Milkweed

  “I followed you.”

  She was grinning. I yanked her into the doorway.

  “Go back,” I said.

  “No.”

  “Go back.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  Her eyes were two drops of moonlight.

  “You’re not little enough,” I said stupidly.

  “I’m littler than you.”

  “I’m not taking you.”

  “You have to. You’re my big brother.”

  That stopped me for a moment. And gave me all the more reason not to allow her.

  “No!”

  “Yes!”

  I smacked her in the face. The moon drops wobbled.

  She smacked me back.

  And that was that.

  I dashed across the street to the wall, and in a moment I was through the two-brick space and onto the other side. A moment later she came squirting through the hole.

  26

  She stood gaping. “The rest of the city—it’s still here!”

  I ran to her. I pulled the armband from her sleeve and stuffed it into her coat pocket. I did the same with my own. “See, you made me forget.” I stomped off.

  It was not good to be seen near the wall. I took the sidewalks. I heard her footsteps behind me. I walked fast. Maybe I couldn’t stop her from following me, but I had no intention of making her a full partner.

  Soon we were among the people, the source of the voices and sounds that came drifting over the wall. In the ghetto all was gray: the people were gray, the sounds were gray, the smells were gray. Here everything was colors to me: the red clang of the streetcars, blue music from phonographs, silver laughter of people. In the distance the tootles of the merry-go-round were a swirl of colors. Whenever I came through the wall, I wanted to do nothing but walk the streets.

  I remembered Uri’s words: Don’t look guilty. I swaggered down the sidewalk. I headed straight for other pedestrians and made them veer around me. I whistled. In other words, I ignored Uri’s other commands: Don’t call attention to yourself. Be invisible. Or maybe I heeded a little. I resisted the temptation to put the blue-and-white band back on my arm. I was proud to be part of the Milgrom family, proud to be a Jew. I wanted to wave my armband and shout, Hey, everyone, look at me, I’m a Jew! A filthy son of Abraham! But I didn’t.

  I heard Janina whistling behind me.

  I went to my favorite place. It was a hotel for Jackboots. Jackboots ate there and drank beer and slept there. A blue neon sign in the shape of a camel blinked off and on above a revolving door. I did what I always did: I went in the revolving door and around and right back outside again. Janina did it too, but she didn’t stop after once around. I jerked her away.

  I went around back. Garbage cans as tall as me were lined up like soldiers. As usual, the lids were off, and several children were poking through the stench and maggots. They were too busy to notice me. The hatch door leading to the food cellar was locked, as usual. There were several windows at ground level. There were steel bars in front of the glass.

  I knelt before one of the windows. I pushed it open. I took off my coat and tossed it inside. I turned myself sideways and squeezed between two of the bars and dropped headfirst into the dimly lit cellar. I thought nothing of it. I lived in the cracks of a world made for large, slow people.

  As I was bending over for my coat, Janina’s coat hit me in the rump. She came tumbling down in a flurry of underwear. “Ow!” she squawked.

  “Be quiet,” I told her. “You should have stayed home.”

  I pulled the sack from my pocket and unfolded it.

  “What’s that for?” she said.

  “Food,” I said.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Where’s the pickled eggs?”

  “They don’t have any.” Not that I would have known a pickled egg if I saw one.

  She swept a large coffee can from a shelf. It crashed to the floor.

  I balled my fist in front of her face. “Stop it. They’re going to hear.”

  She jabbed her chin at me. “I don’t like you.”

  “I don’t like you.”

  “Good,” she said, and stomped off among the shelves, searching for pickled eggs.

  I began making my rounds. There was one problem with the blue camel hotel food cellar: much of the food was in cans and jars too big and heavy to carry a long way. So I concentrated on smaller, lighter things. There were wooden bins of onions and lettuces and turnips and cabbages. There were boxes of soda crackers and stacked loaves of brown and black bread. There were gray, ancient dried fish and jellies and potatoes sprouting wigs of grass. I avoided the cold locker of fresh meats, as we had no way to cook them, but shriveled clubs of sausage were perfect.

  I filled my sack and headed for my treat. Although the jars of fruits and vegetables were too big to carry, who was to say I could not help myself to them right there in the food cellar? I pulled out from a dusty corner my personal jar of peaches in syrup. The jar was almost as big around as myself. I unscrewed the lid and grabbed a peach.

  “What’s that?” came Janina’s voice at my shoulder.

  “What’s it look like?” I stuffed the peach into my mouth.

  “I want one.” She reached.

  I smacked her hand. “They’re mine.”

  She balled her fists, leaned back, and screamed, “I’m hun-greee!”

  I grabbed another peach and stuffed it into her mouth. “Here.” I quick closed the jar and shoved it back just as a door opened and light flooded from above. Footsteps came partway down the stairway and stopped. A voice said, “Hello? . . . Hello?”

  We crouched by the fruit jars, our cheeks bulging, peach juice streaming from our chins.

  “Hello?”

  At last the footsteps went away and the door closed. I pushed a crate under the window and climbed onto it. I shoved the stuffed sack—and then myself—through the bars. Even standing on the crate, Janina could not reach, so I had to help haul her out.

  Going back, I lugging the sack over my shoulder, we stayed in the shadows and alleyways until the final dash across the moonlight to the two-brick space and onto the other side. Another dash across the moonlight and back into the shadows.

  I headed for the orphanage. Doctor Korczak always left a window unlocked in the back. I opened it and dumped in half the contents of my sack.

  “What are you doing?” said Janina.

  “Feeding the orphans,” I told her.

  “You’re supposed to feed us.”

  I was tired of her crabbing. “I feed whoever I want to feed.” I slammed the window shut and headed home.

  27

  The next day I visited the boys. I knew I would find them in their new place, an alley behind a fire-gutted butcher shop. Before I got there I could hear them: a whacking sound followed by cheers . . . and again whack! then cheers. What was happening? I turned the corner. Big Henryk was holding Kuba upside down by his ankles while Ferdi walloped Kuba’s rump with a big bone, one of the many that were lying around.

  Ferdi stopped when he saw me. “Misha! Come on. Knock out your lice.”

  Then I saw. Each time Ferdi walloped Kuba, a tiny blizzard, like salt, fell from Kuba’s hair to the ground. With every blow Kuba swung back and forth like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. When it was over, Kuba took the bone from Ferdi. He said, “Your turn, Mish.” Just because he made me think of it, my head was itching more than ever. I could feel them crawling.

  I got down on all fours in front of Big Henryk. In a moment I was hanging upside down, staring at his knees. “Get ready,” said Kuba, and then I heard Ferdi’s voice, “Wait! The book!” Ferdi stuffed a book down my pants, and the world shook as Kuba gave me the first wallop. Another voice came screaming, “Stop it! Stop it!”

  I twisted my head as best I could and saw Janina attacking Kuba, kicking him, punching him. Ferdi grabbed her, held her flailing.

  “I’m not hurting
him,” said Kuba.

  “Who is this?” said Enos.

  “This is Janina,” I said as Kuba swung the bone. Then between wallops: “My . . . sis . . . ter . . .”

  By the time Kuba was done with me, Janina was yapping, “Me! Me!”

  She was heading for Big Henryk when Enos said, “You can’t have a girl in a dress hanging upside down. She needs pants.”

  I was the littlest, so I was elected. I took off my pants and gave them to Janina. I stuffed in the book, and upside down she went and Kuba started walloping away. With each spank she gave a yelp and a laugh.

  I had a thought: Maybe her angel will come out. This was my latest information from the boys on angels: Every person carries his or her own angel inside. When the rest of you is killed, the angel comes out and flies off to Heaven. When I asked where Heaven is, everyone had a different answer.

  Kuba said Russia.

  Olek said Washington America.

  Enos said, “You’re all stupid. It’s right here. Warsaw. The other side of the wall.”

  As I watched Janina’s little body jump with every spank, I couldn’t imagine the angel inside her putting up with such a disturbance. I stared and stared, but nothing came out of her but yelps and laughs and lice.

  Kuba finally stopped. Janina was begging for more. She wouldn’t give up my pants. Everyone laughed as I chased her around the rubble, the book bouncing in the pants like a load of horse flop. Suddenly the laughter stopped. I turned around. Four people were standing at the corner of the charred butcher shop. Everyone, even Janina, stopped and stared at them.

  They were two couples. The men were Jackboots. Their buttons glinted like morning stars on their uniforms. The ladies were blond-haired and wore little white hats and white gloves. All four of them were smiling.

  One of the Jackboots was holding something. It was black. I was pretty sure it was a gun or a weapon. I wondered: Why aren’t we running? And then I saw movement—Janina was walking toward them. I called out, “Janina! No!”

  Still smiling, the Jackboot raised the weapon. He held it up to his eye, aiming it at her.

  “No!”

  I charged into the Jackboot. He didn’t budge. He reached down with his free hand and tossed me aside. He aimed again through the weapon at Janina. I heard: click.

  Enos called, “Misha, stop. It’s a camera. It takes pictures.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I backed off. The man with the camera aimed and clicked again. Beside me, Janina was doing a dance in the dust and smiling at the camera man and saying, “Do it again! . . . Again!”

  The couples were no longer just smiling, they were laughing out loud. The ladies were clinging to their men’s arms to keep from falling over with laughter. Then one of the ladies pinched her nose, and the other pinched her nose, and they laughed louder and the camera man took more pictures. And the more they laughed and took pictures, the faster Janina danced and laughed. The dust she kicked up fell on their shoes.

  When the laughing died down, Janina stepped forward. She walked up to one of the ladies and said, “Do you live on the other side?” The lady did not answer. She just looked down and smiled. Then Janina reached out and touched the skirt of the lady’s black-and-white checkerboard dress. The lady’s smile vanished. She stepped back from Janina’s reach. She looked down at the dust on her white shoes. She said something to the others. The smiles came back.

  The man taking pictures gave the camera to his lady. He motioned to Janina and me to stand side by side. He stood behind us. I could feel him smiling. He was close, but he never touched us. He said something to the lady. She aimed and clicked.

  Maybe they’ll shoot us now, I thought.

  But they didn’t. They merely went away. As they were leaving, I called, “Aren’t you going to shoot us?”

  They didn’t respond. Enos hurried over. “Stupid Gypsy.” He smacked the back of my head. “Learn to shut your stupid mouth.”

  I wished Uri were there. I preferred that he do the smacking.

  “Who were they?” said Ferdi.

  “Soldiers with their girlfriends,” said Enos. “Out for a stroll in the ghetto. It’s Sunday.”

  “What’s Sunday?” I said.

  Enos sneered. “The day they don’t shoot you.”

  Back on the streets, we saw other soldiers and girlfriends strolling about.

  The Jackboot ladies wore white gloves. I couldn’t stop staring at the gloves. They were whiter than snow.

  28

  Summer was flies. I thought of them as little birds. I remembered real birds. I remembered them singing as I lay in tall grass that smelled like carrots. Except for crows, birds did not come to the ghetto. There was no bread for them to eat, no seed. The crows that came did not sing. They squawked at each other. They seemed to say, Over here! I found one! Or, Stay away! This is mine! There was always plenty for them to eat. They ate people. Crows and flies.

  The wagons came in the morning. There had been a few horses left, pulling the morning wagons, but the Jackboots took them, so now men became horses. When the wagon came to a body, it stopped and the men went to the body. Not all bodies were dead. If a body had flies but no crow, it might still be alive, especially if it also had no newspaper over it. Sometimes crows pecked away the newspaper.

  When the men came to a body, the crows usually walked away. They walked five or six steps and turned and squawked at the men. One man took hands, one took feet, and they flopped the body onto the wagon. When the body flopped onto the pile, the whole wagonload of flies jumped into the air like lice from a walloper. Then they settled back down again, and a crow or two landed and went along for the ride.

  I used to think that if a body had no shoes or socks or coat, it was dead. But then I saw one such body climb out from under the pile on a wagon and walk away. The men had made a mistake. But you could count on crows. They never made a mistake.

  Some people died from sickness, some from hunger. There wasn’t much I could do about the sickness, but hunger, that was where I came in. Feeding my family—and as much as possible Doctor Korczak’s orphans—was what the world had made me for. All the parts—the stealing, the speed, the size, the rash stupidity—came together to make me the perfect smuggler.

  Janina followed me everywhere. My shadow. I went through the wall at night, and there she was, behind me, with a sack of her own. I never spoke to her. I pretended she wasn’t there.

  We raided the blue camel hotel. We raided the finest homes in Warsaw. We had many favorite kitchens. One was a special favorite because we always found pickled herring there. We must have felt very comfortable in that kitchen, because we always turned the light on. One night we were sampling the herring when I heard Janina say, “Hello.” I turned. A little boy was standing in the doorway. He wore pajamas. He was squinting in the light.

  The boy mumbled, “Who are you?”

  “I am Janina,” she said. She suddenly seemed very grown up. She pointed to me. “This is Misha.”

  The boy kneaded his fists in his eyes. “Are you Jews?”

  Janina laughed. “Ha-ha! Jews? Oh no, we would never be Jews. Not us. Ha-ha!” She held out a piece of herring. “Want some fish?”

  The boy took the fish, and for the next hour the three of us sat around the kitchen table eating pickled herring and crackers and sugar cookies and milk. Drinking the milk, I thought about Doctor Korczak and the cow. We told the little boy we were playing a game called Whisper so he wouldn’t talk or laugh too loud. When we went out the window with our sacks full, the boy wanted to come with us. He cried. We told him we would come back again to visit him, but I knew we could never return to that house.

  At first Janina’s father did not know she went smuggling with me. He was always sleeping when we slipped quietly out of the room. I think Uncle Shepsel was often awake, but he never said anything. Then came the night we returned, sacks full, and found a lineup happening in the courtyard. Jackboots shouting. Jackdogs snarling. Bl
inding lights. “Filthy pigs of Abraham!”

  We hid our sacks and sneaked behind the last row of people. We crept around until we found the Milgroms. We squeezed in between Uncle Shepsel and Mr. Milgrom. I was shocked to see Mrs. Milgrom standing in line. Her head drooped on her chest. It was a very poor attention.

  Mr. Milgrom’s hand came down and squeezed Janina’s ear. She squeaked.

  A nearby Jackboot was shouting. “You smelly animals! You stink! Don’t you ever wash!”

  I hoped Buffo wasn’t there. This was his chance to get me.

  A man with a bullhorn was up front. “We know you are doing it! This is your first and last warning! You will be caught! Yes! Yes! And when you are caught you will be shot! If you are lucky! If you are not lucky, we will hang you! Either way, you are dead! One way is slower! More painful! Do you understand!”

  “Jawohl!” I called out, using the Jackboot word for “yes.” No one else spoke.

  This time it was my ear that got squeezed. I looked up at Mr. Milgrom. “What is he talking about?”

  He whispered, “You. Smugglers. You must stop now.”

  I did not stop. But I tried to make Janina stop. The next time she followed me into the night I stopped in the courtyard and told her to go back.

  “No,” she said.

  “Your father wants you to stop,” I told her. “He’ll be mad if they shoot you.”

  “No.”

  “They’ll hang you.”

  “No.”

  “You get in my way. You’re a filthy Jew.”

  “So are you. No.”

  I could barely see her face in the darkness. I smacked her. This time I didn’t give her a chance to smack me back. I pushed her to the ground. She came up flailing at me, and I hit her and pushed her again and hit her again. She was crying. I left her there and walked away. She didn’t come after me. She started yelling, “Misha’s going to the wall! Misha smuggles! Misha smuggles!”

  Out in the street a whistle blew.

  I ran back to her. I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Okay,” I said, “okay.” I yanked her hair. Her yowl echoed in the courtyard. The whistle blew. We ran.