Scattered Love
Agata knelt on the bedroom floor, her son’s clothing scattered around her. Dirt marked her dress, she’d been frantically packing and repacking all day, and her apron had stopped doing any good around lunchtime. Funny that she still thought of it as lunchtime when there wasn’t enough food to eat more than twice a day. Rations were slim since Hitler seized Poland, especially for Jewish families.
Her hands shook as she folded the last of the notes, written in her neat script and tucked in into the lining of Henryk’s coat, sewing up the gap. She hoped that when he was far away from her, safe and warm, and fed, that he’d find each of them. Small pieces of her love scattered through everything she had to give him.
“Almost finished, then?” Her husband, Piotr pulled back the shade and peered into the dark, “It’ll be curfew soon, and they’ll shoot us dead if we haven’t shut ours off.”
“Yes, just a few more moments while I pack all of this away,” Agata carefully folded each item, laying it in the small case, all that Henryk was allowed to bring with him on his journey. Tears streamed down her cheeks, though she hardly noticed.
Piotr knelt beside her, his hand a comforting weight on her shoulder, “It’s just temporary, you’ll see. We will get our paperwork in order and send for him as soon as we’ve settled somewhere safe. This is the best thing. Luckily he got your mother’s blue eyes, eh? Might save his little life,” Piotr tickled his son’s cheek.
“I know, it’s just for now. But how is a mother to know what to pack her son when she doesn’t know if he’ll be there through the cold winter, or if he’ll need a swimming costume in summer?” She wiped her face on the sleeve of her dress, no longer caring about dirtying the fabric.
Piotr had moved to the chair, the one they hadn’t yet burned, and bounced Henryk on his knee. The boy giggled. He was born just before the war started, healthy and plump as an infant should be. Now, at three years old, his ribs poked through his pale skin, and dark circles ringed his eyes. Piotr and Agata ate as little as possible to give extra rations to their boy, but it still wasn’t enough. Agata knew that sending him to the orphanage was his best chance.
There were stories whispered through the ghetto about the camps, and what they did with the children and the sick. That was if they survived the train ride. In his already malnourished state, she didn’t think Henryk could make the journey. Piotr was right, his striking blue eyes made him appear less Jewish and may just save his life.
She packed the heavy sweater she rushed to finish. She had planned on giving it as a birthday gift when he turned four in November. It was heavy wool, she had used one of Piotr’s sweaters to make it, taking it apart, and salvaging the yarn to make a smaller one for her boy. It would be too large for him this winter, but good for layering.
“It’s time, love. Lights out,” Piotr was beside her again, Henryk reaching for her.
“Yes, alright,” Agata closed and fastened the case labeled with Henryk’s new English name. The orphanage said that Henry was a close approximation and shouldn’t confuse the boy.
Agata lifted Henryk into her arms and buried her face in his neck as Piotr turned out the few lights in the room. She climbed into the bed the three of them had shared for more than a year, noticing how much more space Henryk took up now than before. She knew that tomorrow night she’d grieve for the feeling of his tiny body pressed against hers, and the smell of his hair tickling her nose.
Somehow she seemed to have more tears left, and as Piotr climbed in next to Henryk and pulled up the thin blanket. She noticed wetness marking his face in the dim light from the street. He too was distraught over the choice they had to make. Their daughter, Natalka, had died just a year before, her tiny 6-year-old body shaking with chills from scarlet fever, and no medicine was available for those of Jewish descent. They tried to get medicine on the black market, but couldn’t find it in time. Natalka had died in her papa’s arms, her favorite doll tucked under her chin, and her mother singing a lullaby.
Her arms wrapped tightly around Henryk, Agata sang “Kołysz mi się, kołysz od ściany do ściany to ja ci uwiję wianecek ruciany,” she felt Henryk’s body relax. This would be the last night he spent sleeping in his mother’s arms.
When the knock came at the door the sun had yet to rise. Agata had managed to drift off at some point and was startled by the knock.
“No, Piotr, not yet! It’s too early,”’ She begged for more time with her son.
“I know dear, but they must take him before the SS come around. It is the only way to keep him safe.”
“Yes, of course,” Agata dried her tears as another knock echoed through the tiny apartment.
Piotr rose to open the door as Agata tried to rouse a sleeping Henryk. He protested, wanting to remain in his dreams for a bit longer.
“My love, it is time to wake. Another day has begun,” It was the same greeting she gave him every morning. This time she had to force the tremor from her voice. She kissed his face until he batted her away.
“Maman, sleep please,” Henryk begged.
“Ma’am, we need to be going,” the woman who had come to take Henryk announced, her tone clipped and business-like.
Irena Sendler, who was to transport Henryk to the orphanage looked as if she could be his mother. That was the point of course. Henryk was to pass as her son during the journey. Piotr had been teaching him English to prepare.
“Yes, of course,” Agata rose slowly, bringing Henryk with her.
“Do you have his case?” Irena queried.
“Yes,” Piotr retrieved it from the corner.
“And nothing inside to indicate that he isn’t my child?” Irena raised one eyebrow as if she knew of Agata’s hidden notes.
“No, just his clothing and his favorite toy,” Agata lied, clutching Henryk to her chest.
“Very well, then, I’ll have breakfast for him on the train,” Irena reached her arms out.
Agata couldn’t move. She couldn’t hand her son over to this woman who’s demeanor was anything but warm and maternal. Piotr was beside her again, he reached for Henryk as if sensing that Agata didn’t have it in her to hand her boy over.
“I don’t know,” Agata gazed into Piotr’s eyes.
“It is best. At least this way he has a chance to survive, to live. Perhaps to have a family of his own someday. With us, he will die,” Piotr said what Agata already knew.
With a final kiss on his forehead and a squeeze, Agata allowed Piotr to take him from her arms and place him in Irena’s. Agata refused to show Henryk how pained she was. She didn’t want to scare the boy.
“Goodbye, dziecię. I will love you for all eternity,” Agata blew a kiss that Henryk grabbed from the air, his mouth pulled back in a bright grin.
Henryk kissed his own hand and threw the kiss to Agata who caught it in her fist, before pressing it to her heart. Irena turned and left the apartment.
Henryk’s cries of “Maman!” echoed through the corridor. Agata crumpled to the floor, barely noticing Piotr by her side.
© Maria Chapman 2019
