“Come to Lvov and we’ll start over,” Adam wrote. “Bella found a way. You will too. And then we’ll bring your parents, and Mila.” Start over. It sounded promising, even romantic, despite the circumstances. Halina was sure now that she and Adam would soon be married. She was also certain, however, that her conscience wouldn’t let her desert her parents and sister in Radom, however uncomfortable the living conditions might be.
For weeks Halina told herself that Lvov was out of the question. But that changed when she received a letter from Adam, asking her to meet a colleague at the steps of Radom Czachowski Mausoleum at a particular time on a particular day. She’d gone with a quiver in her gut, and it was then that she learned that Adam had been recruited to the Underground. “He’s already earned a reputation as the best counterfeiter in Lvov,” his colleague said—he hadn’t offered his name, and Halina never asked. “He wanted you to know, and asked that you come to Lvov. I think the trip would be worth your while,” he’d added, before disappearing down Ko?cielna Street. This must have been the “news” Adam mentioned, which of course he couldn’t share in writing. It didn’t surprise Halina. Adam was the most meticulous person she’d ever met. Flawless, she remembered thinking, when he first showed her one of his architectural drawings—a rendering of a railroad station lobby. His lines were clean and modern, his aesthetic perfectly practical. “I try to design ‘free of untruths,’” he’d said, quoting the famed modernist, and his idol, Walter Gropius.
With this news, Halina decided she would go to Lvov. She would have made the journey alone, but her cousin Franka wouldn’t allow it. “I’m coming with you,” she declared, “whether you want me to or not.” Their parents were fearful about the journey, understandably so. According to Jakob’s letters, her brother Genek had disappeared from Lvov one night at the end of June. Selim was still nowhere to be found. Radom was miserable, her parents admitted, but at least they were together, and accounted for. And anyway, with Jewish civilian travel illegal—punishable by death according to the decree—it seemed far too risky. But Halina vowed to find a way to get to Lvov safely, and promised she wouldn’t stay long. “Adam says he can get me a job,” she said. “I’ll return to Radom in a few months with enough cash and ID cards to help us breathe a little easier. And with Adam’s help,” she added, “I might be able to find some answers about what’s happened to Genek and Herta, and to Selim.” Once Halina had made up her mind to go, Sol and Nechuma acquiesced; there wasn’t any point in trying to sway her otherwise.
The water has crawled to her thighs. Halina curses, wishing she’d been blessed with Franka’s height. Damn, it’s cold. If it gets much deeper she’ll be forced to swim. She and Franka are good swimmers—they learned together one summer at the lake, taught by their fathers—but this water is nothing like the beautiful water at Lake Garbatka. This water is January-cold, jet-black, and running fast. To swim it would be treacherous. They’d risk hypothermia. And the basket—would it stay dry? Halina thinks again of the money, of what it had taken for her mother to scrape together the fifty zloty. All the more reason to get to Lvov, to replenish our savings. The cold is nothing, she tells herself. It’s all part of the plan.
They’d stayed the night before in the town of Liski with the Salingers, family friends whom Halina had first met at the fabric shop some ten years ago. Mrs. Salinger was the only woman Halina knew who could sit and talk for hours about silk. Nechuma adored her and looked forward to her visits, which Mrs. Salinger made twice a year before the shop was closed.
The small town of Liski sits fifteen kilometers from the Bug River, the designated dividing line between German-and Soviet-occupied Poland. Mrs. Salinger told Halina and Franka that the bridges over the river were manned on either side by soldiers, and that the safest way to cross was to wade through the water. “The river is narrow, and we’ve heard the water is shallowest at Zosin,” Mrs. Salinger explained. “But Zosin is swarming with Nazis,” she warned, “and the river runs fast. You must be careful not to fall. The water is freezing.” Mrs. Salinger’s nephew had made the same trip in reverse just the week before, she said. “According to Jurek, after you cross, you can follow the river south to Ustylluh and hitch a ride to Lvov.”
That morning, Mrs. Salinger had filled Halina and Franka’s basket with a small loaf of bread, two apples, and a boiled egg—“a feast!” Halina had exclaimed—and whispered, “Good luck,” kissing the girls on their cheeks as they left.
Halina and Franka used back roads to walk to Zosin to avoid being spotted and questioned by German soldiers, trying not to think too much about what would happen if they were caught without an ausweis, the special permission slip needed in order to travel outside one’s village. The journey took nearly three hours. They arrived in Zosin at dusk and prowled the riverbank for the narrowest stretch of water they could find, then waited until dark to begin the crossing.
The portion of the river they chose is no broader than ten meters; Halina guesses that they are nearly halfway to the far bank. “Still okay?” she asks, bracing herself with her stick as she turns again to look over her shoulder. Franka has begun to fall behind. She looks up for a moment and nods, the whites of her eyes jerking up and down in the moonlight. As Halina returns her attention to the liquid abyss in front of her, she catches a flash in her periphery. A tiny flash of light. She freezes, staring hard in the direction from which it came. It disappears for a moment, but then she sees it again. A prick. Two pricks. Three! Flashlights. In the trees to the east, lining the field on the opposite side of the river. They must belong to Soviet soldiers. Who else would be out in the cold this time of night? Halina looks to see if Franka has noticed, but her cousin’s chin is pinned to her chest as she struggles to navigate the river. Halina listens for voices but can hear only the steady rush of moving water. She waits another minute, deciding at last not to say anything. It’s nothing to panic about, she tells herself. Franka doesn’t need distracting. They’ll be across soon, and once on dry land they can lie low, wait for the owners of the flashlights to pass.
Underfoot, the mud of the riverbed gives way to rocks, and after a few steps, it feels as if Halina is walking on marbles. She contemplates turning back, looking for a better, shallower place to cross. Perhaps they could return tomorrow, or on a rainy day, when the clouds are thicker, when they are better camouflaged. But what’s the point? It doesn’t matter where they cross, for there is no way of knowing how deep the water runs. Plus, they don’t have any acquaintances in Zosin. Where would they stay? They’ll freeze to death if they try to spend the night outside. Halina scans the tree line. The pinpricks of light, thankfully, have disappeared. They’ve only four more meters to go, five at the most. We’ll have better luck on the Russian side, she reassures herself, pressing on.
“We’re halfw—” Halina calls, but her words are cut short by a shrill “Whoop!” and the distinct plunk of a body meeting the water behind her. Halina whips her head around in time to see Franka, her mouth curved into a perfect o, disappear, her scream muted as she vanishes beneath the river’s surface.
“Franka!” Halina gasps, holding her breath. A second ticks by, then two. Nothing.
Only the sound of coursing water, the rippling reflection of the moon and the night sky, a few bubbles where her cousin once stood. Halina scours the river, searching desperately for movement. “Franka!” she whispers, her eyes frantic.