Resistance Page 14

  I began searching quietly so as not to disturb her. Very quickly, I found a compartment containing German army rations. I hoped this food wasn’t packaged by any resistance members determined to add a dose of food poisoning to the German diet, but we were going to take the risk—and take the food—anyway.

  The markings on the food packages were in German, but I knew enough of the language to recognize the crackers, tinned meat, and most exciting of all, squares of chocolate! Unable to stop myself, I tore into one package and broke off half a piece for myself, then leaned back in the chair and smiled, letting it melt in my mouth. I hadn’t had chocolate since the war began and had forgotten until this moment how much I missed it.

  With that thought, the guilt returned, this time like a lead weight inside my stomach. I hadn’t needed that piece, I’d only wanted it, and I wasn’t out here to satisfy my wants. I had responsibilities to literally thousands of people who would trade a limb from their bodies for that bite of food.

  “What do I smell?” Esther opened her eyes with a smile and her eye zeroed in on the chocolate. I could hardly deny her what I’d just given myself, so I offered her the other half of the piece I’d eaten. Except that where I popped the entire thing into my mouth, she only nibbled at it from the corner, determined to make the half square last as long as possible.

  “Can I hate the Nazis and love their chocolate?” she asked.

  I grinned. “Chocolate does not take sides in a war, and that is a good thing.”

  Now that Esther was awake, we began a thorough search of the tank, opening every hatch and searching every gap inside this metal monster. Some of what we found was disgusting, a reminder that the soldiers who once operated this tank didn’t get out as often as five grown men should have. But we found a half-used package of unused rags that we gratefully used to clean ourselves, bottles of clean water, and more food than we’d be able to carry.

  I wanted the food, but I was still searching for ammunition. The gun I brought out of Lodz was fine for waving around if I wanted to look threatening, but it might also start a fight I couldn’t finish. I needed bullets.

  Since Esther was smaller, she maneuvered herself into the lower section of the tank. The driver would have been on the left, but she slid right, to where the commander would sit. Almost immediately after she shifted into position, she called up, “A radio!”

  Radios were almost impossible to come by these days, and even those who had one hidden were reluctant to bring them out. But Esther switched it on, her eyes wide with hope and expectation. Finding an Allied or resistance station would be invaluable.

  However, the radio was already tuned to a German military news broadcast, the only reception she could get after scanning through the entire dial. For now, it would have to be enough. Esther looked to me for the translations, so when I could understand the broadcaster, I passed on information while we continued our search of the tank.

  “Mostly they’re describing different battles that are taking place,” I said. “It sounds like the war is reaching all over the world.”

  “Who’s winning?”

  I shrugged. “This station will say that the Germans are winning, even if they’re not.”

  Her eyes widened as she looked back at me. “What if they truly are winning, Chaya? What happens then?”

  I’d asked myself that same question countless times. If they won, the extermination that began with us would extend to anyone they viewed as a threat to their twisted ideals. If there was any chance of them winning, then the resistance mattered more than ever.

  But all I said to Esther was “I never let myself believe in a future where evil wins. Because if I do, then everything I’ve done, everything you and I are still doing, is for nothing. We need to believe in a future where love is stronger than hate. Where peace is normal. Where this”—I gestured around the tank—“is just a page from the history books.”

  She nodded and we returned to our search. I found a few well-made winter hats, but they’d have to be left behind. As nice as they would be over the next few weeks, spring was coming, and besides, we could use the space in our bags more efficiently.

  Meanwhile, the radio announcer kept speaking, little more than a German backdrop to our exploration of the tank. Until—

  “Oh no,” I mumbled, almost unconsciously.

  Esther’s voice registered alarm. “Is that the news? What did they say?” When I hesitated, she said, “I can handle the truth, Chaya. Tell me!”

  I took a deep breath, then said, “There’s a student resistance movement in Germany that calls itself the White Rose. Akiva wanted to prove that not all Jews went like lambs to the slaughter, right? Well, the White Rose members hoped to prove that there were good Germans who disagreed with the Nazis and Hitler’s war.”

  Her voice faltered a bit. “What happened to them?”

  “Their leadership was arrested last night, and they’ll be executed before it’s over.” I leaned back and closed my eyes. One group at a time, the Nazis were shutting down anyone who resisted. Every whisper of freedom was being silenced. Every chance of escape was being snuffed out.

  I still believed that Germany would lose the war, but I believed it less than I did five minutes ago.

  After a long moment, Esther began exploring her area again. “Bullets!” She dragged a metal box from beneath her seat, and it looked heavy.

  “What caliber?” I yanked the pistol from our bag and opened the chamber. When she held up a bullet, I let out a disappointed sigh. They didn’t match. In addition to a gun with no bullets, I now had bullets with no gun. If it came to a standoff, I’d have to throw the bullets at the Nazis and hope one poked out an eye. That’d be the worst I could do.

  But surely, once we reached Warsaw, someone there would want this ammunition. We had to bring the box with us. I stuffed the gun, bullets, and radio into a knapsack I’d found behind my seat, along with as much food as I could fit inside. Esther loaded her bag as well. With our overstuffed bags, one of which had German colors, we’d look more suspicious than usual should anyone see us on the road, but it was a necessary risk. We’d just have to be extra careful while we were out in the open. As always.

  We emerged from the tank with caution, but the field was quiet, the late-afternoon sun bathing the field in a final hour of daylight. I hoped we could make a lot of progress before it was gone. We moved too slowly at night, and now that Esther had told me about Warsaw, all I wanted was to get there before the Nazis crushed yet another resistance group.

  Esther began the conversation today. “You’re always asking about me, but what about your family? Are any of them … still with us?”

  I was surprised by the boldness of her question. It was more than I’d dared ask her, despite my intense curiosity. But perhaps if I shared a bit of my story, she’d share more of hers.

  “I have a grandmother in a safe house near Krakow,” I began. “My parents … I don’t know. I’m not sure if my mother cares anymore whether she lives or dies, and I don’t know how long my dad will go on if she doesn’t … If they haven’t already begun liquidating the Krakow Ghetto, they will soon.”

  “Why …” She was being more cautious now. “Why doesn’t your mother care anymore?”

  I wondered if there would ever be a time in my life when I could answer that question without a swell of pain rising inside my chest. “My sister used to sneak out of the ghetto to smuggle food for my family. She knew of a hole in the concrete walls that wasn’t well guarded, and like me, she had a look that wouldn’t draw a lot of suspicion on the Polish side. But one day she was caught by an OD when sneaking back into the ghetto. He demanded her food and she refused, then ran away, thinking she had gotten away with it. But when the Gestapo demanded a list of names soon after, her name was there. My parents didn’t know at the time what it meant to have your name on a list like that. They figured maybe she’d be sent to the countryside, same as what happened to me. So when they demanded everyone on the l
ist show themselves on the street, they sent her out. She—” My voice broke and I stopped there. I’d said enough.

  “I’m sorry, Chaya.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. Strangely, it felt good to be telling her all this. Like an infection that needed to be drained. It hurt to talk about it too, but for the first time since that day last summer, it wasn’t a wound I had to carry alone.

  “There’s more,” I added. “I have a brother—had a brother—named Yitzchak. He disappeared around the same time. He was probably either taken away with my sister or killed. But maybe not. Maybe he’s still alive. No one knows. No one will ever …” My voice trailed off.

  “That’s why you became a courier,” she said. “Every ghetto you enter, you look for his face. Every bite of food you distribute, you think, maybe if he’s there, maybe he’ll get it.”

  “Or, at least, maybe I’ll find someone who can tell me what happened to him.” I tried pushing his face from my mind again. It never worked.

  “I understand,” Esther said. “My family is … was—” She clamped her mouth shut again, and I knew she wanted to tell me about them too, but something still held her back.

  “Where’s your family, Esther?”

  She shook her head and pushed on at a faster pace. “Never stop hoping, right? That’s what keeps us alive, to never stop hoping for a happy ending.”

  February 19, 1943

  Road to Warsaw

  We had a particularly bright moon tonight, and it was a little warmer than before, a whisper of spring in the air. We walked farther and faster than usual before we finally decided to take shelter in a barn similar to the one where we stayed days ago. The nearby home looked abandoned, and no animals were in or around the barn. It should be a good shelter. As always, I checked for all possible exits before settling in for the night. There were doors on both the front and back of the barn, and in the loft above, a rope dangled from a hook and extended almost to the ground.

  “Let’s sleep up there,” Esther suggested. “There’s more hay for warmth and then if we need to look out and see if anyone is coming, we’ll have a better view.”

  It was a good suggestion, though by now, I was beyond exhausted. I would’ve gladly slept on thorns if that was all we had.

  Once we were folded beneath warm layers of hay, we faced each other with the radio between us and turned the volume low. The broadcast hissed out the same propaganda as before, all the victories the Axis powers were enjoying, how their areas of control were expanding, and how the Allied forces were certain to crumble any day now. I didn’t know how much of it was true, and I was careful to explain that to Esther as I translated.

  Then my ears pricked up as Warsaw was mentioned. I stopped translating.

  The broadcaster said, “German forces are preparing for a massive assault on the Jewish Quarter in Warsaw, following resistance during a resettlement campaign last month. Military leaders have promised a fierce response to the Jewish bandits and have assured the Führer that all resistance movements within the General Government will be crushed. The White Rose Movement …”

  “What are they saying?” Esther asked. “I heard them mention Warsaw.”

  I switched off the radio. “It’s nothing we don’t already know. Let’s go to sleep.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I was tired after a long day of walking, and irritable after hearing news about the deathtrap I’d walk into within the next few days. Still, I softened my voice to add, “Where’d you come from before joining us in Krakow? What’s your story?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it, then rolled away from me. “You’re right, Chaya. Let’s go to sleep.”

  Truly irritated now, I rolled away too and fell asleep immediately, only waking up an hour or two later when I heard noises from below. “Esther?”

  She called up. “I needed a bathroom break. Everything’s … wait!”

  The sounds were coming from outside the barn. A crunch of snow, spaced evenly apart. Calculated, timed steps.

  Faint light seeped in through the barn slats, though I thought it was still predawn. It might be an animal. I hoped it was an animal.

  But I didn’t think so.

  I wanted to tell Esther to hide, but as quiet as this early morning was, I didn’t dare make another sound. I hoped she understood that she needed to move. Before bedding down, we had found places that would work in an emergency. Did she remember where they were? Could she hide without making too much noise?

  Up here, we’d already buried our bags deep inside a storage bin, beneath some filthy burlap bags and animal harnesses. I silently climbed in there now, getting as deep inside as I could so that if they lifted the lid, they shouldn’t see me.

  But even as I burrowed in, I was terrified for Esther. I’d heard no movement from her. She needed to hide.

  Finally, her footsteps crunched onto the hay scattered on the floor below. If I heard that from here, then anyone outside would have heard it too. She stopped walking, and I heard her sniff. Even that was too loud.

  The barn doors burst open, and in the same instant someone shouted, “Auf Knien!” The German order to kneel. Esther screamed but quickly stifled it, and they didn’t repeat the order. She must have understood their words or their intentions, and obeyed.

  “Kennkarte?” Based on their efficiency, I thought this had to be the Gestapo.

  Her papers were up here in the bag, with me. If she told the Gestapo where they were, I’d need a reason for why I was hiding here. If I was truly a Polish citizen, why should I hide? My mind raced.

  But with a trembling voice, Esther said, “There are no papers.” She spoke in Yiddish, which was far more devastating than her actual words.

  An officer shouted, “Jude!” which was immediately followed by a slapping sound, then Esther’s cry of pain.

  I was trying to figure out how many of them there were. At least three men, and maybe a fourth. My unloaded gun wouldn’t bluff our way past them all.

  What should I do?

  There was nothing I could do.

  What was the right thing to do?

  In Yiddish, another officer asked, “Who else is here?”

  “I’m alone,” Esther said. “I ran away from the family that was hiding me. They beat me—”

  “After tonight, you’ll wish you were back with them.”

  Esther was hit again and probably knocked unconscious, because she made no other sounds. The order was given to carry her to the truck on the road.

  “Burn this place to the ground.” The order was given by a new voice, and seconds later I heard the first whoosh of fire. Whatever he used for ignition caused the flames to burn hot and rise fast.

  I had to escape the fire, but that wasn’t my biggest problem. Not even close. In the distance, a truck’s motor started. They were taking Esther away.

  February 20, 1943

  Road to Skierniewice

  The first rule of the resistance was loyalty to the resistance. We all made vows that under no condition would we reveal the name of our leaders or fellow fighters, or even our missions. Not under threat of torture or death, to us or to our loved ones.

  I gave my promise without hesitation, because I understood the reason it had to exist. The resistance was bigger than any of us individually. Not even our leaders could consider themselves important enough to betray the others.

  The second rule of the resistance was that if we could save ourselves without breaking the first rule, we should. That thought forced me out of the storage bin, hoisting Esther’s bag across one shoulder and the German knapsack slung over the other. That left my hands free to open the loft door, now my only option for escape. Flames licked at the floorboards beneath me; I felt through my boots how hot they were already getting. It was likely only seconds before the upper floor collapsed. The rope dangled from a hook at the widow’s peak a little over a meter away. With twice the usual weight on my back, I di
dn’t dare lean out to grab it. I had to jump.

  Smoke filled the loft and poured out the doors around me, choking me, blinding me. A piece of the floor behind me collapsed, taking part of the barn wall with it.

  There was no time to think or plan. I got a running start and leapt for the rope. I caught it, though the weight of my bags nearly made me fall, and rope burns stung my hands. I dropped the knapsack to lighten my load and then shinnied down as quickly as possible. It’s a good thing I did, because when I was nearly to the ground, the rope itself caught fire and landed in a heap beside me.

  The Gestapo officers were gone, but very soon, the farmers along this road would be waking up for their morning chores. They’d see the smoke and flames and come here to investigate. I needed to go now.

  I did my best to balance the weight of the bags on my back, but I hadn’t realized before that even though I had the weapon and ammunition, Esther’s bag was as heavy as mine, since it was much larger than the knapsack.

  That thought immediately stuck in my head. For all my feelings of annoyance, Esther was carrying the same weight as me and yet she almost never complained. She would’ve been as cold as me, as tired as me, but she kept pace at my side without fail.

  I had to get her back.

  I had no idea how to get her back.

  The tracks from the Gestapo truck were still visible and should remain that way as long as it stayed on these dirt roads. But if the truck reached a main road, paved and cleared of snow, I’d never find Esther.

  Then the realization hit: the woman with the eggs who we met two days ago. She must have reported us to that officer in Lodz, who sent out word for the Gestapo to look for us. I wondered if the day would ever come when she would realize what she had done. If she would ever know the price Esther was about to pay for the woman’s bigotry.