, the mother couldn’t leave the children alone. At first I thought perhaps I could take the boy along to work in the fields. But it was hard for me to avoid arousing suspicion among the farmers as it was and I looked like a village girl. The appearance of another child out of nowhere would start the farmers talking. There was no way. I knew I had risked discovery just by having left the field that morning. I could never go back there again.
I decided to take them to our ravine, at least for the time being. It would give me time to think, and they would be safe there. At the ravine they immediately clustered together just as I had first found them—the mother’s arms around the clinging daughter, the son holding his mother’s hand, all three of them staring silently at me. It was unnerving, all that fear and suffering projected at me through demanding, silent eyes. Looking at them hunched together, I realized to my own shame that I was beginning to resent this additional burden. I was getting very hungry, having forfeited the piece of bread I would have normally received had I stayed in the field, not to mention the bread I was going to bring to my mother.
The woman finally spoke timidly.
“Are you sure it is safe here?”
“Where are we safe anywhere in this world?” I answered. “But my mother and I stay here often.”
It occurred to me that if the Banderovcy would make a thorough search of the whole area, they could come as far as this ravine, and even as far as Wujciu’s house. I had to chase those terrible thoughts away, otherwise I might panic, and that would have been the worst thing to have happened at that moment.
Luckily the woman spoke again.
“Where do you stay now?”
“I can’t say.”
My quick and negative response hit the woman like a slap in the face, and she quickly looked away. She couldn’t afford to anger me; we both knew that. I felt doubly bad for having spoken so sharply.
“I have actually been in this area for a few weeks,” I said. “I have found a way to hide with some degree of safety, at least I want to think so. But it has not been easy. I work in the fields for a piece of bread until there is no more strength left in my body, and then I drop off to sleep wherever I can.” This was not entirely a lie; I often slept under the stars rather than at Wujciu’s.
“I see.” The woman nodded understandingly.
“What are your children’s names?” I asked. The woman reached for the boy’s arm.
“This is my son, Benjamin, and this is my daughter, Rutka. My name is Sarah Hening.”
I had not asked after her husband or even how they had come to this area. It wasn’t really important. The man was probably dead; that they were still alive was all that mattered.
The problem of what to do with this family kept turning over and over in my mind. I was sure about one thing—our destinies were now linked for better or for worse, and my destiny was linked to that of a dear, angelic old man.
We stayed together all day, dozing on and off, drinking water from the jug my mother and I kept hidden in the ravine. When it became dark I asked them to follow me to a different place. I still hadn’t mentioned Wujciu to them. I asked them to wait for me in a wheat field quite a distance from Wujciu’s and told them that I would be back shortly. I touched them each gently on the shoulder to reassure them, and left.
My mother met me with a worried expression on her face.
“I was so worried about you, Alicia,” she said in a choking voice, embracing me. “Come in, I have some warm water for you. You can wash your hair.”
“Thank you, dear Mama, but a little later. Can we go outside and talk?”
Once outside, I told my mother about the family. Even in the dark I could see how touched my mother was.
“You will have to speak with Wujciu about them,” she said, but added, “Please do it very gently; he isn’t feeling very well today.”
“I will do my best,” I answered, and we went inside.
The first thing I did after having a couple of slices of baked potato from the stove, a very generous gift from my dear friend Basia, was to offer to delouse Wujciu’s shirt. After he put it on I asked him if I could speak with him in privacy in the hall.
“Wujciu,” I said, putting my hand on his arm, “I have found three poor people who need your help or they will never survive the week.” As I spoke, his benign expression turned to one of a man bracing himself for the worst. He even seemed to sway a little, as though about to fall. I held his arm tighter now.
“Helka,” he said, “do you know what month this is? It is the end of July, and next month is August, when harvest begins. People will be swarming all over the fields near our home. And now you want to hide even more Jews? I must have been mad to ever listen to you.”
I felt as though he had slapped me on the face.
“Why?” I asked. “What ill has come of this? Don’t you have company now? Isn’t your laundry and cooking done for you? When you don’t feel well, isn’t there someone always here to help you? What wrong have we done you, Wujciu?”
He turned away.
“You know what I mean,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Helka, I could be killed if you were found in my house, don’t you realize what that means? I could die for this!”
“What do you mean, don’t I realize?” I said, my voice rising a little.
“Wujciu, my entire family has been murdered. What do you think we are doing here? My father was killed shortly after the Germans arrived. My oldest brother was hanged. My second oldest brother was lined up and shot in a work camp. We don’t even know what happened to my little brother. Every day I go into the fields I wonder if this is going to be the day I will be caught and killed. Every time I leave my mother I wonder if this is the last time I will ever see her. So don’t you—”
“I had nothing to do with any of that!” he cried. “I had nothing to do with that, and you know it. I just wanted to be left alone, and live my life peacefully.”
“And then we came along and made things difficult for you. Is that what you are saying? Has life really become more difficult for you, Wujciu? Are you suffering now? Tell me, because my mother and I are willing to leave this minute. We will go back into the ravine. Maybe I can find a barn somewhere. How long do you think we will last then, eh? How long do you think my mother will last during the winter, with no shelter, tell me, Wujciu?” I stopped myself; I realized I was screaming at him.
I could feel through his arm that his body tensed suddenly. He began to cough and stagger a bit, and for a moment I was afraid he was going to have a seizure.
“Let me help you,” I said, but he angrily shook off my hand. I ran into the kitchen to get the only chair in the house. My mother followed me back into the hall.
She helped Wujciu to sit down. The old man braced himself against the back of the chair. I sat down on the floor near him and put my head on his still-trembling knee.
“Wujciu, we have no choice but to take these poor people in.” I lied, “They know where we are hiding now. We can’t turn them away even if we wanted to.”
I fell silent. Suddenly I felt something touch my head ever so gently. Wujciu let out a great and deep sigh.
My mother broke the silence.
“Wujciu,” she said gently, “we will be able to manage all right. We will share the food as we have done from the start. And there is a young boy who can keep you company.” She patted his back lightly and motioned for me to get up and get the family. I did so quickly.
We all filed into the small kitchen, the children staying behind their mother. I introduced them to Wujciu, who completely ignored their presence. I knew this troubled Sarah, but I also knew she had nothing to fear. Wujciu was beaten; I had beaten that sweet old man. Tears welled in my eyes, and I turned and hurried out of the house. Behind me I could hear my mother’s soothing voice welcoming the tired family and setting them at ease.
Outside I sat on the ground near the well, silent tears streaming down my cheeks. I had done a low, dishonorable thing. I had forced an old man’s hand, overpowered him, taken advantage of him. A noble, lovely man like Wujciu. It is true I had done it only to save lives, but it still left a bitter taste in my mouth.
My mother came out of the house looking for me.
“Mama,” I said hoarsely, “I think I will spend the night in the ravine. I don’t want to go back in there right now.”
She smiled a sad smile and stroked my hair.
“You did the right thing, sweetheart,” she said. “Wujciu knows that.”
“All the same,” I said, “I would prefer to be alone tonight.” There was a pause, and then I added, “You know I did not get food today.” She put her arm around me and pulled me close. “I have discovered something very interesting,” she said. “Now that it is close to harvest time and the wheat is ripe, I have been chewing on the grains. They don’t taste bad really, and they break your hunger. You must chew them well, though.”
She hugged me again. “Will I see you tomorrow, then?”
