The Things We Cannot Say(37)

That week, she’d given me an artwork in charcoal, a shadowy image of a rose missing many of its petals. I had a pile of such pictures in my room now, the motifs increasingly dark as the world around us was drained of light. Now Emilia drew in charcoal all the time, and she drew flowers in various states of death and, occasionally, sharp, bewildering abstracts. I still accepted each gift with a surprised smile, and she always looked so happy to have pleased me. The moodiness of her pictures concerned me, but I kept them all—I had a neat pile in the drawer with my precious ring.

That day, the conversation at lunch was focused all around that new punishment for assisting Jews. Truda was sullen in her sadness, but Mateusz was visibly shaking in frustration.

“It’s just hopeless,” Truda said miserably. “Every time I think it can’t get any worse, they find new depths of cruelty.”

“This will go a long way to discouraging those who are in the business of helping the Jews in hiding,” Father murmured, and his gaze flicked briefly to me. “People are noble, but when you threaten someone’s children...the very idea can make even the bravest man rethink heroic efforts.”

“Why do the Nazis hate the Jews so much?” Emilia blurted in her usual fashion. Everyone stared at her, searching for a way to respond, until she slumped a little. “Why do they hate us so much? What did we ever do to them?”

She was growing up before my eyes, each week a little less innocent than the last. She was a little shy of nine years old, but Emilia sometimes seemed more grown-up than I felt.

“Hitler wants land and power, and it is much easier to convince an army to die for you when you have an enemy to fight,” Father said, quite gently. “And the Jews make for an easy enemy, because people will always hate what is different.”

“Some people will help the Jews regardless,” Mama said suddenly. I felt as though she was trying to reassure us somehow. “Some will be undeterred by any punishment. Some will help them no matter what those pigs threaten us with.”

“And some are making so much gold from hiding Jews that even the threat of death to their families will not deter them,” Mateusz sighed. This was the first I’d heard of such an arrangement, and I was shocked.

“Who would do such a thing?”

“They are the worst of our countrymen, Alina, those who profit from the suffering of the innocent,” Mateusz said, suddenly scowling. “They are little more than pigs, just as the Nazis are.”

“Evil is closer to home than you think,” Mama murmured under her breath as she rose to clear her plate. “That’s why we trust no one outside of this family.”

There was no mistaking the undertone as she said it—my mother was implying something. I waited for someone to elaborate, but instead, my father shot my mother an exasperated glare.

“We mustn’t engage in rumors, Faustina. Gossip gets people killed in times like these.” Father’s tone was dismissive, but I frowned at them.

“Who are you talking about? Do we know someone who would do this?”

“Please leave it, Alina,” Truda said, nodding pointedly toward Emilia. I glanced at my “little sister.” She was watching me closely, and I suddenly felt embarrassed to be dismissed in front of her, yet again.

“I am so tired of you all treating me like a child!” I exclaimed. “You want me to pretend I am a fool, that I don’t even have eyes in my head. Does no one in this family trust me at all?”

“We trust you,” my mother said stiffly. “It is everyone else we don’t trust. And Alina—you are only seventeen years old. You have to accept that there are reasons for the secrets we keep from you. I spoke out of turn. Please forgive me for that.”

“I don’t keep secrets from you, big sister,” Emilia said hesitantly. Everyone looked at her, and she raised her chin. “I tell Alina everything because she lets me talk to her.”

“I know you do, babisu,” I said softly, and I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “And you know I love talking to you.” Emilia nodded, then she frowned at the rest of the adults at the table, as if they’d let us both down somehow. Truda changed the subject then and the conversation moved on, but long after our guests had left, I was still thinking about Mama’s comment. I’d turned it over and over in my mind during the night—thinking of all of the people we knew in the town and the surrounding farms. Some were easy to dismiss—people like Justyna’s father, Jan, who had made his hatred for the Jews clear. But beyond that? Everyone was desperate for food—almost everyone was desperately poor too—and gold could buy food on the black market. Despite Mateusz’s disgust, I could imagine virtually anyone we knew agreeing to hide Jews if there was good money to be made.

I followed Mama out to the well the next morning when she went to fetch water, and as soon as we were alone, I asked her directly.

“Who were you talking about last night? When you said people we knew were hiding Jews for money?”

“I knew you would ask me today,” Mama murmured.

“Well, I...” I paused, then I said in frustration, “Mama, you have to let me grow up. Even Emilia is growing up, but you and Father keep me locked away like an infant.”

“One day, when this war is over, you’ll look back and with the passing of time, these things that right now feel like unfair deceptions will seem like mercies,” Mama said, and her gaze grew distant. “It might not be much, but all we can offer you is to protect you when we can, and sometimes that means to relieve you of the heavy burden of secrets. One day you’ll be grateful that we kept you busy and kept your focus on survival. One day, daughter, all of this suffering will be contained in your memories, and you’ll be free.”