فصل 14

joana

The arrival of the German and the young girl made me uneasy. Neither spoke openly. The girl’s eyes darted with trauma and her shoulders trembled. I walked over to Eva. Eva was in her fifties and giant, like a Viking. Her feet and hands were larger than any man’s. Some in our group called her Sorry Eva because she often said appalling things, but inserted the word sorry before or after, as if to soften the sting.

“Eva, you speak a bit of Polish, don’t you?” I whispered.

“Not that you know of,” she replied.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. That poor girl is suffering. I think she’s Polish. Will you try to speak to her? Convince her to let me help.”

“Who’s the German she came in with and why isn’t he in uniform? We don’t have permission to evacuate. If Hitler’s henchmen find us with a deserter we’ll all be shot in the head. Sorry,” said Eva.

“We don’t know that he’s a deserter. I don’t know who he is, but he’s injured. He found the girl in the forest.” I lowered my voice. “Cornered by a Russian.”

Eva’s face blanched. “How far from here?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Please try to talk to her. Get some information.”

Eva’s husband was too old to serve in the military but had been recruited into the Volkssturm, the people’s army. Hitler was now desperate and had called up all remaining men and boys. But somehow, the young man on the other side of the room had not been part of the recruitment. Why?

Eva’s husband insisted that she trek to the west. He was certain Hitler was going to lose and that Russia would occupy East Prussia—and destroy everything in the process.

In school we were told that East Prussia was one of the most beautiful regions, but it had proven treacherous for those of us fleeing. Bordered to the north by Lithuania and to the south by Poland, it was a land of deep lakes and dark forests. Eva’s plan was the same as the rest of ours—trek to unoccupied Germany and reunite with family after the war ended.

For now, I tended to people in the barn as best I could. Many had fallen asleep as soon as they sat down.

“Their feet,” the shoe poet gently reminded as I passed him. “Make sure to treat their feet or all is lost.”

“And what about your feet?” I asked. Poet’s short frame was concave, like he had caught a large ball and never put it down.

“I could walk a thousand miles, my dear.” He grinned. “Excellent shoes.”

Eva pulled me aside.

“You’re right—Polish. Her name is Emilia. She’s fifteen, from Lw?w. But she has no papers.”

“Where’s Lw?w?” I asked.

“In southeastern Poland. The Galicia region.”

That made sense. Some Galicians had blond hair and blue eyes like the girl. Her Aryan look might protect her from the Nazis.

“Her father is some sort of math professor and sent her to East Prussia where she might be safer. She ended up working on a farm.” Eva lowered her voice. “Near Nemmersdorf.”

“No,” I whispered.

Eva nodded. “She wouldn’t talk about it. Just said she fled through Nemmersdorf and has been on the run.”

Nemmersdorf.

Everyone knew the rumors. A few months ago the Russians stormed the village and reportedly committed vicious acts of brutality. Women were nailed to barn doors, children mutilated. News of the massacre had spread quickly and sent people into a panic. Many packed up instantly and began to move west, terrified that their village would be next to fall into the hands of Stalin’s armies. And this young girl had been there.

“Poor thing,” I whispered to Eva. “And the German told me a Russian had found her in the forest.”

“Where’s the Russian now?” said Eva, full of concern.

“I think he killed him.” My heart ached for the girl. What had she seen? And deep down I knew the truth. Hitler was pushing out Polish girls like Emilia to make room for “Baltic Germans,” people with German heritage. Like me. My father was Lithuanian but my mother’s family had German roots. That’s why we were able to flee from Stalin into the barbed arms of Hitler.

“You know, I think it could be worse,” said Eva.

“What do you mean?”

“My husband told me that Hitler suspected the Polish intellectuals of anti-Nazi activity. The senior professors in Lw?w, they were all executed. So the girl’s father, sorry, but he was probably strangled with piano wire and—”

“Stop, Eva.”

“We can’t bring this girl with us. Her coat is splattered with blood. She’s clearly in trouble. And she’s Polish.”

“And I’m Lithuanian. Are you going to toss me out too?” I was sick of it. Sick of hearing the phrase German Only. Could we really turn our backs on innocent homeless children? They were victims, not soldiers. But I knew others felt differently.

I looked over at the girl in the corner, tears streaking her filthy face. She was fifteen and alone. The tears reminded me of someone. The memory opened a small door in my mind and the dark voice slipped through it.

It’s all your fault.