“PLEASE GO TO SLEEP, MISHA,” Mother says.
“How long?” I ask.
“What?” she asks, exhausted and confused.
“How long until you’ll be back?”
“Go to sleep,” she says, picking up the suitcase. “I’ll return soon.”
The door closes behind her again. For what better be the second-to-last time. The last time will be when she comes back. Because Mother promised she wouldn’t go out again after this one.
And she probably won’t, because there’s nothing left to take anymore. I walk back to the bedroom with my eyes closed, because I know the floor is completely empty except for our bags in one corner.
I try to get comfortable next to Marietta, but Mother’s mattress just isn’t big enough for the two of us. Mother took mine and Marietta’s away yesterday. The day after the pink summons finally came for us. It wasn’t the first time actually. A month ago was the first pink summons, but Mother got us off somehow, because of who Father was in the Jewish community I guess, because the committee that decides which Jews go when is actually made up of other Jews. But she couldn’t do anything this time, because sooner or later your turn is going to come.
Tomorrow we go to Terezin.
She didn’t seem too happy about it, but at this point, what do I care? We don’t own almost anything anymore, and the rules just keep coming. Maybe it won’t be better there, but I’ll take my chances.
Margarete, Marietta, and Michael Gruenbaum. Summoned for November 18, 1942, at 8:00 a.m. to the Exhibition Hall in Holesovice for the purpose of deportation to Theresienstadt.
Theresienstadt. What the Nazis call Terezin.
Starting a month or two ago, I noticed things gradually disappearing from this apartment, even though we barely had anything here. Our fancy silverware. The rug that had been rolled up in the closet since we moved here, because it was too big for any of the rooms. The framed paintings that used to hang on the walls. And then the summons arrived and suddenly Mother went into high gear. Packing up just about everything that was left. Sheets, dress shoes, books, our dishes.
Not that there’s any point in having dishes anyway. Not when there’s almost nothing to eat. I haven’t seen an egg in weeks. And I can’t remember the last piece of meat I ate that was big enough that I had to actually chew it.
For over twenty-four hours now, Mother hasn’t stopped moving. Out the door with a couple of suitcases packed with stuff. Then back home a few hours later with the suitcases empty.
Except when she came back this afternoon.
“Where are you taking everything?” I asked her when she slumped down into a chair with a glass of water.
And she mentioned some name. The name of some non-Jewish friend, a name I didn’t recognize. Some old neighbor from Holesovice, I guess. She said the name, and then she opened up the suitcase and took out a couple of giant duffel bags. Told me to put anything I didn’t plan to wear today or tomorrow inside one of them. Had Marietta do the same. Because you’re not allowed to bring more than one hundred pounds of stuff per person.
But we’re taking much less, because how is a twelve-year-old kid supposed to carry that much?
* * *
I listen closely for her footsteps, even though I know she won’t be back for a while.
She better come back. Out past curfew, just to save a down blanket.
I listen closely for what seems like hours but hear almost nothing. Every once in a while the building creaks. Otherwise that’s it. Which makes sense, since our building, totally packed with people when we first got here, is almost empty now. All our friends disappeared one by one. We must be some of the last Jews going to Terezin.
Eventually the door opens. Mother’s steps grow louder. Just before she gets to the room, I try to roll closer to Marietta. Mother lifts up the thin blanket and joins us. Her body is cold and warm at the same time.
I almost tell her she didn’t come back soon at all. But instead, I pretend I’m asleep. Because why make her worried that on top of everything else I’ll be tired tomorrow?