The Things We Cannot Say(115)

“We have to be so careful not to disturb the film canister,” he murmured to me one day, as he intently concentrated on the task. “And we also have to be doubly sure not to break your skin, because if you get an infection in there—we will have to take the cast off. Don’t try to do this yourself. Promise me.”

“Okay,” I said, lost in the sheer relief of the ruler against my skin.

“Good,” he said, and he laughed at the blissed-out expression on my face. “Same time tomorrow?”

Sometimes when we were alone, he talked about Eva and Tikva, about the tender months he had with his daughter, about the happy years he shared with his wife before the war. Other days, we’d talk about my parents or my brothers, or it would be my turn to share a happy story about Tomasz. I thought the sharing would help the longing I felt—but somehow, it made it worse.

“Tomasz should be here any day,” I’d whisper, when the emotion swelled and tears threatened.

“Any day now.” Saul would smile confidently, and I’d feel bolstered, reminded of the plan, reassured that everything was still on track and things were going to be okay. But the periods of sadness came and went anyway, especially as it gradually dawned on me that unless Tomasz had news of my parents’ welfare when he arrived, I had to assume, and then convince myself, that they were dead. When the grief took hold, it was Saul I talked to, and Saul who offered words of comfort. He became a dear friend to me, and I could completely understand why Tomasz thought so highly of him.

“Hang in there, my friend,” he said to me one day, when we’d been in the camp for some weeks. “Any day now, Tomasz will arrive, and then the British will come, and you’ll begin the life your parents likely dreamed of for you. A very wise young woman once said that I had to believe I was meant to survive, and now that I’m here and I am helping these people, I can see that she was right...” We shared a sad smile, and then he added, “It will be the same for you and Tomasz.”

“You seem happy here.”

“As happy as I’m ever likely to be in what is left of my life. Wherever the camp goes, I’ll join them.” Saul shrugged. “I have heard we will be evacuated to Persia soon because the camp is not prepared for the winter...but whether it’s there or here or even the moon, I think maybe my place is helping these people.”

“Despite the fact that the Polish army wouldn’t have even allowed you to join this camp if they knew you were Jewish?” I said, a little incredulous at Saul’s willingness to forgive.

“When the time is right, I’ll be honest about who I am—my name and my heritage, and you’ll see what I knew all along. When a man is a patient on an operating table, and there’s only one person in the room with the skills to save his life, that patient will instantly forget that he used to be a bigot.”

I laughed weakly, but then I had a sudden thought. “I’ll miss you if you do stay on. I wish you would come with me and Tomasz instead. Perhaps we would all be able to settle together in England—wouldn’t that life appeal to you instead?”

“You and Tomasz will have a wonderful life together,” he assured me. “And it’s a life you’ve more than earned. I won’t tag along—a fresh start will do you both the world of good.”

Saul had become a good friend to me—an ally when I otherwise would have been alone. It made me happy then that he was thinking about his own future again—even if his eye was still on the war. I was just glad that he seemed to have found a light at the end of the tunnel of his grief, because in those early days when he was all but catatonic at the loss of his wife and child, I’d thought such a thing impossible.

It seemed to me that almost everyone was sick in the camp, and I was no exception. We’d been in the camp for almost two months, and I’d had a stomach flu on and off for much of that time. Some nights, I’d try to eat whatever scraps were set out before us and I’d manage only a mouthful or two before the sickness resurged. I actually felt lucky—I was always able to tolerate at least water, and Saul assured me that as long as that was the case and I could keep my food down at least once a day, I would be okay. I knew that half of the beds in the infirmary at any given time were patients with acute diarrhea, and when they became dehydrated, they usually died.

All I could do was eat when I could, and wait for it to pass. At breakfast one morning, I looked down at the slightly moldy bread we’d been served and had to push it away before I retched. I felt miserable that day, and I drew in a deep breath and tried to remind myself this was all only temporary.

“Tomasz should be here any day,” I said, and I waited for Saul to echo the reassurance he always provided.

Instead, though, he said suddenly, “Eva and I really didn’t intend to fall pregnant with Tikva.” I looked up at him in surprise, momentarily distracted from my nausea, and he shrugged. “War is not a time when people plan to bring a child into the world, especially not the situation we were in. But we loved each other, and all we had was each other so it was natural for us to express that. And I really thought we were being careful...but these things happen. Would you like to know how I discovered she was pregnant?”

“How did you realize?” I asked him. Saul smiled sadly.

“We were traveling from Warsaw with Tomasz—we’d been on the road for a few weeks, hiding where we could, eating what he could find for us—he was so much better at scavenging than me. One day, he trapped and caught a duck. Can you imagine? We roasted it on a fire, and it was like manna from heaven, Alina—oh the taste and the texture, my God.” He pressed his knuckles to his mouth like a delighted child, and I laughed. “It was a miracle. Tell me...when was the last time you ate roast anything?”