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Jan shook his head.It would make no difference.He had a death sentence, no matter what his religious beliefs or background.The etchings on the walls of the cell confirmed that.Gypsies, Christians, Muslims, atheists, agnostics and Jews had all gone before him.All had died at the hands of the demons in black who’d taken it upon themselves to rid the world of all that was good.
When they took Peter early the next morning, Jan was finally sitting up and had even spent a few minutes standing during the night.His heart fell as he saw his friend marched away and the heavy wooden door fall back into place, obscuring everything from his view.The morning sun hadn’t yet risen, and so the cell lay in pure darkness.There was no light from the moon, nothing to break up the blackness that swallowed them whole the moment the cell door shut.
None of the boys whimpered or cried any longer.Six days in the dank cell with only a bucket in the corner in which to relieve themselves, and one bowl of watered-down potato soup in the evenings, had rendered all of them weak and thinner than they’d already been.Several of the boys hadn’t returned from their interrogations and Jan feared the worst, although he couldn’t bring himself to worry about them or about anything other than the pain that he knew was coming the next time he left that room.
It was all-consuming.The torture was worse than he’d been prepared to suffer through.He’d known it was coming, but he couldn’t have imagined how much his body would hurt and how intensely he wanted to tell them everything he knew so the pain would stop.But he hadn’t said a word.He’d kept his family safe and his secrets remained hidden in his heart.He only hoped his body would give out and die before it got so bad that he cracked.
“Where’s Peter?”asked one of the smaller boys, his voice grating on Jan’s nerves.
“I don’t know,” he replied shortly.
He didn’t want to take it out on them, but he couldn’t think about Peter.It was too much.Too hard.
The door swung open again and Peter stumbled into the room a short time later.They hadn’t spent as much time questioning him as they had some of the others.The guard surveilled the room in the faint morning light, disgust turning down the corners of his mouth beneath a short black moustache.
“Get up, all of you.Come with me.”
The boys staggered out of the dank cell and into the corridor.They jogged or shuffled in line, two by two, along the hallway and found themselves once again in the courtyard outside.Jan recalled their arrival in that same location six days earlier.It seemed like another lifetime.He was a different boy than the one who’d driven through the archway in the back of a truck, full of trepidation but excited to prove he was strong enough to withstand his fate.Whatever it may be.
Now he knew—his fate was death at the hands of the Gestapo’sEinsatzgruppe.The cruelty of the men whose purpose was the torture and murder of anyone they deemed a threat went beyond anything he’d seen or believed possible before they snatched him off the ghetto's streets.
The boys whispered amongst themselves.
“Where are they taking us?”
“What will happen now?”
“Are we going home?”
“Will they kill us?”
So many questions.None with any answers.Jan didn’t believe they’d take the boys home, not after all they’d been through.But he wouldn’t say it.Wouldn’t steal hope in their final moments.He steeled himself, his jaw tightening as he fought back the tears.If only he’d had a chance to say goodbye to Mama and to Nacha.They didn’t know where he was, wouldn’t know what’d become of him.The thought brought a lump to his throat.
“He’s Catholic,” Peter said.His voice was too soft, raspy.It was lost in the noise.
Jan frowned.What was he doing?
“Catholic!”shouted Peter, gaining strength as he spoke.“Jan Kostanski is Catholic.”
A guard wandered closer, his brow furrowed.“Which one of you is Jan Kostanski?”
Jan raised a shaking hand.His shoulder ached from the effort.
“Come with me.I’ve been looking for you.”The guard spun on his heel and marched from the courtyard out to the street.The sun glanced above the buildings on the other side of the road, temporarily blinding Jan as he followed the man.
He stepped through the archway, tenting a hand over his eyes to shield them from the glare.
“Don’t be shy, boy.What were you doing in the ghetto?Never mind, you’re free to go.Your mother waits for you over there.”The guard pointed across the road to where a vehicle lay idling.An old black BMW Dixie sat with one door open.Mama stood beside the door, her hands pressed to her mouth.
When Jan saw her, he began to run.His legs didn’t work the way they should, but he ambled and hurried the best he could across the empty street.He reached her and collapsed into her arms.
“Mama,” he groaned.
She cupped his cheeks between her hands and kissed him all over his face.“My darling boy.What have they done to you?”
He gasped at the pain of her touch.She released him, tears streaking down her cheeks in rivulets.
Just then, a series of shots rang out behind him.There were screams of terror and pain, then more shots fired.Five, ten, twenty, then on and on.He lost count of how many there were.It fell silent for a few moments, then more shooting followed.He covered his ears with both hands, his tears turning to rivers.
Mama pushed him quickly into the passenger seat and shut the door behind him.She climbed in the driver’s side and pushed the car into gear, accelerating away from the curb.
They didn’t speak.Instead, each of them sat in silence, crying, Jan with his hands still covering his ears.He rocked back and forth in his seat, willing himself not to think about what had happened, what he’d escaped from with moments to spare.And all because the words of a friend had given him freedom.A friend he’d never see again.
Mama glanced at him as she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of one gloved hand.“I bribed them days ago, but they said they couldn’t locate you.”
“I was there all the time,” he said.
