Free Karolina's Twins by Ronald H. Balson

to hide a Jew, so if you are determined to go, I won’t stop you.’
    â€œI laid in that warm bathwater pondering what the Lord knows and what he doesn’t know. I recalled my religious classes. The tenets of our faith. Our God is an all-knowing and all-powerful God. He knows everything that has been and that will be. Such a concept now seemed improbable. If that were true, why do Nazis inhabit the earth? Aren’t they like scorpions, like adders, like the bugs that caused the plague? They seemed to me to be all the same, with no purpose but to spread evil and cause harm. Why would a good and just God allow such evil to roam the earth, and if God can right the ship, why is he asleep at the wheel? Lying in the tub, I rejected my faith. Logic demanded it.
    â€œI tried to clear my mind and think about happier times, about our peaceful life before the Germans invaded. Life in Chrzanów, life with my family, life with my friends. The bathwater seemed to draw all the tension from my body. I looked at myself lying in the tub. I had lost weight. It bothered me that my figure was losing its newfound curves.
    â€œI worried about my family. Where were they? Were they just in another part of Chrzanów? Had they been sent away? Who was the trespasser in Karolina’s bed? Where was my friend living now? I dreamed about joining them all again. There I am, sitting at Shabbat dinner. I hear Milosz’s laughter. Mother’s soup is delicious. Our house is warm and bright. I can feel the joy and all the love. The next thing I know, Mrs. Tarnowski is tapping me on my shoulder. ‘Lena? Lena? Are you sleeping?’
    â€œShe handed me a towel and a clean robe. I helped her make up a bed in a small storage room that sat at the end of the second-floor hall. I asked her, ‘Does Mr. Tarnowski deliver to the section where the Jews live? When he comes home, can I ask him if he’s seen my family?’
    â€œMy question hit a nerve. She shook her head and punctuated the absurdity of such a question with a ‘Ha!’ ‘Deliver to the Jews? Certainly not. Does he want to get shot? You think the Jews get deliveries of butter and milk? It’s against the law. These days Jews are fortunate if they get a loaf of bread. Me, the farmer’s wife? I don’t get deliveries of butter and milk. The Nazis, they take it all. You come from the city, don’t you see what’s going on?’
    â€œI nodded sadly.
    â€œâ€˜Willy delivers to the few customers he has left. The Nazis take ninety percent of what we produce. They come out here in their canvas trucks and raid my farm like a fox raids the henhouse. They don’t buy, they just take, and then they order Willy to deliver it all to them at their homes. I barely have a pat of butter left in my house. Child, they’ve taken over most of the Chrzanów factories—the lumber mill, the coal mine, the power plant, the bakery and, of course, the Shop. If your mother’s still in town, that’s probably where she is. Working at the Shop.’
    â€œâ€˜What shop?’ I asked.
    â€œâ€˜ The Shop. The old garment factory on Rzeka Street. Now they’ve tripled the size, with ten times as many workers, all sewing uniforms and coats for the Germans. The Jewish women that are still in town are working there. They work for meager wages. But Poles work there as well, because they need a job. They get paid based on how many coats they make. Since the Germans came to town there are lots of jobs. The Germans brag they brought full employment. Ha! Willy says I might have to work there if he loses any more customers. But I won’t work for the Germans.’
    â€œShe looked around the little storeroom where she’d made my bed. ‘I used to keep my linens in here. It’s not very large, but it will do for you.’ She smiled weakly. I knew my presence made her uncomfortable and she was doing her best. All in all, I was