Pastel Orphans (16 page)

“I will miss you,” she says.

It is a shock to me. She has seemed so impersonal and mistrusting of everyone for most of the time. She has shown no affection, not even to her brother.

“I will miss you too,” I say.

I am about to leave when I remember something—something that I have been meaning to tell her.

“You asked me about my mother. Well, I want to tell you this . . .

“My mama is everything good. She is beautiful on the inside and out. She always talked to us as grown-ups and she found something good in everything we did. She spoke softly and gently, like our ears needed respect, and she carried the worries of the world on her shoulders so that we did not have to. She never once complained. Even when we had to leave Germany, even when things got hard and food was short or the day was cold, she never once said aloud: this is bad or horrible or terrible. She would light up the room when she walked in, not like a bright starry entrance, nothing like that, rather like the soft light of a candle; it was so subtle you hardly noticed it until she left again, and then you would realize that the warmth was missing.”

Rebekah considers me a moment and then leans forward to kiss me on the cheek. Her lips are soft. “I wish I could meet her. Good luck, Riki.”

She leaves me then to stare out the window towards the fading sun. She does not come down to cook dinner that night. I take the opportunity to fill up my knapsack with food, and another bag for Otto. I also take some of the medicine from Tobin’s secret stash.

There is an ache in my chest as I pass Rebekah’s room to reach my own. It is wishful thinking that I might see her again, that she might open her door. But there is no light coming from within.

I lie on my bed to sleep but I am too restless and sleep is brief. Most of the time I stare at the charcoal air around me. Then there is a sound. It is the sound of muffled crying.

C
HAPTER
22

The sun is not yet up and I am pacing outside the house, staring at the trees, afraid that the partisans will return without Otto. I have already decided that if Otto is not with them, I must leave as planned. There is no more time to wait.

Then the women and men enter the clearing, and at the back of the group walks Otto: small, beaten looking, but alive. I smile as they enter but it is a smile of relief, not of greeting. Kaleb is excited. He tells me how they blew up a German car, and shot the occupants as they tried to escape the burning vehicle. One of them was an SS general.

Part of me hopes that it is the same general who has stolen Greta, yet at the same time I need him alive because he is perhaps my link to finding her. I imagine what I will do when I find him. I think that I will be like Eri; I will tie the general to a chair and hold a gun to his wife’s head until he tells me where to find Greta. This has been in my thoughts for days.

Martha says that Kaleb was very brave and I see that Tobin says nothing, his lips pinched together. He does not look at the others. Some of the men pat Kaleb on the back. I think that if there was any doubt whether Kaleb would join them or stay with his sister, there is none now. Rebekah sees everything I do, and she forces the corners of her mouth upwards supportively and congratulates them on their successful mission.

I am asked to take Otto to his room. Once it is safe to talk, I tell him of my revised plan. Despite his exhaustion, despite the distance he has already travelled, he is still anxious to go. It may be his only chance to escape.

Rebekah and I cook the group breakfast: bread and boiled eggs. They drink black coffee as they talk on the terrace at the back of the house. It is around seven o’clock in the morning now and they are not looking tired. They are fuelled by their success and still laughing at the surprise on the face of the fat general. This is description enough for me to believe that it is not the same general. I am relieved to have the chance for my own revenge, not just for taking Greta, but for Mama too, who lost her independence, her dignity, and something more precious: her daughter.

It is almost nine. I am beginning to despair that I will not be leaving today because while most of the partisans have gone to bed, others like Eri and Kaleb do not seem tired at all. Eri and Martha are cleaning the guns again, something they seem to enjoy, and Tobin is sitting gloomily against the house, watching them.

I go in search of Rebekah and find her outside, sitting at the small table by the front door, darning some holes in the socks of the fighters. I sit beside her. She has seen my worry.

“You can still go. They won’t know you have gone if you leave the front way. I can watch out here and distract them if I see them walking around. They never check on the German and I will tell them you are washing at the river.”

I consider this. My stomach is jumping around so much I think I will be sick.

“But won’t there be someone on duty watching?”

“Who do you think has volunteered today?”

Rebekah has thought it all out for me.

“All right then. I will go fetch Otto and exit by the front door.”

She nods and my chest is rising and falling fast. I go to my room to collect my things but notice that the gun that was given to me by Eri is missing from my side table. I search the bedroom and the storage room and the kitchen, but it is not anywhere. There is no more time to search.

I open the door for the German. He stands ready to leave, holding the two sleeping bags and ropes I hid in his room earlier. There is a strong smell of urine from his pot, which won’t be emptied today. I whisper that we must be quiet, that some are still awake. We slip quietly out through the front door. I am surprised and disappointed when I do not see Rebekah there. We enter the forest from the estate’s clearing and stop behind a tree. There is no one watching.

“We must walk fast,” says Otto. “We must build up distance.”

We walk fast and silently, weaving between the pines. The sun is weak today, the air is cooling, and steam rises from our breaths. I am grateful for the coat in my bag.

“Did you bring a gun?” he asks when we are minutes away. I tell him that it has been taken, how I was unable to find it. Otto looks disappointed.

We walk for several more minutes and then we hear the crunching sound of steps on fallen leaves. Tobin appears from behind a tree.

“I knew it,” says Tobin. “I knew that you were a traitor.”

“Tobin!” I say. “Otto is helping me find my sister.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

I am thinking that he will instruct us to return to the house, but instead he waves his gun to indicate that we should walk farther from the estate and deeper into the forest. Fear is building within me.

“Why don’t you take us back? I will explain everything to Eri also.”

“Keep walking,” he says.

And then there is an explosion. At first it sounds like it is in front of me, and I put my hands over my head and crouch, by instinct. Then there is movement at my side as Otto falls to the ground, his face sideways in the dirt. There is a hole at the back of his head and part of his skull is protruding where blood oozes. I see that one of his eyes is still open. I scurry to his side.

“No,” I whimper. I turn him over but his eyes are vacant as he stares at the gray above us. I feel rage building within, and tears sting my eyes.

“You could have just let us go!”

“I shot my own father and said it was the Germans. That makes me capable of anything. Did you actually think that I would let the German leave alive—or you, for that matter?”

I am thinking that it is here that I will die. Mama will not know. No one will know. Otto and I will disappear without a trace. It is a moment in time that is suspended by its sheer gravity.

“Let me go!” I shout. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

Tobin laughs then, bitterly. “You are a Jew. You do not deserve to live. I am leaving here too—to join the German army so that I can kill all the dirty Jews I want to. So that I can tell them of the partisan plans. Our country was taken and destroyed by your kind, not the Germans.”

“We are the same,” I plead. “You and me, Tobin. We both want to live in our country with freedom.”

“This isn’t your country, but you will be buried here. Of that I am sure.”

“You make no sense,” I say. “You kill a German and now me. You do not know what side you are on.” I spit at him like I have seen men do.

The corners of his mouth flicker. Humiliation is his weakness also.

“Get on your knees and put your arms behind you.”

I do so and he steps forward.

“This is for no one but myself.”

He closes one eye and sights the rifle with the other, taking aim at my forehead. I close my eyes and pray. I think of the angels on the stairs and then of Mama, Papa, and Greta. I then open my eyes at the last second to see a bullet flying out from the front of Tobin’s chest, and to hear it whizzing over my shoulder. He falls forward, stiff like a doll, and I have to lean out of the way or else he will land on me.

Behind him several yards stand Eri and Kaleb, and behind them stands Rebekah.

“You should have said something,” says Eri.

“You would not have let the German go,” I say.

“You’re right, we wouldn’t have. But this nearly cost your life. We should shoot you too.” He is aiming his gun at me. I look at Rebekah for signs of guilt and betrayal but her gaze is steady.

Suddenly Eri laughs and puts the gun down.

“You don’t know how much I wanted to do that to the shit-eating Jew hater.” He nods towards Tobin.

And Kaleb starts to laugh too. I am too nervous to laugh but I feel some of the tension leave my body.

“I saw Tobin following you,” says Rebekah. “I had to tell them.”

“Now, I have learned that you want to go to find your sister,” says Eri. “I do not like your chances. For a start, the forest is the devil’s asshole. It is winter. Soon, there will be snow and ice and nowhere for shelter. It will take you two weeks, if you are lucky, to navigate your way—possibly longer with bad weather.”

“Here is a compass.” He walks over to me and I stand up. He also has a hand-drawn map of the forests, which he says he doesn’t need since he knows it as well as the freckles on Martha’s back. He places them in my hand firmly, then pats me on my shoulder. He is large, burly, and dark and I think it is possible that he will win the battle of Zamosc; if anyone is capable of it, he is.

“You should go south and stay near the base of the mountains. Then north to Cracow from there. It is longer but safer. Follow the cattle trucks that are going to the camps. They will lead you to Cracow also.

“You are a good boy but there is still a lot you don’t know. I will not be surprised to find your frozen body alongside that of your little friend.”

I presume that he is referring to Otto, lying dead in the mud.

Eri, curiously, places his hand against Rebekah’s cheek before turning to leave.

“Make sure you bury the bodies, and
Zol Got dir helfen
,” he says.

When Eri is out of earshot, Kaleb comes over to me. He reveals that Eri has just sent God with me also. “I have enjoyed your friendship. You would make a good fighting companion. Once you complete your quest, perhaps you will return.” He peels off the rifle that is hanging from his shoulder and hands it to me. “Take this.”

“But don’t
you
need it?”

“Not now that Tobin is gone,” he says, grinning widely. “I have his now. It is better.”

Then Kaleb reaches for Rebekah and they clutch each other as if for the last time. He stands much taller than she does, leaning over to cradle her small frame. Rebekah cries and grabs the sleeves of his shirt.

“Please don’t get yourself killed,” she says. Look for me in Zamosc.”

And it is then that I see: Rebekah is dressed for travel and she carries a knapsack. She is not only coming with me, but she hopes to return to Zamosc with me also.

“Promise me that you will take care of my sister.”

I look to both of them, confused, wondering if I have missed a part of the conversation. “Of course, but are you sure about this? About being separated?”

Kaleb reaches for my hand and squeezes it to reassure me. He does not cry. He is full of belief, both in himself and in others, and for that I can admire him. And then he is gone. Then there is just Rebekah and me. She looks at me cautiously.

“It is still all right if I come, isn’t it?”

I nod, frowning, wondering if it is fair to put her in danger.

“You are unsure, though, aren’t you? About whether I am capable.”

“I am sure as long as you are.”

“Yes, I am. There is nothing for me here. My brother wants to fight. I have no home except this forest house, which is someone else’s. And once Kaleb is gone, I have no one. I don’t want to hide for months in a cellar or attic somewhere: waiting and hoping every day that I won’t be discovered, wondering if someone will reveal where I am.”

We dig a shallow hole with our hands and roll Tobin in. Then I dig another for Otto, deeper. I take his identification papers and his photos and letters and place them in my bag.

I say a few words in my head:
You will not die here for nothing. I will tell people of your bravery. People will know who you are.

Rebekah walks over to stand beside me. I look at her. She is small and slender, her features fine. I am grateful for her company and I will honor my promise to take care of her.

P
ART T
W
O

R
EBEKAH

C
HAPTER
23

It seems that everything is against us. First, Otto was caught by Tobin and killed, and now the weather is about to turn.

In the next day it will snow. I don’t know what the future holds, but this is my choice now. I must survive. I must help Henrik find Greta.

It is ironic that we are both separated from our only siblings—but Kaleb and I parted willingly, while Henrik searches for the one he lost.

Kaleb and I spoke often of his need to fight. I do not blame that about men. Kaleb is a man now.

It feels right to walk beside Henrik, who is smart and thoughtful. He does not tolerate fools and he is good at most tasks, even ones he has not done before. But his real talent lies in his art. It is incredible and such a shame that more people cannot see it.

I used to play the piano. Mama and Papa said that I had a talent, and that people would pay to see me play one day. Of course, that is what they said: the parents who raised me, the people I lost. It is perhaps not the case. Many were more talented than I.

When our parents hid Kaleb and me just before the Germans came, it felt like a game, as if it wasn’t real. But then we heard our parents scream and the sounds of our cousins being dragged from their hiding place, and suddenly my past life was over. Long after dark, long after we heard the cars leave, we came out from the secret attic. Kaleb told me to cover my eyes and said he would lead me. He did not want me to see what he saw. But I couldn’t help it; I looked.

Kaleb and I then crept through the sewers and hid like rats until we made it to the forest. Inside the forest we met Tobin, who said his father had been murdered by the Germans—which now I know was a lie. We came upon the partisans, who took us to the large manor house. But we were not treated as children. We were all given tasks. Ours was to travel to villages and steal as much ammunition as we could. Our last mission failed but I believe now that we were meant to go there, and we were meant to find Henrik. Another couple of nights—sitting rain soaked, bedraggled, and hot with fever—and he would have died.

Henrik’s vulnerability drew me protectively to his bedside: the fear that he would be discarded like so many in this war, thrown by Tobin to the mercy of the forest. I sat and cared for him through his fever. This bothered Tobin, and even Kaleb sometimes. They did not trust him but I sensed right away that we were on the same side. I could see only goodness in those dark blue eyes.

We walk closely but do not talk much. Henrik stops often to look at his compass. He is bright and quick and fascinating. He has walnut-brown hair, a long straight nose, and a jawline that angles sharply towards a pointed chin. He has long limbs and broad, bony shoulders, wiry and athletic. If not for his dark eyebrows and his thick black eyelashes, he might pass for Aryan. When he sees that I am studying him, I look away. His look is too intense sometimes, as if he is trying to read my mind.

“We have to walk until dark. Have some bread!”

I shake my head. “Just water. I can wait.” I pull out my tin flask and take a sip.

Eri said to head south and stay in the shadow of the mountains. He also said to keep well south of the river. He said the river is a good guide when we near Cracow, but we are more likely to run into the enemy along it.

But it will be days before we even reach the mountains. We have walked for six hours and already the exertion has made me nauseous, and my calves are burning. Some areas of ground are like slush: muddy and slippery. The scratchy undergrowth catches us as we pass by.

As we walk, we collect tinder and store it in our bags so that we can light a fire. Once the snow is here, such wood will be hard to find.

It is late afternoon and the sun is nearly gone when we come to a hollow. The hollow is deep and shaped like a bowl, and is surrounded by long, dying grasses. We have two canvas sleeping bags, which Kaleb has given us.

I need to urinate and disappear behind some fallen brush. Henrik understands what I am doing and walks in the other direction, his back to me. Sticks of hard grass scratch my flesh.

Henrik flicks the lighter against the wood and on his third attempt we have fire. The lighter belongs to his sister’s kidnapper. I wonder if the German returned to look for it, but I don’t say this to Henrik, who has probably not considered this. I do not want to put more worry in his head.

The sun has set earlier today. The days are shorter now. I can feel the air growing cooler around me.

We share a piece of cabbage pie that I had secretly set aside for this journey, and I watch the wood burn. Henrik’s face is deep in concentration as he nurtures the flames, stoking embers and adding twigs. When he looks across the fire at me, I suddenly realize that it is just the two of us now against the world, against the odds.

“What was it like growing up in Cracow?” he asks.

“It was good until the ghetto.”

“Did you live there?”

“No. Mama and Papa refused to go. That’s why they were killed. It seemed such a waste at first, and I thought we should have gone. But Eri says that it is an awful place: Jews are trapped, some are killed.”

I can tell that Henrik wants to ask more questions but he politely refrains.

“My family was not wealthy but they weren’t poor either—like yours, I suppose. Papa was happy working in partnership with his brother, who owned a fabric store, and Mama was a dressmaker. They had big plans for their children, though. They wanted Kaleb to study medicine and me, music, which is why they bought a piano.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“I guess so.” I wasn’t overly interested in music, and Kaleb did not want to study medicine. I wanted to be a nurse, though I did not tell Mama and Papa. I did not want them to be disappointed.

Henrik tells me that his mother is a piano teacher and that she could help me. He tells me about his life in Germany. I try to imagine his life, which sounds like it was grander than mine. I wish that things could go back to how they were in our apartment, before the war.

We lie on either side of the fire. I close my eyes but can’t fall asleep; there are too many noises. I think the enemy is out there somewhere and wonder if we should put out the fire. Eventually, it is just a glow and Henrik has closed his eyes.

At some point I must have slept because there are shards of light shining through the trees, telling me that it is morning. Pieces of sunshine barely squeeze through the gray. Henrik is up and walking around, looking at his compass and checking the map.

“We must stay as far from the towns as we can,” he says, steam rising from his mouth as he speaks. I like the sound of his voice, which is low and gravelly and similar to the voices of the men who would smoke with my father after the children were all in bed.

We share a piece of bread. I feel hollow inside. I know that we must conserve the food. I make Henrik’s piece slightly larger than mine.

We roll up our sleeping bags and tie them with rope to our backs. Henrik helps me with mine.

The terrain is difficult and marked by endless small hills; we always seem to go steeply upwards before we go down. I wear trousers but Henrik is in shorts, and I tell him that he must change because his legs are covered in scratches. Eventually, he agrees. It is hot as we walk but cold when we stop.

A light rain is released from the sky. It is time to stop, he announces. This time we need cover. Henrik builds a small hut using fallen branches that can bend. He threads them through one another to make a wall. He grabs more leafy branches and throws them over the top. We crawl in through a narrow space and sit squeezed together in our sleeping bags. There is no fire tonight, and during the night small drops of rain find their way through the gaps.

By morning, the rain is heavier and we trudge through mud with sodden shoes. Henrik walks with his bag under his coat so that the twigs will remain dry until we have a dry space where we can light a fire.

For much of the day the clouds are dark, making it difficult to tell the time. It is sometime late in the afternoon when we come upon a small cave. A piece of rocky shelf juts out from just above the low opening, like an awning. I am suddenly afraid that there are wild animals at the base of the mountains, perhaps in here.

Henrik flicks the lighter to view the empty space. It appears abandoned. In the corners, animal bones are scattered, and there is a smell of decay. It is large enough for several people, though the ceiling is not high enough for us to stand. We sit inside, grateful for shelter with a dry floor.

The weather is relentless; the rain clouds have opened their doors to full. We decide to stay for the rest of the day and into the night. Henrik wears his father’s watch but it is not working. The front of the glass is cracked. He says that it was damaged when he played soccer in Zamosc but he did not want to take it off. We have no idea what time it is.

We take off our shoes. My feet are blistered and Henrik’s, I notice, are bleeding; the soles of his shoes are almost completely worn through in patches.

We have some onion and bread and I have filled up both our water bottles in the rain.

With tinder, Henrik makes a fire, but it is small and may not last long. He takes his trousers and coat off to place beside the fire and I see that he has many bruises on his legs from the times when he has slipped. When I take my outer clothes off, I see that mine are the same. He says that we must lay our clothes, socks, and shoes beside the fire to dry them while we can. In just our underwear, we climb into our sleeping bags. I am aware that we are nearly naked but this is no longer something that worries me. I am too hungry, cold, and sore.

The fire is still going when I fall asleep. This is the first time I have slept for more than a couple of hours. When I wake, my shoulders are stiff from the heavy backpack and the hard ground, and my legs are aching. Henrik is still sleeping. My clothes are not yet dry but I put them on anyway. I am just rolling up my sleeping bag when I hear the crunching of footsteps on frost-covered leaves just outside the cave.

I poke Henrik awake. His eyes open halfway. He is having difficulty waking. I put my finger to my lips and point outside. He hears the noise and suddenly he is alert also. He picks up the rifle from near his bag.

There is a low grunting as the bear comes into view only yards away. He is dragging the remains of a small animal. We have invaded the home where he plans to sleep for the winter. He sniffs the air, then growls. He is just as shocked as we are. When he opens his mouth, I can see his sharp teeth. His fur is dark brown and he is young. I wonder if, like mine, his parents were killed in the war.

Henrik picks up a rock and throws it at the bear. He retreats slightly but it doesn’t deter him; he will not give up his home without a fight. The bear sizes us up, thinks that he will be the clear victor, and steps forward on his large paws.

Henrik aims his gun.

“No!” I say. “Just shoot in the air.”

He shoots to the side of the bear, which startles the creature enough that it runs out of sight. He has left his kill, but he will not retreat for long. We sense that he has not gone far and take the opportunity to pack our things. Henrik is fast and nimble, and he is dressed in seconds.

“All right,” he says. “Let me go out first and see where it is. If I have to, I will kill it.”

I nod. This is about survival for us, the same for the bear. Henrik creeps out.

“I can see him. He is behind some trees but he is coming back. Come out straight away!”

The bear is on all fours at first and then he stands and growls. I hurry towards Henrik, afraid to see if the bear has followed, fearful that he is on my heels. We run through the forest, weaving through the trees. Henrik turns often to see if the bear is following, but he is not interested in us. He wants his dinner and his home. He can have them.

We stop to catch our breath, and discover that I have dropped my sleeping bag. “We can’t go back,” he says. “We will just have to make do. We have to try and beat the weather.”

And then as if God is teasing us, he releases his powdery snow.