You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Companion Novel) (23 page)

“Where you Hassidic?”

“No, but I knew many Hasidim from the neighborhood where I grew up. They are a hard bunch to understand.”

“I’ve seen a lot
of them, even worked on wedding dresses for a few, but I don’t know a great deal about the culture. Only that they dress strangely with little care for style or fashion.”
“They don’t care for modern styles. Their big concern is modesty. In fact from what I understand they wear their strange outdated clothing and long sideburns to make themselves look different from non-Jews. I’ve heard they do this so that God will recognize them.”

“God recognizes all
of us, regardless of what we wear. Don’t you think?”

“I would think so, yes. But they are a hard bunch to understand they
don’t reveal a great deal about their culture.”

“Do you know
about them? I’m sort of curious?”

“A little, p
erhaps a little more than you, but still not much.”

There
was a stirring amongst the crowd.

A young man got up onto
a wooden box used as a makeshift podium he stomped his feet to get the attention of the crowd and raised his hands in the air to quiet them.

“Good evening and
a very warm welcome to my fellow Jews in search of a homeland.” Everyone cheered. “My name is Mordichi.”

Z
ofia looked at the faces surrounding her, young, old, women, men, all brimming with determination. These people were not like the others, they would not go down without a fight.

There was discussion
of the escapes who’d come back from the camps with grim warnings of what lay ahead. Many people declared that they would rather die fighting in the ghetto than be shot and thrown into a mass grave or gassed and burned.  Zofia longed to be like them, to be strong, and unafraid. But the truth was that she was afraid. They talked about forming an uprising in the Ghetto, building an armory and fighting the Germans in the streets. “Kill Nazi’s,” they cried out.  It all sounded wonderful, as these Zionists proclaimed their loyalty to their dreams and to each other. But, Zofia could not imagine herself taking up arms and shooting to kill. She’d never held a gun. In fact, she’d never even struck another person. Besides, maybe it was all lies, what if it was all exaggeration and there were no shootings or gassings. It wasn’t logical, why would the Nazi’s kill the Jews if they could use them as free labor? Wouldn’t it be wiser to have them working for the war effort? She would rather work at the camp until the end of all of this then go to battle in the middle of the street and probably die there, never to see Eidel again.

So many thoughts ran through her mind as the meeting came to a close.

Zofia headed for the door.

“May I walk you home?” Dovid was instantly beside her.

“I was just waiting for Gitel.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” Gitel came over “I will see you at home, Zofia.”

Dovid held the
door, he, and Zofia walked out into the cool night air.

“Do you like to read? I love books. When I was not playing music, I was a volunteer librarian.” Dovid said.

She laughed.
“I do like to read, but what a change for you…From a musician and a librarian to a street fighter?”

“No, I don’t think I would be able to be a part
of the fight, I wish I could. But I don’t know how to use a gun. Still, I admire those who would fight. It takes a lot of courage.”

“
Yes and so do I. But I’m not sure I could do it either. I’ve never even held a gun.”

“I keep telling myself that perhaps this will all end before I am forced onto one
of those trains.” He said.

“The thought is paralyzing.”

“I know, I agree with you, but what are we to do? Run around with rifles? Someone would have to teach me and I am afraid I would waste more ammunition than I’d put to good use, just because I am not too sure of my aim.” He said shaking his head. “I probably don’t seem like much of a man to you. I’m sorry. I’ve always been a bit of a gentle soul. A violinist, a reader, I paint and draw, and sometimes even write poems.”

She smiled.
“I find you manly. You are just not a violent man, not a warrior.”

“That’s terribly sweet
of you to say. But the truth is, I’m a coward, not really much of a man at all, and certainly not a fighter.”

“Well…
every person is different, I suppose. Until all of this stuff with the Nazi’s began, I don’t think too many people realized that if they wanted to live they would have to fight.

“I admire your strength
you seem to take it all in stride.”

“It’s an act. Inside I am a nervous wreck most
of the time. But what can I do? I just live from day to day like everyone else.”

“You have
strength about you, a presence. You know what I mean?”

“Not exactly, b
ut I try not to wear my heart where everyone can see it.” She smiled in the darkness.

“Fair enough,
” Dovid answered nodding “So, Zofia. Tell me… what are your dreams? What do you plan to do if by some miracle we should survive this mess?”

“Me? I don’t know.  I don’t give dreams much thought. I would just like to be reunited with my family.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “You want to hear something silly?  I can’t believe I am even remembering this now but...” She hesitated for a moment and glanced over at him in the darkness “you know…I always wanted to be a Jazz musician when I was a young girl. It was a secret dream. Not something I ever really believed would come true. But it is was a nice dream if nothing else.”

“Do you play an instrument?”

“Not really, a little piano, but nothing to speak of. I wanted to take lessons, but there was never enough money. And then all of this happened and now I can’t think of learning anything. I only think of survival.  I wish I did play an instrument though, now that you mention it. It would be wonderful to fill our apartment with beautiful music. I think it would lift everyone up. Perhaps, take away some of the feelings of hopelessness.”

“Yes, you’re right, it does. Music is a fantastic release.” He turned to her and smiled. Then he took her hand and squeezed it gently.
“Believe it or not, I have my violin here in the Ghetto. I managed to bring it with me. I could teach you to play, would you like that?”

“I would
actually; I would like it very much.” It wouldn’t be lessons in the American Swing that she loved, but still it was music. And music was life.

“
You know, sometimes I sit back and I remember so much about my life, about the way things were before the Nazi’s came.” He said.

“Yes, you know what’s kind
of strange? I never realized how good life was until it wasn’t any more. I was never rich, but now we are practically starving.”

“I und
erstand how you feel. Whenever I have been able to find the supplies to paint, I paint my memories. I never paint or draw pictures of the ghettos, the trains, the starving, or the dying. Instead, I painstakingly force myself to remember, to remember the beauty of a sunset, the snow falling on Vienna at Christmas time. A concert hall filled with people and glittering crystal chandeliers, the toothless smile of a baby, an old woman smelling a bunch of flowers…” He seemed lost in the tenderness of his memories until he glanced up to see that Zofia was crying.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“I know you didn’t. It’s alright.  I guess it just made me think. I too, have so many memories. There is so much that haunts me from the past. Sometimes my longings for what used to be are so strong that I almost can’t bear it.”

They walked in silence until they reached the stairs to her apartment building. She stopped.

“This is where I live.”

He
reluctantly released her hand and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Would you like to come and see my art work sometime? Perhaps we could even start your violin lessons.”

“I would like that.” She said

“Maybe tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow is fine.
”

“
Shall I come and call for you, tomorrow evening about seven?” He was gazing into her eyes. She felt the heat of his desire and it made her feel alive.

“Yes. Come tomorrow at seven. I’ll be waiting.”

“Seven then,” His hand still on her shoulder massaging.

“I’ll see you then.” She said
breaking free from his eyes and turning to go.

“Z
ofia…”

“Yes?”
she glanced back at him

“Thank you”

“For what?”

“For making this night the most special one I have had in a very long time.”

She looked away embarrassed, and then went into her building, turning quickly just once to see him standing and watching her go.

The following night Z
ofia went to Dovid’s apartment. His artwork covered the walls. In each piece, she felt the power of his emotions and the yearning for the world before Hitler. A canvas over the living room sofa was filled with Bright colors, joyful colors surrounding a carousel at sunset. Another featured children playing in an emerald forest, and another of lovers drinking wine at an outdoor café with red and white tablecloths and matching umbrellas their bodies leaning towards each other in intimate conversation. Then she saw Dovid’s self-portrait at the concert hall where he sat in front of a blur of a thousand faces playing his violin. Overhead the twinkling light of a chandelier like a thousand diamond crystals reflected in his eyes.  His face fully enraptured. If she stared long enough she felt as if she could almost see the trembling of his fingers and hear the haunting strains of melancholy notes as the bow reached its arm out to caress the strings.

“They’re beautiful
paintings.” She said.

“Thank you, they tell the story
of my life before Hitler.”

“Is this your child?” She ask
ed. It was a picture of a very young girl perhaps two or three smiling with only a single tooth.

“My
niece, I was there when she was born. My sister’s husband was my best friend. Their family lived a few blocks away from ours. When we were growing up, Yoseph and I played kickball, and walked to school together. Then as we got older, he and my sister began notice each other. And before I knew it, he was more interested in her than he was in me.” Dovid laughed. “Oh at the time I was so angry at both of them. I felt so betrayed. Of course, I got over it by the time they got married. In fact, I was Yoseph’s best man.  The night Issy was born, Yoseph and I sat smoking all the way until morning, together, in the waiting room.”

She smiled.

“It was early in the morning that she came, just at the crack of dawn. We looked outside at the sunrise and I remember confiding in Yoseph, that I doubted my turn would ever come.”

“Your turn?”

“Yes, my turn. My turn to find that special person who makes your heart beat just a little faster and then to marry her and if you are both very fortunate to be blessed with a house filled with children. Well, I was right…I never did get married or have children of my own. Hitler invaded before I had the chance. And then, everything changed. Now I wouldn’t want to bring a child into this mess.  So, I suppose that’s why Issy is so special to me. She is like my own daughter.”

“
You may love her and I have no doubt that you do. But, Dovid, there is nothing in this world like your own child. The feelings that you have for a child of your own blood are indescribable.” Zofia said crossing her arms over her chest and fighting the urge to cry.

He looked at her sharply.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not
offended. Just reminded of what has been stolen from me by the Nazi’s.” He said.

“I’m sorry Dovid.
Sometimes I am so thoughtless.  I should never have said that. I was selfishly thinking of my own problems.”

“You wanted children too?” He asked

She considered telling him about Eidel but decided against it.  She shrugged.

He saw the pain in her face and didn’t ask anything more
. Instead, he got up and took out his violin. “Would you like to hear me play?”

“
Yes… Yes…I’d love to.” It was a good way to change the subject and besides she did love music.

“Here sit down and I will play for you.” He said. They sat at a small kitchen table with two chairs.

She smiled at him. “I look forward to hearing you.” She said.

“I
’m sorry, I feel like a terrible host, but I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer. I can make a pot of coffee if you would like.”

“No thank you. I don’t want anything.” She smiled.

Dovid took the violin out of its case. He held it the way a man holds a woman he adores, fondling the glossy wood. Then he pulled the bow across the stings and began.
He played for a half hour. Painfully beautiful music filled the apartment. The tenderness in his hands and face moved her to tears. When he’d finished he looked up from the instrument his eyes locking with hers.