Tulips in Her Hand

Chapter Sixteen

He held his breath, resting his back against a decaying brick wall.

Mariusz's entire body ached, trembling in the drops of sun that speckled the cobblestone. What was he doing? His heart fell at the memory of their conversation with Celina. As a soldier strutted by, kicking up splashes of muddied water, Mariusz held his breath. He kept his mahogany eyes trained on one building in particular: a towering, brick, apartment building. The green vines and mosses staining the exterior, a vibrant green from the night's rainstorm. sent chills up his spine. To think Mariusz would be entering that building in just a few moments.

A Jew, an escapee, a fugitive.

After the soldier passed, Mariusz squeezed his eyes shut to collect himself before entering the apartment. He grasped a crinkled slip of paper in his hand. Don't think of Anka, he thought, don't think of how you left her all alone. His heart beating like a caged swallow, he took one swift step and scurried into the building like a hunted mouse.

When he swung open the glass door, Mariusz instantly wished to recoil. People swarmed the lobby like pests, clad in black coats, gray coats, raincoats, and more gray coats. Shaking the dampness off his sleeve, Mariusz slinked past the groups of people towards the staircase. Maybe he wouldn't lead a revolt against the Nazis, or free the entire Warsaw ghetto, like he'd hoped. Mariusz heart glowed, despite the many broken pieces missing from it. For now, helping one family of Jews was enough.

As he was halfway up the staircase, a woman from behind murmured something. He paused, and slowly spun around. "Pardon?" he asked. The woman looked up from her feet. The intensity of her sapphire blue eyes stunned Mariusz, perfectly complimenting her curled blonde hair that fell to her shoulders like curtains. What startled him the most, however, was the look of determination that flecked her irises.

A smile curved upon her face. "I said I hadn't seen you around here before."

Mariusz motioned for her to follow him to the top. "I, uh, am new. My name is Mariusz." He instantly regretted the words as they escaped his mouth. How could he be so stupid as to say his name aloud? Surely this perfect Aryan girl would report him to the authorities. His cheeks flushed to a red hue.

Instead of fear, however, her eyes softened. A cloud seemed to come over her sapphire eyes. "Tall, dark hair, those brownish-reddish eyes," she whispered, "and the bag! Oh, so you have come! You've come to save the Franks!"

The color drained from Mariusz's cheeks. He clutched the bag tighter against his abdomen, stopping at the first room on the second floor. Room 35. The Franks. "But how did you...?" he asked, wiping the perspiration that now glistened on his forehead.

"I'm helping them, too."

Mariusz's eyes widened in shock as he rifled through the bag. He nearly tottered over, a faint feeling washing over him. A series of coughs escaped from his mouth, and suddenly he became self-conscious of his pale skin. What a sight he must have been. Once the coughing subsided, Mariusz rifled through the knapsack for a single key. His hand met it, feeling over its cool brassy feel. It trembled in his hands as he unlocked the door.

The woman followed him wordlessly into the room.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, Mariusz saw a figure cowering behind an end table. Another figure grasped onto the curtain beside the window, its entire body trembling. The woman strolled ahead of him, pulling the small figure from behind the end table. "Shh, it's all right, Rikki. I'd like you to meet the man who's going to save you." Her hand in Rikki's, she gazed up at Mariusz, a sheepish smile curving upon her lips.

"Oh, it's just you," a woman said, climbing out from behind the curtains. Mariusz suddenly became aware of the dizziness churning around in his head as a man, presumably the father of this family he was helping, approached him. And suddenly, he felt him being swallowed in a warm embrace, the scratchy wool sweater of the father and the drops of tears from a child scratching at his skin. Mariusz pushed aside the nausea that swept over him. The images of his little sister and dear Celina unprotected in a stranger's home. The images of a tulip, white or red or gold.