Long Way Home(84)

“Sam felt everything very deeply, like you do. You remind me of him. You even resemble him a little bit. I thought you were him at first. We promised to find each other after the war ended but it seems like an impossible task at the moment. There must be millions of displaced people, refugees like me with no place to go. Aside from reading the lists every day, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“When did you see him last?”

“Right after I finished nursing school in 1942. We were still living in Antwerp. When the Nazis started rounding up Jews to deport us to the camps, Sam got me a forged identity card under a new name. The Catholic sisters helped me move to a different town and get a job at a different hospital. The last I knew, Sam was still in Belgium, working with the Resistance. But that was three years ago.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Gisela. Just let me know what you need me to do.”

“Thank you. You’re a good friend, Jim.” I started to rise, thinking I should get back to work, but he made me stay.

“What about your other family members? Tell me about them.”

“I have a younger sister, Ruthie. The Christians in Belgium let her hide in one of their orphanages. I was only able to see her once, and that was two years ago. Later, the nuns told me that she’d been placed with a family as an au pair after she turned sixteen. I don’t know where she is or . . . or if she’s still safe or . . . or if the Nazis found out that she’s Jewish . . .”

My voice broke and it was a moment before I could continue. Jim held my hand as he listened, a gesture of warmth that had been missing in my life.

“I want to go back to Antwerp and search for her and Sam, but I know I’m not strong enough yet. As far as I know, they’re the only family I have left. Before I was betrayed by a girl I knew in nursing school, I found out that my parents had both died when the transports began. I was devastated. But at least I know they were spared from this hellish place. I want to find out if Sam and Ruthie are alive, and yet I’m terrified to learn the truth. I dread reading the lists of the people who’ve died. As long as I don’t see their names, they are still alive to me.”

“I’m so sorry, Gisela,” he murmured. A moment later he asked, “Did you have any other family members?”

“One of Vati’s brothers, Uncle Aaron, fled to Cuba with his family. Another brother, Uncle Hermann, fled to Ecuador. I assume they’re still safe, but I would hardly know them anymore after all these years. Mutti’s brother and his family moved to Paris with my grandmother before the war. I haven’t seen their names on a list . . . yet.”

I closed my eyes to shut out the present as I remembered how our family used to gather together for holidays and birthdays and other special occasions. Our apartment in Berlin would overflow with aunts and uncles and cousins, and our table would overflow with food. I remembered how soft and warm Oma’s arms were when she held me close. I remembered the sweetness of her perfume—and suddenly my sorrow threatened to drown me. I needed to talk about something else.

“Why do you stay here and do this?” I asked Jim. “I overheard Major Cleveland saying the other day that you and some of the other medics had volunteered to stay here. He said you could rejoin your unit anytime.”

“What else could I possibly do that would be more important than this?” Jim replied.

“But I can tell that the work wears you down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile.” Nor did he seem to sleep or eat as he worked tirelessly to save his patients. Jim shrugged but didn’t reply. “Do you have a family back home? A wife or a girlfriend?” I asked.

“I have lots of friends, but there’s no one special to return home to. If my parents saw this place, they would understand why I need to stay here.” Jim seemed to be weighing his thoughts as if deciding whether or not to say more. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but I heard the passion behind his words. “I saw a lot of good men die by the time we fought our way here from France. Some very good friends, men I’d known since basic training, were killed and wounded, including my college roommate. There was nothing I could do for them except try to stop the bleeding, give them morphine, and get them to an aid station so they could be evacuated to a field hospital away from the front lines. But death is everywhere here, and I want to defeat it. I want to win for once. The patient I was carrying to the hospital, just before you, died in my arms. I was determined not to let that happen to you. When I picked you up on that first day, you smiled. I saw that you had the will to fight to survive, so I wanted to save you. I wouldn’t let death take away such a beautiful person. And I want to help all of the others dig down deep and find that same will to live.”

I ran my fingers over my patchy hair and turned away, embarrassed to be called beautiful when I knew I wasn’t.

*

Two days later, I read a list of Jews transported from Paris who had perished at Auschwitz. On it were my aunt’s and uncle’s names. My cousins’ names. My grandmother’s name. I couldn’t handle this terrible news all alone, so I staggered to the ward where Jim was working, blinded by tears and grief. He looked up when I spoke his name and hurried over to the doorway to let me fall into his arms, weeping.

“They all died a year ago,” I told him when I was able to stop sobbing. “But they were alive in my mind and in my heart until the moment I saw their names.” I was trembling with emotion, and I felt a tremor in Jim’s arms as he held me. It was as if he was absorbing some of my grief and helping me bear the terrible weight of it. “I don’t want to be the only one left,” I wept. “What will I do with all the memories of my family? I can’t carry them alone.”