Chapter 43
FORTY-THREE
Gliwice, Poland
The radio static has become the white noise of this infirmary room from the moment we wake until we go to sleep. It hums low and constant, like the memory of fallout from explosions that refuse to leave the air.
The snow has melted outside, revealing a thick brown sludge of thaw and ruin beyond the schoolhouse.
But along the tree line, small blossoms are pushing through in slow growth before committing to opening their petals.
If we don’t look down when at the window, we can almost convince ourselves this is a true spring.
Not a single person has come through this village in weeks.
No soldiers, civilians, carts or trucks transporting bodies.
Before the Soviets arrived with prisoners, this village must have been billeted by German soldiers who pushed people out of their homes as they had done in far too many locations.
Former villagers must be afraid to return still.
If not for the radio, I might believe the four of us are the last people left in this country.
Broadcasts speak often of displaced-person camps and emergency shelters, but warnings of overcrowding and a lack of supplies follows each announcement.
Trains are unreliable. Roads are still dangerous.
Fighting continues east of here, while clearing a path northwest toward Berlin.
The continent seems like a chessboard for a game with no rules.
Any move we make away from this schoolhouse is a risk. Yet we all know staying here forever isn’t possible.
“Did I miss anything?” Elias says, breathless after running up the corridor stairs. He carries in a rush of outside air mixed with coal and mud.
“Static,” Noah and I echo at the same time.
We glance at one another and for a moment something more than familiar silently passes between us—something I recognize—an old feeling, one I stored away for safekeeping.
A glint in Noah’s eyes sparks through me, the way one simple look used to ignite every bit of my desire for him.
I’ve been so busy looking at him as a patient, making sure he’s all right, rather than focusing on the fragments of my heart that are slowly finding their way back to one piece.
“You two rehearse that while I was gone?” Elias asks with a chuckle.
We’ve always been in sync on some level. Though we think differently, I always thought of us as a unit rather than two individuals.
“The radio silence is deafening, but I believe there’s always a long moment of silence before the announcer reveals something big. Like the calm before a storm,” Noah says.
“In any case, I suppose we can only stick to the facts we have,” Elias says with a sigh. “And so far, nothing seems definitive.”
“Facts,” Noah huffs with a small smile. “You can’t trust this box of aluminum more than a pattern, trust me.”
“What do you mean?” Elias asks. “Because we need to hear from reputable authorities?”
“Actually, no,” Noah says. “Put it this way…when have authorities been accurate or remotely correct in the last six years?”
Elias takes one of the cups of soup and heads to his favorite corner of the room. Next to Avi. “The Führer is confirmed dead,” he says quietly. “We can believe that, can’t we?”
“That part is no longer a rumor. Even the broadcasts have confirmed,” Avi follows.
“Yesterday, they reported the German High Command had signed surrender documents in France,” Noah adds. “If that’s confirmed…” I notice he skips past the confirmation of the Führer’s death. Unless Noah sees proof… I think he might always wonder about the truth.
“What exactly does confirmed mean in this situation?” Elias asks.
“The signed surrender needs to be verified by officials,” Noah answers.
Elias takes a swig of his soup. “You must have been a politician.”
“Worse. An economist,” Noah says with a small smile.
I glance at Noah, giving him a raised brow, and a smirk I can’t hide. “Trusting numbers is a dangerous habit.”
Noah drops his head in a hush of laughter just as the radio crackles louder than a hiss.
The static crackles and squeals then a voice fades in from the grit. Broken at first, then clearer.
…reports confirm that Berlin has fallen
…The capital is under Soviet control…
I stand up from the mattress and quietly make my way closer to the radio. Avi only takes a step closer, her hands clenched by her sides. And Elias leans forward, his eyes bulging.
Noah doesn’t blink, as if worried he might disrupt the signal, but he leans in closer to adjust the dial with hairline movements.
…the German High Command has signed an act of unconditional surrender…
Hope, or false hope?
No one says a word, which tells me they’re all thinking the same.
Hours pass before the static returns, and I imagine someone pressing their finger down on the dispatch button.
…victory over fascist Germany has been declared…
…German Command has signed an act of unconditional surrender…
The voice fades into a muted static. My heart splinters from within as I reach for Noah’s free hand as he reaches for the tuning dial again. But he stops just as the static clears once more.
…the war in Europe has ended…
I stare so hard at the radio, I begin to count the holes along the speaker, waiting, for something—someone to say this was a misunderstanding and that it’s not truly over.
But it doesn’t.
It repeats.
…Again, unconditional surrender…
…the war in Europe has ended…
I shift my stare from the radio to Noah’s eyes. Neither of us blink, just exist in this moment.
Elias lets out a quick, hard laugh then stops as if someone interrupted him. “It’s over. It’s really over?” he asks.
And Avi, she whispers, “We survived.”
I know survival doesn’t mean freedom. Not yet. The war might be over, but there are still soldiers occupying Poland. Their uniforms are different, but the power is not. We can only hope they don’t plan to dehumanize this country any more than the Reich already did.
“Yes,” Noah breathes. “The war part…is over.”
“You predicted correctly this time,” Avi says, tossing her arms around Elias’s neck. “Thank God you were right.” Tears streak down Avi’s face, spilling over a smile bigger than one I knew she was capable of.
Noah takes my arm and pulls my back to his chest, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “There’s a lot to leave behind,” he whispers. “A lot to still recover, and some parts we’ll bring forward with us.”
“I don’t know where to start,” I tell him.
“With me. Together.”
“What now?” Avi asks, excitement firing through her. Suddenly the youthfulness of both Avi and Elias glows in their eyes.
“Well,” Elias says, straightening his shoulders, ready to get to work. “There will be displaced-person camps, registration, and documentation.”
“I don’t care about papers,” Avi says.
“Neither do I, but it’s necessary,” Elias follows.
“Neither of them has anywhere to go home to,” I say.
“Then we go together,” Noah asserts. “You two can come back to Amsterdam with us.” He squeezes his arms around me a little tighter. “Even if there’s nothing left. We’ll build something.”
Avi and Elias share a silent look as if they’ve already discussed their future in private.
“Staying here would mean waiting for the Soviets to return. That’s not an option for me.
Leaving Poland is the only choice for hope of true freedom,” Avi says.
“Plus, Amsterdam sounds nice. And the sooner the better.”
“Amsterdam does sound nice,” Elias seconds her. “And I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye to any of you.”
“No more goodbyes. We’ve had enough,” Avi says.
* * *
There’s no saying how far we’ll have to walk before we find a displaced-person camp or a shelter with opportunities for transportation, but all we can do is keep moving with hope that Poland can withstand Soviet occupation peacefully.
Avi and Elias are already bundling things together, shoving blankets into canvas bags, sorting through the remaining cans of food we have. Elias makes his way out into the corridor to place a bag down. “We should do something with this,” he says out loud to himself.
Noah slips away from me, heading toward Elias. I follow, finding him staring at the German uniform Elias tossed out here a couple months ago.
“I’ll get it,” Noah says.
“I can leave it somewhere. You don’t need to—” Elias says.
“No. It’s all right,” Noah replies as he lifts it into his arm. “This cost Christoph his life. Something I’ll never forget, but something I never want to see again.”
He turns and takes my hand then leads us to the stairs, and out of the building.
Noah drops the uniform into the pit we’ve been using for a fire and pulls a tin of matches out of his pocket.
He strikes the match, popping a flame against the wind.
It flickers and trembles for a moment before he drops it over the uniform.
“He sacrificed his life for us,” Noah says, his words catching in his throat.
The flame catches, singeing the fabric, layer by layer until it turns to black ash. Smoke rises, and that smell—death. I pray it’s the last time that scent follows us.
Noah loops his arm around my waist, his fingers brushing the side of my stomach.
“Now, we live for her,” Noah says. “For our Eve. And Christoph.”
“No,” I whisper with a quiver in my lips. “We live…because of them.”