Under a sunburnt sky, p.12
Under a Sunburnt Sky, page 12
Jan and his family lived in Old Town, but Irka’s apartment was in Praga, almost five kilometres away. And with the state of transportation the way it was, Jan would’ve walked all the way there unless he was willing to pay for a taxi, but money was tight for them all.
“The transports continue each day,” said Jan in answer to a question from Tata about the Umschlagplatz. “I’ve watched from nearby, and it seems to me they take about five or six thousand Jews per day. There are other trains too, taking Poles, Gypsies, Russians and other prisoners down the same track. They’re headed for Treblinka.”
“The labour camp there must be rapidly filling up. How long can it go on like this?” Tata glanced around the room, his question lingering in the air. But none of them had an answer for him.
Nacha couldn’t imagine how large a camp must be to hold so many Jews, not to mention the Poles and others who were also being sent. “It must be very big.”
Jan’s gaze met her own for a moment and his blue eyes crinkled at the edges. “I’m grateful you’re not on the train, but I can’t help worrying for Babcia and Papa, along with all of the others.”
Tata ran fingers over his smooth, dark hair. He slammed a fist down on the table, startling them all and making Nacha jump. “We’ve got to find a way to get them out of there.”
“I’ve tried, but I can’t find a way into the ghetto. It’s too heavily guarded, and even the guards I usually bribe are refusing to help. None of the smugglers are getting through any longer.” Jan shook his head. “I’ll keep trying, though. In the meantime, we’ve got to come up with a solution for all of you. The four weeks is almost at an end.”
Tata paced across the kitchen and back again. “Where can we go? What are our options?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Jan said. “I could smuggle you into the Otwock ghetto. It’s smaller and still peaceful.”
“How far away is that?” Nathan asked.
“About twenty-five kilometres. We’d have to hire a taxi, but Mother and I have been saving for it.”
Tata rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. “It’s a possibility. We wouldn’t stand out. But what are the chances they’ll begin to deport Jews from there to Treblinka as well?”
“Probably high,” admitted Jan. “But I could smuggle you out again if that happens.”
“I’m not sure where else you could go,” Irka added. “People are turning in any Jews they see. They’re afraid that if they don’t, the Gestapo will come for them and their families.”
Tata sighed. “It is our best option. We’ll do it. Let us know when, Jan. We’ll be ready.”
17
20th August 1942
The ghetto in Otwock was a smaller facility than the Warsaw ghetto, and wasn’t as heavily guarded. It contained two sections divided in half by the railway tracks that ran from there north to Warsaw and beyond to Treblinka to the northeast.
Jan investigated the ghetto from the outside the day before their journey and found an easy way in beside the sanatorium, an enormous white five-story building that backed onto a thick, green wood. Patients wandered in an outside garden during the warmth of the summer days, and Jan was certain he could get Antoni, Nathan and Nacha into the garden easily enough.
He arrived at his Aunt Irka’s apartment early in the morning, when the sun had not yet heated the day. A crow cawed rhythmically nearby, and he shuddered at the sound. He wasn’t one for superstition, but he’d never liked the black birds.
The sooner he had the family safely ensconced in the Otwock ghetto, the sooner he could relax. He’d seen the way the neighbours looked at him each time he visited his aunt’s apartment, and he didn’t trust them not to become more inquisitive over his motives.
He slipped into the apartment while the family was still eating breakfast. Then they washed the dishes quietly and finished packing their small suitcases. Nacha tied a scarf over her head, and they were ready.
They said their goodbyes to Aunt Irka, who cried over them, kissed them each on the cheeks, and told them she’d be praying for them. Irka was the only one with wet cheeks when finally they left. The others were each too lost in their own thoughts and worries about what lay ahead for tears.
The mood was grim. Jan did his best to calm their fears, but it was no use. They were in danger, and he couldn’t predict what would happen to any of them. Even the cab driver could report on them to the Gestapo or they could run into a group of SS soldiers in the street. Anything was possible. And the possibilities were the things that kept Jan on edge.
“Perhaps we should catch a train to Otwock instead of wasting money on a taxi,” suggested Nathan as they hurried down the street.
“The same train station where Jews are being herded into cattle cars for Treblinka?” hissed Nacha.
Antoni stopped their headlong pace with a hand on Jan’s arm. He faced his children with a look of warmth and compassion on his lined face. “We can’t turn on each other now. We’re all we have.”
Nacha’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I’m sorry, Tata. I don’t mean to snap.”
“We’re all anxious,” added Nathan, reaching out to squeeze his sister’s arm lovingly.
She offered him a half smile. “You drive me crazy, but I love you still.”
He laughed. “I’m glad to hear it. I guess you’re not so bad either. Although you do have a sharp tongue at times.”
“I’ll work on it, I promise. Tata is right. All we have is each other,” she said, and pressed her lips together.
Jan scanned the street, looking for any sign of trouble. Pedestrians dodged between vehicles and carts as they ran up and down the street.
Nearby, a horse pulling a large wooden cart filled with produce stopped and dropped its head towards the ground as though exhausted. The driver lashed its back with a whip, and it plodded onwards.
A police officer directed traffic at the nearby intersection, his black uniform and black gloves contrasting with the pale sandstone building behind him. A woman pedalled a rickshaw past, ferrying a fashionably dressed woman with her teen daughter in front of her.
As soon as there was an opening, Jan hurried the family across the road, and they merged into the crowd on the other side.
“The train is a good idea. But we don’t have the identification we need,” whispered Jan as they strode together along the street. “We’ll have to pay for a cab, I’m afraid.”
“Of course,” agreed Antoni. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
As they neared the intersection, Jan noticed the police officer’s eyes on them. He studied them intently, even as he changed hand signals to steer traffic in the right direction. His brow furrowed beneath his smart black cap, and he took a step in their direction.
“You there!” he called.
Jan pretended not to see him. All his attention was focused on the passing vehicles as he searched for a taxi to take them away. Nacha stepped down into the street just as a motorcycle whizzed past.
Jan raised an arm to stop her. “Wait!” he cried.
She gasped as his arm impacted against her throat. “Ouch.”
“I’m sorry, but that motorcycle almost hit you.”
“There’s a taxi rank,” said Nathan, pointing to a line of people waiting at the curb ahead of them.
“Hey, you!” shouted the officer again, his voice growing louder. “Wait right there. I want to see your papers.”
“Hurry,” whispered Antoni.
The four of them scurried along the footpath, dodging and ducking between pedestrians. As they drew closer to the taxi rank, the last of the people in line stepped into a shiny black cab. They were at the head of the line.
Jan stood on tiptoe and saw that the policeman had left his position in the intersection and was pursuing them down the street at a clipped pace. He scanned the road for any sign of a taxi. He saw one making its way slowly towards them behind a large truck full of sheep. The truck lurched and swayed as it ground down the gears, then back up again.
“It’s as if he’s never driven before,” spat Antoni in frustration.
The policeman marched closer, almost within speaking distance now, as Jan waited impatiently for the cab to pull up to the curb in front of them. Finally, the truck inched its way past them, and the taxi parked in front of them.
Without waiting for the driver to get out and open the door for them, the four quickly piled into the back seat.
“Otwock, and in a hurry!” shouted Antoni.
The driver’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he complied with a quick shift of pace, pressing his foot to the accelerator and pulling away just as the police officer rushed towards them through the press of the crowd. He reached out a hand to grasp the door handle, but he was too late.
As the car merged into traffic, Jan lay back against the seat with a sigh, his heart thudding so loud, he could feel it.
“Phew! That was close,” whispered Nathan.
“Shh,” admonished Antoni with a glance at the driver.
“Where in Otwock?” asked the man as he changed gears.
“The sanatorium,” replied Antoni.
“That’s in the ghetto now. But I can get you close.”
Smuggling the Wierzbickas into the Otwock ghetto was easier than Jan had thought it would be. The guards were relaxed and didn’t follow protocol when it came to walking the fence line. The locals ignored them completely, and the Jewish Police inside the ghetto were nowhere to be seen.
Once they were in, Jan helped the family locate an abandoned apartment. The houses in the ghetto were like nothing Jan had ever seen before. They passed by wooden Świdermajer villas that looked as though they’d fallen from the pages of a fairy tale. The villas were large, with wide wooden verandahs on the bottom and top levels.
“Wow, look at that one,” said Nacha, pointing at a particularly impressive blue building with glistening glass windows on three levels and sweeping gardens.
“This is where the wealthy used to come to relax. It’s close to the sanatorium, and holiday makers would come here in the summer months to bathe and rest in the sunshine. Of course, all that was before the war and before they turned Otwock into a ghetto.”
Before long, they found a small grouping of apartments and one that was empty. They carried their suitcases up the dark stairwell and into the apartment.
Antoni and Nathan explored the adjoining rooms in the small, dank space. Nacha pulled open the curtains to let light in, but the window was stuck. Jan helped her open it and their hands touched for a single moment, sending a spark of electricity along his skin and up his arm.
He blushed and offered her a brief smile.
“I suppose you’ll leave now,” she said.
Jan thought she sounded disappointed. Likely she was sad to have to move on yet again, and into a ghetto so far from everything she knew. They’d be strangers here, would know no one. He hated to leave them, but he had to get back to Mama and his sisters.
“Mama will be waiting for me.”
“I know she’s worried.”
“Not so very much. She’s grown accustomed to it.” He laughed. “She says I don’t give her a chance to relax between attacks of anxiety and so she’s become immune to their effects.”
Nacha grinned. “I wonder if that’s what’s happened to me as well. I can’t seem to feel afraid any longer, only despondent.”
Jan studied her face—brown eyes so full of light and warmth, long brown hair pulled back into a braid with a blue scarf wrapped neatly over it. Her smile was delightful and her laughter contagious. He’d known her for as long as he could remember, but something was different now.
Antoni returned from the other room with a sneeze. “Well, there is plenty of dust, but it is safe and dry enough. Thank you, Janek.”
Jan nodded. “I will return as soon as we find a better place for you to stay.”
“Is there anywhere else?” Nathan asked.
“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but Mama is looking for an apartment where we might all perhaps live together.”
Antoni’s eyes lit up. “I told her not to bother with that. It’s too risky.”
“But she won’t let that stop her,” replied Jan with a grin. “If she can find a place where no one knows any of us, but also close to the market, she will rent it. Then I will come back to Otwock to get you.”
“We won’t see you before then?” Nacha’s hands twisted together in front of her brown dress.
“You will, no doubt. We all intend to take turns visiting you, bringing supplies and so on, and since we have papers, we can take the train. It will be a much easier and more affordable journey than the one we took today.”
“That’s good to hear.” Antoni cleared his throat. “Tell your mother we are well, and thank you for all you’ve done and are doing to care for us.”
“I will.”
Jan left after embracing each of them, a knot lodged in his throat. They would be safe in the ghetto for now. Still, he hated to leave them knowing they would be so far away from home and in the company of strangers and Nazis.
He said a Hail Mary and offered a prayer to Saint Christopher on their behalf as he jogged through the ghetto in the direction of the train station. He found a place to sneak through the fence when no one was looking and removed the white band from his arm, shoving it into his pocket as he walked.
When he reached the entrance to the ghetto, there was a single guard standing beneath a flimsy-looking archway with a sign overhead announcing the ghetto and its purpose.
Jan stopped beside the guard and lit a cigarette. He inhaled a deep breath of smoke and watched the guard from the corner of his eye.
“Do you have another?” asked the guard in German.
Jan flashed a grin. “Of course. Here you go.” He tugged a cigarette from the packet in his shirt pocket and handed it to the guard. Then he lit it with a match, which he extinguished with a flick of the wrist and threw to the ground.
“Danke.”
“Hey, do you know how long this ghetto is going to be here?”
The guard shrugged as he drew on the cigarette. “They will empty it soon enough.”
“You have orders?”
“We have our duty to perform. Although it will be a big job.” The guard looked wistfully over his shoulder into the ghetto.
“When?”
“In a few months. That’s all I know. They’re working on the Warsaw ghetto first.”
Jan’s heart dropped. Mama had to find an apartment for them all soon or the Wierzbickas wouldn’t last long enough to need it. “Where’s the train station from here?”
The guard directed him towards the station, and Jan took off at a jog. As he ran, he considered his options. If Mama couldn’t find a place for the family to stay and the Wierzbicka family was sent to Treblinka, everything he and his family had done for the past two years would’ve been for nothing.
II
Bees build around the honeycomb of lungs,
Ants build around white bone…
The roof and the wall collapse in flame and heat seizes the foundations.
Now there is only the earth, sandy, trodden down,
With one leafless tree.
“A Poor Christian Looks at the Ghetto” by Czeslaw Milosz
18
15th January 1983
Melbourne, Australia
I often wonder whether my husband has a gift for slumber that I missed out on. He sits still where we drank our tea on the porch outside. His eyes are closed, his mouth slightly ajar, and there is a soft snoring sound emanating through the screen door to where I stand at the kitchen sink, washing our cups.
I love that he can fall asleep anywhere. It’s probably a skill he learned when we were in hiding, the bombs dropping overhead, as the war neared its end. If you can sleep through a Russian invasion, you can sleep anywhere.
He’s nervous about the ceremony. I am too, a little. But I’m more concerned about his mother and how she’ll cope with all the attention. She’s getting older now and is not always fond of large crowds. Who can blame her, after all she’s been through?
All this talk of the past has me remembering things I’d pushed out of my thoughts so long ago. Memories rise to the surface unbidden, catching me by surprise when I’m doing the crossword or playing with my grandchildren.
I think about that apartment where we were prisoners for so long. Prisoners and yet free all at the same time. It’s a difficult thing to comprehend, especially for a teenaged girl. And yet it saved us, that apartment. The bird on the windowsill had more freedom than I did. Yet I lived, and that is what matters most in the end.
I walk to my bedroom and pick up the pillow with the embroidered flower on one side. It’s old and faded—the white pillow slip is yellow. The embroidery is no longer rough, but smooth to the touch and coming apart in places.
I still sleep with it sometimes, my cheek against the soft cotton slip as I feel the flower beneath my fingertips. It’s the only thing I have left from my mother. Everything else is gone. Even my memories of her have faded until I can barely make them out.
Tears wet my cheeks and since I am alone, I let them fall unhindered. The pain and anguish of a teenager still resides deep in my heart. I never really dealt with the trauma. It wasn’t something people did at the time. Life had enough problems of its own without borrowing past troubles.
We moved on—it was healing enough. I had so much to do. Migrating to Australia, raising my boys, helping with the businesses. No time for dwelling on the past or dredging up memories to sift through and cry over.
But there is time now, and I suppose it is better to face the past eventually than not at all. And I’m grateful, of course, for a long life filled with so much joy that sometimes it makes my heart feel as though it could burst.
