She interrupts me, and her words are rushed with urgency, “Can you come to Krakow? Tonight? I can come pick you up if you need transport. I’ll come to wherever you are.”

“I’m on my way there now—my hotel is there.” I pause, waiting for an explanation, but when the silence starts to stretch, I prompt her, “What’s going on, Lia? You said you couldn’t help me.”

Lia draws in a deep breath, and I can hear the remorse in her voice as she mutters, “Well, I still can’t. But my grandmother would very much like to meet with you.”

CHAPTER 37

Alina

We’d so hoped that the camp would be, at least, comfortable, but we were sorely disappointed by the reality we encountered. It seemed to me that the whole world had run out of resources in those days, because everywhere we went, people were starving and filthy and miserable.

The camp at Buzuluk was no different—in fact, it was all of the suffering we’d grown somewhat used to, but now intensely concentrated. The entire purpose of the camp was to prepare newly freed Polish citizens to contribute to combat with Allied troops—but there were no weapons to train with, far too few uniforms and far too little food. Everyone had lice—even Saul and I within a few days—and there was no controlling them, because there was no way to bathe, let alone wash our clothes or hair. The day we arrived, we were told pesticide was on order to treat the lice. When the shipment came on the train a few weeks later, there was a single carton of chemicals provided—enough to treat a few dozen people, as if that would make any difference at all in a camp of nearly eighty thousand by that stage.

And by then, I was indeed cursing Tomasz for the cast, because between the lice and the itch beneath the plaster, I was even itchy in my dreams.

Saul was quickly put to work in the medical clinic as Doctor Tomasz Slaski—no one questioned his age or asked to see his qualifications. I was deemed “injured” because of my ostensibly broken wrist, and was assigned to help supervise the orphaned children during the daytime. I protested this at first, having such limited experience with children. But everyone had to do something, and I had no other skills to offer.

I’d expected all of those orphaned boys and girls to be miserable and weepy. Instead, they played and laughed and ran—demonstrating a resilience that astounded me. I quickly came to enjoy that work and made friends with the older women in the same role. I was especially fond of Mrs. Konczal, who had been an opera singer before the war, and she’d sing the most beautiful songs with the children when we needed to calm them down for the informal lessons we tried to offer. It was hard but rewarding work, and each afternoon when I finished my shift, I’d feel a sense of intense satisfaction that I was doing something worthwhile for the camp. I couldn’t wait for Tomasz to arrive so I could introduce him to the children. I couldn’t wait to see the pride in his eyes when he saw the contribution I was making.

Saul was in his element within the clinic—having quickly taken command of what passed for a “surgical” ward in the infirmary, but his work was so much more taxing than mine. I tried to keep a close eye on him, checking in with him every day without fail—even though sometimes that meant I’d have to wait hours for him to finish with his patients. The nurses got used to me sitting in their makeshift office, and soon when I arrived, I’d chat with them and even help where I could with paperwork. I so admired the way that Saul carried himself in that place, and I could easily picture Tomasz filling a similar role once we landed somewhere and he finished his training. With virtually no supplies and endless patients to care for, Saul was always patient and unfailingly gentle—the compassion and empathy he had for his patients astounded me. When he told me about his day, he’d describe his work as if his patients had done him the favor in letting him treat them. And perhaps they had, because despite the difficult conditions, Saul certainly seemed to thrive in knowing he was useful again.

“You wait, Hanna,” he’d tell me. He was constantly reminding me of my new name, because I was constantly forgetting to answer to it. “Once your Tomasz gets here, I’m going to take him under my wing again and by the time the British come for you, he’ll know more than most professors.”

We settled into our roles as the weeks passed, but we still met over dinner or breakfast every day. The itch beneath the cast was maddening by then, but Saul had made me promise not to scratch beneath it with a twig as I was tempted to do. Instead, he found a ruler in the administration block and for a few wonderful minutes a day, he’d slide it carefully beneath the plaster and with utmost care, he’d rub the skin for me.

“We have to be so careful not to disturb the film canister,” he murmured to me one day, as he intently concentrated on the task. “And we also have to be doubly sure not to break your skin, because if you get an infection in there—we will have to take the cast off. Don’t try to do this yourself. Promise me.”

“Okay,” I said, lost in the sheer relief of the ruler against my skin.

“Good,” he said, and he laughed at the blissed-out expression on my face. “Same time tomorrow?”

Sometimes when we were alone, he talked about Eva and Tikva, about the tender months he had with his daughter, about the happy years he shared with his wife before the war. Other days, we’d talk about my parents or my brothers, or it would be my turn to share a happy story about Tomasz. I thought the sharing would help the longing I felt—but somehow, it made it worse.

“Tomasz should be here any day,” I’d whisper, when the emotion swelled and tears threatened.

“Any day now.” Saul would smile confidently, and I’d feel bolstered, reminded of the plan, reassured that everything was still on track and things were going to be okay. But the periods of sadness came and went anyway, especially as it gradually dawned on me that unless Tomasz had news of my parents’ welfare when he arrived, I had to assume, and then convince myself, that they were dead. When the grief took hold, it was Saul I talked to, and Saul who offered words of comfort. He became a dear friend to me, and I could completely understand why Tomasz thought so highly of him.

“Hang in there, my friend,” he said to me one day, when we’d been in the camp for some weeks. “Any day now, Tomasz will arrive, and then the British will come, and you’ll begin the life your parents likely dreamed of for you. A very wise young woman once said that I had to believe I was meant to survive, and now that I’m here and I am helping these people, I can see that she was right...” We shared a sad smile, and then he added, “It will be the same for you and Tomasz.”

“You seem happy here.”

“As happy as I’m ever likely to be in what is left of my life. Wherever the camp goes, I’ll join them.” Saul shrugged. “I have heard we will be evacuated to Persia soon because the camp is not prepared for the winter...but whether it’s there or here or even the moon, I think maybe my place is helping these people.”