test loyalty and root out those working against Hitler’s goals. It struck me that even this complicated situation in Sara’s apartment could be a ruse, set up to determine whether or not I was a sympathizer to prohibited activities.
Mateusz had told me to be paranoid, and in that moment, I truly was—but I was also wary of the sharpness in Sara’s gaze. All I could do was try to walk a fine line between maintaining her approval and saying and doing the things I knew I was supposed to do.
“You should not be hiding Jewish children in your apartment,” I said with conviction, intending to convince her that I believed it, just in case she’d set all of this up to trap me. But Sara’s eyebrows drew down, and her lips pursed. My answer displeased her immensely. Although I knew I’d done exactly what I was supposed to do, I hated that I had disappointed Sara. My cheeks grew hot, and I stood, suddenly desperate to retreat—away from the sick children and my dear friend who, it turned out, I didn’t really know at all. “I know the Jews aren’t dirty,” I blurted, and I dropped my voice low. “I know they are just people, just as we are. My family had many Jewish friends back in...where we came from. But I am scared for you. It is so dangerous for you to have Jewish children in your home, even overnight.”
“It is,” Sara conceded slowly, then she added, “Did you know that I had a child, a son?”
My eyes widened. Sara had never once mentioned her life before the war.
“You were married?”
“I was. I don’t speak about him because it hurts too much, but I think of him every day.”
“What happened?”
“His name was Janusz. He was three years old. He had my smile, my husband’s eyes... He was the best thing that ever happened to me. My mother was watching him that day—the very first day of bombing. I went to the hospital with my husband, who was a doctor, and we were tending to the wounded. Our apartment building was hit by a bomb, most likely within a few hours of me leaving. Mother’s injuries were awful—she surely died instantly. My son, though...” She broke off, her voice trembling. Sara drew in a shaky breath, then sipped at her tea and finally cleared her throat. “I couldn’t get back to our building because the roads were blocked, and the hospital was in such a state, and every time I tried to leave, someone would rush at me with another injured person and... I just kept telling myself that Janusz was with my mother and that they were certainly okay. But they weren’t okay, and when I finally got back to the apartment two days later, I saw that the building was destroyed. I will never forget the sight of him. Janusz was lying beneath a small beam. When I lifted it off him, I saw that he was lying in a pool of his own blood. He’d scratched at the beam for so long that he had worn the skin away on his fingers.”
“Oh, Sara...”
“The worst of it was that I know that part of Warsaw was flooded with people in the days he lay dying, because the building was on a major arterial road. Thousands of people walked right by him as they evacuated. Someone heard him crying—maybe many people did. I understand that the people who happened past were all rushing out of the city. I know that they were probably terrified and trying to save their own lives and their own families...but no one stopped. No one would put themselves at risk. And my baby died alone and terrified.” The tears in her eyes spilled over. She let them roll down her cheeks, but she met my gaze, daring me to face the full force of her pain. “He always cried for me when he hurt himself, Elz·bieta. In my heart, I know that he was crying and calling for me as he died. Maybe his very last thoughts were of the abandonment...wondering why I wasn’t coming to help him.”
“I am so sorry,” I said because, as useless as the words were, they were surely better than the stunned silence I was tempted to sit in.
“To know that my son suffered and he was alone and no one did anything to help him has changed me. It has driven me not just to madness but beyond