“H-h-how will I ge’ around?”
“Will you locate a wheelchair for the young lady?” Dr. Markov asks the nurse, who is sealing up a vial of my blood.
“Yes, doctor.”
“I’m signing off on your papers so you can move somewhere a bit more comfortable than a hospital bed.”
“Wh-wh-where are you ’ending me?”
“A youth haven nearby. Others who have suffered the way you have will go there as well, so you won’t be alone.”
“El-El-Elek?” I ask, unsure if he knows who Elek is. I only met him a few days ago. I don’t quite know who he is, but he’s a friend.
“Elek,” he repeats, scratching his fingers through the short white strands of hair above his ear. “The young man a couple of doors down?”
“Y-ye’,” I reply.
He dips his head to the side with a small grin. “Yes, in fact, I met with him just before you and signed off on his papers to be sent to the same haven. A friend for you?”
“Y-y-ye’ ’hank you,” I say.
“You mustn’t thank me. I wish for nothing but the best for you, young lady. Good luck.”
They have given me a moment of bittersweet happiness. I could be going somewhere else alone, but this time I’ll know someone and maybe it won’t be as bad. Perhaps I’ll have less time to think about Arina, Mama, and Papa while I wait to find out where they might be.
NINETEEN
ARINA
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, USA, JANUARY 1947
I think I might be in a stupor. I can’t find my emotions, feelings, or thoughts. It all happened so fast. I was sure Nora, Mama, and Papa were dead. There has been no other explanation for why I’m here in the United States when my home should be across the ocean.
Why do I feel like I’m staring at a stranger who looks exactly like me? I should want to sing from the top of my lungs, pulling her up to her feet and swinging her around the room like I used to do, but she can’t move, and neither can I.
We have our new room, one with two beds. There’s one for each of us with matching bureaus. If only we had the decor of jewelry boxes, vases filled with flowers, stuffed teddy bears, and picture frames highlighting famous pieces of artwork Nora loves, like we did at home in Debrecen. Except, Mama and Papa’s bedroom isn’t on the other side of the wall. The savory aroma of roast chicken won’t fill our room with warmth as we charge downstairs when Mama calls us for supper. Papa won’t be whistling the Charleston as he walks in through the back door after work.
That life is gone and I’m still standing, but Nora isn’t. I’m not sure how she can stand to look at me after what I caused her. It’s my fault.
“Wh-wh-why aren’ you ’alking?” Nora asks as she tucks her bedsheet tautly beneath her mattress.
“I can make your bed. You should just relax. I remember how tired I was from all the travel it took to get here.”
“I c-can m-m-make m-m-my own b-bed.”
Since I’ve already squared my edges and fluffed my pillow, I can’t just sit here and watch her struggle to do the same. I walk across the room and take the sheet from her hand.
“No! Wh-wh-wha’ are you d-d-doing?” she snaps.
“You need help. Let me help,” I insist.
She pulls the sheet back from my hand. “I’m c-c-capable, Arina.”
I step away from her, feeling her temper brooding. Nora was never short-tempered, only me, but I know the signs of an explosive outburst.
My mattress is firmer than the last one, and it’s noticeable when I plop down quietly while Nora continues to put her bed together. I smooth the pleats of my skirt out over my knees and stare at the back of my sister’s head while she struggles. When she moves, her hair sweeps to the side, revealing the scar she tries to keep hidden with a left-sided part.
“Do y-y-you have any p-p-paper?” she asks.
I shift my gaze toward the two brown boxes filled to the brim with my belongings, knowing I have a spare notepad from school. “Yes, I think so,” I tell her as I shuffle over to the boxes and dig through the top one, finding it stuck between the psychology books I’ve been reading. She’ll want a pencil too. I reach down to the bottom of the box and feel around until the tip of my finger meets the sharp point of lead. With the two items in hand, I walk behind her and place them down on her bed. “There you go.”
“How a-a-abou’ an en-en-envelope and a’ ’amp?”
“Who are you writing to?” I thought she wanted the paper to draw.
“D-d-do you?”
I return to the boxes and lift the top one up and place it beside the other one. My envelopes are in my shoebox, and so are the stamps I keep hidden. Dale bought them for me a few weeks ago when the administration assistants were giving me a hard time every time I asked for another stamp. Evidently, I had gone over my weekly allotment.
I lift the cover on the shoebox I swiped from the art room, slip out an envelope and the roll of stamps. I tear one off and place the rest in the shoebox. “Are you angry with me?” I ask.
“W-w-why would you a’k?”
“You’re quite bitter.”
Nora releases a heavy sigh and spins her chair around to face me. “I’m in a-a-a lot of pain.”
“Physical?” I ask.
“No,” she responds.
“Does it pain you to see me?”
She drops her head into her hand. “A-A-Arina, come on…”
“What? I don’t understand?” I groan.
“I n-n-need ’o adju’,” she tries to say. I take a minute to place the missing consonants in where they should be.
“You need to—”
She clenches her fists with aggravation. “Pl-pl-plea’e ’op.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Nora. I would have given everything to be with you again, and here you are…but you hate me.”
“Wh-wh-wha’?” she caws.
“It’s okay. I hate me too.” My heart is racing so hard and my stomach winces in pain. I feel trapped in this room and there’s nothing else to do but walk out and give her the space she must need from me after one hour of being reunited.
“A-A-Arina!” I hear as the door closes behind me.
I run toward the front doors, hoping no one will stop me. It must be my lucky day, I think to myself as I step outside into the freezing rain mixed with high winds. No wonder no one stopped me.
A hollow plunk reverberates against the side of the building, and I cup my hand over my head to see where the noise is coming from.
“What are you doing out here?” he shouts.
It’s Dale, covered by a black raincoat. He’s squatting by a pipe with a hammer lodged tightly in his grip.
“I need some air,” I reply.
He shoves the hood of his coat off his head and clomps toward me in heavy galoshes. “Arina, you’re going to get sick. You don’t even have a coat on. It’s below freezing.”
“It’s not as cold as it is in my new room,” I mutter.
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t hear? Miss Blum found Nora, my sister. It’s a miracle, truly a miracle. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d see her again, and she’s inside the building right this very second in a room we’re going to share like we did before the war.”