At dawn’s first light we went out looking for Paul. It was a strange sort of search, as if he had fooled us and hidden somewhere we could not find him. The rain stopped and the visibility was sharp. We could see the slopes down to the plain, but no one was spotted in the area. Kamil, who led the squads, was taut as a bowstring.
After searching for two hours, we sat ourselves down. It seemed for a moment that Kamil was about to say something. But we were again mistaken. He, too, sat down, seeking a key to the mystery.
Finally, he spread out the map and pointed to the village of Holovka, about ten miles away, most of the area open and cultivated.
“Paul is an experienced soldier and would not risk walking in exposed fields,” said one of the fighters. “He must be hiding now, or lying down, camouflaged.”
These were just blind statements that groped in the dark. All we were left with was Paul’s face, that of a kind, gentle man who spoke little but listened much. But beyond this exterior we didn’t know a great deal about him—who his parents were, his grandparents, what he had studied.
Presumably he had graduated from gymnasium like the rest. Whether he continued at university we had no idea. In any case, he didn’t talk about himself.
Kamil had promised him repeatedly that if we got reinforcements, Holovka would be our first mission. Paul knew our manpower problem and assumed that the promise, made with goodwill, was ultimately unrealistic.
“His honor compelled him to take this step,” said someone.
We kept scanning the area and returned at dusk exhausted and empty-handed. The squad on duty greeted us at the entrance of the camp with a silent look.
That same night we learned that Paul’s wife, a well-known beauty, frivolous and egotistical, had always been attracted to non-Jews.
“How was this smart guy caught in her web?” somebody asked.
“No point in asking about witchcraft,” someone else replied.
Dinner was meager. Tsila wept and brought out the plates with trembling hands. But the soup was hot and the bread fresh, and the pain of Paul’s disappearance was alleviated slightly as we ate the meal.
People kept their distance from one another. Togetherness was oppressive. Paul was loved by everyone. You couldn’t help but love this thin, muscular young man, whose refined way of speaking made you think of poems by Rilke. Yes, the humiliation and disgrace bruised him and marred his beauty, but not his nobility.
“And we won’t see Uncle Paul anymore?” asked Michael.
“If we think about him, we’ll see him,” answered Maxie.
“Where is he now?”
“It’s hard to know, surely not far from here.”
“Is he alone?”
“I assume he is. But don’t worry; Paul is an experienced soldier, and he’ll come back to us one of these days.”
One of the fighters heard the conversation with Michael and whispered aloud, “Tricking the boy again.”
“I’m not tricking. I’m telling the truth,” Maxie replied coldly.
This testy exchange, clearly audible in the darkness, was the ending to an anxious day.
The feeling was that with Paul’s disappearance, the bright side of our togetherness had also vanished. From now on it would be difficult to heal the fractures.
Patrols and ambushes went out on time. Kamil saw the squads off without philosophizing. The password was tzedakah. Kamil made sure to explain that the root of the word was tzedek, justice. Tzedakah also means charity, kindness, generosity.
Felix, who led the fighters, was restrained as usual and did not add a word of his own.