In the Mouth of the Wolf by Rose Zar Read Free Book Online

belongings of vanished Jews which she sold in the marketplace for money to live on.
    That night I was startled out of a fitful sleep by the rattle of machine guns. It came from the direction of the ghetto in regular bursts that continued for hours. “Who are they shooting at?” I wondered. “There’s no one left!” Then I thought of Mayer, my father, and so many of my friends. Were those guns aimed at them? While I lay in this bed, was someone I loved dying, riddled with bullets in a rubble-strewn alley or street? I closed my eyes and tried to block out those awful thoughts, but I couldn’t. The shooting went on all night.
    The next morning I knew what I had to do. Somehow I had to get into the small ghetto, to see what had happened, who remained. I asked Mrs. Banasz if she knew a way to get in. The most she could tell me was that at six o’clock two German soldiers marched the workers from the glass factory down Kaliska Street to the ghetto gate. This was a very different ghetto from the one I left behind. It was completely surrounded by barbed wire. German soldiers and Jewish police patrolled the only two entrances. Mrs. Banasz doubted anyone could get in. I decided to see for myself.
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    It was a quiet evening. Few people were on the street. Then from several blocks away I heard the clack-clack-clack of wooden shoes striking the cobblestones. “Their shoes are wearing out,” I thought as the initially faint sound drew closer. “Many must be wearing wooden shoes by now.”
    I stood on the corner as they trudged by, the last Jews in Piotrków. They marched six abreast, heads down, clutchinglittle bundles to their chests as they dragged themselves along, shuffling down the empty street like wandering ghosts returning to the graveyard.
    Suddenly I recognized a face in the middle of that gray, blank stream. It was Shimon, one of the boys in our group. I once had a crush on him. He wrote beautiful poetry. “Shimon!” I exclaimed as he came by.
    He looked up at me with the great, hollow eyes of a dead man. “What are you doing here?” he said in a cold, expressionless voice. “Get away. There are people who will turn you in if they see you. Get away.”
    I ignored the warning. “I have to know who is left,” I said.
    â€œMayer is left. And your father. Now go away.”
    But I didn’t want to leave. “Do you need any food? I’ll come back tomorrow. Can I bring you anything?”
    â€œI don’t need a thing. Don’t you see the guard is looking? Go away.”
    I couldn’t. I wanted to leap into that column, to embrace each and every soul, to share their suffering and pain. But Shimon would not even talk to me. “Go away,” he kept saying. “Go away.”
    I followed them down Kaliska Street to the ghetto gate and watched until the last person disappeared inside. The next day I returned to Rudniki.
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    Now that I was a legal resident and had the papers to prove it, I began to breathe a little easier. The Jew baiting continued, but other than that I was starting to feel at home.
    One Thursday night Krysia asked if she could borrow my belt. She was going to Warsaw in the morning to spend the day with her mother. She was very excited about hertrip to the city and wanted to look her best. Of course I agreed. She promised to return by Saturday morning so we could get an early start on the housework.
    I slept alone the next night in the alcove the two of us shared. It was long after midnight. I was fast asleep when I suddenly felt someone push me. I awoke with a start. There was the boss, drunk, sitting on the bed, grinning.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I said. “What do you want?”
    â€œNo one’s here,” he answered, slurring his words. “Why don’t you move over? We could have a good time.”
    I bolted out of bed at once. “How can you even think of doing something like