Free The End of Days by Helen Sendyk Page A

yard. A general meeting of the police force had been called. The staff from the municipal offices on the second floor was there as well. The tall skinny inspector was talking to the crowd that formed a circle around him. This was Friday, September 1, 1939, the day Germany declared war on Poland.
"Our country is at war," the inspector general solemnly said. "Our country has been at war before and has been briefly partitioned in the past. But Poland will never surrender to her western enemy. The greedy Germans will not be allowed to stomp their boots on our soil. Not one fistful of land will they conquer, not one centimeter will we surrender. We will defend our country, my comrades, with our bodies and souls. It is our homeland, our fatherland. We will reconquer what they try to steal from us. Our Pomorze is what Hitler wants. No, my dear patriots, we will not give up Pomorze. As a matter of fact, we have Gdansk right now. This is what I am proud to tell you. We have just received the news, the good news, my fellow Poles. Gdansk is in our hands. And so is Gliwice, my dear gentlemen."
A loud burst of applause followed, drowning out the rest of his words. All the faces were smiling. The meeting started to break up, yet no one was leaving the yard. People formed small circles, enthusiastically discussing the war. It was obvious that the Germans were losing. It was clear that the Ger-

 

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mans had no chance against our patriotic Polish army, which was fighting so gallantly.
Like field mice, Sholek and I were snooping around, attentively listening to all that was being said. Soon the officials got us busy running errands, as usual.
Someone prodded me. ''Here, Helcia. Go get me a krachel of orangeade. Since there is no vodka in your store, we shall be forced to celebrate with a krachel ."
Few, however, were satisfied to celebrate with soft drinks. They dispersed and went across the street to the tavern for some ninety-six proof. The occasion called for a bottle to be shared with friends. They sat around the table filling and refilling the glasses, laughing, enjoying, toasting the victory. Getting drunk always followed very good or very bad news. Today the mood was good, and the vodka flowed. This elated mood was not to last, however.
Before nightfall the windows were blacked out. At the Friday night meal, everyone was somber. Papa and Mama lamented Shlamek's absence and were worried about Vrumek not being home.
Heshek patiently tried to console Mama. "Vrumek is all right and will be home any day now. Believe me, Mama, he is safe in Bielsko." But Heshek did not sound too convincing.
The air in the blacked-out kitchen was stagnant; the light was dim. Nachcia, at Mama's side, tried to keep her composure. Papa hummed his zmiros quietly, mechanically, dutifully performing the Sabbath ritual he so dearly loved.
Suddenly the door opened, and in came Vrumek. An exhilarating scream of surprise and gratitude greeted him at the doorway.
"Thank God Almighty!" Papa uttered.
Mama wept. Nachcia, Sholek, and I jumped from our seats to hug him. Blimcia and Jacob made room for him to sit down. We all wanted to know how he was able to come home.
Weary and exhausted, Vrumek sat down at the table, but he was too tired to eat. He slowly began relating the events of the past few days.
"When Heshek left," he began, "I immediately realized

 

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that I made a mistake not to have gone home with him. I was all alone, and the news was not good. People were leaving Bielsko, afraid that the big industrial city would be bombed. The trains were being taken out of service for military purposes. Whoever had a car or wagon was lucky. But I had neither. I packed my suitcase and went down to the railroad station. There were no trains running. I waited with throngs of people throughout the night. Finally, late in the morning a train came. People crowded in, squeezing into the compartments. But the train wouldn't move; it slowly inched its way ahead.