The Forest of Vanishing Stars(8)

“Bad men. The horror has just begun.” But Jerusza would explain no more. Later that night, long after the footsteps had faded, they began moving again, this time to the east.

“Where are we going?” Yona asked, her voice low, as she struggled to keep up with Jerusza, who was traipsing through the darkness with purpose.

“East, of course,” the old woman said without breaking her stride, without turning to look at Yona. “When there is trouble, you must always move toward the beginning of the day, not the end. You know this, child. Have I taught you nothing?”

In the summer of 1941, bloated black logs fell from the sky one bright afternoon, shaking the solid earth, frightening the birds from the trees, scaring the rabbits underground as the ground quaked and rolled.

“Bombs,” Jerusza said, her voice as hollow as a dead oak. “They are bombing Poland.”

Yona knew about bombs, of course, for they’d fallen two years before, too. But she had never seen them like this, clouding a bright blue sky. “Who?” Yona felt cold, despite the heat of the sun. In the distance, there were more explosions. “Who is bombing Poland?”

“The Germans.” Jerusza did not look at Yona as she replied. “Come. There’s no time to lose, or we’ll be directly in the path of Russian deserters.”

“What?” Yona asked, completely confused, but Jerusza didn’t answer. Instead, she gathered their things, thrust a few knapsacks into Yona’s arms, and started off into the woods as quickly as Yona had ever seen her move.

It took them two days and nights of walking, stopping only to sleep for a few hours when their feet couldn’t carry them anymore, before they reached the edge of a seemingly endless swamp, just to the west of the forest’s heart.

“Where are we?” Yona asked.

“Somewhere safe. Now take off your packs and be prepared to carry them above your head. Your knife, too.”

Stunned into silence, Yona scanned the horizon. The swamp stretched farther than the eye could see and seemed to Yona to be an optical illusion; it was dotted with islands, but it was impossible to tell from the edge which parts of the swamp were solid ground and which were swirling with deep, murky water. Was it Yona’s imagination, or could she hear the water hissing the word Jerusza had just spoken? Safe, it seemed to be saying. Saaaaaaafe.

“But won’t you get sick?” Yona asked as Jerusza began to lead the way into the deepening swamp, the water already up to their hips. After all, the old woman was a century old, and just the week before, she had begun to cough and shake at night.

Jerusza choked out a mirthless laugh. “Have I not taught you by now that the forest takes care of its own?”

“But why are we doing this, Jerusza?” Yona had asked an hour later as the water reached their necks. Around them, the swamp continued to hiss. They carried their packs on their heads so the turbid muck wouldn’t soak their things.

“Because you must know this forest inside and out, her heart, her soul. Now you are in her belly, and her belly will keep you safe.”

It took them two days to reach an island in the center of the swamp, where they found mushrooms, bilberries, and startled hedgehogs that were easy to catch. They remained there for a month, until they had picked the island clean of its sustenance, until they could no longer hear explosions or the rat-tat-tat of gunfire in the distance.

As they finally made their way back to a more familiar part of the forest in early August, Yona summoned the courage to ask a question that had been weighing on her for a long while. “What do you believe, Jerusza?” she asked as they walked, the old woman several strides ahead of her, leading the way. “You call yourself Jewish, and we mark the Jewish holidays, but you scoff at them, too.”

Jerusza didn’t turn to look at her, nor did she slow her pace. “I believe everything and nothing. I am a seeker of truth, a seeker of God.” It wasn’t an answer. Finally, Jerusza sighed. “As you know, my mother was Jewish, and so according to Jewish law, that means I am, too. You know these things, child. Why are you forcing me to waste my breath?”

“I—I suppose I’m wondering about myself.”

“What about yourself?”

“Well… what am I? You are not my mother, but you raised me. Does that make me Jewish, too?”

The silence hung between them as they walked. “You are what you were born to be,” Jerusza said at last.

Yona clenched her fists in frustration. It should have been a simple question, but somehow, even after all these years, it wasn’t. “But what was that?” she persisted. “Why do you never give me a clear answer? What was I born to be?”

“I wish I knew,” Jerusza shot back. “I wish I understood why the forest called me to you. I wish I could understand why I’ve had to spend the final years of my life with an ungrateful child. I suppose you’re fated for something great, but at the rate you’re going, I’ll be long dead before you fulfill whatever destiny that may be.”

Yona’s head throbbed with confusion and hurt. “But if you could tell me something about where I came from…”

“For goodness’ sake, stop!” Jerusza finally turned to glare at Yona. She chewed her sagging lip for a long moment before adding, “You’re asking the wrong questions, child. Never forget that the truth always lies within you. And if you can’t find it, maybe the forest was wrong about you. Perhaps you’re nothing more than an ordinary girl, after all.”