“But there are hundreds of thousands of us gone now. Surely they can’t have murdered them all?”
I sounded like Samuel, and recognizing his words in my mouth made me sob all the harder. Chaim tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling but said nothing. I wanted to argue with him, to bargain with him, to do whatever it took for him to admit that there was no truth behind the story. But I knew in my heart of hearts that the time for self-delusion had passed.
“How sure are you?” I managed after a while.
Chaim lifted his chin and looked me right in the eye.
“Sure enough that I’m telling you not to hold on to hope, my friend. False hope will only hurt you. It’s time for you to grieve.”
“Grieving is what you do when those you love are lost to you. They have not been lost to me,” I said in disgust, weeping. “They have been taken from me. There is a difference.”
Hours later, we had moved only as far as the living room floor. I couldn’t bring myself to return to the bedroom, but every soft space in the apartment had once been someone’s bed, so I couldn’t bear to sit there, either. We sat on the floor, backs against a wall, and we had been sitting in silence for some time.
“I’m not going to grieve them,” I said eventually.
“You can’t not grieve them, Roman,” he said softly. “That isn’t something you can choose not to do.”
“You’re wrong. I am going to channel every bit of my rage and my loss into action. You have to tell me how I can help with your rebellion.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a few days before we talk about this?” he asked hesitantly. “I’ve given you so many opportunities to get involved over these past few months... It was obvious that you didn’t want to be a part of what we are doing.”
“I had to protect my family,” I said. “Now I have nothing left to lose.”
18
Emilia
Sara was waiting in the hallway when I opened the front door to my apartment on Monday morning. The minute I saw her there, I knew something had gone horribly wrong. She motioned silently for me follow her back into her apartment and as soon as the door closed, I asked, “What is it?”
“I’m so sorry, Elz·bieta. Roman’s entire family was deported yesterday.”
“But we didn’t get Dawidek out yet,” I whispered, instantly dizzy with shock.
“No,” she said, sighing. “No, we didn’t.”
“Roman is gone?”
“No,” Sara said carefully. “Matylda spoke with Andrzej. Roman was at the youth center when his building was cleared.”
I wanted to feel relief that he was alive, but I knew instantly that Roman would not be relieved. I had become so fond of him over our visits, and if there was one thing I was sure of, it was that Roman Gorka had been living and breathing for his family.
“He won’t survive,” I said miserably. “He won’t survive without them.”
“This roundup yesterday was different—so much larger than the daily roundups over these last few months. It sounds as though many of the young people left behind are planning to take up arms,” Sara murmured.
“He promised his stepfather that he would not join the Resistance,” I said, exhaling a shaky breath. “But with his stepfather gone...”
“It is horrifying to be the only remaining member of a family,” Sara said quietly. “I suspect he will try to fight with the other young men. I know exactly how desolate it feels to want to burn the world down because you have nothing left to lose.”
“So do I,” I whispered unthinkingly, and Sara gave me an odd look. I startled, realizing belatedly what I had done.
“I’m going to heat some water for tea,” she said slowly. “Perhaps you should think about whether you want me to ignore that statement or whether you would prefer to explain it.”
* * *
“...so we left Trzebinia, and we went to Lodz, but of course Uncle Piotr was actually here starting his new business, so then we came here and found him, and the rest you already know.”
“So you are potentially wanted by the Germans, but you have been showing them your identity card every day for months,” Sara said, frowning.
“Oh, no. Uncle Piotr bought these papers for me. My real name is Emilia Slaska, not Elz·bieta Rabinek.”
Sara closed her eyes as if she were in pain.
“So you mean to tell me that you have been walking into the ghetto with a false identity card every day for months.”
“I didn’t think about how risky that was before I agreed,” I admitted weakly. “And then once we made it through once, I figured it was safe enough. Uncle Piotr seems to have a lot of friends who can pull strings. I knew the card looked genuine.”
“Oh, he has a lot of friends who can pull strings, all right,” Sara muttered, shaking her head. “You do understand what this means? Now that I know, I can’t possibly take you back in.”
“What? But—”
“Elz·bieta—Emilia—I’m as desperate as you to make every visit count. But had I known this, I would never have allowed you to come. This isn’t even about you, it’s about the entire operation. I know that you mean well, but you put us all at risk.”
“But... I also showed them my epidemic-control pass to get in, and that’s not real, either.”
“It is real—Matylda has those passes issued by an ally on the City Council, but he is a real doctor, and his responsibility really is epidemic control. We would never try to go through the checkpoints with a false pass. If we were ever found out, they would shut us down.”
“Matylda will tell you,” I said, raising my chin stubbornly. Right from the beginning, Sara had been more cautious than Matylda, so I was confident that once she knew the truth, Matylda would be undeterred. “She will make you see sense. I have been going in and out of the ghetto for months without any problems. It is no riskier now.”
We made our way into the City Hall offices, and after swapping commiserations at the news of the roundups, Sara explained to Matylda the truth about my identity card. I watched her face grow red as Sara spoke, and her gaze was sharp on my face.
“Do you understand how foolish you have been?”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, casting my gaze downward. But then I fished in my pocket for the card and held it out toward them. “But you can see it looks real. It is as close to real as it could be. There is no new risk—”