The Things We Cannot Say(70)

But I heard the rumble of the truck as it came ever closer—and I knew when it was right at the front door. Until that rumble sounded, I was far more annoyed than I was scared. There was something ominous about that sound from underground—the way it rattled through the earth, as if the cellar would cave in all around us—it reminded me so vividly of those early air strikes and the terror that never seemed to end. I had no idea what the exact danger was this time, because our whole lives were danger by then. I just knew that for Mama and Father to hide me, it must be significant indeed.

There were muffled greetings—but not muffled enough to hide the subtext. I heard the stiffness of the soldiers’ voices, the hopeful politeness of Mama’s.

“Hübsche tochter?”

I was already confused and on edge and terrified, but at the sound of those words, my blood ran cold, because I knew then which soldier was in the house.

Pretty daughter.

It was the young soldier from that day in fall, the last time I wore a dress. He was back, and he was asking about me. I was too terrified to cry out, but equally, I was too terrified to control myself and I couldn’t think rationally enough to be sure of what I might do next.

But Tomasz’s arms tightened around me, and he raised his arm to gently begin to stroke my hair. I closed my eyes and rested against him, and he planted the softest kiss against my temple. I had never understood the phrase “draw strength” from someone until that very moment, because with the entire universe out of my control, the only thing that grounded me into silence then was the strength of his arms around me and the warmth of his body beside me.

“Gone to Warsaw...” I heard my mother say. “...caring for her sick nephew...”

Sick nephew? I didn’t even have a nephew—Mama’s lie was outrageous and ridiculous—and what’s more, it made no sense at all for her to tell it. In all that we’d survived to that point, she’d never done something so crazy before. I started to tense up again—because surely, she’d be caught out, and surely, we’d all pay the price for that. Had she lost her mind?

Then the soldiers’ voices—fiercer now, more determined, and closer, and closer again until...oh my God, they were in the house. They were standing right above us, next to the table that sat right over the hatch.

Tomasz held me so tightly in that moment that the pressure around my reed-thin arms was painful, so I focused on the discomfort. I needed the stimulus to ground me, because other than that mild pain, all I knew was fear. I heard the soldiers stomping through the house. Heard as they walked into my bedroom—heard the way they mocked our simple life—heard as they walked right past the table again on their way to check for me in my brothers’ room.

And then I heard the front door close. Everyone was outside now, and the voices faded again, until the truck started up, and then there was silence.

Tomasz and I waited for a very long time. I thought perhaps Mama and Father would go about their business outside and leave us down there for a while, until they were sure it was safe, but time passed and the door didn’t open, and their voices did not return. Eventually, Tomasz shifted just a little, and he made a sound with his nose that I didn’t initially recognize. I turned to him and waited. I was used to the dark by then, but even so, it took me a moment to realize that his face was shiny.

“Why?” I whispered. I didn’t know what question I was asking. Why are you crying? Why are they not coming back inside? Why the war?

“They told your father at the rations station. They told him to go home and pack a suitcase. They told him they were coming for you.”

“For me? But—”

“No, Alina. The soldiers came for all of you.”

“But is this because of me? Because I...”

I didn’t say it, because I didn’t want to make him feel bad—but was this because I’d helped him?

“It is simply for the fields, Alina. This morning when he went into the rations station, they told Bartuk they are creating an Interessengebiet—an ‘area of interest’ around the big work camps, and he was to come home and pack a bag and prepare to leave immediately. At least we know now why most of your neighbors have gone. There are tens of thousands of prisoners in the camps now, an army of free labor—and your rations are scant, but still vastly more than the workers receive.”

“So where have my parents gone?”

“Alina, moje wszystko...it doesn’t matter where your parents are, we have to leave now. As soon as we can.”

“Leave the house?”

“Leave...the district, at the very least.”

“Leave? You want to leave now? My parents are gone and we have no idea where they are—are you insane? I have to stay! I have to try to help them!”

“This is bigger than your parents, Alina,” Tomasz whispered. “Your father heard talk of a fence around the whole district. Who knows if this farm will be within that boundary line, but we need to get out in case it is.”

“But my parents...”

“They are resilient and resourceful people,” he said, but the attempt at reassurance was entirely unconvincing.

Earlier, I had been convinced that I couldn’t bear two minutes in the cellar, but we stayed in there for the entire day. We huddled together under the blankets on the mattress and we listened to the clock upstairs chime away the hours. I cried a little, and sometimes, Tomasz did too.