Beyond the Shadow of Night(18)

Asher turned seventeen, and his strong, youthful body was now managing to do almost as much work as his papa at the bakery, lugging around sacks of flour and anything else that needed moving. At home, there was more conversation among the Kogan family than ever, as well as smiles—and even laughter.

One evening in October, while they were playing cards at the table, there was a knock on the door.

Papa answered, and Asher saw a council official standing there. Papa went outside and closed the door behind him. They all heard raised voices. This time, Mama didn’t say anything about it being rude to listen. Not that it would have mattered. Nobody spoke or moved, instead just listening to the argument, trying in vain to work out what it was about.

Papa came back in. Slammed the door. Went straight to the bedroom. Slammed that door too.

“Stay here,” Mama said, and followed Papa into the bedroom.

Strained voices came from the other room, and soon their parents returned.

“I have something to tell you all,” Papa said, the gravest of expressions darkening his face.

There was a stolen glance between Mama and Papa, then he said, “We . . . we have to move.”

They all looked at Papa, their mouths open.

“Where to?” Rina said.

“Another part of the city. They’re segregating Warsaw.”

“Segregating?” she replied.

“Creating a Jewish district. We’ve all heard about the walls they’ve been building.”

“But why do we have to go?” Asher said.

Papa rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I don’t have answers,” he said. “That’s the way it is.”

It was a strange response; Asher had expected more. Exactly what, he didn’t know. But nobody queried it, and within days the Kogans had placed all their belongings onto a cart and pulled it to the center of the city.

They passed guards and ruined buildings, which Asher’s eyes dwelt on, and red-stained concrete, which he tried not to notice. Soon, they lined up at a gap in a large wall. When Asher had first heard about the new walls, he’d assumed perhaps they were being constructed to replace those the bombs had destroyed. But he had ample opportunity to examine this one during the long wait in line, and this was not part of any building: it was a wall and nothing more—a long one, snaking as far as he could see and eventually around a corner. It was about twice his height, with rolls of barbed wire curling along the top. It reminded him of the walls he’d heard about at school—the ones enclosing ancient cities. Those, of course, had been designed to keep people out. Asher could only guess the purpose of these walls, but he dismissed his fears, hoping he’d got it horribly wrong.

Their papers were checked, and once inside the walled area they were given directions to their new living quarters.

When they arrived, Asher felt slightly relieved. It didn’t seem too bad. Okay, so it was a single room this time, but it was a large one. After they’d all looked around, which didn’t take long, Papa gathered them at the table that dominated one end.

It took him some time to start speaking, making two false starts before the first words came out.

“There’s something else I have to tell you,” he said.

“What can be worse than this?” Mama said.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but . . . Asher and I can no longer work at the bakery.” He looked at his two daughters. “You two can’t work at the factory either.”

“Why not?” Rina asked. “Says who?”

Again, he was slow in speaking. “Because that would mean leaving this area—the Jewish sector.” Now he looked up at each of them in turn. “We aren’t allowed through the wall to the rest of the city.”

“What if we need to buy something?” Mama said.

Papa shrugged. “We use what we have within the walled district. Perhaps there’ll be work for one of us here, who knows?”

“We’ll survive,” Keren said. “When we walked here we all saw shops and businesses, didn’t we? They all need workers, surely?”

“We’ll see,” Papa said. “We will see.”



Despite the upheaval, the worried faces of his family, and the uncertainty of life in the walled sector, something else had been bothering Asher. After a few days in their new home, Asher waited until he was alone with his papa, walking the streets seeking out work, before asking the question.

“Papa?” he said. “What about the Barans? Will they have to wear these armbands and move here too?”

“They’re Jews. I guess so.”

“But what about the café?”

“Asher, I have enough problems worrying about our family.”

“But do you think they’ll open a café here?”

“Enough, Asher.”

“I’m sorry, Papa.”

Asher didn’t ask about the Barans again, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, his mind churning over the possibilities. On the one hand, he wanted the Barans to run the café as before; that would be much better for them than having to start another café from scratch inside this rather rundown walled sector. On the other hand, if that were true, he wouldn’t be seeing Izabella again until the Germans left and the city returned to normal, which pained him even more.