The Things We Cannot Say(12)

“What do we do now?” I asked breathlessly. Everyone turned to look at me.

“We wait,” Mama murmured. “And we pray.”

We spent much of that first day huddled together, hidden in the cellar beneath the barn. The planes came and went and came back again. Later, we would learn that several hundred bombs were dropped across our region during those long hours we spent hiding. The bombing was sporadic, unpredictable and fierce. From my position in the cellar, the explosions near and far and all around us sounded like the end of the world was happening just outside of our barn.

Most people have no idea what prolonged terror really feels like. I certainly didn’t until that day. In that terrifying darkness, I sweated through hours and hours and hours of being certain that any second, a bomb would fall on us—that any second, the cellar would cave in—that any second, a man with a gun would appear in the doorway to take away my life. I had not been comfortable with confined spaces even at the best of times, but that day I felt a depth of fear that I’d never even realized was possible. I lived my death that day, over and over and over again in my mind. Extreme anxiety like that doesn’t obey the normal laws of emotion; it doesn’t get tired, it doesn’t fade, you never grow used to it. I was every bit as petrified eight hours into those air strikes as I was when they began, until I was entirely convinced that the only end for the fear would be the end of life itself.

There was an extended break in the bombing early in the afternoon. We didn’t dare breathe a sigh of relief at first, because there had been breaks earlier in the day but they hadn’t lasted long. This time, long minutes went past, and after a while, even the sound of plane engines faded away to blessed silence.

Filipe was desperate to run next door to check on Justyna and her family. It was only a few hundred feet—he assured us he’d hide in the tree line along the woods and he’d be back in less than half an hour. Mama and Father grumbled, but eventually allowed him to go, and predictably, as soon as permission had been granted, Stanislaw decided he was going too.

The rest of us climbed into the doorway of the barn for some fresh air, and with the skies still clear, we remained there until the twins returned. Father and Mateusz sat in the doorway; Mama, Truda and I sat in a line behind them. Truda and Mama talked quietly as we waited, but I sat silent, my mouth too dry for small talk.

As promised, my brothers were gone for less than half an hour, but they returned visibly shaken, and at first I thought they’d discovered the worst. They joined us in the barn, sitting against the doorposts on either side of Father and Mateusz. There was some good news—the Golaszewski family were fine, and like us were physically unscathed. But Jan had made a trip into Trzebinia during the last brief bombing break. He had seen locals walking the streets weeping the loss of their families, children with injuries so bad Filipe couldn’t bear to repeat the details, and dozens of homes alight.

During my hours in the cellar, I had been so consumed with anxiety that my own safety had monopolized my thoughts, but as my brother relayed Jan’s findings, another fear broke through. I was rapidly processing the implications of what a severely damaged Trzebinia could mean and the risk to Aleksy and Emilia. The medical clinic was just off the town square—right where the homes were densest. And if they were dead—that would mean that one day soon, Tomasz would return and there’d be no family waiting for him. Suddenly, all roads led to the impact of this potential development on Tomasz.

“Aleksy,” I croaked. Everyone shifted to stare at me, and I saw the sadness in their eyes. “Aleksy and Emilia have to be okay. They have to be.”

“If Aleksy is okay, he will be tending to the injured...” Mama murmured. I could imagine that—Aleksy hiding during the bombing, then emerging to help the wounded, but if that was true, who was comforting and protecting Emilia? I had been riding out the bombing raids surrounded by my whole family—and it was still the most terrifying experience of my life. She was seven years old, and with Tomasz away, she only had her father, so if he was busy or even injured himself...

“We have to get Emilia!” I blurted, and Filipe sighed impatiently.

“How? Who knows when the planes will return?”

“But if Aleksy is busy helping people, who will be with her? She might be alone! Please, Father. Please, Mama, we have to do something!”

“There is nothing we can do, Alina,” Father said softly. “I am sorry. What will be will be.”

“We will pray,” Mama announced. “It is all we can do.”

“No,” I said, and I shook my head fiercely. “You must go get her, Father. You must. She is a baby—all alone in the world. She is my family too! Please.”

“Alina!” Truda groaned. “You are asking for the impossible. It’s not safe for anyone to go into the town.”

I couldn’t let the matter drop, not even when my parents’ pleas for silence became sharp demands for me to drop the matter. When I started to cry and threatened to make the journey myself, Filipe pulled himself up from the dirt and dusted his trousers off. Mama groaned.

“Don’t be foolish, Filipe! You have tempted fate once already—”

“Alina is right, Mama. Aren’t we worse than the Nazis if we leave that little girl to fend for herself while her father works to save lives?”

“If she’s even alive, Filipe. You may get to the town and find they are already gone,” Father said under his breath.