Elhanan’s impatience increased when he heard that the unit was to infiltrate Stanislav and blow up a military restaurant. Of course he volunteered. David hesitated. “You’re not up to it. You’re running a risk—emotion may take over. One precipitous move, one careless gesture, and the operation fails.”
More stubborn than ever, Elhanan argued that, on the contrary, his presence would be an asset. “Two men know this territory,” he said. “Itzik and I. We’ve been in Stanislav.
All right, I’ve never lived there, but I know my way around. I bet the military restaurant is on the main square. It may even be in the house where I spent my first night away from my family.” He argued with logic and passion, took care not to let himself get carried away, be overcome by the enthusiasm, the exaltation that flooded his heart. “Listen, David, you need somebody like me. Why are you holding me back?”
“You’re not yourself these days. I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be careful. I promise.”
He won Itzik’s support, and David gave way to their combined pressure. He was still worried, but he gave his consent.
The plan: Lianka and Elhanan would go down to Stanislav as scouts, reconnoitering and evaluating. Itzik and his group of ten—including two peasant girls, Lisa and Dora—would infiltrate alone or in pairs from different directions and converge on the square at six in the evening. With grenades, pistols and Molotov cocktails, they’d wait for Itzik’s signal to launch the attack. Problems: how to approach the target without attracting attention; how to make sure the restaurant wasn’t empty; how to coordinate the attack for maximum efficiency. Elhanan had an idea. “I remember a movie on the square—am I right, Itzik?”
“Right. I remember it too.”
“If we all stood in line for tickets?”
“A good idea—if the movie’s open.”
“If it’s closed we can stand in line at one of the stores.”
“How will we know?”
“Lianka and I are going in first. We’ll find a way to tell you.”
David approved the plan. Itzik and Elhanan shook hands, in perfect complicity.
Very early the next morning, two young villagers joined
the hundreds of peasants and workmen trooping into Stanislav. Their anxiety looked normal. What would this day bring? Lianka hardly spoke. She was like that, reticent, shy. Elhanan tried to cheer her up, but it was no use. Anyway, they had to stay alert. They spoke Polish badly. More precisely, they spoke a mixture of Russian and Ukrainian that might, in a noisy room, pass for Polish. Better to keep quiet and go unnoticed. Fortune smiled on them. There was no checkpoint at the entrance to town. The streets were crowded. There were lines forming at the municipal offices for ration cards and travel permits. Elhanan noticed the movie house. A large sign announced that it was reserved for German soldiers. Too bad; they’d have to find something else. The building next door: a hotel. Reserved for German officers. Across the street, a restaurant.
The
military restaurant for staff officers. On the ground floor. No guards. The Germans felt safe. From the partisans’ point of view, the unprotected target was ideal: they would only have to open a door or break a window, throw an incendiary bottle—thirty to sixty seconds and it would be all over. While the grenades blew, it would be easy to withdraw. To race out of town and head for the forest. But how to relay all this to Itzik? Lianka stopped in front of a shop and couldn’t suppress her excitement. “Look,” she said.
A notice like so many others. Distribution of sugar and flour for A-1 and D-3 coupons, from five to seven that evening.
“Bravo,” Elhanan said. “We’ll stand in line.”
And how would they keep busy until then? If they loitered, they’d be spotted.
“Shall we go to the ghetto?” Elhanan said.
“You’re crazy. You think you can go in and out just like that?”
“I know a secret passage.”
They found it. Was Elhanan excited? Overexcited. He wasn’t walking, he was flying. He dragged Lianka behind him, and she had to quicken her step. They might have been rushing to meet a vanished relative. Elhanan struck a match. Another. A third. He pushed at a manhole cover: they were outside again, free and clear.
Lianka asked, “Are you sure we’re in the ghetto?”
“What a question …” But he was suddenly struck by doubt: was this the ghetto? Then where were its inhabitants? Why this silence, why no living soul in sight? Where were the children, hollow-eyed with hunger, the mute, blind old people, the mad-eyed mothers—what night had engulfed them?
“I don’t understand,” he said. And then, “I’ll never understand.”
“I do,” Lianka said, her hand on her lips.
Immersed in his bitter, dark memories, Elhanan seemed so remote that Lianka shook him. “You look desperate, Elhanan. Let’s get out of here. If they see you they’ll know you’re a Jew; they’ll know by your face. Think about Itzik, about all the others and their fight, our fight.”
She dragged him into a dilapidated house. It smelled musty and seemed abandoned. Broken dishes, torn books, dirty clothes, were all that remained of one Jewish family’s treasures. Elhanan sank to the floor, and Lianka joined him. She grew older, Lianka did. Riper. Tender, infinitely tender.
“You have to forget, Elhanan,” she said, taking his hand.
“I can’t forget. I don’t want to forget. In my mind this ghetto was alive; now it’s dead. It’s as if I’d killed it myself.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. You know very well you had nothing to do with it. Make an effort. For now anyway you must forget. Otherwise you’ll be like Itzik: possessed. All he thinks about is revenge.”
“Are you judging him?”
“No. What right have I to judge him? But I’m not sure revenge is the answer.”
“Why wouldn’t it be? Why not punish murderers? Why not make their accomplices tremble?”
“I don’t know, Elhanan. Those are good questions. Ones that matter. But can I answer them? I may be young, but I’ve learned enough to be suspicious of avengers.”
“And justice, Lianka? Don’t you believe justice must be done?”
“Yes, I believe it must.”
“So? Isn’t the avenger a dispenser of justice?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?”
“I don’t know. I only know that I would never be able to kill a man in cold blood.”
“Even a murderer?”
Shaken, Lianka pleaded, “I can’t see myself as someone who puts people to death, kills unarmed men. Don’t force me to say things I don’t mean, Elhanan. Don’t.”
Touched, Elhanan broke off the conversation. They lay for an hour or two, or three, close together, giving each other courage. Outside it was springtime. In the distance there were trees; they could imagine the sun timidly exploring a cloud-streaked sky. Here in the ghetto there was a void, a strange void populated by ghosts. Desiccation. Dust. Ashes. Here life was extinct: what remained of a community carried off by a tempest?
“I wonder,” Elhanan said, “I wonder what’s happening in my hometown.”
“You’ll know soon. Don’t think about it. Think about now.”
“You’re tougher than I thought.”
Lianka bowed her head. “There’s a time for everything.”
Two young people abandoned by a world thirsty for blood, fire and hatred. Two mouths seeking each other. Two hearts open to each other’s pain. Two souls conversing, two memories calling, each to the other.
“When I was young,” Elhanan said, “I was not afraid of dying but of waiting for death.”
The hours passed, and the two partisans exchanged memories of childhood and times of trial, bound themselves together and shared secrets as if they were alone in the world, as in fact they were: the contours of the ghetto were the contours of their world, and that world had been drained of beauty and life. For how long? They did not know and had no way of guessing. They were the last Jews in Stanislav.
While they waited to go back to the main square, Feherfalu was ridding itself of its own Jews; but Elhanan and Lianka had no way of knowing that either. The ghetto in Feherfalu, invaded by Hungarian gendarmes and German officers, was evacuating its humble and unhappy inhabitants to an unknown destination, and Elhanan and Lianka could not know that.
Lianka was already an orphan. Elhanan had lost his father and was about to lose his mother, but the birds in the sky brought them no news of all that. Elhanan and Lianka had to cling to the present, to discover themselves in each other, to offer each other reasons for hope.
The afternoon seemed too long, yet suddenly too short. They were hungry and thirsty; exhausted. They would have liked to stay in that abandoned house with leprous walls until tomorrow, until the end of time. But they forced themselves onto their feet. A sense of duty? No, solidarity. Itzik and his men were already on the road. They would soon be in town and would look for their scouts.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Everything went according to plan. No one suspected them. It was almost five in the afternoon. There was still a line outside the shop. Elhanan and Lianka joined it. Other customers came along, but the two partisans made room for them. From where they were they could observe the hotel and the restaurant. German officers crowded into both. Thank you, Lord. Let them eat, let them drink, let them shout their joy as masters of the humble and the pure in heart. Let them celebrate their power. Their lust for it will soon die.
Soon was now. Itzik arrived, sauntering casually. With his cap half covering his eyes, he looked like a workman hurrying nowhere. Lisa and Dora emerged from the alleyway on the left, hand in hand. In less than twenty minutes the whole team was in place. Four partisans kept watch in the next street: they would cover the retreat.
Itzik was standing behind Elhanan and Lianka. He greeted the girl just like a flirt. She smiled at him and blushed. They whispered a few words that Elhanan heard. It was all quite clear. Two grenades through the open door: Lisa and Dora to toss them. Four incendiary bottles through the window. And we run. When? At six-fifteen sharp, when it won’t be hard to lose yourself in the crowd approaching the restaurant. The watch ticked, the shadows lengthened.
Now. Itzik casually slipped out of line and wandered toward the restaurant. He opened the door as if to take a peek inside. In the next instant a deafening roar shattered the main square. That’s for Vitka, Itzik shouted in Yiddish. Lisa and Dora were already at his side. A window opened and everything blew up at once. It was like a bombardment, a barrage of shellfire. Furniture flew through the air, shards of glass carpeted the sidewalk. Elhanan thought, Ha! How
easy it is to destroy! Shouts in German, in Polish. Men firing blindly. People running every which way. Police shouting. Germans issuing orders that no one understood. Time to regroup, and the partisans were already in a dark alley behind the square. They left town running, breathless. Suddenly Itzik cried, “Elhanan! Where the hell has he gone?”
Elhanan had been left behind. Dead? Wounded? Taken prisoner?
“I saw him two minutes ago,” Lianka said.
“What held him up?”
Impatient voices rose. “He’ll make out all right. He knows the area. There’s not a minute to lose.”
“I’ll wait for him,” Lianka said.
Itzik hesitated. Could he abandon his friend for the sake of his unit? Itzik was torn. Meanwhile the debate intensified. But Elhanan’s return put an end to it. He was out of breath but satisfied.
“Let’s pull out,” Itzik ordered.
The sky was darkening now. Here and there a door opened a crack to see who was defying the police and the night. The townspeople had no idea that these were Jewish partisans; they thought it was the secret army, the Armia Krajova. “Good luck, men!” shouted a few old patriots. At last the partisans were sheltered by the forest. But Itzik allowed no respite. Hurry, he told them, panting. Hurry: only that would save them. After what seemed hours of running they reached camp, where David greeted them, almost mad with worry.
Itzik asked Elhanan, “Can I see you alone for a minute?”
“Of course.”
“Tell me. Why did you stay behind?”
Elhanan’s face clouded. “I’d rather you didn’t ask me that.”
“You endangered the whole group. I must know.”
Elhanan rubbed his brow and thought. “Some other time, Itzik.”
“Now.” Itzik was angry. “Why did you endanger us all for no reason?”
“I didn’t realize,” Elhanan said, contrite. “It was a stupid impulse.… I wanted to—”
He broke off, but Itzik pressed him: “You wanted to what? You tell me, or next time I won’t trust you.”
Elhanan did not reply immediately. Why this sadness within? His friend’s confidence and affection meant so much. “All right. I don’t know how to tell you. I saw the grenades go off. I heard the wounded men shrieking. And I suddenly felt a crazy desire to go right up to the window and look inside, and see these killers laid out, flat on the floor, see them wounded, whimpering in pain, calling for help. Well, I saw them. Mutilated. Their faces twisted. I thought about the ghetto we visited once—do you remember?—and I was furious, and I pulled my pistol and fired into the whole bunch, roaring like a madman, ‘That’s for the ghetto! And that’s for my uncle! And that’s for all the Jews you persecuted, humiliated, starved, assassinated!’ “ A sigh prevented him from talking.
Itzik took him by the shoulders. “You stayed behind for that? For revenge?” Itzik was happy. He was proud of his friend. “Bravo, Elhanan! Bravo a thousand times! I underestimated you. Let’s have a drink.” And he dragged Elhanan into David’s tent, where they were all celebrating their victory.
But Elhanan couldn’t swallow anything.
F
ather and son often strolled the sidewalks of New York, exploring exotic neighborhoods and meeting colorful characters: a synagogue for black Jews in Harlem; a Chinese restaurant whose customers spoke Yiddish; Times Square and its passersby lost in the neon maze; the Village and its too rich or too poor street people in search of money, pleasure, danger; Brighton Beach with its Russian cabarets and cafes; a square for the lonely and uprooted, a forum for visionaries; a restaurant for jazz-lovers, a movie for jazzhaters. Malkiel knew the big city as well as his father had known his hometown.