Chapter Twenty-Two

VLADEK AND I walk the streets together but not in a straight line. We decide to take the tunnel leading into the ghetto, a safer option than the sewer right now. He gives me his coat to cover up my dress and steers me through two back alleys to get there. The makeshift underground tunnel is forty-six meters long. It stretches from Muranowska 7 in the ghetto to the cellar of Muranowska 6 on the Aryan side—cut off from each other when the ghetto was sealed. I give Vladek twice what he demanded, to keep his mind off me for as long as I can once we enter the dark tunnel with no possibility of escape. When we reach the twenty-five-yard mark, he stops, angles his body toward me.

“A deal is...”

“Yes, I know.” My heart hammers in my ribs. I have done this too many times before. I do what I always do. I disassociate from my body completely, to prepare for what comes next.

He pushes me up against the rough surface of the narrow tunnel wall, kisses me hard and sloppy, thrusting a slobbery tongue deep inside my mouth. He feels the top of my dress, squeezes my breasts. His rancid breath becomes heavy, panting, and then he stops, looks into my lifeless eyes, and says, “What is your real story?”

Please, I think, opening my eyes and staring into his murky gaze, just get this nightmare over with. I don’t have time for chitchat.

But the smuggler wants to talk. “Your dress.” He touches the material. “It’s the exact type of dress my wife sews for wealthy, aristocratic women. Who are you really?”

His wife? The guilt is setting in, that’s what this is.

“I’m a teacher,” I answer with a half truth.

“A teacher...” He steps back, drops his hands limply to his sides, as though he is done pawing me. Is he done? “That’s admirable. Well, I was once a carpenter. I used to build things. And now...”

I try to keep my gaze steady. I don’t care about you or your wife. Just get me to the other side before we both get killed. And yet, this man feels the need to bare his dark soul. I command my face to soften up. “A carpenter? This must be very difficult for you.”

His forehead scrunches, as though pained by his new line of work. “These Jews. Not all bad, you know. I worked for one for years. Generous. Treated everyone equally. Gave me a large bonus every Christmas—triple time. He was that kind of Jew.”

Was,I think. We were all that kind of Jew once.

Then it dawns on me. Triple time Christmas bonus. Construction. A man who took pride in treating everyone as if they were the owner of the company. “Maksymilian Landau,” I whisper, bracing myself.

His mouth drops open, his eyes light up. “Yes, that’s him! You knew him?” His expression quickly changes. “I heard they killed him inside his home right in front of his family.”

I fight back the tears. This is the closest I’ve gotten to my father in nearly three years. “He was my father,” I respond, my voice breaking, and I can’t stop it.

“Your father?” The repentant smuggler bangs the side of the tunnel with his fist, puts his hand across his heart. “I’m sorry. For all this... and for that.” That. The kiss, the fondling, and what was about to come after. He hands me back the money I gave him. “Keep it.”

I stare at the stack of returned bills in my hands. Bribes, payoffs, so many things that it could be used for.

What would my father do? Then I see the baron’s cruel face rise in front of me.

“No, you keep it. You need it too,” I insist, feeling the soul of my father run through my veins. Nothing is for free, Bina, remember that. Never owe anyone anything. Every jewel coming out of this smuggler’s lopsided mouth is worth every damn zloty. “Just get me to the other side safely. That’s all I ask.”

No more words. No more touching. Just a quiet, careful trudge through the darkness, Vladek leading the way and the click-clack of my tight, painful shoes through the muck the only sound between us.