A Feather on the Water(30)

When she reached the weaving shed, she saw immediately that only one of the keys in the bunch was likely to fit the hole in the door. It took some effort to turn the lock, but soon she was inside, standing in a beam of dancing dust motes. The enormous looms looked as if they’d been abandoned in great haste: half-finished sheets of artificial silk still adorned them, the fabric frayed in places where mice or squirrels had nibbled at it. On the workbenches that ran along two sides of the shed were the spools of thread Kitty had come looking for. She picked one up and blew the dust off it. The color was still bright: a vivid scarlet. Further inspection revealed greens, blues, and yellows. And in a basket, she found half a dozen pairs of scissors wrapped in oilcloth.

As she was locking the door, she heard the sound of an engine above the murmur of the river. It wasn’t until she got farther along the path that she realized it was a motorbike. The driver was passing something to Sergeant Lewis through the metal bars of the gate. She glimpsed an armband with a red cross on it.

“For you,” the sergeant said, holding out the thick envelope as she handed back the bunch of keys.

“Oh?” The words “Tracing Service” stamped on the front set off a pulse of excitement. “Thank you.”

This was what she’d been waiting for: the updated lists from all the DP camps. It was all she could do not to break into a run as she turned away.

As soon as Kitty reached the office, she prized open the envelope and spread out the contents on the desk. There were dozens of typed sheets, each bearing the name of one of the various camps in the zones the Allies now occupied. The lists contained details of new arrivals in the month of June. As well as last names and initials, the age of a person was recorded and their place of origin.

A quick scan revealed those with Jewish names. She separated them from the rest, then sat down to study each one carefully. Her heart leapt when, near the bottom of the second sheet, she spotted a Blumenthal. The person was female—and the initial was right, too: E. The place of origin was Poland, not Austria. Could it mean the place where someone was born rather than where they’d been living at the start of the war?

As she ran her finger along the line of type, her spirits dived. The age was wrong. This woman was fifty-six. She’d never been sure of her mother’s exact age, other than knowing that she was younger than Kitty’s father, who had celebrated his fortieth birthday a few weeks before Kitty left for England. Back in Manchester, when she’d written to the Red Cross asking for information about her parents, Kitty had estimated her mother’s current age as forty-five.

The next list was no good—not a single name beginning with the letter B. She’d just begun working her way down another when the telephone rang.

“Miss Bloom?” It was Sergeant Lewis. “I have two women here. And a baby. They want to come in. Could you come and speak to them?”



Sinaida Sikorsky beamed when she saw Kitty. She introduced her daughter, Magdalena, and her grandson, Jacoub, who was fast asleep in his mother’s arms. Then she launched into a description of the little boy’s entry into the world, sparing none of the gory details. Kitty glanced at Sergeant Lewis, who was looking on, bemused. Just as well he couldn’t understand any of it, she thought.

“Mamo, prosz? . . .” The younger woman tugged at her mother’s arm, clearly embarrassed at having such intimate facts broadcast to a couple of strangers. Kitty wondered how she had the strength to hold her child—she looked transparent, with dark circles under her eyes.

“Chod? ze mn?.” Come with me. Kitty led them along the tree-lined path to the cabins. She hadn’t worked out how she was going to explain the presence of the two other mothers already occupying the one assigned to Sinaida and her family.

When Sinaida walked through the door, she let out a little gasp of amazement. “Pi?knie!” It’s beautiful!

Magdalena nodded her agreement. Jacoub opened his eyes and began to wail.

A voice called from above them: “Kto tu jest?” Who is here?

Kitty was about to launch into an explanation, when the owner of the voice, a woman named Anka, came down the stairs. Sinaida’s reaction to the sight of her was explosive. She called her a German whore, followed by a volley of words Kitty couldn’t comprehend.

At the sound of his grandmother’s shouting, Jacoub’s cries increased. But Sinaida was shaking her fist at Anka, seemingly oblivious to the distress she was causing.

“Mamo, przestań!” Mama, stop! Magdalena put herself between Sinaida and the other woman, her hand protecting the baby’s head.

Kitty was horrified. She’d anticipated some hostility, but not physical violence. She moved quickly, ushering Sinaida toward the door. Being head and shoulders taller than the older woman helped; it gave her an authority that belied her lack of experience.

Once they were outside, she told Sinaida that if she wanted to remain in the camp, she was going to have to calm down and be prepared to get along with the other women in the cabin. She added that it would only be for a few nights, until the new accommodations were ready.

“Wola?abym spa? w lesie!” I would rather sleep in the forest! The look Sinaida gave her was murderous.

“Dobrze.” Good. Kitty called her bluff, jerking her head toward the trees. Watching the woman’s face, she felt as if she could hear the cogs going around in her head. For Magdalena and the baby to sleep outdoors would be out of the question. If Sinaida persisted with this defiance, she would be spending the night alone on a bed of pine needles with wild animals for company.