Death in Twilight (19 page)

“I have nothing else to give you at the moment, sparrow.” The endearment came without effort. She struck him as exactly that. All fragile bones and nerves and, even while unmoving, eager to be free. “But I may tomorrow. Is that what’s made you follow me? You’re hungry?”

His soft voice melted her slightly. A tremble rippled through her, but she wasn’t yet able to respond directly to what Aaron said.

Something told him not to tighten his grip, that to embrace her would be to lose her entirely. Instead he took his hand from her shoulder and took a half step back. If she were going to run, she probably wouldn’t need much more space.

She didn’t run, though. Her body relaxed a bit further and she remained where she was.

Aaron pulled out a cigarette and lit it, cupping his hand around the match to keep out the breeze, though it wasn’t strong. His face must have glowed for her in the dim light, and something she saw seemed to reassure her.

“May I have a bit of your cigarette?” she asked.

Aaron worked to control his face and keep his voice warm.

“How old are you, sparrow?”

“I’m twelve,” she said defensively.

She looked as if she couldn’t have been more than ten, if that, but Aaron knew himself to be no judge. Yelena and he had no children, and had given thanks for it every day since the war broke out. He had been an only child himself, and hadn’t spent any time with children since he’d been one.

He did know that many children in the ghetto had their growth stunted by hunger

He took the cigarette from his mouth and handed it to her, careful that she not burn herself.

She put the cigarette to her lips, but only puffed at it without drawing the smoke into her lungs. She was aping something she’d seen the adults around her do rather than looking for salvation through nicotine. Aaron smiled at her as a cloud quickly formed around her head.

“Is there something you’d like me to call you, other than sparrow?”

“I’m Rebecca, but I think I like Sparrow better.”

“Sparrow it is.”

The cigarette would soon be gone, the way she was going at it, and Aaron wasn’t sure he had enough of them to light another for himself so soon.

They stood companionably while Rebecca finished Aaron’s cigarette, saying nothing. When she was done, she threw it to the ground and clearly enjoyed stomping on it, though her shoes looked so worn, Aaron wouldn’t have been surprised if she burned herself in the process.

And since she was done, she moved to go. Aaron gently touched her shoulder again, and she halted, though this time she didn’t stiffen as much.

“So, were you following me all day?” he asked, managing to sound amused, though it wasn’t how he felt.

She nodded, her face pointing toward the ground.

“All day?”

She nodded again.

“So how was it that I didn’t see you?”

She wriggled. It might have been a shrug, or it might have meant something else.

“What was it that you wanted? More food?”

She nodded again.

“What happened to what I gave you this morning?”

This time she clearly shrugged.

“You can see I don’t have anything else to give you. In fact, you just about took my last cigarette.”

No response.

“And that’s the only reason you were following me?”

A pause and a nod.

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

Aaron decided he didn’t believe her, but he also decided he wasn’t going to start torturing recalcitrant children, either.

“Well, look. You’ve gotten what I have, and I’ve got important things to do. I don’t like being followed. I’m not sure anyone does, for that matter,” he said. “If I have anything for you tomorrow, I tell you what, I’ll meet you here first thing. Okay? But now, Sparrow, bugger off.”

No sooner had he said it than she was gone, leaving Aaron with the feeling that he’d missed something. Not that he had the faintest idea what it might have been. He turned on his heel and headed back to the building where he would be spending the night. No more restfully, he supposed, than he had the night before.

Dov was in the basement, but otherwise Aaron was the first of the crew to arrive. Rather than sit nervously, Aaron thought a twenty-minute nap might help him see the rest of the night through. He opened the room with the cots and tucked himself in, still wearing everything from his hat to his boots. His last conscious thought was for Yelena and the pleasure he anticipated from seeing her in just a few hours.

A hand woke him by grabbing his shoulder and shaking vigorously. Lech Teitel was attached to the hand. Even after Teitel saw Aaron’s eyes, he didn’t stop his prodding. It was only when Aaron barked at him that he finally eased off.

“That wasn’t the first time I saw your eyes pop open,” Teitel said. “I just wanted to be sure I had your attention.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aaron mumbled, bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing it like putty to fill a crack. “Have you been here long?”

“Just a few minutes.”

“You ran into trouble?” Aaron asked. What other reason could there be for traveling after curfew?

“Purely personal. My daughter got sick and it wasn’t easy finding medicine for her,” Teitel said. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. What’s wrong with her?”

“Just diarrhea. I wouldn’t have been concerned, except it’s been a couple of days.”

Aaron frowned. Dysentery could be caused by a number of things and was serious and common behind the ghetto’s wall. Sanitary conditions had crumbled due to overcrowding, inadequate sewage lines and uncollected garbage, allowing cholera into people’s homes. Poor nutrition and a lack of medicine made it deadly for many. In fact, the Germans had created the very conditions they had accused Jews of causing, making the ostensible reason for closing the ghetto into a bizarre, circular truth.

Aaron reached into his pocket and pulled out the box of morphine ampules.

“You can give her one of these in the morning, if she’s not feeling better,” he said. “It stops you right up.”

“I’ve always wondered why addicts look like that,” Teitel said with a relieved smile. He nodded gratefully. “I wasn’t able to find much.”

“Have you seen Boris?” Aaron asked. Along with Dov, he would be doing the heavy lifting.

“They’re downstairs, waiting,” Teitel said. “Shall we join them?”

Aaron looked at his watch and saw there was still quite a bit of time before they could expect the shipment. He stood anyway.

“I’ll follow you down. Let me just stop and use the bathroom,” he said.

There was only one toilet and shower for the floor and Aaron fumbled toward it in the dark as Teitel made his way to the basement. When he opened the door and found himself alone, Aaron breathed a sigh of thanks. Having grown up in a building much like this one, he had memories of waiting an eternity for a neighbor to finish, sure that his eyes had turned a sickly yellow from the built up piss.

When he finished, Aaron moved to the sink and turned on the tap, happy to feel a trickle fill his hands. He sprayed his face with it, the cold water transubstantiating into coffee, bringing him back to life, or at least a formidable mockery of it. Then he shivered.

He wouldn’t show it in front of the others, but he was worried, for himself but mostly for Yelena.

They’d been talking about smuggling guns into the ghetto for a long time, though they had kept it to themselves, fearing betrayal. Still, Aaron was surprised when Yelena told him that she had made a contact who could supply them. The man had claimed to be part of the Polish underground, fighting the Nazis mostly from the forests, Yelena said. His group’s weapons came from a stash that had been set aside as it became clear — nearly instantly — that the Germans and Russians would quickly overrun the country.

Aaron had only a matter of days to put together the treasure that would pay for the weapons. Yelena hadn’t told her men anything about the deal. Some of the people she worked with were patriots, but others were far more interested in profiteering. Yelena figured the best way to ensure that everyone kept their mouths shut was to stoke their greed. Aaron’s gold Torah raiment had played its part nicely. It was unlikely the Nazis would match that kind of payout just for unconfirmed information.

Aaron was more concerned about the other end of the deal — the man who claimed he had the guns, Andrusz.

He told a good story, but was it true?

There was no way Aaron could know. He had to rely on what Yelena saw and thought. She lived in a wider world.

How could a city be cut in such a way? Aaron still couldn’t truly comprehend it. People, meters apart, might as well have been living in separate universes.

He stood in a building that sat on a darkened “Jewish” street. It was back-to-back with a similar one that faced onto a road where streetlights still burned and people ate their fill at dinner. That building was outside the ghetto solely because of black magic and people’s willingness to believe in it.

The “wall” around the ghetto wasn’t even a wall in many places — it was made from wooden fences running down the middle of a street; a row of homes turned into a palisade; newly built concrete barriers that filled gaps that had been alleys, and checkpoints that had taken the place of traffic signs.

And because of the miracle of human cognitive dissonance, it was possible to live cheek-by-jowl with those less fortunate and still concentrate on one’s own affairs. How many times had Aaron walked past a beggar before the war and not thought for a second about whether the man would be eating that night? Instead, he’d probably been wondering if he had time to stop off for a pastry on the way home. If he was truthful with himself, he had to acknowledge that the beggar hadn’t hurt his appetite.

And when people on the “Aryan” side heard gunshots coming over the wall, did they flinch and think about whom the bullets were killing? Perhaps a quick shiver, a second’s prayer, and it was over.

He was sure people sometimes remembered a dear friend who was now locked behind the wall, or maybe thought fondly of some store that had been run by a Jewish family and a treat they could no longer get. But more than that? Well, people had their own worries. And under German occupation there were plenty of worries for everyone. The secret police didn’t focus on Jews alone.

And how much more guilty of indifference was Aaron? He’d heard stories of what was happening to the Jews of Germany, his cousins, for years before the war. He’d done nothing about it, not even sending a few zloty to help build a state of Israel in what was now Palestine.

He was unimpressed with his own compassion.

He gave his face one more splash, glad there was no mirror above the sink. It was time to go downstairs.

The cellar was filled to over-capacity with smoke again. As he descended he was grateful that the lanterns at least gave his feet a target.

“Come sit, have a drink,” Boris called.

Aaron pulled up a crate at the makeshift table and took a cigarette from his jacket. Dov offered him the lit end of his own cigarette to save matches. Aaron drew deep and then exhaled like a snuffed-out dragon.

“I hate the waiting,” Dov said.

“That’s funny, because I have to say, it’s my favorite part,” Teitel said. “Have some more brandy.”

The bottle was passed, and when Dov was filled to the brim, Aaron took the bottle for himself. There wasn’t much left. He must have slept longer than he’d thought. Or the others were as nervous as he was. Probably the latter.

Cards were dealt again, but no one played with much interest. A few times, Aaron failed to notice when he had a winning hand.

“Are they late?” Boris asked.

“Not yet,” Aaron said after looking at his watch again. He was surprised that his eyes hadn’t burned a hole in its face.

How late had it been when Berson had died? Surely later than this, or his body would have been spotted sooner by some patrol or other. What had the young policeman been doing two nights before at this time? Had he already parted company with his partner? Was he patrolling on his own? Taking refuge from the cold somewhere out of sight?

Was he talking with the person who would soon become his killer? Maybe running from him?

Aaron realized he was ignoring his cards and made a play.

Why had Berson been carrying that note? Who was he betraying — his fellow Jews, or the man who had given him the note?

And the torn note itself, on expensive paper? There’d been no notebook among Berson’s possessions. Yet it seemed to Aaron that he’d seen something similar recently. He sighed in frustration, unable to tease meaning from his thoughts.

He looked down at his cards again, but it seemed he was having as much luck there as in his investigation.

“Forget it,” he said. “I’m out.”

He stood and stretched his shoulders and back, his hands on his hips. But the tightness that wasn’t so easily exorcised. He thought for a second and realized he’d been feeling it since the war began.

He was about to half-heartedly start some calisthenics when he heard a scraping sound that froze him. It came from the hole in the wall. Yelena was coming and, if anything, she was a few minutes early. He felt immense relief.

Still, Boris and Dov were more cautious, perhaps smarter. They picked up two of the rusty rifles that had been delivered the night before and stood in front of the hole. Aaron and Lech Teitel stood further back, both unarmed.

Teitel called out a challenge in Polish that was answered in the same language, but with an accent that didn’t quite ring true. As Aaron and Teitel looked at each other to see if both had heard the same thing, a crash from above caused them both to spin around and look up.

“Drop those fucking guns!” a voice shouted from the dark at the top of the stairs.

The words were in German, but Aaron had no trouble understanding them. He was so startled that he let go of a weapon he wasn’t even holding.

Dov had a different idea. He fired one bullet toward the voice. Or rather he tried to. He failed because the rifle was as corroded at its core as it looked from the outside. When the gunpowder was struck, the barrel exploded in his face, leaving him a mass of pulp and blood that slid to the ground.