The Girl From the Train

By Irma Joubert

Six-year-old Gretl Schmidt is on a train bound for Auschwitz. Jakób Kowalski is planting a bomb on the tracks.

As World War II draws to a close, Jakób fights with the Polish resistance against the crushing forces of Germany and Russia. They intend to destroy a German troop transport, but Gretl’s unscheduled train reaches the bomb first.

Gretl is the only survivor. Though spared from the concentration camp, the orphaned German Jew finds herself lost in a country hostile to her people. When Jakób discovers her, guilt and fatherly compassion prompt him to take her in. For three years, the young man and little girl form a bond over the secrets they must hide from his Catholic family.

But she can’t stay with him forever. Jakób sends Gretl to South Africa, where German war orphans are promised bright futures with adoptive Protestant families—so long as Gretl’s Jewish roots, Catholic education, and connections to communist Poland are never discovered.

Separated by continents, politics, religion, language, and years, Jakób and Gretl will likely never see each other again. But the events they have both survived and their belief that the human spirit can triumph over the ravages of war have formed a bond of love that no circumstances can overcome.

Praise for The Girl from the Train:

“A riveting read with an endearing, courageous protagonist . . . takes us from war-torn Poland to the veldt of South Africa in a story rich in love, loss, and the survival of the human spirit.” —Anne Easter Smith, author of A Rose for the Crown

• Full-length World War II historical novel
• International bestseller
• Includes a glossary

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Nelson
• Release date: Nov 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9780529102928

Irma Joubert

International bestselling author Irma Joubert was a history teacher for 35 years before she began writing. Her stories are known for their deep insight into personal relationships and rich historical detail. She’s the author of eight novels and a regular fixture on bestseller lists in The Netherlands and in her native South Africa. She is the winner of the 2010 ATKV Prize for Romance Novels. Facebook: irmajoubertpage  

Book preview

Glossary

biltong— a dish of jerked meat Bloedsap— a staunch supporter of the United Party, South Africa’s ruling political party between 1934 and 1948 Boer War/Anglo-Boer War— The Second Boer War was fought from October 1899 to May 1902 by the United Kingdom against the South African Republic (Transvaal Republic) and the Orange Free State. The war ended in victory for Britain and the annexation of both republics. Brandwag, Die (The Sentinel)— a weekly Afrikaans magazine, discontinued in 1965 eisteddfod— a competitive festival of music and poetry Great Trek— an eastward and northeastward emigration away from British control in the Cape Colony during the 1830s and 1840s by Boers Huisgenoot, Die (House Companion)— a weekly Afrikaans-language general-interest family magazine; SA’s biggest and oldest family magazine (est. 1916) Jan van Riebeeck— Dutch colonial administrator and founder of Cape Town kraal— an enclosure for cattle or other livestock surrounded by a stone wall or other fencing, roughly circular in form kugeln— ninepins/cones lametta— tinsel matric (matriculation)— the final year of high school and the qualification received on graduating from high school oom— uncle ouma— grandmother rag— for raise and give; university-level, student-run charity fund-raising organization rusk— a hard, dry biscuit sakkie-sakkie— a simple, rhythmical style of Afrikaner music and dance Slagtersnek— an early nineteenth-century rebellion in the Eastern Cape that played a role in the Great Trek tannie— aunt tickey— On February 14, 1961, South Africa adopted a decimal currency, replacing the pound with the rand. The term tickey is applied to both the 3d and 2½c coins. volkspele— South African folk dances weinachtskerzen— Christmas candles

1

SOUTHERN POLAND, APRIL 1944

Let go! her grandmother said.

She held on for dear life. The metal edge bit into her fingers. Her frantic feet searched for a foothold in the air. The dragon swayed dangerously from side to side.

Gretl, let go! Her grandmother’s shrill voice cut through the huffing noise of the dragon. "We’re nearly at the top, you must let go now!"

The child looked down. The ground was a long way below. Strewn with sharp stones, it sloped down into a deep gully.

Her arms were aching.

Her fingers were losing their grip.

Then her grandmother pried her fingers loose.

Gretl hit the ground. Shock jolted through her skinny little body.

She fell, slid, rolled down the embankment, stones grazing her face and legs. She clenched her jaw to stop herself from screaming.

At the bottom she slid to a stop. For a moment she lay panting, her heart pounding in her ears. It was so loud that she was afraid the guards might hear.

Roll into a ball. Tuck in your head and lie very still, her grandmother had told her. And don’t move until Elza comes to find you.

She rolled into a ball. The earth trembled. Beside her, around her, she felt sand and stones shifting. She kept her head down. Above her the long dragon was still groaning and puffing up the hill, spitting smoke and pumping steam. She could smell its rancid breath, but she didn’t look.

It was at the top now. She heard it panting, the iron wheels clickety-clacking faster and faster on the track.

She was very thirsty.

It was dead quiet.

Slowly she opened her eyes to the pitch-black night. There were no stars.

What if we’re afraid? Elza had asked.

Then you think about other things, Oma had said.

Mutti had just cried, without tears, because she had no more water in her body for tears. I’m not afraid, Gretl thought. I escaped from the dragon. First Elza, then me. I’m brave. So is Elza.

Carefully, painfully, she rolled onto her back and straightened her legs. They were still working, but her knee burned.

At the next uphill, Mutti and Oma would jump out as well. Then they would all go back to Oma’s little house at the edge of the forest. Not to the ghetto.

There was sand in her mouth. No saliva. If only she could have just a sip of water.

Gingerly she rubbed her smarting knee. It felt sticky and clammy.

The water had run out yesterday, before the sun was even up. At the station the grown-ups put their arms through the railings of the cars and pleaded for water. But the guards with their rifles made sure that no one gave them any. The dogs with the teeth and the drooling jaws barked endlessly. And drank sloppily from large bowls.

The train had filled its belly with water.

Don’t look, think about other things, Oma had said. Oma’s face looked strange, blistered by the sun. She had lost her hat.

Her voice had been strange as well. Dry.

Later Mutti stopped crying. Just sat.

It was hard to think about other things.

Gretl wasn’t afraid of the dark. Darkness is your best friend, Oma had said. Get as far away from the railroad as possible while it’s still dark. And hide during the day.

But now there were no stars at all, and the moon appeared only briefly from behind the clouds. Now and again there was a flash of lightning.

She wasn’t afraid of lightning. Maybe it would rain soon. Then she would roll onto her back, open her mouth, and let the rain fill her up until she overflowed.

She had to think about other things.

Oma had a little house at the edge of the forest. Like Hansel and Gretel’s, but without the witch. In the forest they picked berries. She knew there was no wolf, but she always stayed close to Mutti or Elza just the same.

Maybe she should sit up and softly call Elza’s name. The guards and their dogs were gone, over the hill. She no longer heard the choo-choo and clickety-clack. Elza would never find her in this blackness.

She sat up slowly. Her head ached a little. She peered into the curtain of fog that surrounded her, trying hard to focus. She could see nothing.

Elza? Her voice was thin.

She took a deep breath. Elza! Much better. Elza! El-zaa-a!

Not even a cricket replied.

---

Jakób Kowalski moved the heavy bag to his other shoulder. Flashes of lightning played sporadically among the dense clouds. It was their only source of light. The terrain was reasonably even underfoot, but as soon as they started the descent toward the river they would need to see where they were going. He ran his fingers through his black hair and screwed up his eyes.

I can barely see a thing, said Zygmund behind him. At odd intervals his voice still cracked. He was barely fifteen.

And the rain is going to catch us, Andrei complained. Why do we have to do it tonight?

The coded message said the troop train will pass here just before daybreak, on its way back to Germany. Jakób felt his patience wearing thin. The Home Army had given him two adolescents to help with this dangerous mission. We must plant the bombs under the bridge before then.

And you’re sure there are no guards on the bridge? asked Andrei.

I’m not sure of anything, Jakób replied brusquely, except that we’ve got to blow up the bridge tonight.

In silence they progressed slowly under the weight of their cargo through the tall grass and bushes. When the moon appeared for a moment from behind the clouds, Jakób said, Let’s go down here.

Will we have to swim downstream? Andrei asked. Or clamber over the rocks?

It’s going to be hard with the bags, said Zygmund.

Are you in or are you out? Jakób asked, exasperated. If you’re in, shut your traps.

They struggled down the steep slope, slipping in places, clinging to their dangerous load. The clouds seemed to be lifting somewhat, and once or twice the moon showed its face. Dislodged stones rolled down the slope, splashing into the water.

The final trek to the bridge took them more than half an hour. The water rushed past, glimmering in the faint moonlight. They tried to stay at the water’s edge, but the pebbles were round and smooth and the bank was steep. The heavy bags dragged at their shoulders. The darkness provided good cover, but it also made the going tough. After every few steps Jakób stopped to listen, trying to figure out where they were. Then the clouds lit up faintly in the distance, there was a crash of thunder, and Jakób saw the bridge about ten yards ahead.

We’re here, he motioned.

The other two showed him a thumbs-up.

At the bridge, Jakób placed their bags at the foot of the second column. Zygmund took off his boots, then his coat. Jakób tied two ropes around his waist. I’m going up, Zyg motioned, and he began to climb.

His progress was painfully slow. He found an occasional foothold on the crossbars of the smooth, steel column, but for the most part he had to hoist his wiry body up by his own strength. Fortunately the clouds seemed to be receding. Jakób stared upward, tension tightening between his shoulder blades, but all he could see was an occasional vague movement. Next to him Andrei stood waiting to catch the ropes. It was dead quiet.

After what seemed like an eternity, they saw both ends of one rope dangling in front of them, swinging beside the steel column. They attached the first bag to one end, then Jakób and Andrei pulled on the opposite end while Zyg worked at the top, all three of them lifting the shells together, inch by inch, careful not to let the bag swing.

After the bag with its hazardous contents arrived safely at the top, they transported the second load, a landmine acquired after the Home Army regaled a Russian battalion with homemade vodka, then relieved them of an entire consignment of light weaponry.

The third load was more difficult. It was an unexploded two-hundred-pound bomb left behind when the Nazis had passed through Poland in 1940. The slightest jolt might set it off. It took all Jakób’s and Andrei’s strength to hoist the bag.

When it was at the top, Jakób said, Hold it steady. I’ll tie the rope to the base of the column.

Okay, but hurry, Andrei answered, panting.

When the rope was firmly secured, Zyg sent down the second rope for Jakób to climb. He removed his shoes and tested it before he began his ascent. He hauled his lithe body up the rough cord without too much difficulty, his muscles honed since boyhood by farm labor, his hands toughened over the past three years at the steelworks. A moment later he sat on the crossbar next to Zygmund.

Zyg clung to the bag containing the bomb. Together they found a good position for it under the track. It was a pity they had to sacrifice the sturdy bag, but removing the heavy bomb was too dangerous. Next they planted the landmine, took a final look around to make sure everything was ready, and began their careful descent.

The return journey was a lot easier. They were rid of their heavy load, and the clouds that had been obscuring the moon were dispersing. The two boys were frantic to get away, as if they had only just realized the adventure was real.

Jakób looked at the sky. In less than an hour, he reckoned, the moon would set. It would be about another three hours before daybreak.

Zygmund said, I hear a train.

Impossible, said Jakób.

It’s a train, Zygmund insisted.

They turned and looked downriver in the direction of the bridge, which was no more than two hundred yards from their present position.

Then Jakób heard it as well. Find shelter! he shouted. Behind this rock! Quick!

They scurried over the loose stones, then threw themselves down behind a low, flat rock. Will this be enough cover? asked Zygmund.

It’ll have to do, said Jakób.

He saw a light drilling a tunnel through the darkness and felt shock shoot through his body. The train is coming from the wrong direction! he exclaimed. It can’t be the—

A brilliant flash lit up the sky, the horizon exploded with an incredible boom, and a blinding light shot upward, as if an enormous thunderstorm had been let loose over the bridge.

God help us! said Andrei, covering his head with both hands.

There were the sounds of steel ripping apart, of people screaming.

A second blast followed, louder than the first. Zygmund drew his head into the shell of his body. Mother Mary! he sobbed.

Andrei cursed and crossed his broad chest twice.

That was the boiler exploding, said Jakób.

But where had this train come from? From the wrong side? On its way to …

In a flash he knew. Nausea pushed up in his throat, bitter as gall. Come, he said. Let’s go.

---

Gretl jumped. She recognized the sound of bombs, knew she had to find shelter. The clouds on the horizon had a red glow. The explosion came from the other side of the hill.

It was far away, but the enemy could move fast.

In the gloom she crawled up the embankment and struggled to her feet. She could just make out the shapes of the bushes and tall trees flanking the railroad.

At the edge of a forest she stopped. She wasn’t afraid, but there was always a wolf or a witch in a forest. Or a cruel stepmother, she knew. So she crawled under a shrub at the edge of the big forest and lay very still. She could smell the wet leaves, and the cold crawled under the shrub with her.

No planes.

No more bombs.

Just quiet. And terrible thirst.

After a while she fell asleep.

When she woke up, the sun was shining. Something had awakened her.

Thirst overwhelmed her entire body.

She had to find Elza. They should have got away from the railroad while it was still dark. That’s what Oma had said.

She crawled out of her hiding place and cautiously looked around. Then she heard it—a whistle. That was how Mutti had always called them in the forest at Oma’s house. Mutti was here!

She tried to whistle in reply, but her mouth was too dry, so she walked in the direction of the whistle.

Gretl! Elza called from the left. "Gott sei dank, du bist heil. Thank God you’re safe."

Elza? I heard Mutti whistle.

It was me. Elza’s voice sounded strange. Maybe she needed water too.

Do you have any water? asked Gretl.

No, we’ll go and find some.

Shouldn’t we wait for Mutti and Oma?

No. Elza set off, heading straight into the forest. Gretl stayed by her side.

Elza? Did you hear the bombs?

Elza glanced down at her. It wasn’t bombs, she said. It was thunder. She looked straight ahead and quickened her pace.

Maybe Elza was afraid and had changed the bombs to thunder in her mind, Gretl thought. Elza was afraid of everything, even though she was fourteen. Gretl was hardly ever afraid, and she was only six and a half.

The tall trees made a roof over their heads. They walked through dense ferns, pushed branches out of their way, climbed over fallen tree trunks. When are we going to find water? asked Gretl.

I don’t know.

Elza, are you crying?

No.

She knew Elza was crying because she was afraid. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of the forest soon.

Elza said nothing, just kept walking.

And then we’ll find Mutti and Oma. She tried to comfort her.

Elza walked on.

After a while Gretl was tired. Her legs were aching, and she was very, very thirsty. Her tummy cramped, her throat couldn’t swallow. I have to find water now, she said.

There’s probably water down there, said Elza. Her face was red, her dark hair clung to her forehead. There must be a river.

Gretl heard the water before she saw it. She forgot all about the wolf and the witch, ran ahead, fell on her tummy, and drank greedily.

Elza washed her flushed face. Don’t drink too much, you’ll throw up, she warned.

Gretl rolled onto her back in the damp grass and looked up at the leaves overhead. The sun was glittering like gold through the trees. Now that she was no longer thirsty, hunger took over. Elza, have you got anything to eat?

No.

She sat up. Where will we find Mutti and Oma?

I don’t know. Come, we must keep walking.

Reluctantly Gretl got up. I’m still tired, she complained. Where are we going?

To Switzerland, to find Onkel Hans, said Elza.

Who’s Onkel Hans?

Oma’s brother.

Is Switzerland far?

Yes, very far.

Elza, how will we get there?

Elza began to cry. I don’t know, I don’t know! she cried. Stop asking so many questions. My head hurts!

Gretl kept quiet. After a while she said, Never mind, Elza. Oma will know what to do. We must just find her.

But Elza just cried harder. Don’t speak about Mutti and Oma, she said between sobs.

All right. She would think about other things. Then the hunger would go away.

Switzerland was where Heidi and Peter lived, in the mountains, with a herd of goats. Do you think Onkel Hans is as cross as Alm U? She forgot she wasn’t supposed to ask questions.

Gretl, what are you talking about?

Switzerland, of course.

Oh. But Elza didn’t answer her question.

When they came out of the forest, there was a farm with a fence, and behind the fence an orchard. Wait here, said Elza.

Gretl waited a long time. She looked at her shoes. They were very dirty. So were her socks.

Elza came back with her sweater full of apples. Don’t eat too many, your tummy will ache, she warned.

The apple crunched as she bit into it. It was a big, sour apple. Why don’t you eat an apple too? she asked Elza.

I’ll eat one later. Give me your sweater. I want to tie two more apples in it, for our supper.

What if I’m cold? asked Gretl.

Then we’ll eat the apples. Come, there must be a road nearby. Maybe there’s a signpost to show us where we are.

She wanted to ask about Mutti and Oma, but she was afraid Elza would cry again.

When they were near the road, Elza said, Listen, Gretl, we’re in Poland now. They don’t like Germans here.

Aren’t we in Germany? asked Gretl. She knew Oma’s little house in the forest was in Germany. So was the ghetto.

No, Poland. You mustn’t speak German at all.

What must I say?

We must speak Polish. Oma’s language, remember? She used to speak it to us. And to Mutti.

Gretl nodded. It’s hard. She frowned.

Yes, but you’re clever.

Gretl nodded again. She was clever, she knew. Don’t they like Jews either? she asked.

I don’t know, answered Elza. I think they like Germans even less than they like Jews, but no one really likes Jews. I don’t think we should mention Jews either.

Oma is Jewish, I know, said Gretl.

Forget about it. Elza looked as if she was about to start crying again. Forget about Jews and Germans and everything else. You and I are two Polish children from the north, understand?

She didn’t understand, but she nodded gravely. Papa was a German soldier, she said.

Gretl, stop it now! Elza said angrily.

So she stopped.

They walked all day. After a while her feet were hot and her shoes hurt her feet and her legs felt heavy. But Elza said they had to walk as far as they could. Not in the road, but in the bushes next to the road, where they could hide if they saw someone coming. Sometimes they rested. Elza complained that her head hurt. It’s from crying too much, Gretl thought.

When it got dark, Gretl asked, Where will we sleep?

Under the bushes. Until we get to Onkel Hans we’re going to be sleeping under bushes and we won’t be eating very often. Do you understand?

She nodded.

Once we’re in Switzerland, it will be better.

She just had to ask: Elza, where will we find Mutti and Oma?

They’re not coming, Elza said brusquely.

In the night Elza curled up and trembled like a reed. She felt hot to Gretl’s touch, and she was sweating, but she kept shivering. And she kept asking for water. Just before the sun came up, she spoke to Mutti in her sleep.

Gretl was cold as well. But the cold was more inside her, because the earth smelled so wet. She didn’t rattle like Elza did.

When the sun was up, Elza got to her feet. We must go on, she said.

I think you’re sick, said Gretl.

Yes, said Elza. Let’s just find water.

There was plenty of water in Poland. They drank at streams and ate another apple each. But after a while Elza couldn’t go on. She fell asleep in the shade of a tree.

Gretl lay on her back, gazing at the leaves. She missed Mutti. And Oma, especially Oma. Why weren’t they coming along?

The branches and leaves closed in around her, almost like Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Maybe she could sleep for a hundred years as well. No, that was a bad idea—she would carry on walking until she found Mutti and Oma. They’d be with Onkel Hans, she knew it, and they’d eat bread dipped in melted cheese. Just like Heidi.

I mustn’t think about bread and cheese, she thought.

She sat up and looked around her. After a while she got up and wandered a short distance. She found a place where she could sit and watch the road. It was a quiet road. Occasionally a horse-drawn wagon came by. Sometimes someone on foot. Only one truck rattled past, but with pigs in the back, not soldiers.

She spotted a strange figure in the distance, clanging as he walked. On his back was a big bag. Jugs and a kettle hung from a belt around his waist, making the noise. In his hand he carried another bag. In the other hand he held a stick.

He walked slowly. Very close to her hiding place he sat down on the grass at the side of the road and removed the big bag from his back. It was full of things, but she couldn’t see what they were. Then he opened the other bag and took out a piece of bread.

Gretl felt her tummy heave. It had been days since she last tasted bread. When he took some cheese out of his bag, her mouth filled with saliva.

The man cut off a thick chunk of bread with his pocketknife and picked up the cheese.

Gretl leaned forward to see better.

He turned. She knew he had seen her but she sat without moving.

He narrowed his eyes to see better. "Dziewczynko, czy nie chcialabys troche chleba?" he asked.

He was asking whether she wanted some bread.

Mutti had told her never to speak to strangers. But she had never been so hungry before. She nodded.

Come, he motioned. But she stayed in her hiding place. He shoved his stick into the ground and slowly pushed himself up. One shoe was broken, exposing a toe in a sock. He came up to her, leaned over, and handed her a piece of bread and cheese. His hands were dirty, the nails broken.

Her teeth sank into the bread. It was hard and tough, so she had to clamp her teeth together to tear off a piece. The cheese was also hard and dry, but it was the most delicious bread and cheese she had ever eaten.

"Gdzie jest twoja mama?" he asked. She understood what he was saying, but she didn’t want to speak. She nodded.

The man got up and peered into the forest. Gretl stayed where she was. Though she hadn’t told him about Elza, he walked straight toward her. Slowly Gretl got up and followed. The man stood looking down at Elza. Then he bent down and felt her forehead.

She’s very ill, said the man.

Gretl nodded.

She can’t stay here. I’m going to take her to a house where there are people who can look after her, he said. He looked up at Gretl and frowned. Where are you going?

"In der Schweiz." She had forgotten she was not supposed to speak German.

Schweiz? Switzerland? he said, astonished. He shook his head. Switzerland? he repeated.

Yes, Switzerland.

He fetched his bags and hid them under some shrubs near the spot where Elza was lying. Then he bent down and picked up Elza. She groaned and her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t wake up. The man didn’t look strong. He was very thin. But Elza was thin as well, and probably not heavy.

Come, he said and set off down the road.

Uncertain what else to do, Gretl followed.

---

What’s this I hear about you blowing up the wrong train? Stanislaw asked when Jakób arrived home two days later.

Jakób glanced around him quickly.

There’s no one here, little brother, relax, Stanislaw sneered.

We didn’t blow up a train, Stan, Jakób said, exhausted. We blew up a bridge—the right bridge at the right time. But the information we were given wasn’t right.

He went to the kitchen in search of coffee. Stan followed. The coffee pot had been rinsed out, and the cloth bag hung on the hook. The stove was cold.

Jakób looked around the kitchen. It was the heart of the home, especially during the cold winter months. Leading out of it on one side was his parents’ bedroom. The bedroom on the other side belonged to his oldest brother and sister-in-law. There was a porch at the front, where they sat in the summer when it was too hot in the kitchen, and where he and Stan were presently sleeping. Too many people were living under this roof.

The kitchen itself was sparsely furnished. The stove was black and shiny, pots gleamed on a shelf, and on the floor next to the stove was a box filled with firewood. In the middle of the kitchen stood a rough wooden table and six wooden chairs. Against one wall was a painted cabinet for tableware and provisions. Because of the war, the metal chest that usually contained their flour and sugar was almost empty. Against the opposite wall stood an upright wooden bench. The stables were a few yards from the back door.

He heard his father working outside.

Where’s Mother?

Stan shrugged. Attending afternoon mass, I suppose. I’ve just woken up, I’m on night shift. He took a big homemade loaf out of the cupboard. Hungry? he asked.

Jakób nodded. He was ravenous.

Get the cheese, said Stan, cutting thick slices of bread.

Jakób went out to fetch goat’s-milk cheese and a piece of ham covered with a moist cloth from the cooler. He dipped a mug into a pitcher filled with cold water and sat down on a wooden chair beside the rough kitchen table.

Meeting tomorrow night, same place, Stan said around a mouthful.

The members of the Polish resistance movement that met in Częstochowa were few but valiant, though their efforts had grown more desperate as the German occupation endured.

We must improve our communication channels, said Jakób. It’s no good getting partial information.

We’re doing our best.

Our best isn’t good enough, Jakób said. A helpless fury took hold of him again. How many Jewish refugees has the Home Army saved from the Nazis? And here we go and blow up an entire train with—

It was unfortunate, Stan interrupted. But the train was unscheduled.

They ate in silence.

London has asked us to collaborate with the Soviets, Stan eventually said.

I refuse to help the Red Army, Jakób said firmly. I don’t trust the Communists.

They’ll give us the weapons we need.

And as soon as we’ve played our role they’ll disarm us and take us prisoner. Or force us to join the Polish Armed Forces in Russia. You know it as well as I do!

Without the help of the Red Army we won’t make headway against the Nazis. Listen to what I’m telling you.

Jakób did not want to listen. He rinsed his plate in the basin and went out onto the porch.

A green field stretched downhill to the outskirts of the city. Częstochowa was a beautiful place, a historic landmark. From the porch he could see the Aleja Najświętszej Maryi Panny, a wide street running all the way through Częstochowa to the foot of the Jasna Góra monastery. From where he was standing, Jakób could see only the thick walls surrounding the monastery and the top of the bell tower. Far to the left lay the industrial quarter, where he and Stan were employed at the steelworks.

Jakób ran his hand over his face. He felt the stubble under his fingers. Maybe he’d feel better after he had washed and shaved. And he still craved a coffee.

---

First Gretl saw two little boys wrestling on the grass. Then she saw three goats grazing—like Peter’s goats from the Heidi story. Mamo! Mamo! shouted one of the boys and ran on ahead. "Idzie Mejcio! Here’s Mejcio!"

When she rounded the corner with the man who carried Elza, she saw a low building, like a stable. It had a sloping roof and there was only one door. A woman came out with a baby in her arms. A small girl peered out from behind her skirt.

The man and woman spoke too fast. Gretl couldn’t understand what they were saying. They all went into the house. It was dim inside, and there was a bad smell.

The man laid Elza on the only bed. The woman felt her forehead. She’s very ill, she said.

Yes, said the man. He spoke some more, but Gretl didn’t understand.

The woman shook her head, spoke fervently, nodded again. Yes, she looks Jewish, said the woman. But the little one—and she pointed disapprovingly at Gretl—is definitely German.

Gretl took awhile to work out what she wanted to say. "To jest moja siostra," she said. She’s my sister.

The woman turned to her and spoke so fast that Gretl didn’t understand a word. She fetched a moist cloth and gave it to Gretl. Gretl understood: she had to wipe Elza’s brow.

I’m going now, the man said after a while. You’re to stay until your sister is well.

Okay, she said.

The woman—her name was Rigena, she’d heard—said something about plants and motioned that Gretl should look after the two little ones. She thrust the baby into Gretl’s arms and left.

Gretl looked at the baby. It was an ugly little creature, too pink. And it gave off a sour smell. There was no crib to lay it in, so she put it on the floor. But the baby opened its mouth and bawled. She grabbed it, picking it up from the floor. The little girl watched with large brown eyes from under the table.

Mutti? Elza murmured from the bed.

Gretl rocked the baby and replied, No, it’s me, Gretl. Are you better now?

Slowly Elza opened her eyes. They were very red. Why are you bouncing that baby? she asked in a hoarse voice.

It’s the only way it will stop screaming, said Gretl.

Oh. Elza closed her eyes again. Water, she said softly.

Gretl looked around. There was a pitcher and a tin mug on the table, but she couldn’t bounce the baby and get water at the same time. She put the infant back on the floor.

The baby screamed. She grabbed the mug and dipped it into the water. Under the table the little girl also began to cry. Gretl lifted Elza’s head and held the water to her lips. It dribbled out, but Elza managed to drink some of it.

My head hurts, said Elza. Make the children stop crying.

Gretl picked up the baby and jiggled her. It helped, but the little girl was still crying. She saw a bowl with honey on a shelf. She dipped her finger into the honey and popped it into the little girl’s mouth. She instantly stopped crying.

Where are we? whispered Elza.

In a house, said Gretl. But I don’t know where Mutti and Oma are.

It was quiet for a long time. The little girl came out from under the table and motioned with a dirty finger that she wanted more honey. Gretl struggled to give her the honey while jiggling the baby at the same time.

When Elza spoke again, her voice was so soft that Gretl could hardly hear. Mutti and Oma couldn’t have escaped from the train, she said. The gap was too small.

But they said they would! Gretl cried.

Elza’s eyes were closed. Just to make us feel better, she whispered.

Where did they go, then? Gretl asked.

But Elza didn’t answer. Her breathing was shallow and rasping, her cheeks were blood-red, and her sweaty black hair clung to her scalp. I must wipe her face again, Gretl thought. But it was simply too