Only Us (A Holocaust Love Story), Simon and Garfunkel

Chapter 5

"Now Paul, I want you to sit and master s, w, and g while I am gone. I need to get the rations." She searched around for her ration card.

"Be save," Paul whispered, he picked up the piece of paper and wrote s,w, and g over and over.

"I'll be as safe as I can." Paul's mother opened the door, she felt the chilly fall wind slap her in the face once she made it out.

Screams echoed through the ghetto. Another major deportation was happening. Everyone was in a panic, trying not to be the next person picked. No one quite knew where they were going, there were the rumors about the death camps that were on the other side, some chose not to believe them.

Art was peacefully walking down the street returning home with their ration of bread. Paul's mother doing the same.

They had run into each other while walking down the road that led them to their apartment building.

Paul's mother tapped him on the shoulder softly. He tensed up, not daring to turn around. If he didn't, he could also be shot for it. He slowly turned around, his eyes met Paul's mother.

"You're Art, Paul's friend. Aren't you?" She had noticed his curly blond hair from the back.

"I am, how do you know me?" Art became skeptical.

"Well, Paul tells me all the time. I am his mother after all." Paul's mother smiled sweetly.

"Oh, well it's nice to meet you." Art smiled.

"My name is Belle if you ever need me." She fully introduced herself.

The two then heard screaming from behind them before Art could say anything.

"It's happening." He mumbled, then raised his voice so Belle could hear, "We need to get out of here!" Art started to picked up his pace, Belle followed once she heard a gun shot.

Art tripped and was sent tumbling down. He fell in front of the wrong person. Art bit his lip so hard, he drew blood.

"Get up you filthy Jew." The officer barked.

Art scurried to his feet. He stayed completely silent while he followed the man. Belle had no way of getting away, she followed behind Art.

Paul sat hushed at the dinner table, waiting for his mother to come home. His palms were sweaty, it had been an hour since she left. She should be home.

He heard the terrified cries of people through the thin walls. His heart sank. At that moment he realized his mother was never going to come back.

He shivered. He laid the pencil down looking at his work. He sat and sobbed for a good twenty minutes.

Then, he heard a pounding sound. It was coming from his door. He sat and listened for another one, it came louder and more blunt. He couldn't take his eyes off the door, he couldn't move a muscle.

He did get up when the pounding got so furious that he thought the door would split in two. He twisted the door knob and was face to face with an SS officer, and the Juderant.

"Come with us." The Juderant hissed.

"And why should I?" Paul quickly covered his mouth. He was immediately hit in the jaw with the butt of the gun. It knocked him to the floor.

"Come with us." The Juderant repeated just as lifelessly and cold as he did the first time.

Paul rubbed the spot where he was hit, it was already turning red. He was lucky his jaw wasn't dislocated. He followed the men, he had to watch people be dragged with him, or shot out right.

That coulda been me, Paul thought to himself. If I said one more sentence, maybe even one more word.

"What about my stuff?" One woman asked.

"We have stuff provided for you, you won't need to worry." The man lied, it was the same lie he told everyone who asked those kinds of questions.

Art and Belle were shoved into the box car with no warning. People just kept piling in, Art got squished all the way in the back corner. Children were screaming, parents were trying to shush their yelling.

All light was extinguished, only a few sunrays showed through the planks that didn't quite touch each other. They had no space, no water, and no food. People started to suffucate. Art was lucky that he was put right up against the boards, so some air was available.

"I really hope my baby is okay." Paul's mother dipped her head, she figured he was already dead.

He wasn't. He thought the same about his mother though. He hoped that he'd meet her again once they got there.

In the time being, he was in a huge crowd of people all cramming into the box cars. There had to be at least one hundred people per box car.

What will be left of the ghetto, how many people will remain? The ghetto had been his home for the last two years, it was hard to leave behind. He missed his old home on the outskirts of Warsaw.

What Paul missed the most was him sitting under the big oak tree on the edge of their property with his dad. Paul's father would tell him about his childhood in Germany. He would always leave out the bad things.

Paul came back from his flashback when he felt the cold hard concrete. His hands were scraped and covered in blood. His knee looked about the same as his hand.

The carts had not stools or things to help them into them. Paul had to find a way to get himself in them, or he would be shot. A nice woman grabbed his hand and helped him into the box car.

"Thanks." Paul yelled, wanting the woman to hear.

"We've got to stick together," The woman said. It speared Paul in the heart, he was separated from the people that he cared about the most. He just nodded fighting back tears.

The journey was long for them. Belle stood knawing on her finger wondering what had happened to Paul. Paul pondered the same thing. Paul also didn't know what happened to Art. He had no knowledge that he was with his mother.

To think I had made a friend, Paul thought. He just had to be yanked from me. He could be dead for all I know.

The box car wasn't silent either. People speculated among themselves, their voices just over a whisper. None of them knew the true horror that awaited them.

Art would fade in and out of consciousness every so often. He went to sleep to silence his growling stomach, and he went to sleep to fight off his thirst. His tongue felt like a log was sitting in his mouth. Belle was kind and let him lay his head on her shoulder. It wasn't very comfortable anyway, he was standing up.

If he wasn't chrushed up against a whole bunch of people he would fall down, he was that exausted.

The night before the deportation he didn't get that much sleep. A nagging voice in his head was telling him something bad could be happening at any moment, and it never seemed to go away.

Paul was just minding his own buisness when he felt a chill run down his spine. His head twisted to the right and his eyes locked on a man. He looked like he was just sleeping, but he felt as cold as ice.

He nudged at the man a couple of times, he wouldn't get up. That's when Paul realized, he was dead. He let out a high pitched scream, it could be heard from a mile away.

For the rest of the journey, he focused on trying to get the mans head off of his shoulder. Someone would complain and put him right back on Paul's shoulder.

It only made him feel cold. People were dying as he sat there trying to get a dead man off of him. There was no where the body could go.

"Are we close." Paul growned.

"I don't know, we could've been traveling for a day by now." The woman who helped Paul into the box car answered.

It felt like months. The train never seemed to halt. Paul's brain wouldn't let him fall asleep. He heard the sound of his stomach grumble.

Then, he heard another sound. An even more harsh sound, it was a voice.

"Geh raus!"