I left my car in the garage and slowly walked around my neighborhood. Many neighbors stood outside watering their plants or reading yesterday's paper. Children ride their bicycles down the street and toddlers followed behind on their tricycles. Two teenage girls passed me. They were arm in arm, skating. A friendly air had settled over the little houses, almost too unbearable. And my head turns to the gathering storm.
"Where are they taking us?" Ellen asked, peering through the two slants in the boxcar. I stood close by. John was asleep on my other side, with my little sister, Olga, in his arms.
Slowing down, we came to a halt. John was jerked awake and Olga scrambled out of his arms, falling on the many sleeping bodies on the floor. John picked her up and held her close. Fear was spread of everyone's face, as light from flashlights seeped in through the cracks in the wall. Many children started crying into their mother's arms, and Rabbi Ludwik mumbled prayers. Eyebrows drawn together and jaw locked in anger, John sheltered me and Ellen into his arms as well. I looked at the dingy ceiling and closed my eyes. Dear God, I prayed, Let me survive. I'm 13. Let me survive. Let me survive . . .
"Out! Out!" voices screamed. We were all thrown out of the boxcar. Suddenly I heard a faint voice over the many screams and barking. "Patricia!" I turned around wildly. Ellen grabbed my hand. "We have to go Patricia!" "John!" I screamed. I pulled Ellen with me as I pushed through a mob of mass confusion. I trampled over people's toes and had people yelling at me all around. I didn't care. Suddenly, I was there, in his arms. "Take Olga," he said loudly. I reached out to embrace her but I felt a crack on my back and fell over. A dark figure loomed over me. The SS man grabbed Olga's hand. My beating heart slowed. As long as I followed their orders, everything would be alright.
The tall, blonde man turned on his heels and pulled Olga behind him. I started to follow but I felt the butt of a rifle in my shoulder. I stifled the cry. "I'm just-" I said, turning around. But I gasped.
A kapo.
I had heard of them in the ghetto. Jewish traitors working for the Nazis for an extra ration of bread. I looked at her with disgust.
She grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into a line with about a hundred or more women. The young woman barked something in German but I couldn't understand her. And as a truck drove past us I swear I saw the saddest of sad brown eyes stare at me.
I never saw Olga again.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
Another day at work.
The Jewish building was as silent as ever as I pulled into the parking lot. Thoughts raced though my mind as I entered through the front doors. Once again, I was thinking about blue eyes. Piercing blue eyes. It was as if a knife plunged into my soul every time someone looked my direction with that cursed color.
The principal, Dr. Alfred, was walking down the hallway. He was quite a funny man. He always wore a kippah everywhere he went. He bounced when we was happy. You could see the kippah bouncing on and off his bald head on Friday afternoons. And it was especially hilarious how he talked. His voice was so high and squeaky the students joked he could communicate with dolphins. They were always knocking his kippah off to see if he had a fin growing out of his head.
His eyes meant mine and his bounce came to an abrupt stop. And for once he walked. Toward me.
"Ms. Uri," he said, "May I speak to you in my office?" "Alright," I said, checking my watch. "Make it quick, please. I need to grade some papers at the last minute."
We both walked in silence to his office. Very unusual for Dr. Alfred. Teachers popped their heads out of their doors to see us walk by. "Can we hurry?" I asked. "I don't like all of this attention." "Yes," he squeaked.
Oh, what does he want me for? I wondered. He's probably going to lecture me for putting those grades into the computer late.
When we reached the office and I sat down in front of his desk I felt like I was in elementary school again. "Patty," Dr. Alfred said, "This is no laughing matter. We need to talk." I sighed. "What about?" He coughed. "The state and the school feel as if you are becoming a distraction with your constant 'zoning outs' and 'seeing things.'"
I sat stunned.
They couldn't fire me. I might be a little different . . . Okay, a LOT different. But if I don't keep this job, how can I support Mandelina? She'll be taken away. I held back tears as he continued. "So for the good of the school we are recommending you go into retirement."
"Retirement," I said slowly. And the image flashed before my eyes.
