The Things We Cannot Say(92)

“What? No! I can’t go alone, Tomasz!” I cried in shock, and his beautiful green eyes pleaded with me as his voice broke on a sob.

“I know. I know that is too much to ask, and yet, I am asking even more of you than that.”

I stared at him blankly, and then his gaze tracked back to Saul, still sobbing on his knees by the grave.

“Tomasz...”

“He is weak. He is in shock. You are going to have to carry him, if not physically, then emotionally. But you’ll see, once he’s well. He is qualified—a fully equipped specialist with immense knowledge and skill...he can do so much good. He can help hundreds, maybe thousands of people. It would be unforgivable for me to go tonight when he could go in my place.”

“No! Don’t ask this of me! I can’t—”

“Please, moje wszystko.”

“I can’t go without you.”

“I’m begging you, Alina,” Tomasz said. He was still staring down at me with that same intense expression, but I heard the shift in his tone. He had made up his mind, and nothing I said was going to change it.

“How would this even work? Does he even have identity papers? Won’t they be Jewish identity papers? Will they even admit him to the camp?”

“We can’t risk it,” Tomasz murmured. He released me gently, and I opened my eyes to see him reach into the pocket of his trousers. He carefully withdrew a card, which he opened to show me. Illuminated only by the moonlight, I saw his tattered passport. There was a tiny photo of him on the page, but the image was worn and so dark, even I might never have recognized him. “It is from before I even left for college, back when Father used to take me on vacations. Surely the camp will never know the difference. This photo looks nothing like either of us now that we both have beards. And his hair is darker, but the photo is so dark... I am sure he can pass. I am sure of it.”

“I don’t want to do this,” I choked.

“It’s not forever,” Tomasz said, then he stopped to draw in a desperate breath. “As soon as my other friends are safe—as soon as Emilia and your sister are safe—I will find a way to come after you. Henry will arrange to get me false papers, and we will meet up in Buzuluk.”

By then, we were both sobbing—clutching at each other, each one of us desperate to change the other’s mind.

“I’m not strong enough to do this. I’m not brave enough. I’m not clever—”

“You are all of those things, Alina Dziak, and more,” Tomasz said fiercely. “You are the fire that keeps my heart beating and the fuel that has powered my dreams even through this war. You are my everything. I know you better than anyone else, and that’s the very reason I am trusting you and pleading with you to lead this man to safety tonight.”

I couldn’t say no to him. I wanted desperately to—to refuse, to plead weakness, to plant my feet in the soil of my homeland and to cling tightly to Tomasz, even if it meant death.

But I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t disappoint him. And even at the time, I understood that this was something Tomasz needed to do. Before we could start our life afresh, he simply had to absolve himself of the guilt of his compliance with the Wehrmacht in Warsaw. Given the depth of his loss and the impossible circumstances Saul now faced, Tomasz would never be able to resist the opportunity to offer safe passage from Hell to the man who had once done the same for him.

“Please, moje wszystko,” Tomasz whispered. “Please.” I caught his head in my hands and I kissed him then, and that kiss said everything there wasn’t time to say. “We will always find our way back to each other, Alina,” he breathed, when we broke apart. “Our love is bigger than this war—I promise you that.”



CHAPTER 32

Alice


Babcia’s next address leads us to a medical clinic, situated in a huge historic building at the corner of two quiet streets. The building has been lovingly and lavishly restored—there’s a wheelchair ramp built at the front door, and an automatic sliding glass door. Zofia tells me the large sign above the door simply says Trzebinia Medical Clinic, and none of the physicians’ names listed on the sign end with “Slaski.”

“That would have been a bit too easy,” Zofia laughs.

But my eyes have fallen to a bronze plaque beside the front door, because although it’s in Polish, one word does indeed say Slaski.

“Actually,” I say wryly, and I point to the plaque.

Zofia’s eyes widen, then she reads quietly, “‘In memory of Dr. Aleksy Slaski. An example to all of leadership and courage, 1939.’” Zofia offers me a sad smile. “Hmm. Perhaps we are on the right track after all.”

I take some photos of the plaque and the building, then I follow Zofia inside the door and survey the interior. It’s midafternoon, and there are only two people sitting in the patient chairs—but behind the reception desk, a young woman and man are seated. The young man is talking on the phone, but the woman sets her headset down as we enter the room, and she stares at me with an intensity that makes me quite uncomfortable. I wonder what it is about my appearance that gives away that I’m the outsider, not Zofia. As we approach the desk, Zofia greets the receptionists in Polish, then gestures to me and introduces me, but she flicks back to English as she says, “Alice is here from the United States researching her family history. We believe Aleksy Slaski may have been her great-grandfather.”