JANUARY 1942
IN THE MONTHS FOLLOWING Papa’s death, Mamma and I slowly returned to our regular routine. At first, when I went back to school, my friends went out of their way to be nice to me. They sat with me at lunch and made sure we did the things I wanted to do. The teachers gave me only a small amount of homework. Even the boys were unusually kind.
On my second day back, one of the boys in my class offered to carry my books home from school. His name was Jeremy, and for some time I had secretly liked him. As we walked home together Jeremy entertained me with funny stories about Mr. Reich and the things he had done and said in class during the week I was away. The stories made me laugh out loud. The next day at school, Jeremy kept glancing in my direction and smiling so much that Mr. Reich finally had to ask him why he looked so happy. My face went red with embarrassment as everyone giggled.
Aside from Jeremy’s attention, Marishka brought me sweets that her mother had baked. I have no idea how she managed to find the ingredients to make some of my favourite treats. But every day, for weeks, Marishka brought me something special: a cupcake, a cookie, and one day even a piece of chocolate. Maybe she thought this would somehow fill up the empty place in my heart.
At first, I felt awkward and self-conscious about all the attention. But then I remembered doing exactly the same thing when Marishka’s grandmother died. I hadn’t known how to tell Marishka how sorry I was that she had lost her grandmother. So instead I had brought her things from home that I thought would make her feel better: a flower, some notepaper, a hairband.
In the end I was grateful for everyone’s concern and thoughtfulness. It did help to have my friends taking care of me. But sometimes I wondered if Nina knew about Papa dying. Our village was so small that the news of anyone’s death always spread quickly. When we were best friends, Nina and I had always turned to each other when things went wrong. These days I wondered if she even cared about what was happening to me and the others. I tried to push the thoughts of Nina out of my head. As far as I knew, Nina was gone from my life. It didn’t help to think about her. I had to get on with my life, and that meant concentrating on school, my friends and my home.
News reports about the war were coming fast and furious these days. And most of the time they were discouraging. Country after country was falling to the advancing German soldiers. Men and boys in our village and neighbouring towns had left to join them, leaving the women to carry on with businesses. Rallies proclaiming Germany’s conquests were held in the larger cities. When one of those demonstrations occurred, we were very careful to stay indoors. Local residents, filled with a sense of victory were even quicker to come after Jews.
On the last Sunday of every month, Mamma and I cleaned out the dresser. Each dish, glass and piece of silver was carefully removed from the dresser, dusted and polished, and tenderly replaced. My mother handled each item as lovingly as a newborn child. When the dresser had been emptied of all of its contents, we cleaned it inside and out. We rubbed and polished the doors and shelves until they shone with a deep, reddish glow. We both knew it was silly to take so much time each week cleaning things we hardly ever used. But it felt good to do it. It reminded us of happier times. We were there one Sunday, cleaning out the dresser, when we heard the doorbell ring.
“Gabi, look first, before you open the door,” Mamma cautioned me.
I ran to the front window and looked outside. Lately, the streets were always quiet. Gasoline was strictly rationed and cars and trucks were rarely driven except in emergencies. “It’s Marishka’s mother, Mamma. Maybe she has another cake for us.” But as I opened the door, I saw that this time there was no cake. Marishka’s mother looked anxious, and she kept glancing over her shoulder as if she thought someone might be following her.
“Gabi, I need to speak to your mother,” she said urgently.
“Come in, come in,” my mother said, appearing at my side. “Gabi, go make some tea.”
“No, no tea,” Marishka’s mother said. “I have very little time, and we have to talk.”
We settled together in the sitting room as our visitor untied her shawl. Her face was flushed and tired. It was a few moments before she could begin to talk.
“There are new rumours,” she said. “Nothing for certain yet. But I had a note from my sister. You remember, the one who lives in Levocha. She managed to get a message to me by a friend who was travelling this way. It seems that in Levocha there have been raids by the soldiers. People are being put on trucks and taken away.”
“Raids!” I cried. There had been nothing like this in our village. A few homes had been looted, and furniture and other belongings destroyed. Some people had been beaten in the streets because they were defying the laws by breaking curfew, travelling without a permit or not wearing their stars prominently enough. But never before had we heard of anyone being taken away. “What do you mean, they were taken away? Taken where? And who was taken?”
Marishka’s mother looked in my direction, and then back at Mamma. “I’m not sure if Gabi should be hearing this. It frightens Marishka so much that I’ve stopped telling her things.”
“Gabi can hear,” my mother replied grimly. “There are only the two of us now. I will not keep things from her.”
“All right,” agreed Marishka’s mother, but she clearly wasn’t persuaded. “My sister wrote that at first the young men were taken, those who hadn’t followed the regulations set by the government. Next, the poorest Jews were taken, then old people, and —” she paused, “young girls, Gabi’s and Marishka’s age and older. The girls were taken from their families, herded onto trucks and driven out of town.”
“God help us!” my mother cried. “Where have they taken them, and what do they want with young girls?”
“They say it’s for work. The girls are strong and they’re needed in factories. They say they’ll be back in a few weeks. But we don’t know where they’ve gone.”
Her voice trailed off and the three of us sat in silence. My mind raced. I knew some girls my age in Levocha. Had they been dragged from their homes? And what about me and my friends? Were we also in danger? Levocha wasn’t all that far away. It was one thing to wear stars and switch schools. But the thought of being forced to leave home was almost too much for me. I hardly noticed Marishka’s mother standing up and moving towards the door.
“I’d better go now. I have been away long enough, and my family will worry. God bless you both. Be well and stay strong.” Mamma closed the door behind her and we watched through the window as she walked quickly down the street.
I was in a daze, with confusing thoughts swirling through my head. Mamma’s face looked worn and weary as she turned to face me.
“Gabi, it’s time to make plans for your safety,” she began.
“Mamma, it’s not just my safety we need to worry about. It’s our safety.”
“Yes, but you heard Marishka’s mother. I know you won’t want to hear this, but I’ve been thinking. You remember the Kos family, who used to work on our farm? They live up in the mountains now. They are Christians, but they are good people. When they stopped working here, they said that if there was ever some way they could help, we only had to ask. They loved your papa very much and they’re not afraid of what might happen to them if they help Jews. I think you should go and stay with them. You will be safer there.”
“Go away? Mamma, how can you even think of such a thing?” I was so horrified I could barely speak.
“Don’t look at me that way, Gabi. It will only be for a short time, until all this trouble passes.”
“Mamma, I won’t go!” I shouted. “Please, please don’t send me away! How could I leave you? How can you think of separating us?”
My mother turned her head away so she didn’t have to watch the tears streaming down my cheeks. All I could think about was what my papa had said to me at night: we would be safe as long as we were together. How could I possibly be brave and strong when Papa had left me and now Mamma was threatening to do the same? No! Under no circumstances would I leave without my mother.
“I don’t know what else to do to keep you safe, Gabilinka,” Mamma whispered. “If the soldiers come looking for you, there is nowhere here for you to hide.”
“I’m safest with you, Mamma. I’m sure of it. And there are plenty of places I could hide in this house,” I said, desperately looking around. “I could hide in a closet, or in the basement, or even in the dresser.”
“The dresser?” She looked doubtful.
“Of course. What better hiding place? We could take out the shelf in the middle to make room for me. There’s even a lock. No one would ever think of looking in there.” I knew I was grasping at straws, but I had to have a plan. I was sure I’d be safe hiding in the dresser. Besides, I couldn’t believe I’d ever need to. Not here, not in our home.
“The dresser,” she said again. “We would have to take all the things out of there and put them safely away somewhere, to make room for you.”
“Of course,” I replied, hugging her. I knew I had won. I was sure I’d never have to hide in the dresser. What was important was that I wouldn’t be sent away. I would stay here with Mamma. “We’ll take everything out. We’ll get it all ready. But promise me you won’t send me away.”
My mother hugged me back, tightly. “All right, Gabilinka, you win. You can stay here, but we’ll prepare the dresser in case we need it. And I pray it will keep you safe.”