Читать книгу Chasing the King of Hearts - Ханна Кралль - Страница 19

Tailors

Every day she stands by the manhole; at last Bolek’s people show up. When it gets dark they lift the cover and quickly slip inside. The men have a long rope, which gets looped around each person’s waist. The runoff comes up to their calves. They stink. They walk doubled over, carrying full sacks. Izolda touches the rope stretching in front of her and peers into the darkness ahead for signs of a lantern. It doesn’t take long. They crawl out onto the street, they’re inside the ghetto. They wait in the ruins, and in the morning the Jews appear—silent, unshaven, dirty. They bring overcoats, sheets, tablecloths, porcelain, silverware. Bolek’s people take onions, garlic, bread, and bottles of oil out of their sacks and give them to the Jews. To some they give Polish ID cards. What about a place to stay? asks a man with a beard. Do you have an address for me? At least for a few days . . . One of Bolek’s workers is surprised: The way you look, are you crazy?—and the Jew nods his head in understanding. When the sacks are empty Bolek’s men refill them with Jewish belongings and hide them in the ruins. Then they start to work tearing down what’s left of the buildings.

Not far from Izolda’s old apartment is a workshop where tailors are sewing German uniforms. She asks about her husband. The tailors saw him on Miła Street, just a few days ago. She asks about her neighbors. Did anyone see the Rygiers? They’re gone . . . The tailor who knows about the Rygiers doesn’t look up from his sewing machine. Nobody’s here, they went to the trains. Szwarcwald? Father or son? Father. Not here. His wife took poison and he went to the trains. He managed to give his keys to some acquaintance. Keys to what? The tailors don’t know, maybe to some hidden shelter? Maybe he locked someone inside? Borensztajn? Did you see the Borensztajns? They had a daughter . . . They had a shelter . . . The tailors are calm and matter-of-fact. They’re not here, they say. So what if they had a shelter . . . A really good one? So what of it? Not here, understand? The tailors stay hunched over their machines. Now she understands. The others aren’t there, but the tailors are. Maybe they will stay. Maybe there won’t be any more trains. Maybe, God willing, they’ll stay forever?