My Mother's Secret (9 page)

O
ma and I eat very little meat.

It happened one day while we were having lamb for dinner.

We looked out the window at our sheep, who were peacefully grazing on the hill. They were so innocent and beautiful. In that moment, we both looked at each other and then down at our plates. It just felt wrong.

I learn how to take care of all the animals and even have my own horse. I spend hours brushing and grooming him, and, unlike most people, I look forward to it.

On my horse, I ride through fields and forests, which are oblivious to the ambitions of men.

It is when I feel the most free.

From when I was quite young, my
oma
has said to me, “Vilheim, all this will be yours one day, and you must know how to look after it.”

I feel a great responsibility toward all the animals.

I won't be like my father or mother, who don't care about anyone but themselves.

O
ma looks very serious one evening as we sit by the fireplace after dinner.

She has dismissed all the farm workers early and asked that we not be disturbed.

“Vilheim,” she says solemnly, “Germany started a war and although we are far from it on our farm, it will come for you.

“You'll be asked to kill people you don't know, and the opposite will be true too.

“Survive this by keeping your head down. Avoid as much as you can. Do not be brave. This is not a war of necessity or principle.”

I understand—play along.

Oma warns me, “Trust no one.”

I know that her words are enough to have her shot for treason.

“You must live and you must come back to me, Vilheim. I have no one else. If you die, I die.”

I listen to her and nod.

It's heartbreaking.

T
he day I turn eighteen, the army reaches out and pulls me into it.

Oma packs my favorite foods and tells me over and over again that she loves me.

It's terrible from the first day.

The army crushes gentle souls.

My poor performance during training is the reason I am sent to a place where no one wants to go. I take comfort in thinking that there are no good places.

I am sent to Poland, so that we'll be ready to move into Russia when the order comes.

I dread that.

When I arrive in Poland, I am sent to Sokal, a town I never even knew existed. It's a small town, and that works better for me. Not far from town, there are pastures, which remind me of home. I know that I must never let my true feelings show, so I learn to follow orders with a serious expression on my face. My new commander thinks that I am a most conscientious young man. He's reading me all wrong, but I keep it up.

When I arrive, I am given the job of patrolling the ghetto. I really hate doing this because I am instructed to shoot anyone trying to escape.

I feel like such an imposter.

If I could set these people free, I would.

•   •   •

O
NE NIGHT,
while I am patrolling the inside perimeter of the ghetto, I round the corner of a building and happen to see a man trying to slide under the wire. It's too late for me to look away and our eyes meet. It's dark, but we both know that we saw each other. I am about to bring my rifle down from blind training, but I don't. I turn and pretend that I never saw him. A few minutes later, enough time for him to have made it across, I resume my patrol.

I wished him well.

I don't know why we are holding all these Jews in this confined area. I never even met a Jewish person before I entered the army. It makes no sense to me whatsoever. How can a war be based on persecuting innocent people?

Then, the orders come.

We are to deport all the people in the ghetto to concentration camps.

I hear that they will be executed there.

It is sickening and I want no part of it, but there is nothing I can do—if I don't want to be executed myself.

That day is one of the most horrible of my life.

There is chaos everywhere.

Although most people are broken in spirit and just follow the orders shouted at them to get into the trucks, some try to run and many are hiding. Our orders are to shoot anyone trying to escape.

One of my fellow soldiers says, “Just throw a grenade into the building if you think there are people hiding there. It's easier.”

I want to stop him but can't.

I feel sick and want to run away myself.

I have to repeat Oma's words in my mind:
Don't stand out. Keep a low profile. Play along
.

I run around and look like I'm chasing someone, but it's just for show.

I shoot high and don't hurt anyone, but I don't help anyone either, so there's nothing to help my conscience.

I feel alone in the crowd.

I
am permitted to write letters to Oma, but they are censored and we can't say anything about our location, how the war is going, or anything that we have done. Basically, there is nothing I can say to her except that I am alive and miss her.

Our commander calls us to a meeting emphasizing the importance of secrecy.

He tells us that an important aircraft factory in Germany was bombed, even though the location was hidden. Apparently, the local newspaper had innocently reported, in its society pages, the names of some top-ranking officials attending parties in this small, obscure town, and that was enough of a clue for the Allies to figure out that there was something there.

I
have no friends in this army.

I keep to myself.

It would be easy for someone close to see that I don't fit in.

I eat whatever food is provided. Admitting to being a vegetarian would be seen as a sign of weakness in my present company. There are so many things I am doing out of character that what I eat just falls into that category.

At the end of the day, I want to make sure that I don't forget who I am, so I picture myself riding through the woods or sitting by the fire with Oma—or anything that is beautiful and serene. I try not to let the ugliness of the war sink in.

Without realizing it, Oma has trained me to survive the day-to-day of the army. With the work that I did around the farm, I have no problem carrying the heavy backpack required of me. Being trained to keep my room and myself tidy from a young age, it is second nature for me to appear in top shape.

My commander, a man whose natural position is upright and who always looks like his uniform has just been pressed, calls me over. He has noticed how my uniform is always clean and crisp and my boots shining. I think this is the reason I am invited to be a guard for him at a dinner party given by his friend's girlfriend.

We hear that her mother worked as a cook in Germany before coming back to Poland and knows how to make all the best dishes. For once, there is something that I am looking forward to, and I make sure to thank the commander.

The home is modest, but we enjoy the food immensely.

It reminds us of our homeland.

We sing songs, and by the warmth of the fire, it almost feels like we are back in Germany.

Franciszka, the old lady hosting the dinner, looks nothing like my tall
oma
, but how she treats me reminds me of home. She tells me to “eat, eat,” but she doesn't need to because we are eating with abandonment. Foot soldiers don't get the best food, and tonight is a feast.

After that night, I go back to visit with Franciszka and to have her delicious sauerkraut as often as I can. She tells me that I remind her of her son, Damian.

It's funny how you can find a kindred spirit in the most unlikely of places.

I
don't know what makes me decide to trust her, but I do, in spite of Oma's words.

“Franciszka, you can't believe what we did in the ghetto,” and I proceed to tell her everything.

It feels like the burden is lighter to be able to share it.

Despite hearing what we did, she tells me that she knows that I am a good person.

It is what Oma would have said.

I tell her about Oma and how I am all she has. “We're going to be sent into Russia, and I don't think I'll survive that,” I say sadly.

•   •   •

S
HORTLY AFTERWARD,
the commander tells us that half the platoon will move in the next few days.

I know what I have to do.

I sneak out and make my way to Franciszka's house.

Although it is very late at night, she is not asleep and answers the door quickly when she hears my voice.

She puts a finger to her lips to instruct me to whisper. I understand and quietly beg her to help me. “Please, Franciszka, can I hide here?” I try not to sound too anxious, but she knows that I am.

She says nothing but moves to lock the door.

Then she gives me a warm hug while saying in a soft voice, “I will help you.”

I think she already knew that I was going to ask her.

I am relieved, but then she says, “There's not much room in this house. The only place that I can hide you is in the attic. Vilheim, it is a very, very small space. I'll show you.”

She brings out a ladder from behind some clothes in a closet and motions for me to climb up to the trapdoor that leads to the attic. I look in, and she is right—it's tight up there. The space is no bigger than three feet in height, four feet in width, and ten feet in length.

I will have to lie flat to fit.

Even with this, I am excited at the chance to evade the war.

“Franciszka, thank you, thank you for helping me.” I don't know what else to say, but she knows the words come from my heart.

I climb up the ladder to what will be my home for the indefinite future.

T
o s
tay healthy, I do stretches while I am lying flat.

I also figure out a way to do partial sit-ups and push-ups.

When the war is over, I want to be in decent shape.

What I miss the most is walking and moving in general. I think this is how a caged animal must feel. One thing I can do is roll back and forth, if I am careful to do it quietly.

It's a big risk to take to come down from the attic, so I do it quickly and always late at night. I only come down if Franciszka taps our code on the ceiling.

Being caught as a traitor means death by firing squad, not to mention what they would do to Franciszka and her daughter. That keeps my mind and my feet firmly planted in the attic.

There are cracks in the wall that let in some light, and I welcome that. These cracks, in the winter, are also the same ones that let in the cold air. Sometimes it's so cold that I spend the entire day just shivering. On those days, I imagine how much colder it would have been in Russia.

Franciszka knows that I am a vegetarian, and she is sweet to make those special dishes for me in the middle of a war. Not too often as to attract attention, though. The secret to surviving is to go unnoticed.

T
he com
mander is furious that I am missing and starts a wide search, starting in the forest.

It never occurs to him that a local would hide a German soldier, when Germans took their country away from them.

Late one night, Franciszka taps on the ceiling three times and I go down. “Vilheim, we need to make you dead so they'll stop looking for you.”

I say, “How, without my actually dying?”

“Take off your uniform,” she says while handing me her son's old clothes.

Then she takes a knife from the kitchen and puts a hole through my shirt. After that, she uses the same knife on one of her chickens and sprinkles the blood on my uniform.

That night, she takes my clothes down to the river and throws them in.

When my clothes are found, everyone blames the Russians and stops looking for me.

I know that the army will contact Oma with the news, and I know that it will be devastating for her, but there is no way of telling her the truth.

I keep myself positive by thinking about how happy she will be when I return after the war.

•   •   •

F
RANCISZKA CONTINUES
to invite the commander over for dinner, while I am hiding in the attic.

I can't wait to tell my
oma
about this brave woman.

I always thought that courageous people were those who were not afraid. Meeting Franciszka and her daughter, I realize that courageous people are afraid like everyone else. They just act despite the fear.

One day when I go down for a quick break, I see that Franciszka has been crying for a while. She tells me that Damian was killed.

I never knew him, but I feel sad for her. It doesn't seem fair that this should happen to such a good person, and I think that this is how Oma will feel if I don't make it home.

H
ELENA