Jim - Eight.

Jim

I was in Dr. Kaminski’s house when Bartie came running. The doctor had called me over in the morning, to take stock of our medical supplies before we asked anything of Erich. But I had barely been there twenty minutes when the front door crashed open. I flew with Dr. Kaminski to the entryway, where the twelve-year-old was already speaking in rapid, panicked Polish to the rabbi. The doctor, of far sounder mind, broke in and exchanged a few more hushed, worried words with Bartie. The kid, Bartie Markovic, was a runner for the Underground, and the son of the man the Nazis had killed on my first day. He was smart and quick on his feet, and Peter and Hersch had a soft spot for him, kept him well fed and safe as well as they could.

He dashed back out the door after only a few seconds. Dr. Kaminski turned back to me and yelled something to the others, looking more panicked than I had ever seen him. The sight made me freeze up with dread. In the next room, I heard the other elders shouting in Polish and rushing around the room. “What?” I demanded in a strangled voice, “what did Bartie say?”

The doctor seemed to have practically forgotten I was there. He looked even more rattled when he remembered. “Dietrich has called a lockdown. All Jews back to their homes.” I followed him at a run back to the kitchen. He turned back towards the table full of antibiotics and medicine, sweeping them all back into his bag in one flailing motion.

“But what does it mean?” I asked, knowing how terrified I sounded. I moved to help him with the bag, but he put me off.

He wouldn’t answer. “You must return to the hideout. They will sweep this house the same as the others. They must not find you here. We all will die if you are found here. I am sorry!” There was no tunnel out of the elder’s house. I would have to go outside. Paralyzed with fear, I didn’t move right away. “Go! Before they are inside the ghetto! There is a tunnel entrance in the house across the street!” He gave me push towards the door, and I dashed blindly into the street.

There couldn’t have been any soldiers on the street, or I would be dead now. Not that I would have seen them if there had been any. The ten seconds I took to sprint across the street were a bright, cold blur. I burst through the door of the house, where two families sat huddled against the staircase. Everyone knew something bad was coming. They shrieked and shrunk back when I exploded into their house, obviously expecting something much worse. I didn’t have time to explain.

“Korytarz?” I demanded, butchering the word the word the Jews used for the tunnels. “Korytarz?” At least one woman understood me, pointing a shaking hand towards the back of the house. I dashed down the hall and into a kitchen. I’d seen enough of the tunnels by now to know where most families hid their doors. I shoved the heavy table back and found the latch under the floorboards. Once I dropped into the tunnel, I heard someone push the table back. I took the ladder rungs two at a time and hit the frozen ground of the tunnel running.

I had no light, still not comfortable enough in the tunnels to know exactly where I was going. I couldn’t get my bearings. I tried to remember the layout of the street above, the direction to Hersch’s from Dr. Kaminski’s house. Racing through the darkness, the dread began building up in my chest. I could only hear my own panicked breathing and my feet hitting the ground. There were ladders every few yards, but every one of them was sealed at the top. I felt like the walls were closing in on me. Dark, so dark. What was happening? Why were the soldiers on the streets? Was someone caught? Was someone dead? The lump in my throat choked me as I tore blindly around the tunnels.

“Jim!” Hersch’s voice behind me felt like a miracle. “This way!”

“Hersch!” I stopped and let him catch up. My knees were clicking and creaking, still protesting sudden movement two years after the break. Hersch didn’t stop for me, so I had to keep running. “Hersch, what the hell is going on?”

We really weren’t that far from the hideout. At the next corner, a dim light flowed down into the tunnel. Hersch’s place was the only spot where the entrance hadn’t been sealed for the lockdown. At the base of the ladder, Hersch stopped to explain.

“Dietrich instated lockdown after he killed Katarzyna, when I cut up his face and killed the other one.” Hersch was breathing hard from the running, but he imparted this information with shockingly little emotion. I had let myself forget about that, that Hersch had killed one solider and almost killed another. “He sends all the soldiers in, to corral us in when there’s trouble.”

Slowly, I put together something important. Dietrich, instigator of the liquidation and Erich’s monstrous commanding officer, was the Nazi Hersch had cut up. I didn’t have time to be annoyed with his withholding of this apparently crucial information. “What kind of trouble?”

Hersch was on the ladder now. Despite my shaky legs, I followed him. “The kind I caused. When someone attacks a soldier.”

Rebecca was in the room. I heard her call out as Hersch pulled himself out of the hole. “Herschel?” She rushed over to the ladder and grabbed his hand, pulling him out and hugging him. When she let him go, Hersch turned back to the ladder and pulled me up. “James!” She threw her arms around me, too. I hadn’t told Hersch anything about Rebecca yet, but that was the furthest thing from my mind.

“Is Peter here?” Hersch asked hurriedly.

Rebecca shook her head. “No, he will have to be accounted for like everyone else.” Peter didn’t have the benefit of being invisible.

“Gabe?” Hersch added.

“No,” Rebecca answered, looking worried. “I do not know where he was today. I do not think he left Peter’s.” She sat agitatedly at the table, rubbing her forehead. “I heard a shot down the street. Do you know who it was?”

Hersch sat down next to her, shaking his head. “No, I haven’t heard,” he answered quietly. I sat down on the couch, squeezing my aching knees. Suddenly Hersch pushed his glasses up and focused on Rebecca. “You said a shot?” Rebecca nodded. He was quiet for a second. “It was Peter.”

“What?” I hissed. Peter may have been the most unpredictable guy around, but that didn’t mean he was the killer. “Why?”

Hersch ran his fingers through his hair nervously, grimacing. “Hardly anyone here has a gun. There is a weapons stockpile that no one touched for two years, in case the Resistance ever returned. Only Rebecca and I had guns on us for a long time. You and Gabe have them. You didn’t do this, and I’m willing to bet Gabe didn’t either.” He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes with one hand. “But I gave Peter one last week, one of the pistols Erich brought us.”

“But how do you know?”

Hersch looked up angrily, getting impatient with me. “Look, either Peter shot, or a soldier shot!”

I understood what he meant, now. He wanted Peter to have been the one who shot. The only way both Peter and Gabe could still be alive was if a soldier was dead. The thought sent ice pumping through my veins. “We should be over there,” I said impulsively. “If they’re hurt or captured, we should be over there!” Hersch looked at me as if I were an idiot, but didn’t say anything. I knew what he was thinking. The streets were crawling with Nazis, and he couldn’t risk getting caught or killed, too, especially if Peter was gone. But I couldn’t fathom that we would just hide underground, waiting to find out if Peter or Gabe had been shot. I looked at Rebecca, who was staring nervously at the door. “Berezovsky is out there. Gabe is out there! They… they would come for us, if we were the ones out there!”

At that, Hersch narrowed his eyes and glared at me. “Peter wouldn’t.” I remembered, now. Peter had been the one holding Hersch back, when they could hear the soldiers killing Kasia. He cared about the Resistance that much. And here I could barely stand still, when all we knew was that a shot had been fired down the street.

Rebecca looked pityingly at me. “James is not Peter,” she muttered to Hersch.

“Peter,” Hersch interjected, “can take care of himself.”

“I damn sure can!”

The unmistakable thickly-accented English came from the ladder below the floor. All three of us rushed to the hole to the tunnel, where Peter and Gabe were clambering to the surface. I felt about relieved enough to cry. “Berezovsky!” Hersch grabbed Peter by the wrist and helped him into the room. “You had better have stood for count, damn it. They’ll be looking for you.”

Peter stomped over to the table. “You think I am stupid? They came as soon as they found the body. But I had time to be clean, and to hide that one.” He motioned towards the hole, where Gabe was still struggling up. Rebecca and I each took an arm and hoisted him up. He looked like a mess, all pale and shivering. There was blood on his shirt cuffs and he smelled like he’d thrown up.

“Gabriel! Oh my god!” Rebecca exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth.

We led him over to the sofa, where he sat down with his head in his hands. “What the hell happened, Moretti?” I sat down next to him while Rebecca grabbed the quilt and draped it over his shoulders. It was not the right moment to think so, but I was glad she hadn’t paid any attention to Peter. Gabe didn’t answer.

“He helped me move him.” I realized now that, while Peter was trying to appear casual, his voice was a little shaky and he couldn’t sit still. “That is the blood.”

Hersch rubbed his eyes in frustration, then pounded on the table. “Goddamn it, Berezovsky! You dragged a goddamn body down they street?”

Peter looked indignant. “I had to! I dropped him next to the shop! Did you want them to find a dead soldier in my front yard?”

“I don’t want you to have dead soldiers around at all! F**k, Berezovsky! What were you thinking?”

Hersch had been yelling so loud, none of us heard the footsteps in the hall until Erich barreled through the door. “Where the f**k is he?” he roared, practically yanking the door off its hinges. I could feel us all collectively shrink back. Erich was in half-uniform, no hat, long coat unbuttoned, boots untied. He’d rushed right over. “Someone tell me what the hell is going on! I’ll murder Berezovsky, I swear to God.” He didn’t seem to notice Peter was sitting right next to us. “Do you have any idea…” his eyes fell on the huddled mass of Gabe on the couch. When he turned back to us, I swear his eyes were on fire. “What the f**k did you do to him!?” He practically shook the room. I don’t know I had seen anyone so angry, ever.

“Keep your goddamn voice down. You’ll bring the soldiers down on us,” Hersch hissed.

Erich turned coldly back to him. “F**k you.” He was next to Gabe on the sofa immediately. I think he must have forgotten everything except for Gabe right then, forgot to pretend he wasn’t queer even. I had never seen anything quite like it. “What happened? Are you alright?” he asked in a voice so low I had to strain to listen. How could one guy be so loud and so quiet? Gabe didn’t answer him. “Hey,” he put a hand on Gabe’s face. “Hey, look at me.” Gabe still wouldn’t. He just kept looking down at his hands and the blood on his shirt. Erich glanced over his shoulder at us, his mouth pressed into a hard, angry line. He didn’t want to do this in front of us, but he had to. “Come here,” he growled, sounding frustrated and worried at the same time. He grabbed Gabe by the shoulders and held onto him hard. Gabe still wouldn’t say anything, but he clutched at Erich, held a corner of his coat in his fist. My face went hot and I looked away. I didn’t want to look at that. Peter gave an exasperated groan, and I wondered how he possibly wasn’t seeing what the rest of us saw. Erich murmured something into Gabe’s shoulder. I heard, “you’re safe.” I heard, “kamerad.” I wondered if Erich would’ve kissed him if we weren’t there.

            “Amery, maybe not now,” Hersch said nervously, glancing uncertainly from Erich to Peter. He knew he had to contain the situation, and Erich wasn’t helping.

            Peter had had enough. “I don’t have time for this,” he growled. He scowled at them, but his face was twitchy, blinking too much, drumming his fingers on the table. He was better at hiding it, but he was as shaken up as Gabe.

            Erich glared up at him, standing back up. He had to grab Gabe’s hands to get him to let go. “You,” he seethed, advancing at Peter. “You shut your mouth, and listen for once. Do you have any goddamn idea what you’re putting me through here? I have got a man I knew pretty well with his brains blown out. I’ve got Dietrich asking why do the Jews have our guns! I’ve got him �" ” Erich gestured towards Gabe, but broke off and collected himself. “Now tell me what the hell you did.” Scary as loud angry Erich was, quiet angry Erich made me feel like I was about to die even when he wasn’t talking to me.

            Peter stood up too, his face all screwed up and his nostrils flared, facing down Erich even though he barely came up to his nose. “I shot him,” he hissed unapologetically. “He came to my home, and he pointed a gun at us, so I shot him.”

            “What were you even doing, Peter?” Rebecca asked, snarling at him as she took Erich’s place next to Gabe.

            “It does not matter.”

            I wanted to say something, but Erich was standing next to me now and I was too petrified of having my head torn off to speak. Hersch, luckily, agreed for me. “She’s right. You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile! I mean, s**t, Peter, why would you do this?”

             “You know we’re not supposed to kill you, right?” Erich added angrily. “Dietrich has us on orders to take anyone who knows about the Resistance. No one was going to kill you!”

            Peter gave a low growl before bursting: “Goddamn it, none of you can hear me, can you? I do not need a reason to kill Nazis. Understand? Every one of them is as bad as Dietrich! Every one we kill now is one that won’t be shooting at us when it comes to a fight!”

            He was standing a little too close to Erich at the end of that statement. Without even looking at him, Erich’s arm shot out and he seized Peter by the front of his shirt, slammed him face up on the table. Hersch started forward at them, but I felt unqualified to break it up. “You listen to me, you b*****d. There are �" don’t f*****g try!” Peter had made a move for the knife in his boot, but Erich kicked it out of his hand. Hersch watched with a look of concern, but didn’t try to stop it. “There are some good goddamn men in my unit, see? Half of them don’t want to be here. Some of them are trying to help you. Maybe six are part of the firing squad, but Hochberg wasn’t one of them.” He grabbed Peter by with his other hand too, lifted him to his feet by his collar. “I swear to God,” he seethed, “if you ever say we’re all like Dietrich again.” He didn’t finish his threat, but instead he let go of Peter and let him drop to the floor, to prove his point.

            Erich turned disgustedly away from him, but by now Peter was spitting mad. “You think I give a f**k,” he fumed, “who wants to be here? Who does not always kill Jews?” He spat in Erich’s direction. “You are here, and you wear the uniform, and none of you are any better than him.” Erich lurched towards him again, but this time Hersch had time to grab him.

“None of you, none of you,” Peter hissed in Hersch’s direction, “were here for the first liquidation. Those same men marched through the wall and read off a goddamn list the names of the families they were taking away. They lined us up in the street and put our people on a train. Our elders, our women, our men, our kids. Half the people we grew up with, Hersch, gone. Sent to Chełmno to starve or die some other way.”

Up until then, Peter had kept the table between him and us, gripping the edge like it was a podium and he was a preacher or something. Now he unclenched his hands and walked slowly towards Erich. “So it does not matter to me which of them wanted to do it. They all did it. Any of you will kill any of us when you are told to. You would all do what Dietrich does.”

Erich looked ready to hit him. I had never seen Erich just look like he wanted to hit someone, because he never hesitated to hit someone. He didn’t hit Peter, though. He pushed Hersch’s arm down, and took a step towards Peter, but he didn’t start a fight. “I wouldn’t,” he said with livid conviction.

“You would,” Peter snarled. “You will.”

There was a finality in his tone that told me he was done fighting. He stared Erich down for another second before snatching his knife off the ground and stalking towards the trap door. I thought Erich would go after him, but he seemed too exhausted to keep fighting.

“Hey, we’re not done here, Berezovsky!” Hersch called after him as he lowered himself into the tunnels.

“Let him go,” Erich grumbled, jamming his fists into his pockets kicking at the leg of the table. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. I’m supposed to be running checks on the lockdown.” He felt defeated by Peter, I could tell, and he wanted to get out of there.

Rebecca stood up and followed him to the door. “Alright, wait,” he insisted, holding onto his arm. Good, maybe she would do a better job of controlling this madness than Hersch did. “You say Dietrich is asking about the guns?”

Erich heaved a sigh, rubbing his temple. His hand was all wrapped up, I noticed. Had he been fighting? He shouldn’t have been fighting with that bad hand. “Yeah, yeah he is. He figured it out right away. Since you’re not supposed to be armed at all, he figures you can only be getting guns from us.” He sounded so tired. “But I can keep bringing them in. He doesn’t know it’s me.”

“Hey,” Hersch took a few steps to join them at the door. I took Rebecca’s spot next to Gabe, handed him a cup of water so it would look like I had something to do. I was always the spectator in this kind of thing. “Just hold off on the guns for a while, huh?”

Erich snorted and shrugged with his palms up. “Hersch, if you don’t have guns, you don’t have an uprising. You need the guns.”

“But…”

“But what?” Erich really didn’t see what Hersch was saying.

“But we need you more, alright?” Hersch said, sounding more exasperated than he probably meant to. He softened immediately. “I mean, we’re not out to get you killed, friend.” He looked to me for consensus, and I nodded. Erich wasn’t just a valuable part of the operation; he was our friend. I wasn’t sure if we had ever made that clear enough.

Erich, of course, was never the biggest fan of demonstrations of emotion. He rubbed his bad hand in that nervous way of his, looking down at his feet. “Take care of him, yeah?” he said quietly, nodding towards Gabe with his eyes still on the ground. “I would stay, but Dietrich… See if he can tell you what happened,” he amended.

Rebecca looked at Hersch and nodded. “We will.”

It was all quiet for a second. Erich had this look on his face like he wanted to say something else, scratching at the back of his neck with his mouth all tight. But he didn’t say anything. He turned away from them, but he stopped by couch where Gabe and I were still sitting, next to the door. Though he was far too close to me for comfort, Erich reached out and touched the top of Gabe’s head, just stroked his hair a little. I wished so hard that I could just disappear. I always felt like I was seeing something I wasn’t supposed to see, when it came to those two. It was clear that Erich wanted to provoke some kind of response from Gabe, snap him out of his shock, but Gabe didn’t move. With a sigh that made his shoulders fall, Erich walked out the door.

Once he was gone, Rebecca came over and sat between Gabe and me. Hersch followed her, though he didn’t seem to know quite what to say. Rebecca could always take care of Gabe, though.

“Gabriel, can you talk to me?” she asked softly, rubbing the back of his neck. He still didn’t say anything. “Why don’t you come lie down, and I will wash this shirt, yes?”

Finally, Gabe looked up from his bloody sleeves. His eyes were moist, but he wasn’t quite crying. Somehow the whole fight that just happened in front of him had only just hit him. The first thing he said in all that time wasn’t for me, or Rebecca, or Hersch, or anyone who was really there in front of him. He responded to what Peter had said, ages ago, about Erich.

“He wouldn’t,” Gabe sniffed. “He won’t.”