“Enough to tell, you mean?”
Sam shook his head. “Trusted at all. My brother was older, off living his life. And my mom was so busy trying to protect herself, I could never quite be sure she’d do the same for me.” Helena shivered, picturing what he had been through. As difficult as their own lives had been with Tata’s drinking and the lack of money and the secrets she had only just discovered, there had always been love. She tried to imagine the actual betrayal of those closest to her, but could not.
An ominous feeling overcame her then. “I found a chalice,” she said, eager to change the subject. He cocked his head. She pulled it out and handed it to him.
“A Kiddush cup,” he clarified gently. “Jews bless the wine and drink from it on special occasions.”
“It was my mother’s. That’s Hebrew, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “It’s a beautiful piece.”
“She kept it, in spite of everything.”
“She must have felt a very special connection to it.” Helena had thought only until now of the connection between the cup and her mother’s secret Jewish identity. But what had it meant to Mama? Had it belonged to her parents, or grandparents? Helena saw then the generations of ancestors and lives that went with the cup, their stories hidden forever.
“It will make a wonderful addition to our home,” Sam added. She stared at him in amazement. Things had never looked bleaker, yet he seemed more confident of their future together than ever before. His faith made her feel suddenly stronger, too. “Having it could be dangerous, though. Do you want me to keep it here for you?”
Helena hesitated. She knew he would keep it safe, but it would make things even worse if he was found. “No, I want it with me.” She could not bear to tell him, either, that she planned to sell it.
“I wish we could just get married,” he said abruptly. Her pulse quickened. Though they had discussed it before, the concept was still foreign to her. And it seemed remote, the questions of survival more pressing and immediate. “I mean, here we are, in a chapel...”
“It is ironic,” she agreed. “But someday we will get married, in a real church—or synagogue,” she hastened to add.
He shook his head. Someday was not good enough. “I mean now.”
Sam took her hands solemnly and pulled her to her feet. What did he mean for them to do? He led her to the front of the chapel, where the pulpit would once have stood. “Do you take me as your lawfully wedded husband?”
She cut him off. “You want to say our vows here?”
But his face was gravely serious. He wanted to marry her now. She trembled, nearly shaking. “Take me as your lawfully wedded husband,” he repeated, “to love, honor and obey?”
She cocked her head. “Obey?” It sounded like everything she had always disliked about the prospect of marriage.
“It’s part of the American wedding vows, but we can leave it out. To love and honor?”
“I do.”
“Well, I take you, too.” He kissed her firmly on the lips. A moment later, he pulled back. “That will have to do for now.” She nodded. It felt as real as if there had been a minister and church full of flowers. “Jews get married under a canopy, it’s called a chuppa. It symbolizes the times they were in exile and couldn’t get married in a temple.”
“Oh.” She looked up through the hole in the roof. “We don’t even have that.”
He shrugged. “We will someday. And the groom smashes a glass to break with the past.” There was so much she didn’t know about who he was and this unfamiliar people he now included her among. “The honeymoon will have to wait for another day,” he quipped, his eyes twinkling.
She blushed and pulled away. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” He laughed.
“Not at all. But I need to go.”
Sam followed her to the door. “I wish we could just stay like this.”
“I know.” But even if they stood in place, the world around them would not. Things were pulling them apart, and if they did not move with the powerful tides they would be swept away. She laced her fingers through his.
He brought his free hand to her cheek. “Be careful.” His voice was almost a plea.
“I will,” she promised, “and I’ll see you soon.”
Helena walked away uneasily. She turned back, wanting to see Sam one last time. But he had already disappeared back into the chapel. Longing welled up in her, stronger than it ever had, and she fought the urge to run back inside. Enough. She steeled herself. The sooner she made the connection to the resistance, the sooner they could be together.
16
Helena reached the top of the forested hill and gazed down at the city. Her eyes traveled in the direction of the Jewish quarter. From this vantage point, it seemed for a moment as though nothing had changed, and if she took her familiar route to the hospital she might find Mama still waiting there. Tears welled up unexpectedly, threatening to overflow. She blinked them back; this was not the time for mourning. Forcing herself to look away from Kazimierz, she plotted a route into the Stare Miasto, then started down.
German presence in the city was heavier now, she could sense as she crossed the bridge. The thin pretense of normalcy that had existed just days earlier was gone. The narrow, winding streets were clogged thick with military vehicles, and there were almost more Gestapo than locals on the sidewalks. Many of the shops were now closed at midday, some of their Christmas decorations taken down as though Christmas had already passed and was not still two days away. The faces of the passersby, ordinary Poles, were worn and haggard. Had liquidations come to the Old City, as well? Helena forced herself to walk calmly and keep her head level. To act as if she belonged. Once she had regarded the city as exciting, a place of intrigue and adventure. Now with every second she spent here, she risked discovery and capture.
As she drew closer to the rynek, she passed the stately Grand Hotel. Piano music tinkled from the ground floor kawiarnia as someone opened the door and stepped out, letting forth the smell of smoke and stale beer. “Stille Nacht,” a male voice sang in German, loudly and off-key. The merry sound seemed to hover above the grim street, a mocking caricature.
Hurrying on, Helena soon reached the entrance to Pod Gwiazdami. At the top of the stairwell, she hesitated. The voices were loud beneath, too boisterous for midmorning. Steeling herself, she started down. Halfway down, she stopped again, scanning the room below. The café, which had been almost empty on her last visit, was now lively with off-duty German soldiers. Some swilled beer, even at this early hour, while others drank coffee fortified, she suspected, with something stronger. There was no sign of Alek.
She scurried back up the stairs as leering eyes began to notice her, and she tripped in her haste. Righting herself, she reached the street, heart pounding. The café was her one link to Alek. She dared not loiter or ask for him there. What now?
Wierzynek, she remembered. Could she really go to the elegant restaurant where he said he worked as a waiter, with its Nur für Deutsche sign in the front window forbidding Poles to enter? She had no choice. She started toward the rynek.
As she reached the corner, she was suddenly thrown forward and slammed against the brick wall of a building. Her first thought was an explosion like the one that had rocked Kazimierz the other day? But no, this force was human, a strong male forearm wrapping around her throat to silence her scream before it reached her lips. She imagined one of the Germans had followed her from the café and struggled hopelessly to escape. She raised a foot to kick—
“Quiet,” a familiar voice ordered. Alek turned her around and leaned in as though they were lovers, pressing her against the building, while two German officers staggered toward them. His jaw was dark with stubble and there was a stale, unwashed smell about him.
When the Germans had passed, he straightened, but did not release her. She sta
red up at him, blinking. “How did you find me?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He sounded annoyed, almost angry. “You don’t listen, do you? I said a week.”
“I couldn’t wait. And I got you these.” She reached in her pocket and started to pull out the packets of medicine. His eyes widened.
“Not here.” He waved away her hand, then looked over his shoulder.
“You said you needed supplies. Surely this will help.”
He sniffed. “Most certainly. But how did you get them?”
“I have my ways. And you can see my intentions are sincere. Now will you help me?”
“Go to ulica Bracka 7.” He pointed toward a side street. “The brick beneath the third step moves. Leave the package behind it and then come back. Go now,” he ordered. She started in the direction he indicated, turning onto Bracka Street, a winding residential lane tucked just off the bustling square. Number 7 was an elegant, four-story house, twinkling holiday candles behind each of its fir-adorned windows. A lone red poppy that appeared to have been stuck there rather than planted jutted defiantly from a snow-covered flower box. She glanced uncertainly in both directions. It seemed impossible that it was safe to leave anything here on this well-trafficked street. But the brick at the third step moved just like Alek said. Keeping her hands low to her sides so as not to attract attention, she slid the medicine in and replaced it.
She returned to the place near the rynek where Alek had intercepted her. He was smoking a cigarette, gazing upward at the cathedral spires.
“That house on Bracka Street, how did you know about it?”
“You should save your questions for things that matter.” He wiped his hand across his brow. “It belonged to my aunt.” Helena paused, considering this. She had once laughed at Sam’s suggestion that Jews might be wealthy. To her, the ones she had seen in Kazimierz and in the village were hapless, even poorer than she. Looking at the house, Helena realized that she could not classify all Jews in a certain way. “And it still does, really, though the filthy Germans who live there might disagree,” he added. She marveled at the audacity of keeping a drop box right under the nose of the Gestapo—perhaps the last place they might look for it.
Alek carefully extinguished his cigarette against the pavement and tucked what remained of it into his pocket. “So what was so urgent?”
She faltered. Did he really expect her to talk about it here on the open street? “To give you the medicine,” she said in a low voice, “and to see if you found a way to get the soldier out.” She still could not bring herself to say Sam’s name in public.
“Again with the soldier. Why would you risk so much for an American you just met?” Alek’s tone was chiding now. “Is he your lover?” Looking up, she saw him smiling for the first time.
“No!” she blurted out. “I want to help. That is, my mother’s family is Jewish.” Her words seemed to reverberate off the buildings, leaving her naked and exposed. “And I’m Jewish.” It was the first time she had ever said this aloud to anyone but Sam. Somehow now it seemed an asset, a credential to make her motives plausible.
He raised an eyebrow. “Jews in Biekowice? That’s unusual. Why didn’t you say something last time?”
“I didn’t know. My mother was in the Kazimierz hospital. We only just learned from the records.”
His mouth twisted. “That’s poor timing. Most Jews are doing what they can to hide their identities or themselves right now. You’d do well to do the same. I’m sorry about your mother,” he added. Alek had heard of the hospital liquidation and knew without asking that the end had not been good.
“Thank you.” Helena marveled that one who had surely seen much suffering and death could sound so sad about a woman he had never met. “She died that day, after I met you last time. I had to hide from the Germans at the hospital.”
“Yet through all that, you had the presence of mind to steal the medicine.” His voice carried an unmistakable note of admiration. “You have strength—and a good head.”
“At least she did not suffer...” Helena added, only half hearing his compliment as she relived the horror of the hospital. She looked away, embarrassed by her thoughts, too personal to share.
“There’s something else you want to ask me,” Alek said, tilting his head, seeming to sense her question even before she had formed it.
“No, it’s nothing,” she said quickly. “Now about the soldier, you will help him, right?”
“You’d like to know more about your mother’s past, wouldn’t you?” Alek prodded, unwilling to let the matter go. “It’s okay to want something for yourself. Come.” Not waiting for a response, he grabbed her arm and tugged her into the alley and through a maze of smaller, unfamiliar streets. Helena struggled to keep up with his pace and not be dragged along. He led her quickly to the corner and joined a queue of people boarding a streetcar.
She pulled away. “We can’t possibly ride.” Streetcars were forbidden to Jews and though neither of them wore an armband, surely the police were more likely to check papers on one.
“Walking is more dangerous with all of the checkpoints.”
They shuffled up the steps of the streetcar. No seats remained so they stood awkwardly in the aisle. Helena started to ask him where they were going, but a bell rang out and the streetcar lurched. She grasped the back of one of the seats to keep from falling, unaccustomed to moving at such a speed.
They did not speak as the streetcar glided through the midday traffic that thronged the aleje, wagons mixing with trucks and military vehicles. It stopped several more times to let off and take on passengers. A few minutes later Alek gestured that they should disembark. He led her through a strange neighborhood, turning right and left so many times she could not have found her way back if she’d wanted. A wind rushed down the narrow alleyways, kicking up the strewn newspapers and other debris at her feet. As they passed an apteka, the pharmacy windows now shuttered and drawn, something familiar stirred in her. They were in the Jewish quarter, she realized, taking in the high arch of one of the synagogues peeking over the top of a smaller building. They were simply approaching from a different way than she had always come.
“Quickly,” he said, urging her forward. She looked up at him puzzled, remembering the horrors she had witnessed in Kazimierz the night Mama had died. Surely they could not be safe here. But the danger was gone, because there were simply no Jews left to arrest.
They reached the corner of Miodowa Street where the massive synagogue that had captivated her months earlier stood. Its windows were smashed, curtains blowing carelessly out through the jagged shards. They stared back at her like hollow eyes; shattered remnants of the stained-glass windows had formed on the ground beneath them like pools of tears. It looked so different from months earlier when it had been alight with song and prayer. If only I had known, Helena lamented. She might have gone inside and glimpsed the world Mama had kept secret. The Jews were gone now, like some mystical fairy realm or ancient civilization that might never have existed at all.
Alek stopped in front of a hulking stone building that occupied an entire corner of the street. “Where are we going?” she asked finally.
“You helped me with the medicine. Now I can return the favor by getting some answers about your family.” She opened her mouth to tell him that she wanted aid for Sam, not herself. Then she thought better of it. Alek continued, “This is the gmina, the Jewish center.”
She looked at him with surprise. “After everything that has happened, it’s still here?”
“For the moment, yes. You want information about your mother, and if anyone can help, the people who run this place can. They are quite pressed with other matters now, like helping those who have been moved to the ghetto find suitable quarters there, as well as caring for the sick and the orphaned.” What, she wondered, could their own now-powerless leadership do fo
r these hapless creatures, other than give them bit of food or medicine? They could not offer shelter or safety.
He continued. “Their intentions are good, but I fear the gmina has become nothing but a puppet of the regime, processing the paperwork that ultimately will help the Nazis find us all,” Alek added. “They’ll close soon, now that all of the Jews have been sent across the river to the ghetto. But perhaps they have information to answer your questions.” He eyed her levelly. “Or maybe you’d rather not go into the lion’s den right now. You can still walk away from the truth.”
“I’m already in—how much worse can it get?” He did not answer, his expression suggesting that she did not want to know.
Alek led her inside and up a spiraling marble staircase and knocked at a half-open door on the third floor. Behind the desk a wizened bald man in a skullcap faced away from them, loading books into boxes. “It’s the Sabbath. We’re closed.” Then he swiveled in his chair and, peering over the top of his reading glasses, smiled with more enthusiasm than she might have thought his tired face could muster. “Alek!” He leaped to his feet and pumped the younger man’s hand heartily, the star on his sleeve bobbing up and down.
While the men greeted each other, Helena took in the musty office. There was an antique oak desk buried in stacks of yellowed paper, set against overflowing bookshelves that climbed to the ceiling. Specks of dust danced in the pale light that filtered in through the curtains. The walls were covered with photographs, black-and-white-and-sepia images of weddings, family portraits and pictures of holiday trips to the mountains and seaside. They unfurled like a chronicle of the community now gone, giving face to the hushed whispers that she had seemed to hear on the street earlier and which hung from the rafters of the synagogue. A polished silver menorah sat on the edge of the desk.
“As promised,” Alek said, passing into the old man’s palm something she could not see.