The Things We Cannot Say(52)

“Tomasz,” I said softly. “Tell me again. About us.”

A smile released the tension in his features.

“We are meant to be together,” he whispered, trailing his finger down the side of my face. “We were made for each other, and everything else in the world will just have to figure itself out, because we are going to be together. I love you.”

“I love you too.” I pressed one last kiss against his lips, then forced myself to stand. “Good night, Tomasz. I’ll see you in the morning?”

He stayed on the ground then, but he gave me a sad smile as he reluctantly released my fingers.

“Every minute till then, I’ll be thinking of you.”

I turned to walk away from him, but then I paused and glanced back over my shoulder.

“Tomasz?”

“Yes, Alina?”

“It is time, my love. It is time you told me the truth about your situation.” He swallowed, hard, but then he nodded. “I am strong, and our love is strong. Whatever it is you have to tell me, it will change nothing.”

“You can’t promise me that, moje wszystko,” he whispered.

“I can,” I said, raising my chin. “And I do. Tomorrow?”

He closed his eyes as he inhaled, but then when he opened them again, he nodded, and I knew that the next time I saw him, he would tell me the truth.

I just hoped I really was ready to hear it.

I found Tomasz sitting in the clearing the next day, out in the open for the first time since our reunion. When he saw me coming, he looked away, regret and guilt written on his face.

I walked silently to sit beside him, but he didn’t move to touch me.

“I watch Emilia come with her new family on Sundays,” he murmured absentmindedly. We sat for a little while, listening to the quiet sounds of the woods. “I sit in a tree near the path on Sundays just so I can watch her. She is always holding Truda’s hand.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Mateusz is always right behind them. He scans for danger as he walks. I can tell he is a good father to her too.”

“He is.”

“I have watched you also, sitting on the steps with her after your lunch,” he said, then he smiled softly. “I see that my sister still talks a lot.”

“She does.”

“What is the paper she always carries with her when she visits?”

“Drawings,” I murmured. “She draws for me and for Mama. Flowers, mostly.” I didn’t tell him how dark those pictures had become. He seemed to have plenty to worry about without that knowledge. “They are very good—she is quite the artist.”

“Clever girl. She is sad, and she is scared, but she is loved,” he added, then he looked right at me. “Most of the Jewish children in Trzebinia are gone now, Alina.”

I frowned at the abrupt shift in the direction of our conversation.

“Well, yes... I know.”

“Most have starved to death or been taken to a camp or worked to death or executed.”

I squinted at him, confused.

“I do know this, Tomasz. It is awful and it’s sad but I know.”

“Perhaps, but do you know what the difference is between Emilia and those Jewish children?”

I struggled to find an answer to that, and in the end, could only offer a somewhat helpless, “I... I don’t know?”

“They are both children of God, but also children of our great country. They are both our hope and our future as a nation and as a species...and...that is all that should matter.” He shifted on the rock, then rose and took my hand. “Let’s walk as we talk today. I know you can’t go far from the field, but I can’t bring myself to look at you while I tell you this.”

And so we walked in silence, off the path, along the rocky outcrops where the slope was steep. After a moment or two, he squeezed my hand and he said softly, “If Emilia was a Jewish child in Warsaw, she would be in a ghetto today. I know food is scarce here, but the children in the ghetto have been eating sawdust and rocks to fill their empty little stomachs because after a while, hunger and pain feel the same and they just need relief. And I know people have been getting sick here, but the children in the ghetto have been dying at such a rate that the authorities can’t keep up with all of the bodies. And I know that Emilia is scared here, but she still smiles. The children in the ghetto do not smile, because there are no longer any glimpses of joy in that life. There is only fear and pain and hunger. And...” He drew in a shuddering breath, then he said miserably, “Alina, if Emilia was a Jewish child in Warsaw, she would be in that ghetto. And maybe she would be there because of me.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. I had tried to prepare myself for something shameful, but I was so horrified at that statement that I couldn’t hide my reaction to it.

“What?” I croaked. I could feel the blood draining from my face. Tomasz too looked much paler even than usual. He exhaled a heavy breath and began to rub the back of his neck. He kept glancing at me, like he was trying to figure out if there was a way to avoid honesty with me even in that moment, or perhaps he was sizing me up to see if I could handle the truth after all. The silence was stretching too long, and I couldn’t stand another second of it. I hardened my gaze and crossed my arms over my chest.