All but My Life: A Memoir by Gerda Weissmann Klein Read Free Book Online

I went to school to toss me an apple or a piece of candy. On cold days she would stand in the doorway, wrapped in the huge brown and green checked shawl on which I had so often fallen asleep in her arms. There she stood, waiting to inspect whether I wore my warm underwear and woolen mittens. And on long winter evenings I would go to see her and sample her delicious potato pancakes. It was then that she would dip into her seemingly inexhaustible stores of exciting, mysterious stories.
    Although the Germans had summoned her to the police station and warned her not to enter our house, Niania came and went as before. None of the neighbors reported her, possibly because she was so old or perhaps because they realized how closely our lives were linked. Niania brought us the things Jews couldn’t buy: sugar, jam, sweets, an occasional egg. When we protested that she was depriving herself she would look at me and say,
    “The child has to eat, she is growing; my life is almost over.”
    That was my Niania, a proud and simple woman; her spirit shone brightly in that world of betrayal.
    I went to see Niania on Christmas Eve. Christmas in her house seemed pretty much as it had always been. The tree, the same ornaments, the smell of fresh pine, and little, thoughtfully wrapped presents for us. Only the presents were different. In former years Niania had usually given me books or toys. For Mama she would have some handwork–a crocheted vanity set or embroidered cushion. This year she had woolen mittens and sweets for me, for Mama a glass of jam and a pound of sugar. The gift I took to Niania was very different indeed. Instead of clothing and the usual basket with fruit and wine, this year we had nothing to give but a pale green Chinese vase on which two dragons served as handles. After I had opened her gifts, Niania offered me cookies; they were the same as always but somehow they tasted different.

    From her window I could see our garden. Snow was falling again and the garden house seemed to me like a gingerbread house with spun sugar thickly covering the roof.
     
    After Christmas our rations were cut severely and on each ration card was stamped the word JEW. Our rations were less than half the rations of non-Jews. Our coal ration turned out to be even more meager but with only two rooms to heat, and by wearing heavy clothes indoors, we managed to keep warm. With the new year came the order to wear white armbands with a blue star on which the word JEW was inscribed. Shortly thereafter, we were instructed to wear a yellow star with black inscription; the new colors would be more distinguishable against the snow.
    Concern and doubt about Arthur never left us and then. just after New Year, a letter came from Gisa, addressed to him. How he had waited for news from her! It said that she and her family were living in Krakow and that they had lost everything. She went on to say that her father was very ill. I replied immediately and informed her that Arthur was no longer at home. A few days later another letter came from her, containing wonderful news; she had heard about Arthur from another source. He was in Russia, and safe. Now we waited eagerly for more letters. We thought that soon she would have direct news and forward a letter from him.
    One cold day early in February, Peter, a friend of Arthur’s, arrived from Krakow. Krakow was about eighty kilometers from Bielitz. It was possible at times to obtain a travel permit and Peter had managed it. Gisa had told him to see us and bring us the latest news about Arthur. The reason, he explained, that Arthur had not written directly, was that mail was being held up by the censor. So Arthur had sent news to Gisa by means of someone who had returned from Russian-occupied territory.
    Peter stayed for dinner and it was a wonderful evening. Mama and Papa seemed younger and happier, and questioned the poor boy for more and more news. In the end, he probably invented some to make them happier.

    When