Beyond the Shadow of Night(75)

Eventually the place was restored to nothing more than a forest clearing. The only clues as to what had happened there were to be found a few inches below the surface.



A few miles away, on the farm, Asher took a few weeks to do nothing more than rest and eat. It turned out that there was a large gash along the outside of one leg, the pain of which had been covered by adrenaline and exhaustion. But Mrs. Malinowski dressed the wound daily and it recovered, along with his body weight.

Mr. Malinowski constructed a compact hiding hole behind the log pile in the storeroom just off the kitchen. Asher went there whenever there was a knock at the door, ready to squeeze into it if he heard the code word that signified the presence of Nazi guards. Additionally, Mrs. Malinowski would spring into action, ensuring there were no giveaway signs such as a third plate or cup on the table, and rolling up Asher’s makeshift bed and storing it away. Their efficiency sometimes made Asher slightly fearful—but so grateful.

They asked for nothing in return, and after one particular visit, once the Nazis had gone, Asher asked Mrs. Malinowski why she was helping him, risking her life when there were much easier options. “It’s what our son would have wanted,” was the reply.

For those first few weeks Asher spoke very little, and was rigid with the fear of those inhuman knocks at the front door. But the Malinowskis made him feel that there was good in the world after all. He stayed there for a year, safe and cared for, his mind and body gradually healing.

During that time, they all listened to the foreign news on the radio and heard reliable rumors from neighboring farms. Every month there was news of more German and Axis losses to the west; every week there was news of more Soviet advances in the east. There were also unpleasant rumors of what the Germans were doing to towns and villages they were retreating from.

One day, in the summer of 1944, when the Treblinka uprising was merely a memory and the search for escapees had long since been abandoned, Mr. Malinowski ran into the house, quickly followed by a younger man and woman, both soaked through and with muddy hands and feet.

Mr. Malinowski called out to his wife and Asher. Mrs. Malinowski fetched towels for the pair, then all five sat in the kitchen, where Mr. Malinowski told them there was danger.

“The rumors are true,” he said. “Asher, this is our niece and her husband. They ran a farm just across the river.”

“Ran?” Mrs. Malinowski said, confused.

“It’s just a burning wreck now,” her young niece said through tears. “They set fire to everything, killed our cattle and pigs. We only escaped by swimming across the river. We’re lucky to be alive.”

“You must be so scared,” Mrs. Malinowski said.

Her niece’s husband nodded. “But not too scared to fight.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mr. Malinowski said. “The same is not going to happen here; they’ll have to kill us first.” He looked at them all in turn. “We’re not running. Agreed?”

Asher nodded with the rest of them.

Mr. Malinowski fetched a key from the back of a kitchen drawer and took it down into the cellar, where he unlocked a small cabinet. Asher couldn’t count the exact number of shotguns and rifles inside it.

“I knew this day would come,” he said. “Upstairs we have a window on each side, two at the front. We take one each, and shoot at anything that looks like a German, yes?”

The wait was long and boring—two days and nights. Then, just after dusk, two German soldiers approached the door and knocked on it, lifting their rifles up. There was no answer, so one steadied himself to kick the door in. Before he could manage that, both men were shot dead from above.

More soldiers quickly arrived, shooting and smashing the windows. While the wooden barn was set alight and the livestock shot dead, the battle for the farmhouse carried on. Soldiers attacked the building from every angle, but were also shot at from the upstairs windows.

Eventually, with a few dozen soldiers lying dead around the house, there was nothing more to be shot. Asher and the Malinowskis waited, looked, and listened, but only heard voices and vehicles slowly receding into the background.

“They’ve given up!” Mrs. Malinowski eventually shouted out.

“They’ve moved on to the next farm,” Mr. Malinowski replied. “God help the owners.”

The five prayed for them, and kept guard for another day and night, but the only sounds they heard were birds twittering during the day, and owls hooting and wolves howling at night.

But there was no time to relax. There was no knowing whether the guards had given up or would try again. By day and by night there were always two people on guard, and the guns were kept loaded and to hand.

Early one morning, while Asher was on guard and struggling to stay awake, he heard Mr. Malinowski, who was sharing guard duties with him, shout from the other side of the house.

“Asher! Asher! Someone’s here!”

Asher shook the slumber from his head and rushed across.

“See,” Mr. Malinowski said, pointing toward the forest. “Movement. Definitely some people.”

And yes, Asher could make out a few figures moving around in the dark forest.

Approaching.

He and Mr. Malinowski lifted their rifles and set their sights on the edge of the forest.

Three figures stepped out from the trees and into the dawn’s half-light.