“It was!” I exclaimed, feeling suddenly stupid that I’d forgotten. “Do you think I should go there now to find her?”
“No, that’s fine. You just rest. I will go past the tram stop on the way to pick up the bag just in case Sara is there waiting for you. I’ll see you in half an hour.”
As I hung up the phone, relief washed over me, and my thoughts began to calm. I finally noticed the sour smell throughout Sara’s apartment: Eleonora had soiled herself in the bag, and my vomit was all over the carpet. I found a towel in Sara’s linen closet and tried to clean the baby as best I could, then I repeated this process on the carpet.
When this was done, I sank onto the sofa and stared at the baby. She was sleeping again, her breathing rhythmic and easy. I touched my fingertip to her cheek, just where I’d seen her father press a kiss.
I rose from the couch, retrieved some paper from Sara’s desk and poured my terror and relief and confusion and courage onto it, capturing a sketch of the baby in black-and-white, concrete images, on paper where the world made sense.
16
Roman
My mother was sitting on the front stairs to the apartment when I arrived home that evening. She was drawn and pale but dry-eyed. It was rare to see her outside of the apartment since her pregnancy had become visible, and while I was relieved to not have to wonder if anyone was inside, I was immediately wary at the sight of her.
“Roman,” she said quietly, then patted the space on the stair beside her. “Sit with me.”
I did, and for a moment, we sat in silence watching the street. The children across the road were begging again. I noticed that the elderly man and woman I’d often seen on the doorstep across the road were gone. Were they gone or just indoors?
“Before you go in, there is something I need you to know.”
I glanced at my mother, startled at the severity of her tone.
“Mother, you’re scaring me.”
“Everyone is fine,” she assured me. “I sent Eleonora with the social workers today. They are taking her to a family in the village, away from the city. Her new father is a doctor, and her new mother lost a baby a few weeks ago. They have breast milk and papers and love to spare. Eleonora will slip into the family, and no one will even know any different.”
I could not believe that we were discussing this in such a dispassionate fashion. I stared at my mother, trying to understand how, mingled with the strain and the desperate grief on her face, I could also see joy. Mother wasn’t just grieving. She was also deeply relieved. We had all done everything we could to make Eleonora well, but it truly was best for her to be elsewhere. Even aside from the deportations, this was necessary, plain and simple.
“I’m so sorry, Mother.”
“I miss her already, Roman, but I’ll rest tonight in a way that I haven’t rested since I realized I was pregnant,” she whispered, blinking away tears. I reached for her hand and squeezed it, hard. “I want you to know that I’m going to do everything I can to get you and Dawidek out of here. I trust Samuel, and I love him. He believes that there is good in people, despite all the evidence we can see with our eyes. But we cannot sit idly by anymore and wait to be rounded up. We need to escape, and although it will probably be impossible for me and Samuel to go with you, there is surely a way we can get you children out of here.”
I could not bear to think about being away from her and Samuel. Not yet anyway. Besides, before we could even think about trying to find a way for me to evacuate, we had to help my brother.
“Dawidek must be our highest priority.”
“It is not so simple for him. His hair, his eyes... Plus, he will need to learn to speak in Polish all of the time, and you know he defaults to Yiddish...” Mother sighed. “It is my fault. It was easy to let his Polish slip here. We need to insist he speak Polish only now, to help him remember.”
“I can do that.”
“I know you can,” Mother said softly.
“So...” I cleared my throat, feeling myself flush with shame again as I thought about that girl and the fear in her eyes when I lost my temper the previous week. “Was it the same social worker? The same apprentice?”
“Her name is Elz·bieta. She left a message for you. She said to tell you that she forgives you. You wrote her a note to apologize?”
I grunted and shrugged. My mother touched the back of her hand to my cheek, and I looked at her hesitantly.
“You are a good person, Roman.”
“You always say that to me,” I said uneasily. “I just feel so much, and I don’t always know how to make the right decisions.”
She dropped her hand, then jabbed her forefinger against my chest.
“You, my son, get lost in your mind sometimes. But your heart is pure, and when you listen to it, I see who you really are. A good person. Like your father. Both of your fathers.”
I caught her hand in mine, and I squeezed it gently.
“Like my mother,” I murmured. Her eyes filled with tears again, and she gave me a sad smile.
“I don’t know about that. But I know this much—watching you grow into a man has been one of the best parts of my life. I wish Florian could see you now. He would be as proud of you as I am.”
The emotion in her eyes had grown to be too much for me. I shifted on the stair, then motioned to the door behind us.
“Should we go inside?”
“Now that I no longer need the extra food, can you come straight home from your workshop job? To spend time with Dawidek...to practice his Polish?”
“Of course,” I said. Her request had solved an immediate problem for me. Now I could work in the youth center kitchen during the day and use the tickets I earned for food for myself.
My mother nodded and said quietly, “Go in and get started with Dawidek. I’ll be in soon. I just want to enjoy the afternoon light.”
As I stood, I looked up and down the street. I saw very little to enjoy: so much suffering, overcrowding, pain. But I also saw the way golden rays of light squeezed between the buildings, falling onto the street. I saw a hint of blue sky overhead. Two children across the road were playfully wrestling, and every now and again a smile would break on their filthy faces.
And then I saw my mother, her shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders, her dark hair in a bun behind her head, her eyes closed, tears running down her cheeks and a sad smile on her lips.
In my mother’s face, I saw courage and a selflessness I could barely fathom. I wanted to record the image of her like that in my memory forever. She had never seemed more beautiful to me.
* * *