"Don't worry Filip, everything will be alright" I murmur into his ear as I help him take off several jackets and pants until he's dressed appropriately. "We just have to move for a little while, then, we'll be back home." Over Filip's shoulder, my gaze meets mama and papa's. Mama's eyes glisten with diamond tears and papa's is a somber shadow. This is our new home for who knows how long.
Two other families share this space with us. Joshua and Abbey Grunberg are an old couple who previously owned a fabrics shop. The other family is Levy, Elza, and Kohn Lis, all very talented in the arts. Levy wrote several books, Elza taught ballet and Kohn, who is sixteen, roughly my age but slightly older, is a very good vocalist, however, he's a bit shy.
Kohn, Filip and I spent the evening trying to keep our fear at bay by singing. Hej Sokoly and Sto Lat* are classics. The adults smile and listen to us while talking quietly sometimes.
Night falls quickly and our stomachs grumble. "Mama! I want Babka!" He moans. "There is no Babka d'vash**. We have sourdough rye bread, butter, a bit of cheese, apples, and fish. For all of us to share." The poor boys face wilts. "At least we have food, many are starving to death." Kohn's soft voice is like an icy wind. My brother's eyes grow and water. "A-are we going to d-die? No! I don't want to die!" Mama takes over and picks up the seven-year-old. I take Kohn aside, or, as 'aside' as we can be in such a small room, and lean into his ear. "You can't just say things like that to him! He's just a child!" The blonde takes my hand. "Does it make a difference? We'll all die eventually." He searches my face, a frown twists my lips, but I stay silence. "I'm much darker behind this mask Sukar***" And with that, Kohn drops my hand and moves back to the group, leaving me alone in the corner.
* Hej Sokoly and Sto Lat are traditional Polish songs
** D'vash means Honey
*** Sukar means sugar
YOU ARE READING
Warsaw (On Hold)
General Fiction"Eli Eli Lema Sabachtani!" I cry out, crystal tears washing the grime from my pale cheeks. My eyes ache and my throat is raw from crying and screaming. My head lulls to my bare shoulder as it gets harder to keep my eyes open. ~~~~~ This book is...
