Pieces of the Past Page 8

Early February, 1944

  It is so cold in the zemlianka. We can only have a fire for short bursts of time, they are so worried about being discovered. The lice are worse and worse because it is impossible to keep clean or even get fresh water. People are starting to get sick. Mama says it is typhus and it is spread by the lice. We are going to leave tonight, she says, for a family camp, since there doesn’t seem to be a farm or any other place to hide and Max is firm that no children can stay here.

  I REMEMBER

  Late February, 1944

  Papa is singing me a lullaby and Abe is joining in. “Abe, you have a terrible voice,” I say. “Stop, I can’t hear Papa.”

  “Uncle Lev is here too,” Papa says.

  “Am I dead, then?” I ask.

  “No, my precious one, you are not. You are sick though. But Mama will make you better. She’s giving you something she stole from the village. Drink it. It will help.”

  “Am I going to die, Papa? I like it here with you. Please can I stay?”

  It is so peaceful. There is a bright light all around us and I feel so warm and my skin isn’t crawling with lice and they aren’t stuck in clumps under my arms and on my eyelashes.

  “You can’t stay,” Papa says, kissing my forehead. “You and Mama need to take care of each other now.”

  “Where’s Sophie?” I ask.

  “She’s coming,” Papa says. “Soon she’ll be at peace.”

  “It’s time for you to wake up, Rozia,” Abe says. “Wake up!”

  I open my eyes. I am lying in Mama’s lap. She bends over and kisses my forehead just like Papa did. “Rozia, you came back!” she says.

  “Papa and Abe made me,” I answer. “But Papa told me that Sophie is going to join him soon.”

  Tears trickle down Mama’s face then, and drop onto my cheeks.

  “Papa told me that you were making me drink something to make me better,” I say. “Is that true?”

  Mama says, “It is true. You must really have seen him.”

  And then I feel the bites and the itching and I whimper, as I’m too weak to cry out.

  “We’re leaving here as soon as you’re strong enough,” Mama says. “We’re going somewhere cleaner, somewhere without the lice — Mendel has found a family camp and they have a cure for it there. Max wanted us out, but let us stay here when I told him you were too sick to be moved.”

  Sunday, March 21, 1948

  Of course Saul has wanted me to talk to him about moving, but I don’t want to. He’s approached me a few times, but I’ve just excused myself and gone up to my room. I am angry and yet I don’t know why. I’m just mad.

  I decided to talk everything through with Oskar and Jakub. Jakub seemed to understand right away. He told me that maybe I no longer want to feel that I am at the mercy of the people around me. He said that during the war, we felt we had no control over our lives at all, and it was just luck whether we lived or died, and now we want to feel that we can decide what will happen to us. He added that he wasn’t sure at all about us being able to decide anything, that that was only an illusion and none of us would ever really have control over our lives, because who does? Then he asked me if Rita and Mrs. Churchill are friends. I said they were. And he suggested that they probably talked about the situation together, and then Mrs. Churchill offered to take me, and Rita thought it was a good solution.

  I told them that I actually like it much better at Susan’s house because Susan and I became friends first, before any of this came up, so I hoped it would be all right there.

  It’s probably true what Jakub said about having no control, and that’s why I’m mad. Still, I want to talk to Susan and make sure it’s what she really wants as well. I need to hear it from her, not just through her mother.

  I REMEMBER

  March 1944

  I am clinging onto Mama and crying and wailing and I won’t let go. Mia turned up suddenly this morning, took us up out of the zemlianka, and told Mama she has found a place for me to go into hiding. It is on a farm and I will pose as the farm woman’s niece. Because I am fair with blue eyes, Mia has convinced the farm woman that it will be safe for me to be there. Mia says she is a good woman and just wants to help. I will have to go to church and pretend to be a Catholic.

  But Mama can’t come since the woman only wants to take one stranger and she feels more comfortable with a little girl. Mama says she will stay and fight with this group and she will be close by and keep an eye on me and maybe even come and visit me when she can. She says I must go. That I must live. I am the last of her children and I must live. I tell her that Sophie could still be alive — it was only a dream I had about her being with Papa. But Mama is sure. She says she just knows Sophie is gone and is with Papa and Abe now.

  Mia takes me aside and whispers to me. “You must be stronger than your mother now, Rozia. She knows it is for the best to let you go, but this is the hardest thing she will ever have to do. You have to be grown up now and tough as a nail. Can you do that?”

  She wipes my tears.

  I wrap my arms around Mama for one last hug. She hugs me back so hard I think a rib might break.

  And then Mia leads me away.

  Tuesday, March 23, 1948

  I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it! A letter from my cousin Moshe! He survived the war and he is living in Palestine now and he found my name and address through the Jewish Agency. He traced me as Rozia Rabinowitz and then when the agency said they had a Rose Rabinowitz now living in Winnipeg, he hoped that it was me. And it is!!

  It’s funny, because after I read his letter I looked back through these pages, because I suddenly realized I had just forgotten about him. That is, I suppose I was too young to know what had happened to him and one day he just wasn’t there, and that’s what things were like then. But he is alive and he is living with another cousin, an older one I didn’t know, called Zev, and they are on a kibbutz in Palestine. He said he was so happy to hear that I am alive and that when we are older we must visit and our children must meet each other — if he survives the coming war with the Arabs. He says that as far as he can tell, out of about sixty in our family, only the three of us have survived.

  Also I talked to Susan today during our study session and she told me she really, really wants me to come live with her family. She says she has always wanted a sister, and it will be such a relief after all her brothers’ shenanigans. Maybe we can finally play some tricks on them! So I’ve decided and I’ll tell Saul and the family tomorrow.

  I REMEMBER

  March 1944

  I have no more lice. “Auntie” — because I must call her that at all times — threw away all my clothes and doused me in something with an awful smell. Then she picked the nits out with a comb one by one and did that every night for two weeks, and had me sit in a sauna she had out back. And now the lice are gone. Gone! It’s such a relief that everything else, even not seeing Mama, feels small in comparison.

  April 1948

  Friday, April 2, 1948

  This is my first entry from my new home on Kingsway Avenue. I feel very odd. Shabbos dinner was wonderful, as before, but I felt shy. I must call Mr. Churchill David now, and Mrs. Churchill Eva. David’s mother and father were there too, Susan’s baba and zaida. They insisted that I call them Baba and Zaida, and since it’s not like having to call David and Eva Mother and Father, which I could never do, I agreed. Secretly I like the idea of having a baba and a zaida. I barely remember mine, just little flashes sometimes. And I see where David gets his sense of humour — his father! They were telling jokes one after the other as if it were a competition!

  Baba and Zaida live in the north end of the city and the reason they haven’t been here before is they have just returned from a trip to Phoenix, Arizona, where they go for Baba’s arthritis in the winter. Her hand is all curled up and looks painful, but she is very cheerful and helps serve the food and says that next week we will all be driving to Siberia — she means the north end — to have Sh
abbos dinner. And then Uncle Benny and Auntie Adele will be there with their three children too, as will Uncle Lou and Aunt Fanny — they also live in the north end. Looks like I’ve ended up with a rather large family! And that doesn’t count the cousins I will be meeting over Pesach!

  My last day in Saul’s house, yesterday, was a little sad. We had a special dinner that Rita made, with chocolate cake for dessert. And Saul said that he was sorry it hadn’t worked out and that he was very sorry I was leaving. Terry didn’t say a thing. Rita said that she was sorry. I’m not sure why she apologized, but she did. I have so few things that it took only one bag to pack everything and take them to Susan’s. Rita made me keep all the clothes she had given me, even the red coat. She said she hoped she would see me at the Y or at different places or at school events. I thanked them both.

  When I got out of the car, I shook Saul’s hand and thanked him. I told him he had done his best. He gave me a sad smile and said I was very young to think of making other people feel better. He said that maybe I should be a doctor or even a psychiatrist one day. He said I am much smarter than he is, so it should be no problem for me!

  And he asked me if I was still writing things down and I said that I was. He asked me if it was helping me. I said I really wasn’t sure.

  He said that in the long run he was sure it would.

  And that was that.

  Eva had already bought a new bed for Susan’s room and had put a beautiful quilt on the bed, with a design of violet and pink flowers. There is a little stand beside the bed with a light on it, so I can read, and Susan has made room in her closet for me. I was unpacked in a few minutes and then went downstairs to compete in a game of Monopoly. I’ve never played, so I was partnered with Susan. Her brothers call her a shark and said I was learning from the best. It was so much fun and it’s true — Susan and I won! What a strange feeling to have fun!

  Even though I’ve moved, I’ll continue to write my memories down as Saul advised. I really couldn’t stop now even if I wanted to.

  I REMEMBER

  May 1944

  Mama! Mama! Mama! She has come for me. As we walk away from the farm, my hand in hers, she tells me that Mia heard rumours that a Jewish child was living as a Christian on one of the farms in the area, so now it is more dangerous for me to be there than it is to be with Mama in the forest.

  I am so happy as we thread our way through the trees. But we are not returning to the zemlianka from before. We must get to the family camp, because they have said absolutely no children in the fighters’ camp.

  Monday, April 12, 1948

  As I was writing last night, I think Susan must have told her mother that I was crying, because Eva came into my room and sat on the bed and asked if there was any way she could help. I shook my head. I hadn’t even realized that I was crying.

  And then Eva said, “You’re safe now, here, with us.”

  That made me cry more.

  Eva hugged me and held me tight.

  I know she would not lie to me on purpose, but she really cannot promise to keep me safe.

  Are any of us ever safe?

  Tuesday, April 13, 1948

  I’ve received another letter from Moshe. He tells me, in Yiddish of course, about how he survived. It’s really unbelievable because he ended up in Buchenwald concentration camp, where he was put with Polish political prisoners. They protected him and somehow he was never sent to his death. Also, in my last letter I asked him about Sophie. And in this letter he told me that he had found her name on one of the lists of the dead. I knew it, and I’m almost glad to have it confirmed, but it hurt to read it. It hurt.

  Friday, April 16, 1948

  Tonight we went to Siberia for Shabbos dinner. Baba and Zaida live on Scotia Street in a large house on the banks of the Red River. The house was packed with a throng of people. The children ran in and out of the back door. On the back lawn they played ball, skipped rope or got too close to the river and then were scolded by one of the adults. I stuck close to Susan, feeling very shy, but that didn’t last long, as the younger children needed to be watched and it seems that is Susan’s job, and now mine too. I liked it. I had fun. I never had a chance to play when I was young and I leaped right in, playing tag and hide-and-seek and jump rope.

  Dinner was also hectic. All the women and girls helped with the serving and also in the kitchen. The men talked about the headline in today’s paper and seemed very serious — 5000 Arab Troops Enter Palestine was the headline. War. Another war.

  Then there was the cleanup after dinner and the drive home and now I’m too tired to write. But tomorrow.

  Susan says she will go to shul with her parents and I’ve asked if I can stay home to write some things in my diary that I’ve been putting off. Eva said of course I could, and that Benny would be home studying, so I didn’t need to feel all alone in that big house.

  Saturday, April 17, 1948

  It is warm and sunny today and Benny has suggested I use the sunroom at the front of the house to do my writing. It’s a cozy room with old furniture because it can’t be used in the winter, but the windows are on all three sides and the sun pours in from the east in the morning. I curl up and he even brings me a cup of chocolate to drink while I write.

  I REMEMBER

  May 1944

  It is dark. I am so tired. Mama and I have been walking for a whole day trying to find the family camp. She won’t admit it, but I think she is lost, because where we are walking reminds me of the area around the zemlianka. I could be wrong, because all trees look the same, don’t they, but we just passed the stream again and I’m sure that’s the place we lit a fire to kill the lice that night. I think Mama is just realizing it too, because she swears under her breath.

  And then we hear it. Men’s voices, shouting. Mama stops dead for a moment, gripping my hand so tight I cry out. “Shhhh!” she hisses.

  “We must try to get back to the zemlianka,” she whispers. “I think we are close to it. But we also can’t afford to lead the Germans there.” Mama veers toward the stream and makes me get in with her and we splash through the freezing water.

  The stars are out and the moon is quite bright, so we can see fairly well. Once out of the water we scramble over logs and through brambles and around some of the giant fir trees. It seems as if we are going to get away. But then suddenly we hear voices and they are close, really close!

  “They’re in front of us!” Mama says. “How will we get past them?”

  “We won’t,” I say. “We need to go back to the stream.”

  Without another word she turns and we make our way back the way we came, until we are again in the water. We move onto the other side of the stream and stay there, shrinking up against the bank. In no time my feet start to go numb. But we can still hear men calling, now on both sides of us. I know they are Germans because they are so close I can hear them calling orders to each other, and the occasional swear word as they perhaps trip over a tree root or slip down a small ravine. I start to shiver uncontrollably. Mama grabs my bag, drags out an extra jacket and wraps me in it. She puts her arms around me and we cling to each other for warmth. We stay like that until finally the voices fade. Dawn is breaking.

  When we splash out of the water I can’t walk because my feet are so cold, so Mama carries me. We finally find the zemlianka but when we go down the steps there is no one there. Has it been discovered by the Germans? Where is everyone? We close the door over our heads and Mama sits me down and rips off my boots and socks. My feet are bright red. She says that is good — at least they aren’t white, which would mean they are frozen. She rubs them hard with her hands and then puts dry stockings on me and a dry pair of boots from my rucksack and she does the same for herself, except she doesn’t have an extra pair of boots, so she leaves them off for the moment.

  She does something very odd then. She takes her wedding ring off her hand and puts it on my finger. It is too big but it stays on. She kisses my hand and just looks in my eyes f
or a moment, not saying a word.

  That’s when we hear the voices. And they are right outside the covering. German. “Get up here! Raus!” They pound on the cover.

  There is a very tiny crevice in the side of the zemlianka. No one has ever had to use it, and really it’s only big enough for a child — it wasn’t made on purpose; just happened, I suppose, when this hiding place was built. But Mama has always told me that we could use it as a last resort.

  Silently she points. I shake my head, no! I won’t hide and leave her alone. She points and then she shouts, “I’m coming, don’t shoot!” She points again and then turns and rushes up the stairs. I run across the dirt floor and slip into the crevice. Soon I hear the thud of boots, and breathing. Someone is in the zemlianka. I can hear things being picked up and then dropped and finally the boots going back up the steps. “She’s alone,” says a man, speaking Polish.

  I can hear them laughing and I hear the Polish fellow say how pretty Mama is and how he is going to enjoy getting her to tell them about her little group of fighters. The Germans are also talking, but my German isn’t good enough to follow it. And then the Polish one swears, and cries out, “The little cow! She bit me!” And then I hear it. The shot. First one, and then something in German, and then four more shots. And then they are laughing and making more jokes, but I can’t really hear what they are saying.

  Finally the voices fade away and I take a few tentative steps out of my hiding place. And that’s when I hear more boots and I hide again, but someone is calling my name softly. I peek out. It is Max. He opens his arms. I run into them.

  “Do you know what happened?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Then come and say goodbye. We must move on.”

  Mendel is kneeling by Mama. He looks up at me as I come out of the shelter. He shakes his head.

  I run over to her. She has been shot in her forehead and more times in her chest. There is blood everywhere. Her eyes are closed and she looks almost happy, a slight smile on her face. I wonder if she is already with Papa and Abe and Sophie. I want to be with them too.