Pastel Orphans (12 page)

“Can you stand?”

“I’m not sure.”

I reach down to help him up. He is not tall and he has a young face. I imagine that back in Berlin we might once have been friends at the same school. There is something harmless in the carefulness with which he takes my arm for support, and he does not have the look of those men who took Greta. But there is still no forgiveness on my part. He belongs to the cause responsible for parting my father from us, for Mama’s injuries, and for Greta’s kidnapping.

It is a dark night and we trip on the pathways that wind between the trees. Tobin walks ahead, then Rebekah, then Kaleb, then me. I have to help the German and it is a task. For the most part he can walk by himself, but occasionally he becomes unsteady and leans into me, sometimes close to fainting.

We walk through the night and into the next day. I am so tired that at one point I stumble. That is when Kaleb tells me he will take over, that he will take care of the German. As the sun rises, I feel like we are the walking dead.

At the edge of a clearing, Tobin tells us to be quiet while he goes on ahead. I watch him circle a white two-story manor house with a tall roof and many attic windows. It has a raised entrance porch and a balcony above this. Around it the grass has grown tall; garden beds are overgrown or dying. I wonder who could own such a house in the middle of the wilderness.

Polish voices travel towards us, and then Tobin walks out the front door, followed by two bearded men dressed in black and carrying guns. Tobin waves us forward, and we enter the front door which is flanked by the two men.

The house is large with multiple rooms. One of the men directs us to rooms upstairs. I lead the German to a bed in an empty room. The German has not said anything for the whole journey, though it is clear he is in pain and badly in need of rest. Tobin follows me in.

“Not this room, you idiot,” says Tobin. “You can’t lock it.”

The German looks close to collapsing and I put an arm around his waist and follow Tobin to a room at the end of the hallway. Tobin leaves while I help the German lie down on the floor inside the small room that was perhaps a storeroom once. I lock the door as I leave and go downstairs. The sound of raised voices leads me to the kitchen. Rebekah is not there but Tobin and Kaleb are talking to the two men. It seems they are leaving.

“But where will you go?” asks Tobin.

“We will go northeast. There is no one to fight here. We will join up with others.”

“I will come too,” says Tobin.

The two of them laugh: not bitterly or nastily, more affably. “No, you must stay here.”

“What about the German?” asks Kaleb. “Don’t you want to question him?”

“We seek information about the camps and about the secret slaughter projects, which have nothing to do with planned warfare. He will know nothing about them. He will not know what Hitler’s secret army is up to. None of the general army does. We have interrogated before. It is Hitler’s secret police who have the answers. If you had captured one of those, it would have been better. You can leave him for the other partisans, or you can do with him what you want.”

They wish us luck and begin to leave.

“When will you be back?” asks Tobin.

“We’re not sure.”

“What of Zamosc? Are there partisans there too?” I ask.

“Not yet, but some are planning to drive out the Germans from there eventually.”

I tell them quickly of my sister in Cracow, of the orientation centers, hoping they will know something. They look at each other thoughtfully, as if communicating something.

“I’m sorry,” says one of the men. He squeezes my shoulder. “We don’t know where these ones are taken. We only know that many who are taken to the camps are never seen again.”

The two men go, and Tobin and Kaleb discuss the partisans. It seems many hide here and use the house as a base. They do not know the owners. They say that other partisans are coming back here once they finish their fighting in the east, though they don’t know how many; they only say that the leader is a man named Eri.

There is lighting here from a diesel generator, and a large tank with water that can be heated. There is even a bathroom with a large bath. It looks like there are things missing from the rooms, like small pieces of furniture that have left indents in the rugs. There is no artwork or glassware; perhaps many things have been looted. I wonder if the owners will ever return and what they would say to find their house in this state. Or perhaps they are dead.

“If the partisans do not return soon, we should go to them,” says Tobin. “We should be out killing Germans.”

I think that Tobin is a simple, angry boy always looking for a fight.

Kaleb turns to me. “Have you found a bedroom yet?”

I shake my head.

“Then go and find one. There are many. Take your pick.”

I fill up a cup with water, drain it, and fill it up again. I go upstairs to where the German is. I unlock the door and peer in. His breathing is slow and deep. I leave the cup beside him, then walk along the hall.

In one of the rooms I pass Rebekah, who is lying on one of the beds, her face to the wall. I take the room next to hers. It has been used before. There is a smell of damp socks and male sweat. The bed is unmade, the sheets are unwashed, and the white cover is stained. But the mattress is soft. Inside a wardrobe are women’s dresses and shoes. I am so tired and I lie down to sleep, but it doesn’t come. I take one of the dresses from the cupboard to Rebekah next door. She sits up when I enter.

“Here is a dress. It was in the wrong room,” I joke.

She shakes her head. “No. I do not wear the clothes of the dead. The people in this house were probably taken away and shot for no reason other than they were Jews.”

“Then they would want one of their own to have these so that they do not go to waste.”

She thinks about this. I do not wait for a response, but leave the dress on a chair and go back downstairs. The boys are sitting in the living room. Tobin cradles his gun.

In the kitchen there is a large sack of potatoes, some tomatoes, and zucchini. There is also a small bag of salt and flour but no milk or tea. I wash the potatoes and boil them with the other vegetables. Then I ladle the food into bowls that I have washed, since many of the utensils, plates, and bowls have been lying filthy on the floor. The men have not thought of cleanliness. I call the others in to eat, and when Tobin sees what I have done, he swears.

“Do you not realize that you have used too much food? We are miles from supplies here.”

“Calm down,” says Kaleb. “Tomorrow we will get some more.”

I take two bowls upstairs. I knock on Rebekah’s door, which is now closed, but there is no answer so I leave the food on the floor outside her room.

I take the other bowl to the German, who is only allowed to leave the room once a day to use the toilet. There is a toilet bowl in his room for other times. I must escort him each time he leaves the room.

When I enter, he is sitting up, his back against the wall. He has taken his clothes off and is sitting in his underpants. There is a bullet hole in his shoulder and around it the skin is inflamed. His face is gray. When his eyes meet mine, I see that any fight he must have had has left him.

“I will die without medicine,” he says.

“Can you eat?”

“I’m not hungry. But I need more water.”

I return with some water and because he is weak I hold the cup to his lips to drink. I then pass him a few mouthfuls of food before he pushes my hand away and closes his eyes. I leave the bowl beside him in case he is hungry later.

When I get back downstairs, I don’t go near the kitchen, where the boys are eating, but to a supply area that was once a sitting room with tall glass doors that overlook a pond. On the shelves and littered across the floor are miscellaneous items: tins, ropes, files, books, German boots and clothing—some with bullet holes—a heater, tools, sleeping bags, and, surprisingly, boxes of ammunition. I wonder if the mission the boys were sent on was simply meant to keep them occupied, to perhaps rid the partisans of inexperienced youths who might get in the way of their fight. I search through the rest of the room and find nothing significant.

C
HAPTER
19

That night it is good to have a bed but the creaks in the walls wake me early. I decide that I must leave, but not before I talk to the German. He may know something about Cracow. I unlock his door to find him drowsy but awake.

He asks me if I know where his knapsack is. I look for it in the supply area, the living room, and the kitchen, but it is nowhere to be found. I think that perhaps Tobin has it.

Later, after I make sure that Tobin is occupied downstairs, I search through the drawers in his room. I find a knapsack in a wardrobe and inside it is a water bottle, an empty medicine bottle, and the German’s private papers. Tobin has taken the military rations from the German’s pack and eaten them; I already found discarded, empty packets under the bed. I take the papers to the German, whose name is Otto Petersen.

“Thank you,” he says. I tell him about the empty bottle and he nods. He tells me it is medicine to keep him alert. Tobin has obviously taken this for himself.

“What are you doing with those two? You do not look like part of this group.”

I wonder briefly if I should tell him anything but then I do. I tell him everything. He listens carefully to my story.

Then he tells me his. His father was a soldier and he did not know what else to do so he became one too. His father died in service and Otto left his mother, a younger brother, and two sisters back in Munich. His mother did not want him to fight but he had no choice. Hitler has given no one a choice. His family will not receive a pension if he does not serve. He is not happy fighting the war. He does not see the point to it.

“Why change something that was not that bad to begin with? Everyone complained about the economy but Germany was still a nice place to live.” Otto says that the Jews did not bother him and Poland did not figure in the minds of most Germans.

“We are not allowed access to much of the information, just the propaganda from the Nazi generals. I’ve witnessed families torn apart because of their race. We know that the Jews are not treated well.”

He says that he has seen many atrocities, and to cope, he has had to turn away and pretend that he does not see. He calls Hitler’s personal army “Hitler’s dogs,” though he only says this to those he trusts; otherwise, he will end up with a bullet to his head from one of his own. He says that he trusts me.

I show him the lighter and ask if he knows who might own it. If he recognizes the initials, he doesn’t show it. I do not forget that he is the enemy. I return the lighter to my pocket.

“I too have heard the stories of young Polish women being captured and paired with officers to fuel the Aryan race, but I know with more certainty about the stolen children.”

“Do you know where they are taken?”

“One day we went to the house of a senior officer and were asked to wait outside. There were little girls and boys playing in the front yard. We were told they were part of a program to Germanize the occupied territories.”

This news excites me. “Do you have the address?”

“No, but I can show you; and it is not the only house that has children. There are other places that house them—often on the outskirts of cities, where the officers reside.” He says that he will draw me a map if I get him something to write with.

I go to my room to get my notebook and pencil, and I see in passing that Rebekah’s bed is made neatly and the dress I left for her is gone from the chair. When I return, Tobin is waiting for me outside the prisoner’s door. He does not move to let me pass.

“What are you talking to the German about?”

“He thinks he knows where my sister is.”

“It is a trick. He lies so that you do not kill him. So that you will protect him.”

He has seen my book and grabs it. I attempt to take it back and in the scuffle it falls open on the ground, displaying the page with my drawing of Tobin.

Tobin picks up the book. “What is this?” he asks. But he already knows. He is quite recognizable, even in comic form. “Are you making fun of me?”

I do not know what to say. He drops the book, pushes me against the wall with his stocky forearm, and with his thick fingers, grabs me around the throat. He is stronger than he looks and I am unable to pull his arm away.

“Leave him!” shouts Rebekah, who appears in the hallway.

Tobin looks at her, then slowly releases me, but not before giving me a parting shove.

“You are lucky, you little bitch, that you have your brother; otherwise, you would keep me warm at night,” he says vehemently. “You think you are better than me and you ignore me. You are nothing but a stupid Jew, and it is because of you my country is ruined.”

“It is her country too,” I say, surprised by the forcefulness of his words, surprised by the slight against Jews.

He turns back to me and takes a swing, but I duck and he plants his fist in the wall. I punch him in the stomach but the hit is not strong enough; the muscles in his stomach are solid, like bedrock. He swings again and hits me in the ear and then again in the side of the nose.

Kaleb arrives before Tobin can do any more damage to me. He pins Tobin’s arms behind him while I pull away. Tobin struggles violently, screaming that he will break both our necks, but he is unable to free himself from Kaleb’s firm hold. Kaleb is tall and thin, but as I have just discovered, he is also very strong.

“Stop it, you idiot,” he says. “We are on the same side. What is wrong with you?”

“The boy is a traitor. He is siding with the German. They have been talking, conspiring. You cannot trust him.”

“It is you I do not trust,” says Rebekah to Tobin. She is suddenly forceful in a way she has not shown before. Then to her brother: “He is loose: a wild beast who will fail us all. Look at his face. He is mad! He hates us!”

“Shut up,” says Tobin. “You think you are better than all of us. You look down your nose even at your own brother.”

“Be quiet!” yells Kaleb, who looks at me, then back at Tobin. “Henrik is one of us. You don’t have to fight him. I think we must all get some sleep. I think that sleep will cure the anger.”

“Henrik,” says Kaleb. “It is probably best that you do not visit the German again tonight.” He picks up my drawing book and passes it to me. Some of the pages are bent.

I storm off to my room, frustrated that I am bound to these people. I slam the door and lie on the bed. My nose is hurting and my ear is buzzing from the blow. I am exhausted but I am too old to cry now. Or perhaps some of my grief has been cured by the act of survival. All I know is, at the first opportunity I want to kill Tobin myself. He is an enemy to us all.

But now, there is renewed hope that I will find my sister, and that hope lies with the German.