“Pan Kurc,” Adam nods, smiling. He hasn’t laid eyes on his now in-laws since before he and Halina were married. Sol laughs, holds out a hand, and pulls Adam in for a hug.
“Please, my son,” he says, crow’s-feet flanking his eyes, “you may call me Sol.”
Part III
MAY 8, 1945: V-E Day. Germany surrenders and Allied victory is proclaimed in Europe.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
The Kurc Family
?ód?, Poland ~ May 8, 1945
Adam tinkers with the radio’s tuning dial, adjusting it until a voice crackles through its speakers. “In a few minutes,” an announcer says in Polish, “we will translate a live broadcast from the White House in the United States. Please stay tuned.”
Halina slides the living room window open. Three stories below, the boulevard is empty. Everyone, it seems, has stepped inside to gather around their receivers, to listen for the news that ?ód?—that all of occupied Europe, and the world, for that matter—has been awaiting for the better part of a decade.
Halina’s decision to bring the family to ?ód? was a practical one. They’d managed for a while in Warsaw, but the city, what was left of it, was unlivable. They’d discussed a move back to Radom, had even ventured back for a visit and stayed the night with the Sobczaks, but they’d found that the apartment on Warszawska Street and her parents’ shop were now occupied by Poles. Halina wasn’t prepared for what it would feel like to be met at her old doorstep by strangers—strangers who stared at her with stubborn frowns, who claimed that they had no intention of leaving, who had the nerve to believe that what once belonged to her family was now theirs.
The encounter had infuriated Halina so much she’d flown into a rage; it was Adam who brought her back to her rational mind, reminding her that the war was not yet over, that they were still posing as Aryan and an outburst would only draw dangerous attention. She had left Radom disheartened but determined to find a city where they could settle, at least until war’s end—a city with enough industry that they could find work, and with apartments to house what was left of the family, including her parents, whom she had convinced to stay in Wilonów until the war was officially over. ?ód?, Halina heard, had apartments, jobs, and a Red Cross office. And sure enough, it didn’t take her long to find a place to live when they arrived. The city’s ghetto had been liquidated later than most, which meant there were hundreds of vacant homes in the old Jewish Quarter and not enough Poles to fill them. It was nauseating to consider what had become of the families who had lived there before them, but Halina knew they couldn’t afford to rent in the city center. She selected two neighboring apartments, the most spacious she could find. They were missing half of their furniture, but there were so many empty homes she was able to salvage enough pieces here and there to make them habitable.
The family is quiet as Jakob arranges five chairs in a semicircle around the fireplace, where the radio is perched like a tombstone atop the mantel. “Sit, love,” he says, gesturing to Bella. She lowers herself gently into the chair, rests a hand on the subtle curve of her stomach. She is six months pregnant. Mila, Halina, Adam, and Jakob sit, too, while Felicia curls up on the floor, wincing as she pulls her knees to her chest. Mila combs her fingers through Felicia’s hair, which has begun to grow in its natural red at the roots. It breaks her heart to see her daughter in pain. The scurvy she’d contracted in the convent bunker has cleared up for the most part, but she still complains of an ache in her joints. At least, Mila sighs, her appetite is back—Felicia had refused food for weeks when Mila first retrieved her, claiming that it hurt too much to eat.
Finally, the voice of Harry Truman, the United States’ new president, spills from the radio’s speakers, and the family leans in. “This is a solemn but glorious hour,” Truman projects through a sea of static. The local broadcaster translates. “General Eisenhower,” Truman continues, “informs me that the forces of Germany have surrendered to the United Nations.” He pauses for effect, and then adds, “The flags of freedom fly all over Europe!”
The words “freedom” and “fly” reverberate through the room, drifting overhead like confetti.
The family stares at the radio and then at one another as the president’s alliteration comes to rest tentatively on their laps. Adam removes his glasses and lifts his chin toward the ceiling, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Bella wipes a tear from her eye, and Jakob reaches for her hand. Mila bites her lip. Felicia looks around at the others and then up at her mother, her eyes inquisitive, unsure why they are crying at what she understood to be good news.
Halina tries to picture the American president seated triumphantly behind his desk some 6,000 kilometers west of them. V-E Day, Truman called it: Victory in Europe. But to Halina, the word victory feels hollow. False, even. There’s hardly anything victorious about the ruined Warsaw they left, or about the fact that so much of the family is still missing, or about how all around them in what was once ?ód?’s massive ghetto, they can feel the ghosts of 200,000 Jews—most of whom, it’s rumored, met their deaths in the gas vans and chambers of Che?mno and Auschwitz.
A muffled cheer trickles in from the apartment next door. Through the window, a few shouts from the street. ?ód? has begun to celebrate. The world has begun to celebrate. Hitler has been defeated—the war is over. Which means, technically, they are free to be Kurcs and Eichenwalds and Kajlers again. To be Jews again. But the mood in the apartment isn’t celebratory. Not while the rest of the family is unaccounted for. And not with so many dead. Every day the estimated toll rises. First it was a million, then two—numbers so large, they can’t even begin to grasp the enormity of them.
When Truman’s speech is over, the Polish announcer states that the Red Cross will continue to erect dozens of offices and Displaced Persons camps throughout Europe, urging survivors to register themselves. Adam switches the radio off and the living room goes quiet again. What is there to say? Finally, it is Halina who fills the silence. “Tomorrow,” she declares, willing her voice to remain steady, “I’ll return to the Red Cross, double check that all of our names are registered. I’ll ask about the DP camps—and when exactly we will be able to access a list of names. And I’ll begin making arrangements to reach Mother and Father in the countryside.”
On the street below, the cheering grows louder. Halina stands and makes her way to the window, slides it gently closed.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
The Kurc Family
?ód?, Poland ~ June, 1945