Another thing about Cook is he has started to make meals out of very odd things. Rather than the smoky flat meat that used to appear under the bookcase, he uses grains, and nettles that grow out of the walls in the corner of the small place. Luckily, Dad seems to have noticed and quite often gives me some of his meal, otherwise I’d be looking frightfully scrawny.
~~~~~*~~~~~
I predicted that in my possible last few weeks or days with Kitty, she would start writing soon. I was right. Just a couple of days ago she let go of Cook’s ladle, and grasped the chalk from the wall. It was like magic. Just one day before she wouldn’t dare to try something new and suffer the possibility of failure in front of her peers; the next day she managed to write a competent first sentence. To be more philosophical, it seemed like a small fishing boat that once had only stuttered along the shores (she had often watched Cook writing out his menus) had just ventured out into the deep oceans. What can I say? It’s one small step for my child, but a giant leap for a parent!
I just hope we’re out of here before she can start writing about the small, crumbling walls, most of which are draped tightly to cover the hollows containing our poor remnants of Jewish life; and the bookcase containing a few of our Jewish books, covered in dust and cobwebs, as though a solemn winter had swept darkly through for decades.
The uncertainty of the next few weeks have been hard to bear, and in some ways it’s a relief to be here now. It is terrible to have to ask the Rabbi to have to risk his life for us, but now it is done. No more decisions, no more conscience – searching. Just these four walls to contemplate now, no more than eight or so paces apart, and so low that anyone of average height would feel uncomfortable in it, fearful that any moment he might scrape his head against the scratchy, sharp and crumbling ceiling, half laden with yellowish dusty wallpaper.
Should my girl grow old in this place to the point of knowing what’s going on, why we’re being hunted or even the fact that we are, I would think myself the most wretched of creatures for forcing her to stay inside, as bad as our pursuers; keeping her captive because of who she was born to. But she must stay inside.
None of it matters now. I can hear them…
~~~~~*~~~~~
“Waiting for your command, Sergeant.”
“The girl looks reasonably healthy. Remove the others.”
