“I... I was just... It was...”
For once in my chatty young life, I was completely lost for words. I kept glancing between Sara and Mateusz, trying to figure out how to draw the strands of my two falsehoods together. Was there some way I could explain this to Mateusz without betraying to Sara that I was not supposed to be in her apartment?
If there was, I couldn’t think of it.
“Ah, is the package from Piotr? Thank you, Mateusz. This will be the extra sugar I asked him to find for me,” Sara said, leaning past me to take the parcel from Mateusz’s hand. But then she turned her attention to me, and she correctly read the strained silence, then said lightly, “But...young Elz·bieta, were you not supposed to be here?”
I felt my face flame hot, and the air in Sara’s small entryway felt too stale. I panicked, pushed past Mateusz and ran back to my room.
* * *
“What were you thinking, Elz·bieta?”
“I don’t know.”
“But why would you do this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you not understand how risky it is for you to disobey us?” Truda cried, her hazel eyes shining with unshed tears. “After everything we have done for you, why would you betray us like this?”
Truda’s dramatics did not move me, although I was well aware that beneath the histrionics lay a kernel of unavoidable truth. When Truda, Mateusz and I first left our village of Trzebinia, we traveled to the city of Lodz. At that stage Mateusz hadn’t seen his brother in years, but we were desperate, and we had nowhere else left to turn. Uncle Piotr’s foreman at his factory in Lodz explained that Piotr was setting up a new business in Warsaw, and so on we went, until we found him here, living in a hotel. I’d stayed in hotels with my real father several times before the war began, but I’d never known anyone rich enough to live in one. As soon as we found Uncle Piotr in that hotel, he accepted me as his niece and changed his entire life without question—renting an apartment for us all to share, and somehow magically sourcing false identity papers for me to ensure I could be safe here.
We didn’t even know if I needed to live under a false identity, but Uncle Piotr was determined. “If there is any risk at all, it is better to adopt a false name,” he assured us, and then he made it happen.
Mateusz found work with an accounting firm, but his wages were minimal, and I was aware that Uncle Piotr had been supporting us ever since we arrived. Disapproval from Truda and Mateusz stung, but Uncle Piotr’s disapproval felt like a soul-deep ache. He was a jovial sort, always quick with a smile or to whip out the vodka to celebrate or commiserate. I’d never seen him angry before. I didn’t realize he was capable of it. But there he was, staring at me over the rim of his wire-framed glasses, his jaw set tight.
I was deeply embarrassed as I crossed my arms over my chest and tucked my chin in as if to make myself smaller. I felt like I had been blushing for the entire hour since Mateusz had caught me out. The scolding lasted for about the same length of time.
“Sara said that you have been visiting her almost every day for weeks. If you want a friend, I’ll arrange for you to play with Katarzyna!” Truda exclaimed. Katarzyna was the twelve-year-old daughter of one of Mateusz’s colleagues. She was nice enough, but to me, she seemed bewilderingly dull and immature.
“Katarzyna is boring,” I exclaimed impatiently. “She is a child!”
“You are a child,” Mateusz pointed out, mild and calm as always, even as his gaze told me he was just as frustrated as Truda and Uncle Piotr.
“A person doesn’t stare into the dead eyes of their brother and remain a child. A person doesn’t watch their innocent father die before the eyes of their entire community and remain a child.”
For just a moment, the adults all stared at me in silence, the scolding stuttering to a stop as they looked upon me with sudden pity.
“We barely know Sara,” Truda added, her tone softening. “Just because you like her doesn’t mean you should trust her.”
“I agree that Katarzyna would be a more sensible choice for Elz·bieta, but I also want you to know that Sara is no threat to us,” Uncle Piotr interjected cautiously.
“With all respect, Piotr—” Mateusz began, but Uncle Piotr shook his head and spoke over him.
“Believe me, Sara is too well regarded to be working with the Germans. She’s a kind, generous woman—a nurse, who works with the Department of Social Welfare and Public Health.”
“She is my friend. She has been teaching me so much, even about...” In my determination to defend Sara, I had been about to say that she had been giving me anatomy lessons, but when I met Truda’s eyes, it suddenly occurred to me that my adoptive mother might not be so excited about that. “About knitting. And cross-stitch.”
“I am sorry, Elz·bieta. I can see you have become very fond of Sara, but you have disobeyed us, and you’ve betrayed our trust. You simply must respect our wishes,” Mateusz said slowly.
I pushed my chair back from the table and stood. I wasn’t even sure why I was so heartbroken, but the thought of losing the one thing in my life that I could control was utterly devastating. And so, I did what most teenagers do when they are embarrassed and ashamed and disappointed and frustrated: I lashed out at the people who cared about me the most.
“I hate you! Both of you. You’ve ruined my life! I wish—”
“Emilia,” Uncle Piotr said flatly, and the sound of my real name was so rare that it startled me into silence. When I looked at him, his expression softened just a little. “Allow me to give you some advice, child. Never say things in anger that you will regret in calm. Take yourself to your bedroom, and let me speak to Truda and Mateusz.”
I left the room, tears prickling my eyes. I threw myself on my bed, all sorts of hotheaded thoughts running through my mind. I contemplated running away but dismissed this thought. I thought about sneaking out to visit Sara anyway, then dismissed this thought, too. I could tell from Truda’s and Mateusz’s reactions that my brief periods of freedom had come to an end.
And soon enough, my frustration and embarrassment gave way to new emotions: shame and regret. Truda and Mateusz hadn’t ruined my life, they had saved it, and if anything, in doing so they had ruined their own. My father was executed right in front of our village at the start of the war. That same day, Truda and Mateusz took me into their family. Trzebinia, like the rest of our great country, had become a difficult place to live, but despite the circumstances my adoptive parents had carved out a relatively comfortable existence for themselves, even through the war. Like Uncle Piotr, Mateusz had inherited a textiles factory from their father, and he earned a tidy income through it. Our home in Trzebinia was large and beautiful, our friends warm and plentiful.