The Things We Cannot Say(17)
“What are you doing?” I blurted. Mama’s gaze narrowed at me.
“None of your business, child. Where did you take her?” Her tone was stiff, but her gaze concerned.
“Truda,” I said, and Mama nodded, satisfied, and she stepped away from the table back toward the potbellied stove, where a pot of soup was simmering.
“I should have told you to do that... I was too panicked... I didn’t think. Good girl.”
“What did the commander say today?” I asked her, and the softness disappeared from her gaze altogether as she flung a scowl back toward me.
“He is not a commander,” she said flatly. “Don’t ever name those animals as if they are human. Don’t give then the power or the prestige of honored titles. The pigs are invaders, nothing more.”
“What did...what did the invader say?” I asked weakly, and Mama avoided my gaze.
“You need soup. You must eat and stay strong. These months will be hard until we find a way to defeat them.”
“Mama,” I pleaded with her. “I need to know.”
“All you need to know is what you saw today, Alina.” Father said, his voice stiff. “They did not say much more than a whole lot of posturing and warning us that they will be taking the produce...eventually they plan to take the farms for German settlers. This is nothing your mother and I did not expect. We are a tough people—we will ride this out and hope for the best.”
“Take the farm?” I gasped.
“Their plans are immense...unpractical. This displacement will not happen overnight, and as long as the farm remains productive, perhaps we will be spared.”
“But what will happen to us if they take the farm?” I choked. Mama clucked her tongue and waved toward the table and chairs.
“Enough, Alina. We can’t know what’s coming, or even when. All we can do is to try our best to keep our heads down.”
I didn’t want soup. I didn’t want the hot tea Mama made me. I really didn’t want the vodka Father pressed into my hands and eventually forced me to drink. I wanted to feel safe again—but our home had been violated, and Aleksy had died in cold blood right in front of my eyes and every time I closed my eyes, I saw it happen all over again.
That night, I lay in my bed and I stared at the window. Scattered clouds hung low above our house, and I watched the slight curve of the moon when it appeared in the gaps between them. I’d taken the vodka so reluctantly, but once the burning in my throat passed, I felt it loosen my limbs and my mind, and I finally stopped shaking and relaxed into my bed. At last, I let my mind turn to Tomasz, and I wondered how he would hear about Aleksy’s fate. Did the mail still work? Could I send him a letter? Should I send him a letter?
And then, finally, from the fog of shock in my mind the most terrifying thought of all gradually rose and grew louder, until it consumed my thoughts entirely.
Tomasz was in Warsaw, studying at university to become a doctor, just like his father before him.
Aleksy had just been killed because he was a doctor.
What if Tomasz was already dead too?
My heart began to race and the trembling started all over again. I sat up and opened my top drawer, then fished around to find the ring at the bottom. I squeezed it tightly in my palm—so tightly that it left a deep impression in my skin—which was exactly what I wanted.
I needed my hopes to mark me and for my dreams to become a part of my body, something tangible that could not be lost or taken.
After the generalized brutality of the early days of the occupation, the Nazi attention soon took on a narrower focus. There was a thriving Jewish community in Trzebinia, and as weeks turned into months, it was the Jewish folk who bore the brunt of the violence. There was widespread violence and theft against the Jews; both by Nazis and then, to my father’s horror, by gangs of opportunistic locals who operated openly in the daylight—their mission was at least in part to express solidarity with the occupying forces.
Once we learned that Jan Golaszewski had participated in such a gang, Father told Filipe and I that we were no longer allowed to see Justyna. I was too scared to disobey, but Filipe began sneaking out at night to meet with her in the fields. A curfew had been set by the Nazi forces and we weren’t supposed to leave the house after dark, so when Filipe refused to stop his midnight trips to see his love, Father was forced to relent.
“Justyna may visit here during the daylight hours, or you may meet her at the boundaries between the farms. It is not her fault that her father is who he is, but I won’t allow my children to step inside that bastard’s home.”
The situation in Trzebinia continued to deteriorate. Jewish businesses and then homes were confiscated altogether—then whole families were forced to shift into a “Jewish area,” and sent to work for the invaders. There were restrictions on travel and marriage, and then we heard the very first rumors of friends from within the town being shot, sometimes for attempting to flee, but often for no real reason at all. The oppression came in waves, each one more determined than the last—setting a new baseline of “normal” for the stunned Jews in town and those of us watching nearby.
My Roman Catholic family had lived side by side with the Jews in Trzebinia forever—we’d been to school with their children, sold them our produce and relied on goods from their stores. So as the noose around the neck of “our” Jewish community began to wind tighter, the sheer helplessness the rest of us felt affected everyone in different ways. Mama and Father would curse the invaders, but reacted almost violently to any suggestion that we were anything other than helpless bystanders to the tragedy unfolding before us. They were determined that if we kept our heads down, we could stay under the radar and remain safe ourselves. But Stanislaw and Filipe were eighteen-year-old boys—right on the edge of manhood, flooded with testosterone and an optimistic belief that justice was achievable. They’d wait until Mama and Father were out of earshot, then have intense discussions about growing rumors of a resistance. The twins traded hints of hope, spurring one another on, until I was absolutely terrified one or both of them would disappear into the night and get themselves killed.