Page 24 of The Little Liar
“Good. Now, if you see anyone you know, they might wonder where you have been. You will tell them you have been hiding. And you heard a very important German say that the trains are going north to Poland. And everyone will have a job there.”
“But I’m not really hiding.”
“You were hiding when I found you, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So, it’s the truth.”
Nico frowned. “I guess so.”
“Good. Now. Let’s test you.” Udo crossed his arms. “What will you tell the people?”
“The trains are going north.”
“And what else?”
“There will be jobs there.”
“And how do you know?”
“I heard you say it.”
“Correct. You can also say that all Jewish families will be back together.”
“All Jewish families will be back together.”
“Good boy.” He motioned to the platform door. “Now go on out there and practice.”
Nico’s eyes widened. Even in the shadow of manipulation, children can be curious, and the boy, who had never taken a train ride in his life, was genuinely excited to see the tracks firsthand. He burst out the door.
“Now, say it loudly, Nico!” Udo hollered. “The trains are going to Poland!”
“The trains are going to Poland!” Nico yelled.
“We will have new homes there!”
“We will have new homes there!”
“And the Jewish families will be together!”
“The families will be together!”
Nico stopped and cocked his head, as if watching his voice echo its way toward the Pieria mountains in the distance.
I watched, too. I witnessed this boy, so loyal to me all his life, seduced away by a heartless deceiver. The parable says that Truth was crestfallen when God cast it down to earth. Perhaps. But when Nico Krispis shouted the first lie of his life on those railroad tracks, I wept. I wept like a baby abandoned in the woods.
One Very Large Wedding
The night before the first train departed, dozens of Jews in the Baron Hirsch ghetto gathered outside a shack. It was chilly and damp and they huddled together, rubbing each other’s shoulders to keep warm. Every few minutes, a small group was ushered through the doors.
Earlier that day, the Germans had announced that all Jews should prepare to leave the next morning, and to have one bag packed of a certain weight and size. Beyond that, the people knew nothing. Only rumors, including a curious one about the rules upon their arrival:
Married couples will be given priority for their own flats.
Where this started, no one could say. But what if it were true? Realizing there would be no chance to change status later, families quickly arranged marriages. Compatibility did not matter. Age did not matter. Weddings forged in love are about planning for the future; weddings forged in fear are about surviving it.
That night, a rabbi gathered five couples at a time in the shack. By candlelight, he led them in brief rituals that would bind them as wed. Some were older men matched with widowsfrom the war with Italy. Others were teenagers. They repeated a string of Hebrew words, mumbling them flatly and quickly. There was no backslapping. No dancing. No cake. They exchanged rings, sometimes made of rounded paper clips, then exited, making room for the next wave.
