The summer was endless. Long, claustrophobic hot days when the sun rose almost as soon as it set and scorched a slow path across the cloudless sky, lingering late into the evening, losing little of its power. Yael lived for the moment when they would lie down on the bed, the windows open to the night, covered only by a thin cotton sheet. Even then, there was little escape from the oppressive heat and the sheets would be damp with sweat within minutes and Yael would wake from some dream, her whole body prickling torturously.
“I have to go out,” Yael begged. “I’m going to go mad stuck in these two rooms day after day!”
Aleksei made the trip into town more often and brought back with him books and newspapers and from these she kept track of the fighting. One day he brought the newspaper home and laid it flat upon the table pressing his finger against the text. Persons found disobeying existing orders against the Jews, by hiding them, maintaining them or helping them by any means are committing a serious criminal act. Any person found to be disobeying these laws within the district, irrespective of age or sex, will be arrested and detained. If Jews perform acts of sabotage, all residents of the locality where the accused Jews lived, will be held responsible.
The acts of sabotage had become more frequent as the weather improved. A railway line had been blown up just outside Selo and a German unit had been fired upon. Twenty miles to the south, two German soldiers had been killed by a homemade mine. In response, the Germans had taken five men from the village and shot them in the market square as an example.
Late one evening in September, the sun had gone down and a low mist had settled over the field at the back of the house. Aleksei had been out to feed the chickens while Yael had cooked porridge on the stove. They ate less meat since the Germans had issued an order in late August confiscating the last of Aleksei’s pigs.
She had just served it into two bowls on the table, when Aleksei came in. He nodded and grinned seeing the steaming bowls. The summer lingered still, with bright cloudless days, the sun too hot to sit in at midday. But in the evenings, it had begun to grow colder and the scent of autumn hung on the damp air.
There was a knock on the kitchen door. Yael and Aleksei froze.
“Hey!” a voice called and the door creaked open.
Yael dashed through to the back room and threw herself onto the floor of the bedroom, knocking the air from her lungs. Gasping, she rolled beneath the bed. She heard heavy footfalls on the kitchen floor. Aleksei’s grunt as he was thrown against the table.
“You alone?” the voice demanded in Polish.
“There are two bowls,” another voice said.
“Who else is here?”
With her ear pressed against the floorboards, Yael felt the reverberation of the men’s footfalls as they entered the bedroom. For a moment they hesitated. Two boots stood close beside her. They were old and tattered, the sole breaking free of the upper part of the boot. Thick socks were turned down over the ankles. Yael pressed her eyes closed and muttered a silent prayer.
“Va!” a man said. The voice sounded amused.
A hand grabbed Yael’s arm and pulled her out from under the bed. She fought against him, but the grip was too hard.
“Oi! A little vixen!”
“Hold her tight.”
“Ach! She bit me.”
“Wait. I know her…”
The voice trailed off. Startled, Yael looked up. The man holding her was young, perhaps no more than twenty. His thin face was covered in mud and beneath his eyes were deep shadows. His cheeks were sunken, his chin unshaven. The other man was older. Grey hair flowed down to the collar of his coat, a military one of the style worn by the Polish army in the Great War. He had a large moustache that drooped over his mouth, giving him a hangdog expression, matched by watery blue eyes.
It was the third that had spoken. He was standing close to the door, peering at her, the rifle held loosely in his hands. He was younger even than the one holding her, his face was clean and his hair combed carefully to one side. He looked neat, despite the old and ragged clothes
“Who is she?” the older man said.
Behind them Aleksei stood in the doorway. The three partisans seemed to have forgotten him. He tried to push past the young man, but the rifle, which he was reluctant to touch, blocked his way.
“We were in the forest together for a while,” the young man said, and it was only then Yael recognised him, with a sudden leap of her heart. The young partisan paused and glanced at the older one. Yael tried to interpret the look on his face, but could not.
“With Rivka,” he said, then. “She was with Rivka.”
The older man nodded at this. He looked hard at Yael, glancing from head to foot in a long look of appraisal. Yael felt the blood rise in her cheeks. The blush embarrassed her and she set her jaw and whipped her arm suddenly from the hand of the partisan.
“Nu,” he held the expression, so that it escaped like a long sigh. “So you were with Rivka Plotink were you?”
Yael opened her mouth to speak, but before she got a chance, the young man spoke again.
“That’s it!” he said, as if something had been troubling him and he had just thought of it. “She is Josef’s sister. You know… Josef… The one…”
“Josef?” Yael cried, unable to hold back. “You know Josef? Have you seen him? Is he alive?”
The older partisan held up his hand, silencing her. He shook his head slowly, and began to turn away from her.
“Tell me please,” Yael begged, reaching out and grabbing his arm.
The partisan turned on her ferociously, so she let go and stumbled backwards, falling to the floor. Yael noticed Aleksei flinch. She worried he would launch himself at the men. Catching his eye, she shook her head. For a moment the man stood over her, his watery blue eyes glaring, but then he seemed to soften. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet.
“I’m sorry,” he said, magnanimously. “You must understand…” But he trailed off and did not tell her what it was she was to understand.
He turned to go back into the kitchen, pushing past the two younger partisans and Aleksei, who lingered in the doorway. By Aleksei’s shoulder he paused and turned back. His features struggled to remain calm.
“And Rivka?” he said finally. “You know what became of her?”
Yael met his cool eyes. She thought she saw the muscles tighten around them, barely perceptibly.
“She died,” Yael whispered. His eyes did not leave hers. She felt the full intensity of his gaze. Unexpectedly she felt a gush of sympathy for him. Of warmth.
“In the woods not far from here,” she continued, her voice little more than a whisper. “She was sick. Some kind of fever. I woke up in the morning and she had gone.”
But he had turned away and disappeared into the kitchen. The two younger partisans followed him. The boy paused a moment in the doorway, then stepped a pace closer to her.
“He is alive,” he whispered. “Your brother. I haven’t seen him, but I have heard of him. He commands a platoon of forest fighters.”
He was about to say more, but the older man called from outside. The young man nodded and hurried out through the kitchen. Yael sat back on the bed. Her hands were shaking. She placed them on her knees, but found they were shaking too. Her whole body juddered and suddenly she was crying. The tears flowed down her cheeks. Her nose began to run. She buried her face in her hands and wept. Josef was alive. She said the words to herself, over and over. She said them out loud, revelling in the sound of the phrase on her salty lips.
“He’s alive,” she cried. Then laughed. “He’s alive.”