Waiting for the Violins by Justine Saracen Read Free Book Online Page B

collaborating. Not to mention the Judenrat.”
    The baby began to whimper and Rywka held him close. “Well, they did open some schools and clinics for Jews.”
    “It’s true. They do good things too,” Aisik said. “They’ve set up a whole new business employing lots of Jews to make winter clothing for the Wehrmacht. A lot of men are supporting their families that way.”
    “Don’t fool yourself, Aisik. Anyone who works for the Germans is collaborating,” Moishe said. “All that crap about the social welfare of the community. I piss on their social welfare. They’ll do what the Germans want. And you know what that is? To round us up and get us out. It’s only a matter of time before we’ll have the yellow star and the roundups.”
    Grunts of agreement came from the others.
    “So where does that leave us?” Aisik rubbed his forehead, a nervous habit he’d developed since the occupation began.
    “It leaves us in shit,” Moishe muttered.
    After a moment of angry silence Kuba spoke up again. “Well, now that you’ve got that out of your system, we can begin to get organized.”
    “To do what?” Youra asked the obvious, and the room buzzed again.
    Kuba raised a hand. “Listen, everyone.” He wasn’t a tall man, but the breadth of his chest and his strong baritone voice made him seem large. The murmuring stopped. “As I see it, we can work in three areas.” He held up a finger. “One. Find ways to hide anyone who can’t fight. The old, the children.” He looked at Rywka and her baby.
    “Two. Collect money.”
    “No one’s got any money to give,” Moishe said. “We can hardly feed our families as it is.”
    “I was talking about robbery.”
    “Ah.” Moishe scowled for a moment. “Doesn’t that require guns?”
    “Yes, it does. And that brings us to number three. Fight. I mean really fight . You’ve heard the rumors of partisans fighting here and there. We can do that too.”
    “How do we get guns, Kuba?”
    “People are hiding weapons left over from the retreat, from the English and the Belgians. We just have to track them down.”
    “I don’t know if I could kill a man,” someone said.
    Moishe relit the last bit of his cigarette and puffed on it, then crushed the centimeter of stub into the saucer beside him. “I could. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
    “I’ve got a lot to lose.” Aisik Goldman glanced over at his wife and son and rubbed his forehead again. “But Moishe’s right. Things are going to get worse, and if you can fight back, you should.”
    “So, who’s willing to fight rather than hide?” Kuba laid down the challenge.
    Two hands went up hesitantly. Then two more. Slowly the rest of the hands rose as well. Even Rywka nodded agreement, holding her cheek against her son’s head.
    “All right, then. Let’s put some organization into this,” Kuba said, and in the remaining half hour, he assigned tasks, outlined policies, and described the means to gain adherents. After a final emphasis on the critical need for secrecy, he called an end to the meeting.
    When all had filed out of the tiny apartment, Moishe embraced Aisik. “So, here we are, brother, the Armed Jewish Resistance.”
    Rywka set down her toddler on newly cleared floor space. “I know we have to do this, but I wonder how many of us will pay with our lives.”
    “At this point, darling, it doesn’t matter,” Aisik said, kneeling by their child. “The Germans are coming for us anyhow. We’re fighting back so a few can live and tell the story.” He caressed the hair on his son’s head with his fingertips. “We’re doing it for Jackie.”
    Moishe felt an odd sensation. A feeling so long forgotten he almost didn’t recognize it.
    Hope.

Chapter Nine
     
    March 1942
     
    Sandrine strode along the Rue Marché au Charbon, developed, so she’d learned in school, in the thirteenth century, as a center where coal merchants and investors did business. But the coal marketeers had disappeared centuries ago