Chapter 16

With less nourishing food, our health was deteriorating. I was concerned about Irene's cough. A medical doctor, a friend of the family, X-rayed her. She had a spot on her lung. He was a specialist, the only one in town, thus he escaped deportation.

Dana and Auntie were emaciated. I had anemia. My dear aunt was weaker every day. She was 87 years old now. No longer was she capable of taking care of her personal needs.

I was not strong enough to lift her or assist her to a chair. Something had to be done. I went to the hospital operated by the Germans to report the state of my aunt's health.

The clerk listened attentively. "We'll take her off your hands. But we don't guarantee how long she'll be here."

In despair, I consented to her transfer. The ambulance arrived soon after I came home. Two orderlies brought out the stretcher.

They had difficulty taking Auntie. She summoned all her strength and struggled as they fastened the belt over her. She screamed, "I'll run away from them, I will. I don't want to go with them." Her screams were heartbreaking. I just stood there with despair in my heart. She did not want to go. She cried, "I'll be good. I won't cause any trouble. Don't send me away with them, please."

I felt guilty. This happened on Saturday. Monday I went to see her.

The nurse told me, "She died yesterday, in the afternoon."

So, she didn't last long. They just put her to sleep. After all, she was old and Polish. Often I wonder whether her going to the hospital hastened her death; and yet I could in no way help. I, myself, was seriously ill.

Shortages in food, coal and coke for burning were everywhere. I had a huge supply of boards in the garage, also two-by-fours. I even would chop down the various fruit trees growing in the garden, if only I had help.

Soon my Uncle Tad found a helper for me. He was a mentally handicapped, young man in his twenties.

He came regularly, twice a week. We put up a sawhorse at the side of the garage. In the shed hung a long, steel saw with ugly, serrated teeth.

He placed the boards on the horse, he at one end and I at the other. We pulled and pushed the saw. It went z-z-z-z-z over and over. We cut enough and some more to last until the next time Tony came.

In the living room of our quarters stood a three-foot pot-belly stove. On top of it we kept a teakettle filled with water for our tea or chicory coffee, and for our evening ablutions.

After several months ... suddenly no more Tony. I inquired about him, found out where he lived, and went to visit him.

He lay on his cot, coughing and eyes tearing.

"How do you feel, Tony? I miss you in the garden. There is no one helping me cut the wood. Only you and I could do it, and now you're sick. What shall I do?"

"Oh, I'll get well and come and help you."

That was the last time I saw Tony.

The ambulance came, my uncle told me, and took him to the hospital. And Tony was no more. Mentally retarded people were of no value to the Nazis.

Now that Tony was gone, I had no hope ever to cut all the planks, boards and loose wood around the premises, and have them stacked in a neat pile against the wall in the shed. The pot-bellied stove would no longer have fuel to keep us warm and comfortable in winter.

My children were too small to handle the heavy saw, and to weak.

Irene worked at delivering packages and, when she returned home, she was too tired to manipulate the other end of the saw with me.

To our great surprise, a ration of coal, small, but it was coal, was allotted to us. I couldn't believe it.

With the help of Paula, my cousin, who lived in the town, we quickly put together an old beat-up wagon ... a wagon pulled by one person while another pushed it. Who would ever believe it; it was I pulling the battered wagon!

With the reserve uncut wood in the shed, and this coal, we could survive any cold winter. Going to bed early was a tested way to keep warm and save fuel.

We read books. I studied Russian and the girls continued with their German.

Considering the guards and soldiers constantly invading our privacy for various reasons, it was necessary to understand what they wanted. The German language learned in my high school days was now put to good use.

The streets of Torun were empty except for those returning home after their search for food supplies. More men and women were being rounded up and sent to labor camps.

Even though few persons walked the streets, soldiers still patrolled them.

One early evening, two hours before curfew, I was returning home from my regular shopping. I saw two soldiers on the other side of the street. Suddenly, one of them hurriedly started to cross the street.

Seeing his move, I began to run as quickly as I could. He followed fast. Since his rifle hindered him in the chase, he gave up when he saw his pursuit was futile.

I continued to run until I reached my garden. I was safe at home, but out of breath. I was careful never to be on the streets again after sundown.