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He wanted to face the men who’d taken his sister and beat them to a pulp.He wanted to run, to shout, to do something, anything other than mindlessly, pointlessly looking at apartments that would never be theirs.
Mama cupped his cheek with one hand.“It isn’t your fault, Janek.And if you were with her, you’d have been captured as well.”
“I can’t do it anymore, Mama.”He swallowed around a growing lump in his throat.
“What can’t you do?”
“Help them.I’m only a boy.I can’t save anyone.”
She sighed.“None of us can save anyone.All we can do is try.”
“But if it’s futile, why go on?”He wanted to know the answer, longed for someone to tell him that risking his life and his family every single day wasn’t for nothing.That it wouldn’t end the way so many other stories had, all the lives he’d seen cut short despite their bravery and their innocence.
“We go on because we must.What else can we do?”Mama shrugged.“You’re a good boy.I’m proud of you.”
“What if I can’t keep going, Mama?Will you be proud of me then?”
“Of course, my son.I love you and always will.”
He felt better on hearing her words.The weight of expectation had given him sleepless nights and anxious days.He didn’t know if he could keep it up, or even if he wanted to.
“This place won’t do, so let’s try again tomorrow after work.”Mama smiled, wiping her cheeks dry with her sleeve.
Jan nodded and followed her out of the apartment, his heart heavy.
They’d been working so hard at the market and spending every spare moment on getting Jadzia released from the concentration camp and looking for an apartment that they’d barely slept in weeks.
“You’re right.Let’s go home.”
Danuta was in the hallway, playing with a handful of rocks and sorting them into their various sizes and shapes.She’d learned to adapt to their new life.Without Jadzia to take care of her, she spent most of her time with either Mama, Jan or one of the neighbours and had grown accustomed to working at the market with them.She was almost as good as Jan at closing a deal.
The three of them wandered home, too tired to think about anything other than bed, although Jan’s stomach grumbled as they passed a bakery and the scent of freshly baked bread drifted out to them on the breeze.
He missed Jadzia’s bread.She made the best sourdough in the world.And he missed her laughter, her gentle teasing.Everything about her.He hated to think what she must be going through, and there was nothing he could do about it.The frustration of that ate at him like acid.
When they reached home, the short day was almost over.The sun had never really shone, but had glowed behind a bank of dreary clouds.The land was cold and the air damp.A greyness hung over it all, exacerbated by the bombed-out craters that pockmarked the city and the bullet holes that punctuated walls.
“I’m lazy today,” said Danuta, echoing Jan’s mood.
“I think we all are.Let’s build a nice fire and eat some leftovers around it.”Mama rubbed her gloved hands together.Her face looked pale beneath her blue scarf, and Jan thought she had aged in recent weeks.
There was a woman standing outside their front door.Jan didn’t recognise her at first.He tensed and held back, but Mama surged forward.
“Magdalena, you are here!”She kissed the woman’s cheeks.
“It’s good to see you, Waltrina.Even in these circumstances.I don’t get out much anymore, at least not around my own people, as you know.”
“Yes, it is dangerous when the enemy decides you are his friend.”
“Dangerous on both sides,” Magdalena agreed.“There are many who don’t understand what I’m doing.”
“I’m grateful for you.”Mama grasped her friend’s hands and squeezed them.“What is your news?”
“Let’s go inside,” the woman replied, glancing around.“The walls have ears.”
“And eyes,” Mama agreed.“Come in, come in.Jan will build us a fire and Danuta will make tea.We can talk together and warm up.”
After Magdalena left,Jan hurried to his mother’s side and plied her with questions.She laughed and cupped his cheek with one hand, then ruffled Danuta’s hair with the other, since his sister was just as curious as he was about what the woman had said.
