The Family Behind the Walls

38. Jordanna

THIRTY-EIGHT

JORDANNA

JANUARY 27TH, 1945 – SOUTHERN POLAND

I wonder if the nuns knew there would be more barbed wire fences awaiting our arrival. I was foolish to think there wouldn’t be. It’s too cold to spend much time outside so we’ve been restlessly sitting on our three cots, staring at one another, processing thoughts of hopes, fears, and waves of confusion. I used to dream of a beautiful life and the picture I imagined—the idea of beauty—was nothing like this, nothing like anything I’ve seen in over eighteen months. My mind can only draw in visions from nightmares—the reality of the life we’ve been trying to survive. I’m trapped here with these thoughts, and I don’t want to be. I want to leave them behind. It’s not so simple. I know that.

Most of the shallow, wide buildings within the new camp are filled with cots. Thousands of people walk around between the buildings throughout the day. Some appear as if they’re looking for something. Others seem lost. I consider the three of us to be lost. Very lost.

Lilli, Alfie and I have been here—wherever here is—for three days. We didn’t have a say in whether we wanted to leave the church or the familiarity of the faces we had come to know, especially the sisters. However, upon hearing the words, “You’re being rescued,” what else is there to say? I don’t know what the definition of being rescued is yet. No one has told us.

Lilli’s shivering, as she’s been since we arrived here. She keeps fussing with the wool coat she was given because it’s too big and scratching her neck. It’s as if the wool is all that’s left for her to focus on. When she isn’t tugging at the collar, she’s staring through me as if I’m a window with a view on the other side.

Before we arrived here three days ago, there was a moment of relief in the cellar of the church. It was moments after Sister Josephine sent the invading Nazis away in their underwear and without their gear.

Three Days Ago – January 24 th , 1945 – Southern Poland

Sister Josephine can fool anyone into thinking she’s mentally strong, but after standing up to the soldiers the way she did, something seems to have changed. She’s been pacing, talking to the other sisters, and I can only assume, preparing to tell us some kind of news.

“Children,” Sister Josephine announces after stopping mid-pace in front of the door. “Gather round.” She waves us all in closer to her. Each of us hesitates. “You all know living here beneath the church isn’t a permanent home for any of us. We’ve wanted to keep you children safe for as long as possible until relief—help — arrives. If those nasty Nazis did anything for us, they informed us that the Soviets were nearby. They will be the ones to help us.”

The Soviets. Papa always had stories about how ruthless the Red Army was in the final year of the Great War. They were Germany’s enemy then too. I’ve always seen Russia as a country to fear. Even as natural born Poles, some are perceived as traitors to Russia because of the Great War. It’s always been very confusing to me. Papa did explain the difference between countries being at war with each other and a country being at war while also trying to end races of innocent people. He told me a war should never lead to harming innocent civilians. No real soldier would ever intentionally harm the innocent. He also told me we were living in a time where the Third Reich are breaking all civil rules.

I think what he meant was no one knows how this war will turn out for the innocent bystanders.

It’s only been a few hours since the Nazis left, but the younger children seem to have bounced back to their usual ways. Most of them, including Lilli, have taken to the wall to work on their mural drawings. We’ve made it more than halfway around the room since we started the drawings a few weeks ago after one of the sisters found sticks of colored wax in the nearby village.

I’m reading one of the few books we have access to, or I’m giving off the appearance that I’m reading. This one teaches lessons on how to play chess. We don’t have a chess board to play with here though. I try to imagine the moving pieces but often lose my train of thought while thinking about Alfie’s kiss. His words. The comfort he brought to me in a moment of utter fear—the type of fear that could take me down. We haven’t spoken but we’re sitting side by side and somehow that feels more important than exchanging words.

The sound of the church door opening and closing forces me to sit up straighter and shut my book, placing it down by my side. I have my hands on the floor, ready to jump up and hide again.

“No need to worry, children,” Sister Josephine says as the cellar door opens, revealing Sister Katherine.

I heard several pairs of footsteps though.

Once Sister Katherine moves from the door, a dozen Soviets make their way into the center of our space, all dressed in brown uniforms, not completely dissimilar to the Waffen SS’s gray-green uniforms. A uniform is a uniform and, in this war, it’s hard to know who can be considered a source of safety.

At this point, I fear everyone, despite Papa’s explanations of war. None of that has mattered here. After all we’ve been through, it feels impossible to fear anyone more than the Germans in power.

“These soldiers are going to take care of each one of you and bring you to what’s called a displaced persons camp to begin the process of reuniting you with family members,” Sister Josephine says. Her words show no form of emotion. They’re cold and stale, not comforting.

It’s the first time anyone has referred to us as displaced children rather than orphans, giving us hope that we aren’t, in fact, orphans.

Lilli returns to my side, holding on to my arm as if it’s an anchor to the church.

“Be sure to give these men all the information they request of you. They want to help.”

“We will help,” one of the soldiers says, his accent Russian and thick.

But the war isn’t over. We’d know if it was, I think. How can we be safe anywhere?

My question is answered all too soon upon arriving at a compound surrounded by more barbwire topped fencing.

“It’s for our protection this time,” Alfie tells me. I want to ask him how he’s so sure, but I’d rather take his word.

Current Day – January 27 th , 1945 – Southern Poland

We registered, gave them all our details. The soldier who took down our information told us they would be doing everything possible to reconnect us with our family. He didn’t say how long it would take.

It’s clear Max and Mama aren’t anywhere here. I would think they would have matched us up in the last three days if they were. I don’t know how many displaced person camps there are or if there are ways to communicate with each other.

All we can do is sit here and wait, and yet, my hope is dwindling after losing Papa. I don’t know how Mama will find us, if she’s still all right. And if we don’t find her, I don’t know what will become of us.

Despite all the efforts, the war is still in effect, and I don’t know what that means for us either.

“Bergmann,” a woman with a Russian accent calls out from the center of the barrack building.

My heart swells and lodges in my throat as I try to make my way up to my feet. My knees shake so hard, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand for long. “Jordanna or Lilli?”

“Yes, that’s us,” I reply.

A woman in an olive drab dress, a matching head scarf and a white apron and a red-cross marked armband approaches us with a letter. Our names are in script on the front of the envelope, but I don’t recognize the handwriting.