Rena's Promise by Heather Dune Macadam, Rena Kornreich Gelissen Read Free Book Online Page A

cry.
"Whoever made this for you must love you very much." She touches the beaver trim admiringly.
"I am afraid that is true. I must go." I do not want to say goodbye to our neighbors, to my friends, my sister, or anyone ever again. Saying goodbye to my mother's diamond ring is painful enough. If I never wave farewell to another person in this lifetime, it will be a blessing. I keep my head to the ground, refusing to look back, hurrying towards town.
Standing for a moment in the center of Hummene, I think about what a nice place this is and how kind the people have been to me. Slovakia has not been a bad place to live; although the past year has been wrought with trials and homesickness, there has been happiness here. I will accept what the Nazis fork out, but

     

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I am afraid of the future. Taking a deep breath, I post my letters and walk resolutely toward the barracks. A line is already forming.

"Name?"
"Rena Kornreich."
"Nationality?"
"Polish."
He smirks as if sharing a secret joke with the officer next to him. "Do you have other family hiding here in Slovakia?"
"I am engaged to a Slovakian citizen, does that change my status?"
"Not unless you want him to join you." Their eyes narrow dangerously.
I shake off a sudden chill. "I don't want him to join me."
"Wait outside tonight." I am dismissed.
"What about my things?"
"Tomorrow someone will take you for your things."
For a moment I wish I had my coat. Its warm fur would chase the chill from my neck. I wonder if my ring and coat are safe. I wonder if I am. What does it feel like to be safe? I can't recall.
There are other Jews next to me. Shivering against the barrack walls with nothing but my wool jacket on, I use my arms to hug myself. The lights around the barracks are cruelly bright, shedding no warmth on those of us in line. It is going to be a hostile night.
The events which have abandoned me to this place tease my mind. Everything moves faster than usual, as if I am inventorying what should be preserved in memory and what should be discarded. I tuck my knees up under my skirt for warmth. My stomach growlshow I would love a piece of challah. The rich smell of egg penetrates my perception. There is something so comforting about the aroma of fresh-baked bread. I sniff the air but cannot tell

     

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if the impression is real or imagined and do not care. Rolling an imaginary morsel over my tongue, smelling it from within my mouth, I slowly allow its goodness to warm me from the inside out. I recall Mama kneading the dough, preparing our Sabbath meal on Friday. Tomorrow is Friday; I wonder if Mama is kneading dough somewhere in Poland.
Searching for a place to rest my weary mind, I shut my eyes tightly, willing myself to see Mama's face in our kitchen. Like benevolent spirits, I conjure up the smells, the sounds of home. Mama asking me to bring in more wood for the fire; Papa's pipe smoke wafting in from the parlor where he studies the texts. Like fingers, the mountain peaks surrounding Tylicz pull me into their embrace. I drift between the realms of sleep and waking until I am running barefoot across the field beckoned by the voices of my past. When everything else has changed, one's sole comfort lies in what is, what was, familiar.
Rena!
Escaping into the world of dreams, I imagine that I can see Mama standing at the door of our farmhouse with her lantern lit, watching out for me, calling my name.
Rena!
The grass is wet and cool, springing between my toes. I run down the hill toward home.
I'm coming, Mama, I answer her bobbing light. But the soft, flickering flame of her lantern mutates into a searing glare that burns my eyes.
Disoriented and cold, I shake myself out of a stupor. Searchlights pass over our restless bodies. It was a dream, nothing but a waking dream. I feel tired, depressed, and overcome in these foreign surroundings. My mind takes the mental images of my past and begins weaving them through my subconscious.
I fidget with my