I felt so weak that I knew not to get out of bed, although I was desperate to relieve myself, and that’s when another memory struck me: Sara and Elz·bieta’s mother, each helping me to use a pan. Humiliation heated my cheeks, and I wasn’t sure how I would face them. I didn’t have to wonder long because there were footsteps outside my door, and then Sara was there.
“You’re awake!” she exclaimed, as she pushed the door open with her back, while precariously balancing a tray on her forearms. The aroma of soup filled the air, and my stomach rumbled.
“I’m feeling much better. I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for this.”
“You are going to repay me by getting better,” she said pointedly, and then she set the tray on the table beside my bed and surveyed me closely. The heat on my cheeks intensified. “Yes, you look so much better. Now we just have to build you up a little.”
“How long have I been here?”
“A little over two weeks. You’ve been very ill, Roman. You turned a corner while the surgeon and I were trying to figure out how we could amputate your arm.” I looked at her in alarm, and she gave me a weak smile. “At that point, my friend, it appeared it was your arm or your life. You must have heard us speaking and rallied your body’s defenses against the infection.”
I looked down at my hand again and tentatively attempted to move my fingers. Pain immediately burst along my upper arm, and I groaned involuntarily with the force of it. Sara gave me a sympathetic look.
“The bone in your arm was damaged when the bullet hit you. It will heal, but it will take some time. You will have to be patient and treat yourself well while you recover. And speaking of that, it is time for soup. Can you manage it yourself, or do you want me to help?”
“I’ll manage,” I said, as my stomach rumbled again, loudly this time. Sara propped an extra pillow behind my back, then rested the tray of food across my lap. Two rolls and a bowl laden with vegetables, swimming in a thick broth. My vision blurred. “I haven’t eaten a meal like this for years.”
“I’ve been trying to build your strength while you’ve been ill,” Sara said gently. “It will take your stomach some time to get used to substantial meals again. I’m sure you’re hungry; however, you need to take a few bites, then rest. And then, we will repeat. I will reheat that soup a hundred times if I need to. It is much better for you to graze all day than to eat too much too quickly and be ill again.”
I awkwardly scooped the spoon into the soup, then lifted it to my mouth. It was so good—salty and rich and satisfying. I closed my eyes and gave a groan of satisfaction. Beside me, Sara chuckled.
“I’m not known for my culinary skills,” she said wryly. “It’s nice to have my cooking so appreciated.”
“This is delicious. Incredible,” I said, but her words were ringing in my ears: I could feel my body wanting to race through the dish, wanting to devour it all in one sitting. But it would have been a crime to waste such delicious food, and so I resisted the temptation to gorge on it. After a few mouthfuls, I reluctantly motioned toward the tray. “This is the best meal I have ever eaten, but I think I should leave it there for now.”
“Good,” Sara said, satisfied. “Yes, you truly are on the mend at last.” She shifted the tray back onto the table beside the bed and then surveyed me with her gaze. “I imagine that when you escaped, you had something in mind for your future?”
I cast my eyes downward, suddenly ashamed.
“I’m grateful for your help but also so sorry to have put you in danger.”
“There is no need to apologize. I’m only relieved that you’re alive. But...” She cleared her throat, linked the fingers of her hands and rested them on her lap. “Roman, this is a very delicate conversation, and I know that you are still weak, but we do need to discuss it. I have been helping you with your toileting and bathing over these weeks, and I couldn’t help but notice that you are not circumcised.”
I had survived years in the ghetto and the violence and a bloody uprising that had taken almost everyone I loved—only to die from embarrassment as this kind woman discussed my body.
“My father was Catholic,” I mumbled, unable to meet her gaze. “He died when I was young, but he and my mother had decided to raise me in his faith. So...”
“It makes no difference to me, except that it means you have easier options for what happens next. Piotr has contacts—he can get you false identity papers.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Why?”
Her gaze was brimming with pity.
“Simply because it is still the case that sometimes people are good.”
I looked away, eyes stinging with unshed tears, but Sara gently placed her hand on my good arm.
“Stay with me. We can tell people that you are my cousin, you’ve come from out of town after you were injured in a farming accident. This will make sense because people know I am a nurse, and it will explain the comings and goings of the surgeon, should anyone have noticed him. It will mean that you can go about your life. Once you are well, we may even be able to find a job for you.”
“I don’t understand why you would do this for me.”
“Young Elz·bieta has been trying to convince me that it is a miracle you survived, but I don’t believe in miracles. And after all you have seen and done, I suspect that you don’t, either. I can’t help but wonder if your survival is not a testament to the strength of your spirit and your resourcefulness. Whatever happens next with this war and the occupation, this nation is going to need strong, resourceful young people like you. You and I don’t know each other well, but I hope that you know I will do whatever it takes to help protect the younger generation of this nation. They are—you are our future.”
“I’ll find a job,” I promised. “I’ll pay you back for everything.”
“You’ll pay me back by resting and getting well.”
* * *
Elz·bieta came to visit me later in the day. She was carrying a pile of books so high, she had to stretch her neck to look over it.
“You’re awake!” she said cheerfully. “I could barely believe it when Sara told me. How are you feeling? How’s your arm? Have you had enough to eat? I brought you some books, but I wasn’t sure what you liked so I brought you a little collection. You’ll be bored, and you need to rest, and you told me that you used to like to read at school, and you wanted to be a lawyer, so then I doubled the pile.”
Finally finished talking, she set the books down on the table beside my bed and gave me a radiant smile. She looked so different, and it took me a moment to figure out why. When she had visited us in the ghetto, her hair was worn around her shoulders, pinned at her crown to lift into a smooth pompadour above her forehead. Now, her eyes seemed lighter and brighter, her hair was braided, and she was dressed in a light floral dress, rather than the professional skirts and blouses I had seen her wearing at the youth center.