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Halina Martin
- The University Press of Kentucky
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116 Out of the Inferno to their house and asked for help. She was a homeless refugee, and her husband was at war. They accepted her, and after a few days she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, named Ewa. Finally the woman told them she had to go to find her husband. She left the baby at the doctor's home. She never returned, probably dying somewhere in the war. The doctor's family adopted the girl and raised her as their own daughter. At the begin~ing of World War II, Ewa joined the resistance like thousands of other young people. Later she disappeared. The doctor's family did not know what had happened to her. It was then that I interrupted the old woman, saying: "You told me about Ewa's birth; now I will tell you about her last days. The girl you are speaking about was Ewa Gibalska, my friend from the prison in Lw6w." Returning to my Original story about my little protege, Malka-Marysia: She survived the war at the orphanage, and her mother survived the concentration camp. Unfortunately, her father did not make it. MaIka 's mother returned after the war and was extremely happy to find her daughter. They emigrated to Israel and later to Canada. Makuch became lifelong friends with Malka-Marysia and her mother. They invited Makuch to Canada, where she met her husband. After emigrating to Canada, Makuch was honored by Yad Vashem for having saved Maika's life. HAUNA MARTIN Tarczyn was a small town. Rickety houses surrounded the square. Poor little shops, run by Jews, were inside the square. There was an ironmonger and an establishment that sold fabrics. Another tiny shop specialized in soap-bars of very poor quality. Here one could also buy matches and, from time to time, even candles. They had sold out of paraffin because the peasants had bought it all up. The poor wretched shopkeepers lived frugally, saving all their pennies. They hoarded them in the hovels at the back of their shops that served as homes. They never spent a single unnecessary penny. Money had to be set aside for sons and especially for daughters, who had to have dowries with which to get a good husband. Tailors sat bent over their needles. Shoemakers busied themselves over their wooden lasts. 11 7 Halina Martin Skullcaps, long robes, beards, and side curls characterized their world. All around them were the Germans, whom they trusted. It was tragic. The center of life in Tarczyn was the mill. My father had bought it in partnership with Kramarski, Leszno, and Borensztajn. Each of these gentlemen had a large family. They worked conscientiously at the mill. They were proud owners. Kramarski and Leszno had shaved their beards and discarded their typically Jewish attire. Borensztajn, however, was adamant; he would do nothing that might go against his religion. "You must sign the bills of sale with me. Otherwise, the Germans will confiscate the mill," I told them. Our discussions took ages. Whole days passed. Bad times were approaching, and the situation worsened all the time. I begged. I tried to explain. Kramarski was the most difficult to convince. "I'm not giving up my 'epaulettes'-the thing that I am proud of. The peasants know I'm a miller; they treat me with respect." "There will be no peasants in the ghetto. Why don't you just find yourself a farmer who will hide you. I'll pay him well every month," I said. "That's a great favor. You want to pay? From the proceeds of my own mill?" "There'll be no mill unless you sign the bill of sale. Even at this stage we'll have to forge the date," I told him. This was my third encounter with the Jewish community and my partners. Even the two who had shaved their beards simply refused to listen. There was no rabbi among them. Nevertheless, I managed to find someone who knew the First Book of Samuel, and I asked him to recite chapter 8. The old man covered his eyes with his hand. He swayed rhythmically, speaking for a long time in a language that was totally unknown to me. Whenever he stopped, a groaning and a wailing filled the room; the noise rose with each verse. I pressed my own Bible to my heart and swayed with them in rhythm to the words. I had no way of knowing if...