Chapter 20 Dorotha
Dorotha
The January storm pummelled the ghetto doors and windows, screaming and rattling them like a malevolent spirit. Dorotha and Gabriele huddled together in bed, drawing on what little warmth their skeletal bodies could provide.
Dorotha was frozen. It had been three hours since Nathan’s insistence that they were waiting for their own execution and that they must go into hiding, and yet, she still hadn’t made a decision.
She listened to the storm’s fury. Every dustbin lid crashing along the cobbles was a German bullet, every bang and thump a Nazi fist come to batter down the door.
She listened. Waited. And then she heard it.
Adela, calling – no, howling – at her to run.
Run as fast as her legs could carry her and cross the bridge to safety.
Dorotha pulled back the covers and a blast of freezing air roused Gabriele from her sleep. She murmured and called out, ‘Mama.’
Dorotha’s heart was thundering. She sniffed. In the distance she could smell burning.
Enough procrastination. If they were going to do this, it had to be now, under cover of darkness. As soon as dawn broke, it would already be too late.
‘Gabriele, wake up. Come on, bubbeleh. We have to leave.’
While the little girl yawned and stretched, Dorotha ran round the room, frantically throwing clothes into the carpet bag she had arrived with all those years ago.
‘Put on as many clothes as you can find,’ she ordered.
‘I’m scared to go outside,’ Gabriele whimpered. Dorotha cursed herself at her crassness. Of course. She had spent the past months drumming the fear of God into Gabriele at leaving the room.
‘It’s all right, little one. We are going to a very special little library to hide until help arrives. You’ll be safe there, I promise.’ Dorotha hated the lie but what else could she do?
‘It’s just a short walk to the library, then we can have something to eat.’
Gabriele looked unconvinced.
‘You’ve always wanted to sleep in a library, haven’t you?’ she coaxed.
Wordlessly, Gabriele began to dress, and Dorotha paused, trying to calm her hammering heart.
She pressed a blanket, more socks, the rest of their food rations and a flask of water into the bag, and finally, The Secret Garden.
She could hear Ruth’s dry voice in her ear.
Only you would take books into a library.
But it was more than a book. It was her last connection to Adela.
Gabriele stood in all her clothes and an odd assortment of rags, shivering so hard her teeth chattered.
Her hair was nothing but downy fluff. She would freeze like a duckling outside.
Dorotha took the few bits of straw she had been saving as fuel and stuffed it inside her clogs, and then wrapped a shawl around her head.
Then she cast a last look at the hovel they’d called home for nearly five years, and struck out into the unknown.
Outside on the frozen street, the snow lay piled in heaps. The air was so cold it seemed to freeze in their lungs. The distant thud and crump of shells and rockets broke apart the night sky. Every so often, the horizon would light up with a livid flash.
‘Come on, sweetie,’ she said, throwing her arm around Gabriele. ‘We must hurry.’
They reached the footbridge and stopped.
Cholerne piek?o! Dorotha cursed under her breath. It might as well be a mountain.
Ice and snow were heaped on every step. It was perilous. One slip and she felt like every bone in her body might shatter like glass.
‘Come on,’ Gabriele said. ‘It’ll be easier if we support each other.’
The pair leaned on each other as slowly they tackled each step up.
By the time they reached the top, Dorotha’s lungs were screaming, but they had made it.
From their vantage point they could see across the ghetto.
In Ba?uty Square, there was a bonfire. Germans were tossing files into it.
The flames leapt upwards. To her alarm, she realised the first light of dawn was creeping across the eastern sky.
‘We must hurry,’ she breathed, gripping Gabriele’s hand tighter.
At the edge of the square, they crouched under a tree.
The expression on the guard’s faces, one of grim resignation, told her everything she needed to know.
They were burning all evidence before the Soviets arrived.
Every so often, a German would retreat into the administration headquarters and emerge with more boxes.
A cold eastern wind howled across the square, rattling the old windows of the government buildings. Above them, a giant black crow was stripping bark from the tree.
When it spotted them, it took flight, taking off with a loud cawing noise, and all eyes suddenly turned in their direction.
‘Wer ist da?’ Who is there? yelled the guard, squinting through the smoke in their direction. ‘Zeig dich.’ Show yourself.
He raised his rifle and a loud whirring started in Dorotha’s head. It was over. She pushed Gabriele behind her, squeezed her eyes shut and braced her body for the impact of the bullet. But no shot rang out. She opened her eyes.
A truck had pulled up in the square and suddenly all the guards were gathering their rifles and piling into the back. A babble of barked German orders, but one word stood out. ‘Friedhof.’ Cemetery. The round-ups had begun.
Nathan was right.
The truck pulled off. Dorotha grabbed Gabriele’s hand and they ran headlong across the square, her heart crashing against her ribcage. Shots were fired, and an explosive sound rang in her ears.
She whipped round, the wind tearing at her skin. A faceless soldier with his gun balancing against the side of the truck was taking pot shots as they drove out of the square.
‘Get down,’ she screamed, pulling Gabriele to the ground and huddling together.
A minute passed in which all she could hear was the thundering of her blood pulsing in her ears, then silence. She looked up. The truck was gone. But they might be back. There wasn’t much time.
‘Are you hurt?’ she gabbled, frantically patting Gabriele down.
Gabriele’s face was a ghostly white against the cold dawn sky, her breath hanging like smoke.
The little girl was staring at Dorotha’s leg.
‘No, but you are.’
Dorotha touched the top of her left leg. When she pulled her hand away, she saw her fingers were soaked in blood. She had been shot. Questions rattled through her mind.
Why does it not hurt? How could she have been so stupid? If they’d just waited one more minute.
Survival instincts kicked hard.
‘We must get inside.’
She grabbed the icy door handle of the administration offices and wrenched it open.
Inside, they passed scenes of absolute chaos. Offices had been turned upside down, empty filing cabinets lay strewn across the floor. Every typewriter and desk had been removed. The room was empty, save for a single jacket hanging on the back of the door, which she grabbed as they passed.
They hastened up the darkened corridors to the old stationery cupboard, and Dorotha rummaged in her bag for the key Oscar had given her. Her fingers were so slippery with blood, she couldn’t get the key in. Then, to her horror, she realised the lock was frozen solid.
‘Please no . . .’ she whimpered. She slammed her palm against the door in frustration.
‘Let me,’ said Gabriele. She pressed her mouth against the lock and breathed. She blew her hot breath, slowly and deliberately into the keyhole, then, taking the key from Dorotha, she slid it into the lock. This time, it turned.
Once inside the safety of the library, Dorotha wanted to crash to her knees in relief, but they weren’t safe yet. She locked the door behind them and then pointed to the bookcase.
She wriggled under first, and gestured to Gabriele to follow her. The girl’s eyes were round as z?otys as she followed her into the secret room.
‘What is this place?’ Gabriele asked.
Groping around in the dark, under the crate, Dorotha found a box of matches and managed to light a candle, her hands beginning to shake violently.
‘Th-This is our new home,’ she said through chattering teeth.
‘For how long?’ Gabriele gasped.
‘Until we are rescued. Or the Germans leave. Whichever happens first.’
‘You’re bleeding,’ Gabriele whimpered, and, finally, the pain began.
As she peeled off her skirt, Dorotha wanted to scream. It felt as if something was biting her outer thigh, the pain sharp and tearing.
‘I-It’s fine,’ she stammered. ‘It’s just a graze. Hand me that jacket.’
Bundling it into a ball, she pressed it down hard into the wound, and nearly passed out from the pain. Slumping down against the wall, she tried to breathe.
‘Once the bleeding stops, I’ll be fine.’
‘Are you sure?’ Gabriele asked, ‘you’re so pale.’
‘I am fine, bubbeleh,’ she replied, through gritted teeth. ‘He must be a lousy aim.’
As her eyes adjusted to the light, Dorotha realised there was a box in the corner that hadn’t been there when she had last visited the room to hide her diary and the ring. On the top was a piece of paper.
‘It’s a letter,’ Gabriele said, picking it up and handing it to her.
With a knot in her throat, Dorotha read.
I think deep down I always knew you would stay to the bitter end to protect Gabriele.
You are a woman of courage and strength.
Knowing that I can have a future that includes you as my wife gives me every reason to stay alive.
I hope my love gives you the same will to survive.
Wherever I am sent, I’m there in body only. My heart remains with you.
Always and forever, Oscar
Underneath the letter was a flask of water, some dried crackers, a single potato and a small bottle filled with clear liquid. She pulled out the cork and sniffed. Vodka.
Quickly, she pulled out the blood-soaked rag and doused her wound liberally with the vodka. She had no idea if it would work, but if it stopped bacteria infecting the wound, it would be worth the searing pain.
She bundled the jacket up and pressed it firmly to stem the blood.