I’ve gotten ahead of myself.
The first team to escape from the ghetto set for itself the goal of rescuing as many people as possible. In the first wave they were able to bring out another five, plus a boy of about two whom they found outside the ghetto, not far from the fences.
Kamil claimed the child would be the good luck charm who would inspire the group to perform wonders. The ghetto had not yet been destroyed, and the team led by Kamil and Felix tried to dig a tunnel into it. But, unfortunately, the watchtowers were manned day and night, and searchlights scanned every square foot. They were nevertheless able to smuggle out a few people who went out to work and a few who were standing at the train station. I, too, by luck or a miracle, joined them.
We are now forty-four in number. We are fighting for our lives, but we fear most of all for the child. After every drill or action, we gather around him, not as a child who doesn’t speak but as someone who can bless us when we go out and when we return. His very existence is a miracle. Most of the day his eyes are wide open; he never cries or asks for anything, but when you touch him, his shoulders recoil.
At first we called him “boy,” but one of the fighters happened to call him Milio, and now that’s what everyone calls him. I think the name fits him. Milio doesn’t ask questions; his eyes say, I have no words to tell you what I see and hear; don’t ask me. But the comrades ignore his mute request, though they can see that questions pain him.
Once, one of the fighters got down on his knees and innocently asked, “How do you feel, Milio?” Milio hunched his shoulders and covered his eyes with both hands. For a moment it seemed like he would burst into tears. We were wrong. He pursed his lips.
Most of the day he sits in his tent. Now and then he gets up and goes outside. He’s a strange, mute little creature, incapable of clear expression, whose every tiny gesture makes us happy. In truth, he does nothing but merely watches.
When we aren’t training or going on an ambush, Danzig carries Milio close to his chest in a big farmer’s kerchief. Danzig is our giant. He is about six feet six inches tall, and who knows how wide his shoulders are. Sometimes Danzig tries to make Milio laugh, but Milio is cautious and wary of trusting people.
What happened to him, how he lost his parents and landed outside the ghetto walls is hard to know. Danzig believes we need to be patient. He senses that Milio will eventually reveal his secrets, but we mustn’t pressure him.
In the evening we sit around him. If he would cry or express unhappiness, his existence would be more comprehensible. His serene silence is a riddle that grows day by day. Not long ago we still expected that one morning he would surprise us by speaking a word. The days have gone by, and Milio’s muteness endures in his every pore.
One day he suddenly fell ill with typhus. For two weeks he burned with fever. Danzig did not budge from the tent where he lay, and we were all on alert.
After his fever went down, Milio opened his eyes and looked at us. It was hard to know if he recognized us or if he was searching for his lost parents. Danzig spoke to him and said, “Thank God, the fever went down, and now you’ll feel much better.”
From day to day Milio’s face brightened. Danzig was as happy as a child and fed him semolina porridge. Most of the day Milio was curled up, sleeping. The sleep was good for him. After about two weeks of sleep, he got up and looked around with a fresh gaze, and we knew that he was a perceptive child.
Danzig feels that Milio has a different sort of understanding.
“How can you tell?” asked one of the fighters.
“It’s hard to explain.”
Milio sometimes seems like a creature who has survived by miraculous means. The miracle was so powerful that it muted the few sounds he’d been able to make.
Danzig believes that Milio is hiding a secret. It’s hard to argue with a giant like Danzig.
We love Milio’s sleep. A fine, milky mist hovers over his sleep, meaning he is still tied to his mother.
When Milio wakes up, Danzig declares “Milio is awake,” as if the miracle had returned and was revealed anew. Danzig himself has changed since he adopted Milio. The silent wonder of the child is reflected in his face and makes him a man who glows with an inner light.
WE’VE BEEN TOGETHER only a few months, but it sometimes seems as though we’ve been wandering for years on this uncharted land with an unknown future. Kamil does not instill false hope. Indeed, he increasingly demands exact compliance with his orders, but he goes easy on the weaker people. At times it appears that the purpose of our lives now is to protect those who cannot protect themselves.