Beyond the Shadow of Night(39)

A pained expression gave him one answer, but it was an answer at odds with her actions.

“Don’t say that, Asher,” she replied. “Please, it’s . . . it’s not that. You’re a kind, strong man. I enjoy your company. You and your family are fine people. But when we talk about loving one another . . .” A slow shake of her head finished the sentence.

“What?” Asher said, secretly understanding but not wanting to understand.

“I remember what you said when you first spoke to me. You talked of love even way back then. I’ll always remember that.”

“I said it because it was true. And it’s just as true now. I’m in love with you, Izabella. There, I’ve said it again. This time I’m not spouting the words like . . . like some star-crossed fool; I’m telling you that because I know you well and I mean it from my head as well as my heart. I’m in love with you.”

“And what if I say the same, if I tell you I’m in love with you and I promise you my undying love for evermore? What then?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Oh, Asher. Look around you. People are starving, many even dying. We’re both in a prison with no release date. So we have love. But what do we do with it?”

Asher thought for a few seconds, but was still puzzled. “Do with it?”

“Yes. Do we get married? Do we start a family? Asher, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your company and friendship, for your family’s hospitality. You’ve brightened up days that would have been my darkest, but this is not a place for love.”

“But . . . but I love you.”

“And in a better place I would love you too. Honestly, I would. And perhaps when all this is over and we have our freedom, I will. But not now, not with so much suffering all around us. I’m so sorry, Asher, but we’d be torturing ourselves if we let our emotions take control.”

Asher stayed quiet for a few moments, his head bowed. Then he looked up and said, “Can I still meet with you?”

She nodded and frowned, looking almost hurt. “I’d like nothing more. You know how I feel about you. That hasn’t changed.”

“And the meals?”

“I’m so grateful to your family. I know how hard it is to share food that’s been hard fought for. But I think it’s better that I don’t come anymore. It feels wrong after I’ve said these things to you.”

“Oh.” Asher smiled glumly.

“Asher, I’m not rejecting you. Please don’t think like that. As I said, perhaps we can become closer in a better time, a better place. You won’t forget me, will you? Please promise me that much.”

The words brightened Asher up and he felt the corners of his mouth twitching upward instinctively. “Of course I won’t forget you, Izabella. As you say, another time. I give you my word I won’t forget you, and when that other time comes I’ll tell you I love you again.”

“So you’re not bitter? I’d hate it if you were bitter.”

“No, no.” Now he smiled. It was a smile edged with sadness, but still a full smile. It was also a lie. He was bitter, although not at Izabella. “I’ll be happy just to listen to you playing the violin on the streets. All I want is for these horrible walls to come down and for Warsaw to return to normal.”

“And they will one day, Asher. But for now, just listen whenever you’re near. If you hear the violin, I’ll be here.”

Asher left Izabella, telling her he had to go and meet his papa. When he was out of her sight he stopped to wipe away a few tears. He stood for a few moments listening to the violin. He knew he’d lied to her, although one thing he’d told her had been perfectly true. Watching her play, or watching words tumble from her ripe strawberry lips, or gazing into her warm, brown eyes—any of that would be like torturing himself. No, he couldn’t do that. It would only tempt him to strike up conversation with her, which would only tempt him to hold her and kiss her once more. And any of that—even, perhaps, his presence—would make her feel awkward, and he didn’t want that either.

But he wouldn’t forget her, and one day when this sorry mess had gone away, he would track her down again. Then they would share love.

He pulled himself together and returned home.

There, he found his papa talking to a neighbor. When the neighbor left, Asher explained to his papa what had happened, that Izabella no longer wanted to be an inconvenience to the Kogans. He also said he didn’t want anybody else in the family to ask him about it.

His wishes were respected—although his family couldn’t hold back the pitying looks—and soon life in the Kogan household returned to as normal as it could ever be in an occupied city.



Asher’s self-imposed abstinence lasted less than a week. Despite all the thoughts that seeing Izabella again would only make him suffer, conditions were deteriorating by the month, and just like anybody else with a spark of hope, something told Asher it was a spark to be nurtured, to be coaxed into a glow and then into a warm fire.

One sleepless night, he got up in the early hours, silently drank a cup of milk, and crept out. By the time he reached the other side of the sector, dawn had broken, and on every street corner he stilled himself, tuning his ears to any noise that sounded like music. He searched street after street, and yes, there was music—from a banjo player, from a flutist hardly worthy of the word—but not from any violinist. No Izabella. By noon Asher had walked every street and crossed every crossing in the Jewish sector. He returned home to an unwelcome interrogation.