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Authors: Eva Weaver
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her neck and tell her everything, but I didn’t move.
That night images passed in front of my eyes like clouds flying across a stormy sky. There I was, shooting a pistol from a hiding place, aiming perfectly, policemen and soldiers falling like tin cans at a funfair. Applause all around me, thundering like hail. But then, as I bowed, black fur, snouts and claws surrounded me: the soldiers had morphed into giant rats, their small ears sticking out from under large iron helmets. Scurrying up the staircase, they kicked down the door to our flat, dragged me outside and ripped my coat to shreds with their long claws. Then they beat me to a pulp, leaving me to die on the cobbled streets of the ghetto.
All night my mind wandered between these scenarios, hero and victim, as I slipped in and out of a light sleep.
By the time the subtle grey of morning illuminated our room, I was completely worn out, but also changed. I glanced at Mother, who was still asleep, sheltered for a short while from all the worry and fear.
There was such tenderness in her face and she seemed so young. She meant so much to me and I had hardly paid her any attention in all these months, yet it was Mother who held everything together. It was she who managed to put a pot of soup on the table each day and kept our clothes as clean as they could be. She kept my spirit from freezing over so my heart wouldn’t become like the frozen lakes in Krasinski Park. We used to skate on those lakes not so long ago. Right there on the other side of the wall lay Krasinksi Park with its lakes and amusements – unreachable for us now.
Mother was gentle, but also very brave – she had soldiered on with a broken heart after Father died, never complaining. And she had risked her life to honour Grandfather’s last wish – that I should have the coat. I pulled the prince from the coat’s pocket and put the colourful puppet with its rabbit-fur trim next to her face so it would be the first thing she saw when she woke.
Later that day I found the prince back in my pocket with a note wrapped around it.
‘Thank you, my dear; I will always cherish you, my prince.’
After that night of restlessness and visions I realised just how much the puppets infused me with energy, purpose and even morsels of joy – gold nuggets in the dark chaos of the ghetto. From that day I didn’t go out without my coat and the puppets and slowly a plan grew in me like a seed germinating in the dark, a seed that instinctively knows that some day it will break through into the sun and grow to its true size.
Over time, I got more and more invitations to put on shows, and one day, nine months after my last outing with Grandfather to Leszno Street, a note came through the door from the very same puppet theatre where I had seen my first show. I ran straight into the kitchen.
‘Ellie, they want us to play at the puppet theatre. I can’t believe it. It’s such a sweet little place. I’d love you to help me.’ For a moment I forgot my usual shyness around her. I took both her hands and pulled her out of her damn chair. She looked at me, her eyes so beautiful, and I hugged her.
‘Wait, Mika! What’s all this?’
I took a deep breath and told her about the day I had spent with Grandfather on Leszno Street: the café, the theatre, the puppets.
‘All right, I’ll come with you. You’re right. I can’t stay in this chair for ever.’ She smiled – the first time I’d seen her smile since Paul’s death.
‘Let’s get going, then.’
That was the thing with Ellie: it was all or nothing. If she was happy, she burned bright as fire and her enthusiasm lit up everyone around her.
We spent that afternoon back in the workshop. Ellie picked up the princess, slipped her hand underneath its dress, and with the other removed a little crown from the puppet’s head. She picked up a miniature brush and swung it like a sword.
‘Why don’t we do Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves?’
I suspected this was
That night images passed in front of my eyes like clouds flying across a stormy sky. There I was, shooting a pistol from a hiding place, aiming perfectly, policemen and soldiers falling like tin cans at a funfair. Applause all around me, thundering like hail. But then, as I bowed, black fur, snouts and claws surrounded me: the soldiers had morphed into giant rats, their small ears sticking out from under large iron helmets. Scurrying up the staircase, they kicked down the door to our flat, dragged me outside and ripped my coat to shreds with their long claws. Then they beat me to a pulp, leaving me to die on the cobbled streets of the ghetto.
All night my mind wandered between these scenarios, hero and victim, as I slipped in and out of a light sleep.
By the time the subtle grey of morning illuminated our room, I was completely worn out, but also changed. I glanced at Mother, who was still asleep, sheltered for a short while from all the worry and fear.
There was such tenderness in her face and she seemed so young. She meant so much to me and I had hardly paid her any attention in all these months, yet it was Mother who held everything together. It was she who managed to put a pot of soup on the table each day and kept our clothes as clean as they could be. She kept my spirit from freezing over so my heart wouldn’t become like the frozen lakes in Krasinski Park. We used to skate on those lakes not so long ago. Right there on the other side of the wall lay Krasinksi Park with its lakes and amusements – unreachable for us now.
Mother was gentle, but also very brave – she had soldiered on with a broken heart after Father died, never complaining. And she had risked her life to honour Grandfather’s last wish – that I should have the coat. I pulled the prince from the coat’s pocket and put the colourful puppet with its rabbit-fur trim next to her face so it would be the first thing she saw when she woke.
Later that day I found the prince back in my pocket with a note wrapped around it.
‘Thank you, my dear; I will always cherish you, my prince.’
After that night of restlessness and visions I realised just how much the puppets infused me with energy, purpose and even morsels of joy – gold nuggets in the dark chaos of the ghetto. From that day I didn’t go out without my coat and the puppets and slowly a plan grew in me like a seed germinating in the dark, a seed that instinctively knows that some day it will break through into the sun and grow to its true size.
Over time, I got more and more invitations to put on shows, and one day, nine months after my last outing with Grandfather to Leszno Street, a note came through the door from the very same puppet theatre where I had seen my first show. I ran straight into the kitchen.
‘Ellie, they want us to play at the puppet theatre. I can’t believe it. It’s such a sweet little place. I’d love you to help me.’ For a moment I forgot my usual shyness around her. I took both her hands and pulled her out of her damn chair. She looked at me, her eyes so beautiful, and I hugged her.
‘Wait, Mika! What’s all this?’
I took a deep breath and told her about the day I had spent with Grandfather on Leszno Street: the café, the theatre, the puppets.
‘All right, I’ll come with you. You’re right. I can’t stay in this chair for ever.’ She smiled – the first time I’d seen her smile since Paul’s death.
‘Let’s get going, then.’
That was the thing with Ellie: it was all or nothing. If she was happy, she burned bright as fire and her enthusiasm lit up everyone around her.
We spent that afternoon back in the workshop. Ellie picked up the princess, slipped her hand underneath its dress, and with the other removed a little crown from the puppet’s head. She picked up a miniature brush and swung it like a sword.
‘Why don’t we do Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves?’
I suspected this was
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