The Woman with the Blue Star, Pam Jenoff [highly recommended books txt] 📗

he had ended things with me before leaving. “We don’t know how long I will be gone.” Or if you will return, I thought, the notion so awful that neither of us could bear to voice it. “You should be free to meet someone else.” That was a joke. Even if there had been young men left in Kraków, I would have had no interest. I argued with more force than my pride now liked to admit that we should not break up, but rather get engaged or even married before he left as so many others had done. I wanted at least that piece of him, to have shared that bond, if something happened. But Krys wanted to wait, and when he saw things a certain way, there was nothing in the world that could convince him. We spent the last night together, becoming more intimate than we should have because there might not be another chance for a long time, or maybe ever. I left tearfully in the predawn hours, sneaking into the house before my stepmother could notice I was missing.

Even though Krys and I were no longer really together, I still loved him. He had broken up with me only because he thought it was in my best interests. I felt certain that when the war was over and he returned safely, we would reunite and things would be as they were. Then the Polish Army was quickly defeated, overrun by the German tanks and artillery. Many of the men who had gone off to fight returned, wounded and downtrodden. I assumed that Krys would do the same. But he did not come back. His letters, which had already grown less frequent and more distant in tone, stopped coming altogether. Where was he? I wondered constantly. Surely I would have heard from his parents if he had been arrested or worse. No, Krys was still out there, I told myself doggedly. The war had simply disrupted the mail. And as soon as he could, Krys would return to me.

In the distance, the bells of the Mariacki church rang out, signaling seven o’clock. Instinctively, I waited for the trumpeter to play the Hejnał as he had every hour for most of my life. But the trumpeter’s song, a medieval rallying cry that recalled how Poland had once repelled invading hordes, had been largely silenced by the Germans, who now allowed it to play only twice per day. I recrossed the market square, considering whether it was worth stopping for a coffee to pass the time. As I drew close to one of the cafés, a German soldier seated with two others looked up at me with interest, his intent unmistakable. No good would come from sitting down there. I moved on quickly.

As I neared the Sukiennice, I spotted two familiar figures, walking arm in arm and peering into a shop window. I started toward them. “Good evening.”

“Oh, hello.” Magda, the brunette, peered out from beneath a straw hat that was two years out of fashion. Magda had been one of my closest friends before the war. But I had not seen her or heard from her in months. She did not meet my eyes.

At her side was Klara, a shallow girl for whom I had never much cared. She sported a blond pageboy haircut and eyebrows that were tweezed too high, giving her a look of perpetual surprise. “We were just doing some shopping and are going to stop for a bite to eat,” she informed me smugly.

And they had not invited me. “I would have enjoyed that,” I ventured carefully in Magda’s direction. Despite the fact that we had not spoken recently, some part of me still hoped that my old friend would have thought of me—and invited me to join her.

Magda did not answer. But Klara, who had always been jealous of my closeness to Magda, did not mince words. “We didn’t call. We thought you would be busy with your stepmother’s new friends.” My cheeks stung as though I had been slapped. For months, I had told myself that my friends were no longer getting together. The truth was that they were no longer getting together with me. I knew then that the disappearance of my friends had nothing to do with the hardships of the war. They had shunned me because Ana Lucia was a collaborator—and perhaps they even believed that I was, too.

I cleared my throat. “I don’t associate with the same people as my stepmother,” I replied slowly, struggling to keep my voice even. Neither Klara nor Magda said anything further and there was an awkward moment of silence among us.

I lifted my chin. “It’s no matter,” I said, attempting to brush off the rejection. “I’ve been busy. There’s just so much I need to get done before Krys gets back.” I had not told my friends that Krys and I had ended our relationship. It was not just the fact that we seldom saw each other or that I was embarrassed. Rather, saying it aloud would force me to admit it to myself, make it real. “He’ll be back soon and then we can plan our wedding.”

“Yes, of course he will,” Magda offered, and I felt a twinge of guilt as I remembered her own fiancé, Albert, who had been taken by the Germans when they raided the university and arrested all of the professors. He had never returned.

“Well, we must be going,” Klara said. “We have a reservation at seven thirty.” For a split second I wished that for all of their rudeness, they might still invite me to join them. Some pathetic part of me would have swallowed my pride and said yes for a few hours of company.

But they did not. “Goodbye, then,” Klara said coldly. She took Magda’s arm and led her away, their laughter carrying back across the square with the wind. Their heads were tilted conspiratorially toward one another and I felt certain they