The Train to Warsaw (15 page)

Lilka pulled at the fingers of her gloves. Why did they not help us? she asked. What had we done to them? A spark from Jascha's cigarette fell on his scarf. He examined the scorched wool and scratched at it with his fingernail. They had lived with us and gone to school with us our whole lives, she said. Instead it was as though they had never known us.

Warsaw was the most beautiful city. Do you remember? Jascha smoked quietly, pressing out smoke rings in the airless compartment. Lilka, for God's sake, he said. He reached out his hand to her. Come and sit beside me, darling. Warsaw, she said, her cheeks flushed, were we not loyal to you? Did we not love you more than any other city? Our beloved Warsaw. What had we done to deserve this? Out the window the snow covered fields stretched toward an endless white horizon. A hare leapt through the snow. Warsaw, answer me.