Marsha Skrypuch - Don't Tell the Enemy

At the water pump I saw Marga, her face swollen and bruised and her eyes rimmed with red. I had a moment of pity for her, but then saw what she was wearing — a dress that used to belong to a Jewish girl in my class. “You!” I said. “Why did you tell the Commandant that we were hiding Jews?”

“Don’t hate me,” she said, tears running down her mottled face. “You were pumping much more water. They beat me and still I didn’t tell them. But then they were going to kill Mutter if I didn’t say something…”

Her answer took the wind out of my fury. She was weak and probably a gossip — which might have been how the rumour of our hiding Jews got started — but she probably loved her mother as much as I loved mine. What would I have done to save my own mother from death?

I said nothing more to Marga, just filled the pail with water and hurried back home, ignoring all of the people going in the opposite direction. I cleaned myself as best I could, but there was no soap in the house and no other clothing for me to wear. The cool water felt good on my face, but I was shocked by how much blood came off on my hands.

I hadn’t eaten anything since the day before, but I was too upset to be hungry, and just as well, because there was no food. I got back out onto the street and, numb, followed the flow of the people. The train platform and the jail were both in the town square. All things led to the town square.

As I got closer, I noticed an eerie silence. There was no rumbling of a train idling on the track. If there was no train, the Aktion couldn’t be in progress. A small relief — Dolik’s life would be slightly extended.

But people were heading to the town square for some reason, and as I got closer I could hear a hum of low voices. The square came into view. A wooden frame had been erected in its centre. At first I thought there was a length of cloth hanging from it.

But the cloth twisted slowly in the breeze, and as it turned, I saw my mother’s face.

The Commandant had hanged Mama.

I ran to Mama’s body and wrapped my arms around her legs. They were cold and stiff, but I could not believe that she was dead. “Mama… Mama!”

Hands grabbed at me. “Get down from there, girl,” snapped Officer Weber. “Your mother is dead.”

He wrapped one arm around my waist and tried to yank me away. I punched and bit and screamed.

Everything went black.

I woke with a jolt and looked around, not understanding where I was. Anya hovered over me, her brow wrinkled.

I tried to sit up, but the room swirled, so I lay back down. “Mama!” I cried. “I have to help her.”

“Krystia,” said Anya. “Your mother is dead. She was hanged for sheltering Jews.”

“No…” I wailed. “Please tell me it isn’t true.” I wrapped my arms around Anya and wept. My entire world had shattered. Tato dead, Mama dead, Maria gone. What did I have to live for anymore? My world was entirely black.

Anya held on to me and stroked my back as I wept.

“Krystia, I’m sorry to tell you, but the Commandant has also confiscated your house and belongings.” She looked into my face. “But you can live here with Father Andrij and me, as long as you wish.”

Her offer was kind, but I could not stay.

Losing the house seemed so trivial compared to the murder of my mother. I ran my hand over my skirt pocket. The pictures were still there. The Commandant could kill Mama, but he couldn’t take away my memory. In my heart, Mama still lived.

“Krystia,” Anya murmured, “your mother was a strong and brave soul. Always putting others’ needs before her own. She was so proud of you. She said you were the bravest girl in the world.”

Those were the very words Mama had last said to me. Mama had died trying to save our friends, but where were they now? As far as I knew, they were still alive, yet here I was, thinking only of myself and my own sorrow. I couldn’t save Mama, but could I still do something to help Dolik and Mr. Segal and Leon?

“Have the Jews been sent to Belzec?” I asked.

She shook her head. “The Commandant has taken these last ones himself. They’ve been marched to the Jewish graveyard.”

I stumbled to my feet, nearly fainting as I did so. “I have to go.”

“You need to rest,” said Anya. “You’ve had a shock.”

“Mama wouldn’t want me to rest!” I ran out the door.

My mind was in a jumble and I wasn’t thinking straight, but somehow I thought that if I got to the graveyard, I could convince the Commandant not to go ahead with his plan. He had killed my mother. He had sent all of the other Jews to Belzec, or had them shot here. Wasn’t that enough for him? The killing had to stop. For the sake of his own soul, he could not kill Dolik, Leon or Mr. Segal. He. Could. Not.

But when I got to the graveyard, the fresh earth bulged and quivered with the corpses of the last Jews of Viteretz. All that remained was a pitiful mound of their clothing.

Commandant Hermann sat motionless on a wooden box, a Luger in hand, splattered head to toe with blood. He looked up and saw me standing there. “You want to be next, girl?”

I turned away. I walked down the road and out of town. I walked beyond my own pasture. I kept walking until I got to Auntie Iryna’s pasture — and of course it wasn’t hers anymore either. But I stepped through the brush and hid in the brambles behind the rock where Dolik had found Uncle Roman’s body.

It seemed a lifetime ago, so much had happened in these past two years. I curled into a ball and held my knees to my chest, ignoring the thorns and burrs. I could feel the spirit of Uncle Roman wrapping me in his arms. In the depths of my heart, I heard his voice: “You are a strong girl, my dear niece. You will get through this.”

I closed my eyes and waited for darkness. Could I survive? It would take more luck than strength. In the early hours of the morning, I unfolded my stiff, cold legs and found my way to the insurgents’ hideout in the forest.

I reached the perimeter of the camp before the first light of dawn. It was quiet and still, but I knew I was being watched. I didn’t dare step any closer for fear of being mistaken as the enemy and shot. I gulped in a lungful of air, then carefully, clearly, did my best imitation of the falcon’s kak kak kak .

Then I slumped beside a birch tree and waited. Maybe I slept. When I opened my eyes, there was a boy who couldn’t have been more than fourteen crouched in front of me, scrutinizing my face. A rifle was slung across his back. It was not aimed at me and I took comfort in that.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m Krystia Fediuk, Ivan Pidhirney’s niece. Iryna Fediuk’s niece.”

“Why are you here?”

“My mother has just been killed. I need to see my aunt and uncle.”

“What is the answer to the question?”

“Ukraine is not yet dead.”

The boy nodded. “Follow me.” He signalled to people I couldn’t see to hold their fire. As morning light broke through, he walked me past the snipers poised in trees and hiding behind bushes. We walked into the encampment.

Uncle Ivan wept when I told him that I was the only one left of all our family and friends. “The Commandant will pay for this!” he said. “I don’t know when or how, but I will make it happen.”

I couldn’t live with Uncle Ivan, because he stayed in the underground barracks with all the men, but Auntie Iryna’s living space was a room carved under the side of a hill. “You’ll stay with me,” she said.

When my eyes adjusted to the dim shadows of her cave room I saw a mound of stolen army uniforms — many ripped, some of them stained. “Those ones need fixing,” she said. “That’s one of the things I’m good at.”