Authors: Rena Kornreich Gelissen,Heather Dune Macadam

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Historical, #test

Rena's Promise (14 page)

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frugal with what I get. Sometimes there might be half the portion allotted for me and sometimes there might be the whole portion; it all depends on luck and whether the room elder and block elder are honest people.

From the window I hear a man outside and across the wall asking, "Where are you from?"

"Tylicz, near Krynica." I answer.

"Go downstairs," he instructs, leaning his head sideways to see which way the watchtower guard is facing before tossing a piece of bread over the barbed wire for me to eat. I run out the door and grab this morsel just as a stone wrapped with paper lands at my feet. I grab the note and run back in the door before the watchtower guard swings back toward the camp road. Panting inside the doorway, I put the bread in my pocket and crumple the note in my hand before walking nonchalantly pass Elza's room. In the corner upstairs, I unfold his note and read:
Destroy this note the moment you read it, in tiny pieces. 12,000 Russian soldiers were here when we came. 5,000 are left, 7,000 have been shot. Your clothes are their uniforms. I am from Warsaw
. Shredding the paper into tiny pieces, I return to the lower floor to stand in line for the toilet, where I dispose of the confetti.

Block Ten is now full. I sleep next to strangers who cry in their sleep. We seasoned prisoners of two days eat our bread slowly and sip our tea as the precious rarity it is. We have bowls tied to our waists and spoons in our pockets while the new women argue over these utensils. We seasoned prisoners have seen the new arrivals go up to Elza and ask for a bowl or more food and get slapped. We know to get up in time for roll call; we have already seen the sleepers beaten. We are fast learners.

Outside, I see the man who gave me his bread earlier. He nods. I have organized a scrap of paper and scratched on it,
Thank you for your note. Where are they killing the Russians?
I try to throw the stone over the wall, but miss. It takes three tries before I am finally

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able to arch it past the electric fence, where it lands at his feet. Turning my head, I try to pretend that I am doing nothing, breathing a heavy sigh of relief that no one has seen my poor attempt at communication.

Along Block One there is a new line of well-dressed women who have just gotten off the trains. On the other side of the barrack, a line of newly dehumanized girl-women wearing Russian uniforms exits. My heart begins to beat faster. Narrowing my eyes, I squint against the sun, scanning for a face in the crowd which my heart distinguishes long before my eyes.
⁴

''Danka!" Her beautiful chestnut-red hair is gone, but they cannot remove her brown doe-like eyes or touch her pretty face. My arms itch to grab her. If I can just touch her I know I will never let her go, but there is nothing I can do because there is a man with a machine gun and a dog standing guard over the new prisoners. My feet hold their ground, forcing me to wait, but I see her and in that instant of recognition I find my reason and will to live.

There is a moment of general confusion while the new girl-women mill about. I take this chance to merge with their ranks.

"Danka!" I grab her frail shoulders. For a moment she looks into my eyes terrified and threatened by this stranger. The stone in my stomach hardensshe does not recognize my face. Then she throws her arms around my neck, sobbing. "Rena!" She falters.

"Fall in! Get moving!" the SS start yelling.

I loop my arm under her shoulders, preventing her from swooning.

"When did you eat last?"

"I can't remember. Oh, Rena, it was horrible. There were so many people on the train. We were sitting on top of one another and someone died who was sitting next to me. It was unbelievable." Her face scares me. There is no focus to her eyes.


4. "March 28 [1942] . . . 798 Jewish women from Brunn [Slovakia] . . . receive Nos. 19992796" (Czech, 150). Danka is numbered 2779.

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"How did it happen that you came here?"

"Because you are." Her voice is so naive, so young.

"What do you mean?"

"Our friends were going to hide me on a farm, but I had your letter and I told them I wanted to go work with my sister. You are all I have, Rena."

"Danka, you shouldn't have come. We should have stayed in Slovakia and hidden. This is bad . . . real bad."

"March! Get in line!" The block elders push us into line so they can march the new prisoners into Block Five.

"Follow me." I push her past the others, marching over to Elza. "My sister has just arrived and she is so hungry and tired." I beg. "She has had no food since Bratislava. Please, Elza, let her be in our block! I am afraid for her."

"Okay, your sister can share your bunk." We are lucky, Elza has a heart today. "You can help me with dealing out the bread and take an extra portion for your sister."

I do not ask what will happen to the girl who was sleeping next to me; I know already that one does not ask. This is a selfish act, perhaps, but I have a sister who I have to keep alive and she is all that matters.

I know this is going to be a tough assignment for Danka. I can see in her face a look of bewilderment and shock. I will have to try to be by her side every moment. As if I have the power to shield her from the SS. But I actually believe I can; I have to believe I can.

We are in Block Ten for the night. Staring at our surroundings with a frozen face, she asks me where we are. The man I have been corresponding with calls my name from the windows, tossing over a bit of bread and another note. I go downstairs and retrieve it with more expertise and less hesitation this time.

"Here, Danka, a little extra bread from a fellow Pole." I am grateful for the extra food. She does not notice the note, which I read and tear up quickly.
They are being shot in the Block Eleven, next to you. Tear this up immediately
.

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I sit down on our bunk, taking Danka's hand in mine, looking into her face for an undisturbed moment. She is so tired she can barely keep her eyes open, but she tells me all that has happened to her.

"What about Zosia and the children?"

"I heard nothing."

"Maybe they will be okay."

"Maybe." It is a dim prospect, but we cling to whatever hope we can muster. There are tears streaming down our faces as the magnitude of what is happening around us begins to sink in. I am frightened. We are in prison. Our only crime is that we were born.

"We can't cry very much here," I say, dabbing her tears with my sleeve. "We can't let them know they've gotten to us. You see herethis is the enemy and we're going to have to be real clever to outsmart them. Are you listening to me, Danka?" She nods as I wipe the tears from her cheek.

"Then listen good to what I'm going to tell you. We're farmers' daughters. We're going to work, but that is what we do already. The work here will be nothing to us. And this is my dream, DankaI am going to bring you home. We're going to walk through our farmhouse door and Mama and Papa will be there waiting for us. Mama will hug and kiss us, and I'm going to say, 'Mama, I got you the baby back.' "

"Yes, Rena." She lays her head on my chest, falling asleep in my arms.

I stare into the darkness cradling my sister until her breath lengthens and deepens and I am sure she will not wake. Gunshots crack open the night. Through the slats of the boarded-up window I watch Russian soldiers collapsing to the ground. There is so much I want to ask God for, but my lips are numb and my mouth is frozen open in disbelief.

I am wearing the uniform of these dead soldiers' comrades. Tomorrow morning more girl-women will march through the gates;

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they will be handed the uniforms of the men I have just witnessed die. My throat swells shut. I cannot tell anyone what I have seen. Only my whispers can be heard, but I do not believe that anyone is listening. "God help us."

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

Four
A.M
.

"
Raus! Raus!
"

The room elders beat the bunks, poking the girls who are not early risers. It is Danka's first morning and she wakens with a start. I wish there had been time to prepare her for the ordeal of rising and roll call, but there has been no time to prepare her for anything. I have waited for my sister and that has kept me from thinking about much else.

"Rena?" In a daze she looks at me. How I hoped it was all a dream, a nightmare.

Today we will work. I have been eager to get busy and finish this prison life, and wonder if they will release us sooner if we work harder. Anxious to wash my face, I am in line for the toilet immediately. Danka moves slower, and as the line of women desperate to go to the bathroom lengthens she gets pushed back.

The kettle sits outside the door of the block. We hold out our bowls as the block elder scoops a ladle of tea into our bowls. We step into the dark. Our breath, the steam rising from our tea looks like specters and phantoms floating in our midst. We sip our tea quickly, hoping it will warm our insides, but the chill sweeps through our muscles.

The mist traces halos in the searchlight beams above our heads. It is eerie, like a scary movie. Shivering, I wonder where the monster is. I am not sure if it is the actual coldness of the morning, the lack of sleep and food, or abject fear that is making my knees and teeth knock together uncontrollably.

The SS walk up and down our rows counting our heads. They

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