Eli shrugged. “It’s a good possibility. If we don’t get a visa to America, I would surely take us to Israel.”
“Would Adinah come, too?”
“I think she probably would.”
Izaak smiled broadly. “That’s good. I like her a lot.”
“I know you do. I like her, too.”
“And I still love Mama.”
Eli nodded. “Of course you do. And you always will.”
* * *
Izaak’s words were sitting on Eli’s mind when he returned to the kitchen. “Something wrong?” Adinah asked.
Eli shook his head. “No. Not really.” He tipped his head toward Izaak’s room. “It’s a little complicated for him.”
“I think I understand. It’s a little complicated for me, too.”
Eli sighed. “I know.”
“Am I overstepping my bounds here? Would you tell me if I was?”
“You’re not. The love that you’ve given to Izaak means so much to him. You can see it in his eyes, in the joy of his expressions. As far as Izzie is concerned, love is not a finite quantity. He knows his mama may never return—no one knows what tomorrow will bring—but in his mind, he has love for you both. Life has to go on. He spent two years with Lucya, and he loved her, too.”
“You never told me how the two of you reconnected.”
Eli nodded and took a sip of wine. “In 1943, word came down from Berlin: all the Jewish labor camps were to be closed and Europe, then totally controlled by Germany, was to be cleansed of Jews. They kept the brickyard going because it was essential. Globočnik needed me. I didn’t know the extent of his crimes at the time. I knew he was a contemptible monster, but I didn’t know how diabolical he truly was. He was responsible for constructing the poison gas facilities at Sobibor, Majdanek and Treblinka. His building materials helped kill a million and a half Jews. But for all I knew, we were shipping materials to build barracks and utility buildings.”
Eli took a breath and shook his head. “Globočnik committed suicide, you know? He bit a cyanide capsule when the Allies were questioning him after the war. Architect of the gas chambers. A quick death was too good for him.”
“How did you and Izzie find each other again?”
“In 1943, Globočnik was reassigned from Lodz to Trieste in German-occupied Italy. A new SS officer was sent to oversee the Lodz brickyard, but he didn’t know what he was doing. Toward the end of the year, I had him sign a document that allowed me to travel throughout the General Gouvernment for the ostensible purpose of checking on deliveries to his installations. I told him I would be gone for a few weeks. The credentials were solid.
“I drove to the church to find Lucya. By that time, in early 1944, almost all the Jews in Poland were imprisoned in concentration camps or were being hunted down or were dead. When I arrived, a nun told me that Lucya was no longer affiliated with the church, that she had moved away and that no one knew where she had gone. I was struck with panic. How would I ever find my son? I could only hope that the church officials were lying to me to protect Lucya and Izaak.
“One night I waited until the church was empty, and I knocked on the rectory door. Father Jaworski answered. ‘You were told that Lucya is no longer here. We don’t know where she went,’ he said, but I could tell he was lying. I pleaded with him. ‘You’re a man of God,’ I said. ‘Don’t stand there and lie to me. Tell me the truth. Where is my son?’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t tell you where she went; she made me promise. She took the boy with her. He’s safe. Let them be.’
“‘I am forever grateful for what she did,’ I said, ‘but a father has the right and responsibility to make decisions for his son.’
“‘You’re making a mistake,’ he said.
“‘Maybe I am, but I have the right to make a mistake. I’m his father.’
“He looked at me with his gentle, aged eyes. ‘Yes, I believe you do. She’s keeping him in a basement of a home near Bialystok.’
“He gave me the address and I drove up there. As I entered Białystok, I could see rows of Nazi soldiers. I was stopped twice by patrols, but my authorization held. I waited until nightfall and visited Lucya. She urged me to go away. ‘Turn around,’ she said. ‘Izaak is safe. Don’t be a fool. Leave him here.’
“I hesitated. Maybe she was right. She had kept him safe for all these months. I said I wanted to see him, but she thought it was a bad idea. ‘He’s adjusting to his separation,’ she said. ‘It’s been hard on him.’ I nodded and left.
“All that night I argued with myself. Maybe it was me who couldn’t handle the separation. Anyway, the next day I changed my mind. I went back to the house.
“Lucya remained insistent. ‘Białystok is overrun. Remaining Jews are all being ferreted out of their hiding places. They’re shooting them, Eli—shooting them in the streets. If you move Izaak, it’s likely he’ll be discovered. Your very presence here is a danger to him. You must go.’
“I shook my head. I was determined to keep my son with me. I reasoned that he was safer with me than hiding from the Jew Hunters in a basement. In retrospect, it would have been wiser to leave him with Lucya. I’ve made my share of mistakes. I took him from her that night, and we drove out of Białystok.
“For the next ten months, Izzie and I wandered the countryside. I picked up odd jobs helping farmers in rural areas in exchange for food and a few nights in a barn, all the time moving closer and closer toward the Baltic coast. It was February 1945; the reports of Allied advances were promising, and I was convinced we would make it. Then one night, a farmer denounced us to the local prefect. We were arrested, thrown into a truck with other Jews and taken to a concentration camp. It was a time when thousands of prisoners were being marched from distant camps to camps deep into Germany, and Buchenwald was a principal destination.
“The camp was terribly overcrowded, and provisions were inadequate. As far as the Germans were concerned, we were all expected to die. I cursed myself for my arrogance, for believing that I could protect Izzie better than Lucya. Then a miracle happened. We were rescued by the Americans in April 1945. Truth be told, I couldn’t have lasted much longer, but the U.S. Army liberated the camp and saved our lives. That’s my story. We were lucky.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
FÖHRENWALD DP CAMP
AMERICAN ZONE
OCTOBER 1947
Eli was supervising the renovation of an apartment building when a worker tapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a call for you in the administration building.”
As he walked toward the building, Eli wondered about the call. He hoped it was good news. Maybe it concerned his visas to the U.S. Maybe it was Major Donnelly telling him that they had reconsidered indicting Maximilian Poleski and that Eli would be needed as a witness. It was neither.
“Eli, this is Ann Stewart. From Central Tracing Bureau.” Eli’s heart leapt, but only momentarily. “I’m afraid I have sad news. I wish it were otherwise. I hate making this call, but I didn’t feel right about sending a letter.”
Eli was stunned. He stood speechless.