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19
5thNovember 1942
The day came when Jan saw a guard he knew standing by the entrance to the Warsaw ghetto.It was the same man who’d been on duty when Jan and Walter had taken the Wierzbicka family out of the ghetto months earlier.
He’d visited the extended family several times since then but wasn’t able to smuggle them out since the wall was so well guarded.Lately it’d been difficult for him to get through, and the Nazis had stepped up their efforts to deport as many of the Jews as possible.Still, Jan hadn’t been able to convince the family to leave with him.It was too risky, they’d said.
They were certain they would be able to remain behind even with the evidence in front of them that the Germans were deporting the entire ghetto.The resistance in the ghetto had grown, and thousands of Jews had built tunnels and hiding places where they could go when the police came knocking.The Wierzbickas planned on using a tunnel dug by their neighbour.
Jan plied the guard with chocolate in hopes the man would let him back through with any of the family who might accompany him and hurried through the gates, slipping on the armband as he went.
It’d been so long since he’d scurried through the streets that he barely recognised the place.Entire buildings had been burned to the ground.Most of the streets were empty.Black smoke wafted in the air, the acrid scent singeing his nostrils.
He ducked around a pile of rubble and leapt over the edge of a bomb crater in the middle of the street.His heart thudded against his rib cage as his anticipation of being reunited with loved ones slowly transformed into a cloying dread.
The apartment building was still there.He was grateful for that at least.As he drew closer, though, it didn’t look as though anyone remained in the apartments.There were several open doors along the first balcony, and no lights on within any of the units.None of the chimneys smoked, and he couldn’t hear the sound of voices within.It was as though the complex had become a ghost town.
He slowed his pace and pressed himself up against the outside wall of the apartment, scanning the street for any sign of movement.There was none, other than a crow pecking at something on the street a few metres away.
He glanced inside a broken ground-floor window and saw that the dining room and kitchen remained basically as they had been when he was last there.He opened the door and crept inside.It was darker than usual, with no light in any of the gloomy corners.
There was no fire in the hearth, no scent of bread coming from the oven.No Babcia dancing in the living room, or Antoni playing the violin.Papa wasn’t sneaking apierogifrom the chipped jar on the kitchen bench and Nacha was nowhere to be seen, playing with her doll or helping in the kitchen, her hands coated in flour and a smile lighting up her pretty face.
He brushed away the loneliness that washed over him and moved into the living room, then up the stairs to the two bedrooms.There was no sign than anyone had been here for some time.And there was a terrible stench that almost made him heave halfway up the staircase.
His eyes watering, he pushed open a bedroom door.Papa and Babcia’s bed was where it always had been.The covers were pulled back and only the sheet was in place.There were two figures beneath the sheet.Jan tiptoed closer to get a better look.
It was Papa and Babcia.They were in their pyjamas.Both had been shot in the head.Dark blood splattered the headboard and stained their pillows.Their eyes were shut.Their bodies bloated.The smell was overwhelming.
He ran from the room and threw up in the hall.Pinpricks of light danced before his eyes, and he thought he might faint.A ball of grief welled in his throat, and he threw up again.Then, without a backward glance, he ran down the stairs and through the living room.
He stopped and glanced around for a moment.What should he take?Antoni, Nacha and Nathan might want something from their home to remember it by.But there was nothing he could carry, and all he wanted to do was to get out of there as quickly as possible.
A framed photograph of the family, along with Jan, his mother and sisters, hung on the living room wall.He reached for it and tucked it under his shirt and into his pants.Then he sprinted from the apartment, leaving the door swinging on its hinges.
He didn’t stop until he reached the guard, who waved him through with a smile.Then he ran home, his laboured breathing making his throat ache.
He pushed through the door and into the apartment, tripping on the threshold and landing on his knees with a thud against the smooth stone floor.
“What on earth?”Mama asked, hurrying from the kitchen as she wiped her hands on the white apron that covered her blue floral dress.
Jan looked up at her, silent tears falling from his eyes.
“What is it, Janek?What’s happened?”Her voice was smooth, warm like honey eaten from a hive on a hot summer’s day.
She knelt beside him and held open her arms.He fell into them, sobbing.“They’re gone,” he said.“They’re all gone.”
