Page 14 of The Little Liar
“Five minutes!”
“Where is Nico?”
“Sebastian!”
“Where are we going?”
“Four minutes!”
“Nico!”
“The bread. Take the bread!”
“Do you have money?”
“Shoes for the girls!”
“Sebastian, find your brother!”
“He’s not here, Papa!”
“Three minutes!”
“Lev, I can’t carry this!”
“Where are we going?”
“Take something to cook with!”
“Two minutes!”
“Where are we going?”
Before they knew it, they were outside on the pavement, as a light rain drizzled on their heads. Lev carried a suitcase and a bag. Sebastian had his clothes in his arms. Tanna held her daughters’ hands and pleaded with the officers.
“Our son!” she yelled. “We have another son! We need to find him!”
The Germans were indifferent. Up and down the blocks, other Jewish families were being evicted. They huddled together at the foot of their homes, holding their possessions as if a fire had chased them out. Except there was no fire, only Nazi soldiers smoking cigarettes, some of them chuckling, amused by the confusion. They raised clubs and rifles and pushed the Jews toward Egnatia Street.
“Walk!” a German soldier barked at the Krispis family. Tanna was crying. “Nico!” The soldier again hollered, “Walk!” and Lev shouted, “Please! Let us find our son!” Another soldier slammed his rifle into Lev’s chest, knocking him to the sidewalk.
Sebastian lunged to help his father, but Tanna pulled him away. As Lev struggled to his feet, Sebastian looked back at their now-abandoned home. Through the second-story window, he caught a flash of movement. The curtains opened. Peeking out were two faces: Nico and Fannie.
A shiver shot through Sebastian’s body. He should havebeen happy seeing his brother alive. He should have yelled to his mother, “He’s safe! He’s in there!” Part of him wanted to. But another part—which felt that if anyone should be protecting Fannie it should be him—trembled in silent rage.
So he did not say a word. And with that silence, he changed his brother’s life forever.
Sometimes, it is the truths we don’t speak that echo the loudest.
***
The Jewish families were marched through the streets, carrying their possessions like vagabonds, past the Alcazar Cinema and past the Vienna Hotel and past the many shops and apartments along Egnatia Street. Residents stood on their balconies watching. Lev looked up to see some of them cheering or waving goodbye sarcastically. He looked away.
When they reached Vardaris Square, the families were marched toward the sea and into a run-down neighborhood by the railway station known as the Baron Hirsch quarter, built for the homeless after the great fire of 1917. It was mostly decrepit one-story structures or huts.
The Germans barked out names. They somehow had lists of all the Jews in Salonika, how many members per family, who was male, who was female, their ages, their sizes, details that left the victims mystified. Families were ordered to enter this or that building.
“You will receive more instructions in the coming days!” an SS officer hollered. “Do not attempt to leave or there will be consequences!”
