“Matylda left a record, and we’ve placed it somewhere for safekeeping. It’s not easy for me to access,” she had said, her gaze sad. “When the war is over, I’ll hand it on to Jewish leaders, and they’ll be able to reunite children with their families...where that’s possible. Eleonora’s new identity is safely hidden there, and until the war ends, it’s best we leave all of those records untouched.”
I trusted her, but everything had changed in the months since that conversation. I now understood that for me the war could end as early as five o’clock that evening. I didn’t want to die without any word of my sister, so as I lingered in the doorway, I drew in a deep breath and asked again.
“Sara?”
“Yes?”
“Can you tell me anything about Eleonora?”
“I thought you would ask again, so I did look her up.” Sara smiled, then said gently, “Eleonora is doing well. She and her new family are safe at Cze˛stochowa.”
My eyes burned with tears of gratitude.
“Thank you, Sara. Truly. For everything.”
Sara’s eyes filled with tears, too, and we stared at each other, an ocean of unspoken words between us.
“Go!” she said suddenly, waving me off as a tear trickled down her cheek. “Do what you need to do.”
I crossed the hallway and thumped on Elz·bieta’s door. Uncle Piotr answered, rubbing his eyes blearily.
“Son,” he said, frowning. He had warmed to me over time and had gradually come to accept my presence in Sara’s apartment. He even procured some handguns for my troop, although we paid a hefty price for the favor.
“It’s happening, Piotr. You need to get them out of the city by five o’clock today.”
“I see,” Piotr said and sighed. “So soon? I have things to finish...”
“Well, I will tell the AK that they need to wait, so you can finish making your money before they free our city,” I said dryly. Piotr shot me a look. “I have to go, but is Elz·bieta awake?”
“I doubt that,” he said.
“I hate to ask...”
“Come in.” Piotr sighed, shifting out of the doorway. He walked toward the kitchen, stopping only to stick his head into the stairwell that led to Elz·bieta’s room to call, “Elz·bieta! You have an early-morning visitor.” Then he muttered something about coffee and shuffled toward the kitchen.
I helped myself to a chair in the sitting room, but soon Elz·bieta appeared, pulling a dressing gown over her pajamas. Her hair was up in a bonnet, and her face was puffy with sleep. My heart contracted painfully at the sight of her.
If anything could have been enough to make me want to survive the war, Elz·bieta Rabinek was it. I loved her fiercely, even though I had never told her as much. It would not have been fair. To tell her I loved her would have meant promising a future, and I knew that we could never share one. She and I spent so much time together over that year—hours upon hours of playful conversation and in-depth philosophical chats. She liked to lie on the floor of Sara’s sitting room to draw while I read, and I liked just being in the same room as her. The Uprising was always going to be difficult on our friendship, and I tried my best to prepare her for that.
“I don’t want to go to Lodz,” she told me flatly as she entered the room. “I want to stay here. The Girl Scouts have auxiliary units. I know they do. Help me find a contact today. They are surely going to need help.” From the kitchen, I heard Uncle Piotr sigh heavily at this.
“Elz·bieta,” I said softly. “This is not your battle.” Her eyes flashed fire.
“Is this not a battle for Polish sovereignty? Am I not Polish?” she said incredulously.
“You are, and Poland is going to need brilliant, creative souls like yours to rebuild.”
“And yours,” she said, frowning at me. I first realized how far gone I was when I caught myself thinking about how adorable her frowns were. “I hate it when you talk like this, as if you’re already dead.”
“I just came to say goodbye,” I said, my throat tight. Between the Rabineks in apartment 6 and Sara in apartment 5, the top floor of this building had become my home because it contained my new family. Leaving was harder than I had anticipated, but I had to do it—my troop, my city and my nation were counting on me. I rose and took a step toward Elz·bieta.
“Go to Lodz,” I said quietly. “Be safe and be well.”
“Come with us,” she whispered. We’d had that conversation, too, several times in the weeks that had passed.
“You know I can’t.”
She closed the gap between us and flung her arms around my waist, pulling me close. I luxuriated in her embrace just for a moment, but then I gently unwrapped her arms and stepped away.
“Tell your parents I said thank-you and goodbye,” I whispered unevenly, as the tears began to pour down her cheeks.
“Tell them yourself when we see you again,” she said flatly. I nodded, then walked toward the door.
“Bye, Piotr,” I called.
“Goodbye, son. Do us proud.”
When I reached the door, Elz·bieta called out quietly.
“Roman?”
I spun to look at her one last time. She was standing with one arm wrapped around her waist, her pale face wet with tears. She lifted her free hand to her lips, pressed a kiss against it and blew it toward me.
I pretended to catch it, then tuck it into my pocket, and then I left, as quickly as I could, before my resolve weakened.
* * *
By eight that morning, I reached our headquarters on Długa Street. We would be attempting to seize control of the Sródmiescie district—essentially, the area around the Old Town district, including Miodowa Street.
I was the youngest member of my squad of twenty-one: everyone else was eighteen or older, but I was also the only member who’d seen active combat. As we prepared for the Uprising to begin, I felt like the cynical old man of the group. My squadmates were in a jovial mood, inspired at the thought of what lay ahead.
“I’m going to kill so many Germans, I’ll be notorious across the Reich. They will train their young soldiers to beware the mighty Sword,” one of the squad members announced. Sword looked like he was about thirteen years old. He was clean-shaven and baby-faced and skinny as a twig. The only evidence that he really was twenty years old was that he was at least a foot taller than I, extraordinarily tall even for an adult.
“I’m going to kill one for every member of my family who has died,” Vodka declared.