Mother was dressed in a periwinkle blue dress, and her silver Star of David necklace glinted in the sun. Father had donned his best suit and had shined his shoes to within an inch of their lives. Oskar had, with difficulty, been persuaded to comb his hair and wash behind his ears. Everybody wanted to look their best to say their farewell to Sofia. They ignored the suspicious stares of the ordinary people, and the awkward glances at their garish yellow stars. Today, they were not in Krakow railway station, but in their own little world, where they hugged and kissed and held back tears.
Mother and Father had argued and wailed and paced the room for days over the decision, only ever discussing the matter in Hebrew so Sofia and Oskar found it near impossible to understand. Sofia had said nothing, struggling with the turmoil herself, and had not particularly wanted to understand her parents’ arguments. She wanted so desperately to leave, but she needed her family with her, and nobody could tell her when they would be able to join her in England. Oskar had stamped his feet and thrown tantrums, completely sure that if he wasn’t allowed to go to Hogwarts, neither should Sofia. So it was with pouted lips and folded arms that he reluctantly allowed Sofia to kiss him on the cheek.
Her parents kept thin lips and stern faces, but their eyes shone as they spoke to her, checked she had her things, assured her they would follow her soon, and made sure she looked neat and tidy. They smoothed her hair and patted her cheeks and brushed stray hairs off her cardigan, and all at once she didn’t feel sixteen any more. She was hit with the memory of her first day at school, and she felt as small and as scared and as breakable as she had then. She wanted to hug her mother and never let go, and she wanted Father to pick her up and spin her and hold her upside down until all the blood rushed to her head and she shrieked with laughter and Mother fretted and told Father to be careful. Her bottom lip quivered so she bit it. Her hand squeezed the handle of her small brown suitcase, where her name, age, and a large star were chalked on in large, uneven letters.
The train arrived on the platform. Sofia and her family shuffled forwards slowly, glancing at four other families who appeared to be in similar emotional states and also bore grubby yellow stars. Her father opened the door of the train. Mind the gap. She stepped on the train; the air was thick and musty and smelt of cigarettes. A baby was crying in one of the carriages. Her heart thumped against the Star of David necklace her mother had instructed her to hide in her bra. A tightness around her chest made her feel weak, sick and dizzy. She leant out of the window and reached out her hands so that they could be clutched by her parents, who now wept and choked out their goodbyes. The train rumbled and shook. Even Oskar was crying now, his large dark eyes staring at Sofia as he raised his arms to her, shouting her name over and over. The other families were crying too; Sofia could hear names and sobbing and declarations of love.
The train started to move with a shudder. Her parents moved with it, still clutching her hands tightly. To her right, there was a shriek, and she turned to see a mother pull a young boy through the train window back onto the platform, back into her arms. The train was now moving so fast that her parents were running alongside the train, Oskar meters behind them, screaming. Her mother gave a wail and tried to pull Sofia off the train, but Father held her back, and with a strong hand pushed Sofia back into the safety of the train. The train sped away, Father had his arms tight around Mother’s chest, holding her back as she struggled and screamed.
‘Nie zapomnij o mnie! Sofia! Nie zapomnij o mnie!’
The train sped away as Sofia screamed and sobbed and kicked and pounded the train door, which rattled feebly.
Suddenly, a large hand grabbed her by the hair and dragged her away.
‘Juden!’ spat the conductor angrily. He pulled her into a carriage and sat her down forcefully, ranting about the damage to his train door.
Sofia wasn’t listening. There was a ringing in her ears and she felt faint. She stared up at the conductor, who had sunken eyes and fat flabby cheeks, listening to the sound of her own breath and pounding of her heart, and somehow mesmerised by the conductor’s angry shouting and foul teeth.
He eventually stormed off and Sofia was left ignoring the stares of the other Poles on the train. Her lip quivered and she felt scared. She wiped away her tears and kept one hand clutched tightly around the battered handle of her small suitcase.
A small hand touched her shoulder and she looked round to see a thin, dark haired boy of about fourteen looking down at her, with a similarly tear-streaked face. Behind him were three other children. One small girl was clutching his hand, and their dark eyes were so similar that Sofia was sure they were siblings. The other two children were boys, pale faced and shaking.
None of the children spoke to each other, but they sat together on the bumpy train as Polish countryside flashed by through the grubby window. Several hours passed, but none of them slept, or spoke, or did anything but ignore the frightened stares, the disgusted mutterings or the cruel giggles of the ordinary people on the train. Sofia felt tired but every time she closed her eyes she saw her mother’s screaming face as Father held her back, or Oskar reaching up to her with his thin arms.
Before long, the Polish words turned to German, and the ordinary passengers quickly left the carriage upon seeing the yellow stars. They had entered Germany, and Sofia leant her forehead against the cool, rumbling glass of the window as she looked out at the increasingly darkening landscape.
The silence was unbearable. It took almost ten minutes, but Sofia finally plucked up the courage to drag the words ‘Jakie są wasze imiona?’ out of her mouth. The children all looked up at her.
The boy who had touched her shoulder cleared his throat and lifted his chin. ‘Lavi,’ he said brusquely. Sofia nodded. She at least knew one name.
‘Sofia,’ she said in return, quietly.
The sight of the two eldest children exchanging names seemed to trigger a hidden bravery in the three other children, and it was the girl with the dark eyes and black curls who piped up first with ‘Nova’, her pale hands picking loose skin on her thumb.
The two boys took slightly longer, but at last they named themselves as Solomon and Hirshel, and it was revealed that they were both eleven. It was with shock that Sofia discovered that Lavi and Nova were in fact fourteen-year-old twins, for Nova looked so tiny and childlike in her beauty.
Beyond names and vague descriptions of where they had come from, the conversation lapsed once again into uncomfortable silence, all five children too shy and too heartbroken to talk to one another. But, now that they all had names, labels, even brief history, it did not seem so strange to grip hands over the table, or to suddenly embrace each other in hugs, or cry quietly onto each other’s shoulders. They were united by a common tragedy, and occasional attempts at conversation, such as wondering about the boy who had been pulled off the train by his mother, and giggling about the German woman who had shrieked upon the sight of them, certainly allowed them to connect, even if only for brief moments.
As night descended, the children dropped off into a shallow and uneasy sleep, waking up every few minutes at each new station, and curling into balls as they shivered and wished for blankets. Sofia could blearily remember changing trains at Berlin, carrying Hirshel, who couldn’t keep his eyes open, and almost tripping over her own suitcase.
The remainder of the journey to the Netherlands was excruciating. Her body ached with fatigue, her stomach panged with hunger, and her feet were numb with the cold. The train rattled and swayed and bumped and screeched, and some drunken women piled on the train laughing and singing.
‘Deutschland, Deutschland über alles!’
Sofia groaned quietly and felt like she could cry from exhaustion. Nova had fallen asleep on her brother’s shoulder, and he himself looked deathly as he scrunched his face in an effort to sleep. Hirshel was still asleep in her arms and Solomon was slumped over the table quietly crying, murmuring ‘Mamma, Mamma...’
Sofia was not sure what happened next. Whether she was asleep, or in a daze or perhaps just so used to the hours of travelling that she no longer noticed time passing, it made no difference, but the next thing she knew, the dawn was rising and they were at the border of the Netherlands. The train stopped.
A golden mist shone in the crisp morning, the children’s breath coiled in front of them, and Hirshel entertained Solomon by pretending to be a dragon. A bubble of excitement grew inside all of them, temporarily awaking them, and bringing small, daring smiles to their faces. They had nearly escaped. A few more hours, and they’d be on the boat to England.
There was a cough. They turned to see a German soldier staring down at them, his arms folded and his feet in heavy boots. Sofia felt Hirshel move closer to her and start to shake.
‘Öffnen Sie Ihren Koffer,’ he said, coolly. The children glanced at each other, none of them spoke good enough German to fully understand what he was saying. ‘Koffer!’ he barked.
Nova seemed to realise what he meant, and grabbed her suitcase, which had her name and age carefully chalked on the side. She flicked the latches and opened it, and the other children quickly copied.
The soldier went through the luggage, taking anything of value. Sofia was immediately grateful for following her mother’s advice and hiding her necklace in her bra as she watched virtually everything but basic clothes being taken. Photographs, toys, jewellery, money, religious items and texts, books, pens, fine clothes, everything was seized. Lavi tried to hide a photograph of his mother in his hand, but the soldier slapped him across the head, took it and set it alight while Lavi watched, stony faced. The soldier chuckled and dropped the smouldering remains on the floor. He then took a piece of chalk and drew large stars on their suitcases, stroked Nova’s hair, offered the youngest boys sweets, and left.
Lavi growled and kicked his seat. Nova sat down and cried. Solomon and Hirshel refolded their clothes and laid them neatly in their suitcases through watery eyes. Sofia stood stunned. It had happened so fast, and it had upset her, but she had just stood and watched.
Now the train was moving again, and the others sat and complained about their hunger and cursed the solider. Sofia repacked her suitcase and prayed to god that England would give her what she needed, quietly muttering the Shema under her breath.
Bicie Serca by BlueJoker
Chapter Endnotes: From now on the chapters are not as dark and depressing, thoughh it remains a serious story. I'd love some reviews to hear your thoughts and opinions (haven't had many so far :( ) so please spare a few moments of your time. Last but not least, thank you to my beta/mod Karaley Dargen, who is brilliant.