Mila 18 - Leon Uris

“All right.”

Wolf tried to think. There was no place to walk in the ghetto, nor bench to sit upon, nor nightingale to hear. There was only misery and beggars and stone and brick without a leaf of grass or the green of a tree.

“I’d like to sit and talk someplace,” Wolf said.

“So would I. We have so much to talk about.”

“Where can we go?”

“If we go to my place Stephan won’t leave you alone. Then Momma and Daddy will come home and Daddy would make you play chess.”

“Sure can’t go to Mila 19. The minute we walked in the door there’d be all kinds of gossip. Besides, there’s no place there to be alone.”

“We can’t stand here.”

“I’d sure like to talk to you.”

“We could try Uncle Andrei’s place. I stop there often to talk to him. Most of the time he isn’t there and his door is never locked.”

“Boy! If he caught me there with you he’d break my neck.”

“Oh no. Uncle Andrei’s bark is much worse than his bite.”

“Well ... all right.”

They did not see each other on the entire walk to Andrei’s. Wolf’s eyes were cast down, looking at the pavement, and Rachael had learned to walk through the streets looking dead ahead to shut out the terrible things happening on all sides. The beggar children were more pathetic every day, and in the last week corpses of starved persons were beginning to appear in the gutters.

Suddenly they found themselves all alone in Andrei’s flat. Wolf turned on the light over the table in the center of the room while Rachael caught her breath from the climb up the stairs.

Now they could see each other. Wolf had changed. His elongated, gangly body had filled out and his white, blemished skin was unblemished and deepened to a tan from working in the wind and the sun, and the scraggly hair on his chin had turned to a hard beard which could legitimately be shaved every other day and the shaky voice was now a steady baritone.

Rachael had changed too. She had been more like a girl before. Now she was much different. Round and soft, like her mother. Her eyes were filled with sadness and weariness.

Wolf suddenly turned his back and scratched his head.

“Heck! This isn’t the way I figured it would be,” he blurted.

“It’s very strange, isn’t it? Almost as if we were just meeting each other for the first time.”

Wolf sagged into a chair, disappointed at his own weak performance. How many nights he lay awake at the farm thinking about this very moment when he would see Rachael again and simply sweep her off her feet. Now both of them seemed like strangers to each other and both wondered about all the passion and promises they had written.

“Wolf, you’re disappointed.”

“Just at myself. Candidly speaking, I’m not one for fancy talking.” He stood up slowly, towering over her. “I have missed you,” he managed to say. Rachael leaned against him slightly and he put his arm around her shoulders. Her arms found their way about him and she began to tremble, and as they held each other close the terrible uneasiness inside them ebbed. Wolf audibly gulped and sighed with relief. They searched each other out and kissed and then they were both calm.

Rachael and Wolf stood before the window, watching darkness come. They looked down on the street, and from this height they could see beyond the wall into the “Polish corridor” which separated the big and little ghetto and they could see the dome of the forbidden Tlomatskie Synagogue. His arm was about her waist and her head was on his shoulder.

“This is wonderful,” Rachael said.

“It sure is.”

“You have become terribly handsome and mannish.”

Wolf shrugged. “Rachael, I meant all the things I wrote to you.”

“So did I. I know that now.” She pulled away from him. “Wolf ...”

“What?”

“Would you answer one thing, honestly?”

“Sure.”

“Did you have any girls on the farm?”

“Heck! What kind of a stupid question is that?”

“I think I’m a terribly jealous kind,” Rachael answered.

“I’m sure not much to be jealous about.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“I messed around a little.” Then he added quickly, “But that was before we made promises.”

“Messed around?”

“You know, messed around.”

“More than ... kissing?”

Wolf patted his flat chest to demonstrate. “Messed around.”

“Oh.”

“Before we made promises.”

“Did you do any other things?”

“Rachael ...”

“I think I should know everything before we can be certain of our relationship. What else have you done?”

“Rachael, I’m a boy and boys are different, and if I tell you you’re liable to get very mad.”

“I’m sixteen, almost seventeen. I’ve been a woman for several years. I know about these things—I mean, Momma and I have had long talks about growing up.”

Wolf was flustered. Rachael was adamant.

“Wolf ...”

“What?”

“Have you ever ... done it?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions. This isn’t something a man wants to discuss with his girl.”

“If we are really sweethearts, the way we say we are, then there shouldn’t be any secrets.”

“I tried it once,” Wolf croaked. “Even before I went to the farm. It was on my birthday. My sixteenth—almost two years ago. You don’t want to hear about it.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I was with three of my pals. One of them was older—he was nineteen—and he knew a woman in Solec. One of those kind of women.”

“What kind?”

“Who does it for money.”

“Oh ... one of those kind.”

“So, anyhow, it was my birthday and all that and we were at this guy’s house and he snitched a bottle of vodka from his parents’ liquor cabinet. I never drank before, except a sip now and then. I got to laughing and couldn’t stop. Then we started talking about ... things, and he said he knew this woman in Solec. Next thing you know, it was a dare and I was feeling pretty good.”

“And you went there?”

Wolf nodded.

“And you did?”

“Well, it wasn’t so hot I got scared as hell and I didn’t know what to do. Boy, I’ll bet you hate me now.”

“No. I admire your honesty. Now I know that you will always be honest with me.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Momma explained that certain things are very normal for boys—that is, men. And she says I should not suppress my emotions and feelings too much because that can lead to frustration.”

“She’s sure smart.”

“Sometimes I think she says it to me because she’s frustrated. I can feel that she hasn’t been too happy with Daddy.”

“That’s too bad. My folks are happy. Poppa doesn’t seem to need it too much because he works all the time, but I know he and Momma are happy. Rachael, you sure are understanding.”

“Wolf ... do you ever think about us ... doing it?”

“Yes ... I never would try or force my attention on you or ever do anything to hurt you. But it’s not my fault that I cant help thinking about it. It’s supposed to be a sin to think about it, but I can’t help it.”

“I think about it too,” she whispered.

“I ... didn’t know that girls thought about it. The way boys do.”

“Yes ... the same way. All the time you were away I began to wonder if I would see you again. And I knew that if mere wasn’t a war and a ghetto and the awful things that are happening, I would grow up a little slower, like we’re supposed to. And we could play coquette like girls are supposed to. But this fear hanging over us all the time ... Waking up in the middle of the night when the whistles are blowing outside during roundups and walking the streets when their sirens blow and the loudspeakers shout ... Now, those little children dying in the streets—it all made me change. I’m terribly aggressive, aren’t I?”