Marsha Skrypuch - Don't Tell the Enemy

There were a few apple and pear trees out towards the country, but those were stripped bare by other hungry people. Auntie Iryna twice left a package of mushrooms at the hiding spot in the pasture, and once some nuts. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must be to live in the forest and survive on just what you could find there. Her generosity brought me to tears.

Frau Hermann knew we were starving, but it didn’t seem to bother her, except for the fact that we might steal food from her. Her solution was to ban Slavs from working in the kitchen. Now it was just Volksdeutche, and they already had all the food they wanted, so they weren’t tempted to steal more. I still had to carry trays of food, though, and it nearly drove me mad seeing meat and cheese and buns, and smelling them all. Frau Hermann’s breath reminded me of freshly buttered bread.

One morning in early September I opened the drop-off tin in the pasture and found a folded paper packet. It wasn’t my business — I knew that — but I was curious. So as Krasa munched, I sat on a rock and opened it up.

A stack of folded Kennkarten and passports. I flipped through the identification sheets. They all seemed just like the documents that I had seen people in town carrying since the Nazis had arrived. These ones were all blue, which was the colour used to identify Ukrainians. I paused when I saw Nathan Segal’s picture staring up at me. In the spot where it should have said his name, it read Bohdan Sawchuk , one of the Ukrainians who had been tortured to death by the Soviets.

Why would Nathan need a passport with Bohdan ’s name on it? And why was his paper blue instead of yellow?

Had Uncle Ivan printed these on his hidden press? Were all of the documents falsified? He and the Segals must be working together, but what were they planning? I folded Nathan’s paper back up and put all of the documents into my pocket.

When I got back into town, a crowd of people were pushing and shoving in front of the church, trying to read a notice that had been posted on the door. Valentina Zhuk extricated herself from the crush of people and met up with me. “It’s not good,” she said. “We’ve been ordered to assemble at the town square today at noon.”

The thought of assembling again was terrifying. What had the Commandant planned this time?

It felt as if the forged documents were burning a hole in my pocket, and I would have liked to walk over to the Segals’ right then. Instead I went back home and loaded up the bottles of milk on my cart as usual, and delivered them in the proper order. When I got to their house, Mr. Segal opened the door.

“Krystia,” he said. “Step inside, please.”

As soon as the door closed behind me, I pulled the package out of my pocket and handed it to him, relieved to have that job done.

He scanned through the documents, pausing at Nathan’s just as I had. “Your uncle has done a fine job with these,” he said. “I should have more photographs for you in about a week.”

“Why do you need these?” I couldn’t help myself from asking.

“We’re trying to get people out of here.”

“You want your own son to leave you?”

“I want my son to live ,” said Mr. Segal. “If I had the means, we would all be leaving.”

I thought of Mama and Maria. What should we do? “So you think it’s better to try to escape than stay and wait for the war to be over?”

“We’re all living under their Hunger Plan, but you know they have worse intentions towards us Jews,” said Mr. Segal. “Your family might live through this occupation, but if even a fraction of the rumours are true, we need to get Jews out of here.” He held up Nathan’s new document. “With this, Nathan might live.”

“I wish there were a way to speed up getting these documents then,” I said. “Can’t you get me photographs more quickly?”

“The more we make, the riskier it becomes,” said Mr. Segal. “Right now, we’re concentrating on young men and others we think the Nazis could target first.”

“I’ll do anything to help you,” I said.

“Thank you, Krystia,” he said. “And you know that we will do what we can to help you as well.”

Townsfolk and invaders slowly gravitated to the square as the town clock chimed twelve. I found a spot on the top step of the municipal building and waited there beside Mama, Maria and Doctor Mina. Valentina and Petro Zhuk were about a metre in front of us, beside Mr. and Mrs. Segal. Up on the balcony of the Tarnowsky house, Frau Hermann stood with several of her friends.

Leon, Dolik and Nathan had been assigned road work, and that made me worry. Would they be charged with treason because they didn’t come to the assembly? But just as I was thinking that, I spotted their work crew arrive at the edge of the square in a dusty column. That didn’t make me feel any less anxious. It would be so easy for the Commandant to crook his finger and order them killed. I said a silent prayer.

Just like the last time, the Commandant strode confidently through the crowd and planted himself in the middle of the square. In a firm voice he announced, “None of you gathered here is in danger today.”

Groans of relief rippled through the clusters of people. I barely had a chance to digest this statement when he continued. “Those sentenced to death for treason today are already in my custody. They will come forward now.”

The people standing close to the St. Olha Street entrance shuffled to one side at the sound of footsteps marching behind them. I stood on my toes and saw the police ushering a group of prisoners into the square. Murmurs of alarm arose from the crowd as the policemen positioned themselves in the middle of the square, then stepped aside to reveal their captives.

Dishevelled men and women, in ripped and ragged clothing, hands tied behind their backs. One was a girl with a peasant skirt and Soviet army jacket — the same girl who had met us at the encampment.

“They’ve captured our Ukrainian insurgents,” whispered Mama.

And then I saw Borys.

I lunged forward, trying to push through the crowd. They could not kill Borys. I would not let them. But Mama wrapped her arms around my waist. “No, Krystia! Be quiet,” she hissed. “You cannot save him.”

“Let me go,” I shouted, trying to break free. “I need to get to him.”

Borys’s head jerked up at the sound of my scream. Our eyes met. He closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again, still looking at me, like in our staring game. I knew it was his way of saying goodbye. I flailed and pulled and tried to get out of Mama’s grip, but she held me firm.

The energy drained out of me and I leaned into Mama, willing myself to be still. “Borys, dear Borys,” I whispered under my breath. “You cannot die.”

I searched the faces of the other prisoners. Uncle Ivan had not been captured. Auntie Iryna had not been captured. I was thankful that they had been spared. But so many of the insurgents had been rounded up.

The Commandant paced in front of the group, then glared out towards the crowd. “These thirty-two men and women are guilty of anti-German activity.” He motioned to a couple of policemen. They stepped forward, carrying a large canvas bundle. “Open it,” he ordered.

The police revealed a collection of handguns and rifles. “These were stolen from Germans in an act of treason,” said the Commandant. “We know they are collaborating with the Jews.”

He turned to the police. “Take these traitors now.”

Mama gripped me as the police marched the prisoners out of the square and down St. Olha Street. When the Commandant had executed our Jews, it had been done in the woods beside the Jewish cemetery. Were these prisoners being taken to the woods beside the Ukrainian cemetery? Ours was behind the Church of St. Mary. That would mean Borys would be murdered nearly across the street from our house.