Beyond the Shadow of Night(12)

Mykhail and Mama nodded.

“Well, it seems our Russian masters have made peace with them.”

“But isn’t that a good thing?” Mykhail said.

“I’m not sure. They call it a non-aggression pact.”

“What’s wrong with that? Doesn’t it stop Germany invading us?”

“Who knows?” Papa replied.

“What do you mean?”

Papa wagged a finger at him. “I’ve said it many times: never trust the Russians. Only a few months ago Stalin was talking to the British and the French about guaranteeing Poland’s independence should Germany feel like walking into the country. Now he turns the other way. Ha!”

“Dmytro,” Mama said. “Please. No politics at the dinner table.”

“Sorry,” Papa said.

Mykhail thought about his travel plans, and how this news made it less likely—or even impossible—that he would travel. He was about to say as much when Mama spoke.

“Who knows the mind of a politician?” she said. “All we can do is wait and see.” She pointed to the steaming bowls of borsch and dumplings. “Wait and see, and eat.”

And so they ate.



Warsaw, Poland, 1939

Asher had now put his farm days firmly behind him and changed—matured, he liked to think. That was probably why he knew something was seriously wrong. Like any family, there had been petty squabbles before, but this was different; he could sense it from the way his parents and sisters spoke. One-word answers to questions. No humor. No cheer. The only joy he got these days was from his secret visits to Café Baran, where the violinist had by now become more a woman than a girl. He’d also noticed the café wasn’t as busy as it used to be. But the music was just as beautiful.

And there were more changes.

Warsaw was itself changing. More accurately, many of the people of Warsaw were changing.

It had been slow and gradual, but many of those who at first had welcomed Asher and his family to the city now crossed the street rather than talk to them. Asher spoke to these people—usually nothing more than a “Good morning” or “Hello”—but the reply was often a perfunctory smile or simply nothing at all. So Asher knew something was wrong, but didn’t want to trouble his parents; at sixteen he was no longer a little boy, so he needed to take care of any problems himself.

But then, one day in August, his papa came home seemingly in a daze, staggering into the apartment.

All the children noticed, but they looked to their mama to voice their concerns.

“What is it, Hirsch?” She stepped over to him as he eased himself into a chair. “Is something wrong? Tell me.”

He stared ahead. “My old friend, Mr. Petrenko, was right all along.”

“Right?” She screwed her eyes up in confusion. “Right about what?”

“He always used to say we should never trust the Russians.”

They all gathered around him as he continued.

“The bakery had a visit today from the police. They told the manager to . . . make plans.”

“Plans?”

“Put his affairs in order for events to come.” He glanced at all their faces before he spoke again. “The Soviet Union and Germany are now allies.”

Mama frowned. “And so?”

“Well, the Germans have done a lot of wandering lately. The hope was that the shadow of Russia would put them off wandering into Poland. Now the two countries are more likely to help each other.” He looked at his children again, and Asher saw creases on his papa’s face that hadn’t been there before.

Then Rina spoke up. “But didn’t you hear the news, Papa? It was on the radio. Britain and France have guaranteed Poland’s independence.”

He snorted a laugh. “I know. That’s the worrying part.”

“I don’t understand,” Mama said.

“Herr Hitler has designs on Poland. At least, that’s what the great and the good of the country think. Why would Britain and France take such action if that threat was unrealistic? No, it means it’s more likely.”

Mama thought for a moment before speaking again. “So, what are the great and the good of the country doing about this threat?”

He shrugged. “Preparing the army to defend us, I guess.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Mmm . . . I’m not so confident. Everyone knows we have cavalry and they have tanks. It will be horses’ hooves powered by muscle versus metal tracks powered by ruthlessness.”

That seemed to silence everyone.





Chapter 5

Warsaw, Poland, 1939

News of the pact between Germany and the Soviet Union cast a gray cloud over the Kogan household, leaving little appetite for conversation. By the first day of September, however, the mood was starting to improve.

“Perhaps it won’t happen,” Mama said as they all sat down to breakfast. “You know what these things are like, the big men with their big egos rattling their big sabers at each other.”

“You keep saying that,” Papa replied. “And you shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s tempting fate.”

“But surely if anything was going to happen it would have—”