Beyond the Shadow of Night(62)

They didn’t speak for the rest of the journey.

Nobody spoke.

Asher looked around at the faces, empty of flesh but full of fear. To one side, a man lay completely motionless on the floor, his head in the lap of a woman who had passed the first part of the journey gently stroking his brow. Then, with just as much care, she closed his eyes for him.

Most of the others were curled up like babies, their eyes half closed, their bodies hardly moving. Occasionally somebody would adjust their position and urinate where they sat.

But nobody spoke.

Asher knew it was hard to have hope. He ignored the smell of disease and the groans of despair, instead choosing to close his eyes and dream of his own heaven, somewhere much like Dyovsta, with clean air and seas of golden wheat shimmering in the bright sunlight. He felt warmer than he had for some time, and was soon rocked to sleep by the rhythmic rattling of wheels on track.



Asher woke up only when the train jolted to a halt. He rubbed his sleepy face, and turned to see Rina doing the same.

Their fellow passengers started mumbling and pointing to the cracks around the doors, where daylight streamed in and highlighted planes of dust gently dancing up and away, as if trying to escape. There were loud noises from outside: strident shouts, boots marching, dogs barking.

There was also a very distinctive smell.

Asher sniffed a little more.

The carriage doors opened with a squeal, and a wave of that same smell engulfed the carriage. Asher’s next breath made him feel sick.

Rina looked at him and screwed her face up. Nobody could have ignored the stench.

But horrible smells they could deal with; the armed guards shouting at them were the more immediate issue.

The disheveled bodies around Asher started dragging themselves to their feet and stepping out of the carriages. A few stayed on the floor and looked like they would never move under their own steam again. The guns and snarling dogs were hardly necessary; ramps to help the weak and injured onto the platform might have made more sense.

But what did make sense here?

Asher and Rina stood together on the platform, holding on to each other like comfort blankets, scanning their surroundings.

There were no streets or shops or housing blocks to speak of, only a few buildings half hidden by trees and bushes. And the whole area was surrounded by barbed-wire fencing, although it looked like an attempt had been made to disguise it with foliage. Were they trying to hide something here? To make something look pretty when it was anything but?

Asher looked behind him and read a large sign. It said “Treblinka.” He thought for a few moments, but no, he’d never heard of the place before. Was it some place constructed especially for Jews? A new village in the country? There must have been something here for the place to have its own railroad station.

Rina looked around in all directions, then nudged him. “Do you think this is where Mama, Papa, and Keren came to?” she asked hesitantly.

Asher didn’t dare tell her what he thought. The rest of their family plus hundreds of thousands more Jews brought here from Warsaw? If so, then where had they all been accommodated? There were nowhere near enough buildings. But surely the authorities wouldn’t go to the trouble of taking that amount of people many miles across the country only to shoot them?

“Perhaps this is only a junction point,” Rina said. “Perhaps there will be another train to take us away to . . .”

Her voice trailed off to a faint whimper. It was clear to Asher that even she didn’t believe what she was saying.

She forced down a gulp, her face contorting. “Oh, Asher,” she said, now stuttering the words out. “I’m scared. What’s . . . what’s happening?”

Asher looked around again. Ahead of them was what looked like a ticket office. On the walls were large pieces of paper full of writing—like timetables. And above them were clocks, as if arrivals and departures were to be expected.

“It’s . . . a railroad station,” he said to Rina. “A proper one. At least . . . as far as I can tell. Perhaps you’re right; perhaps we’re just changing trains here.”

Shouts and shoves from guards forced the crowd along the platform.

“Stay with me,” Rina said, now crying freely. “Stay with me, Asher, please. I’m scared.”

“Don’t worry.” He put an arm around her and held her close. “They’ll never separate us. You know I’ll die before I let that happen.”

As they were carried along by the flow of bodies, Asher glanced across at the buildings. Some were wooden cabins, and some looked familiar. But how? He’d definitely never been here before. Also the voices. The voices were . . . Yes, he was hearing voices in fluent Ukrainian. It was surreal. Was he dreaming this?

He looked around. The voices he recognized were coming from some of the guards. Yes, some of the guards were talking in Ukrainian. He shoved his way through the crowds to them, pulling Rina along with him.

“Are you Ukrainian?” he said.

They didn’t reply, just eyed him suspiciously, but they clearly understood.

“We’re Ukrainian too,” he said. “Both from Dyovsta.”

“Get back in line!” one of them shouted.

No, this definitely wasn’t a dream.

The crowd was forced into single file, around a corner and down a ramp, ending up at a desk underneath a canopy. Asher held Rina’s hand until they reached the desk.