The Forest of Vanishing Stars(19)

He hesitated, and she could see him weighing his options, deciding whether he should be honest. That was good; he was cautious. He was right not to immediately trust a stranger, and she respected him for it. “Thirteen, including myself,” he said after a long pause. “Fourteen if you count the baby.”

Thirteen people and a baby, hidden somewhere nearby. It was almost incomprehensible. “You are many.”

He nodded, watching her closely.

“You have come from the ghetto in Volozhin?”

“Volozhin?” He was still trying to puzzle her out, but after a second, he shook his head. “No. We are from the ghetto in Mir, to the south of the forest.”

She closed her eyes for a few seconds. “And you escaped?”

“Yes, but to what?” he asked softly. “It is summer now, with enough plants to eat, but what happens when the winter comes? How will I feed them all? I convinced them to leave with me. I promised that I could take care of them. But what if I cannot? What if we were better off where we were?”

“You were not.” The immediacy of her response startled both of them. “The forest will care for you better than the ghetto would. And you will learn.”

Again he seemed to be trying to read her eyes. “You know the ghetto, then? In Volozhin? That’s where you’ve come from?”

“No.” She knew he was fishing for more, but she wasn’t ready to be caught. “We will catch enough dace to feed your people tonight. Tomorrow, you will come back, and I will show you how to make a kryha.”

“A kryha?”

“I don’t know another word for it. It’s—it’s a net. You will catch a lot of fish that way. More than enough, and some pike, too, the larger ones.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Neither did Yona, so she slid the seven fish from her shirt and held them out to the man, who hesitated for a few seconds before holding his dripping shirt up like a basket. Yona slipped the fish into the fabric. She tried not to notice how his muscled chest and shoulders gleamed with perspiration. His body was different from that of Chana’s father, and it elicited in her a reaction that she didn’t quite understand.

In short measure, she collected another six fish and handed them over silently, her eyes sliding away as he watched with his mouth agape. Twice more, she gathered a half dozen, until she had handed him a total of twenty-five. They were small, but they would be enough until tomorrow. “You can pick some sulfur-shelf mushrooms, too,” she said as he bundled the fish into his shirt, making a sack of it. She emerged from the water and strode to a nearby tree trunk, where dozens of flat, deep-yellow mushrooms grew right out of the bark, one on top of the other. “You will see these all over the forest this time of year. They are safe if you cook them and will taste good in a stew with the fish. Just take care if any in your group are feeling ill; mushrooms are hearty and will help you to survive, but they are sometimes difficult to digest.” She promptly closed her mouth. Had she said too much? She busied herself with tearing two handfuls of mushrooms from the tree and crossing over to him, hands outstretched.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, taking the mushrooms and examining them almost reverentially before looking back at her. When she finally met his gaze, she could see awe in his eyes, and it both unsettled and pleased her that she was capable of evoking such a thing. “I’m Aleksander,” he added.

“I know.” When he looked at her with confusion, she added, “I heard your friend say it.”

“Ah, Leib.”

“Don’t tell him about me. Please.” She spoke before she could think. She knew it must have seemed a strange request, but she already felt exposed. If Aleksander could keep his word, could keep her a secret a little longer, maybe she could summon the courage to introduce herself to his friend, too. But not now, not yet. This was already too much.

“I give you my word. Though he will be very confused to see me bring back so many fish, considering how unskilled I’ve already proven myself to be.” Aleksander smiled.

She returned the smile shyly.

“You haven’t told me your name,” he said after a few seconds had passed.

She took a deep breath. “It’s Yona.”

He blinked a few times. “You have a Hebrew name.”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful,” Aleksander said, and she could feel herself blushing again. “Thank you, Yona. For everything. I will return tomorrow.”

And then he was gone, and she found herself wondering if she should have said more, should have made sure he knew how to clean and prepare the fish. But it was too late—for both that and turning back time. Even if Aleksander and his people moved on after a few days, even if she never saw him again, she had crossed a line into a new life, one in which seeing Chana’s lifeless body—and hearing of the horrors of the ghetto—had changed her forever.

“I’m sorry, Jerusza,” she whispered into the wind, but there was no reply, not even a rustling of the trees. Still, it mattered little. No longer was the forest a sanctuary where she could live out the rest of her days alone, preserving only her own life. She had to do something to help the people like Aleksander, who were just trying to survive.





CHAPTER SEVEN