The Dollmaker of Krakow by R. M. Romero

Author:R. M. Romero
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2017-09-12T04:00:00+00:00

When Karolina saw the laden cart outside the Trzmiels’ apartment building, she was surprised. The objects she thought Jozef would value above all others were not the things he had chosen to pack. He had not packed his fine silver or his good cookware—those things had already been sold. He had not packed his degree in music from the Academy of Music in Kraków—the German witches did not care how well he could play his violin. He had not packed his watch—that, like the silver and the cookware, had been sold.

What Jozef Trzmiel had done was strip the apartment of photographs as one would strip the leaves from a tree. He had wrapped the candlesticks and chipped cups that his late wife had been fond of in winter coats. He had filled the floors of Rena’s dollhouse with clothing that he folded into small squares. He had jammed books into pockets, and the metal rectangle that the Dollmaker had bumped up against when he had delivered the dollhouse—the mezuzah, which contained a sacred prayer—into a glove so that it would not fall out.

He had packed his memories as best he could.

Rena hoisted herself up onto the wagon and sat on one of the chairs tied down to it. She reached up and stroked Mysz, who was peeking out from the collar of her jacket. His whiskers twitched in disapproval, but he cuddled up to her.

The Trzmiels deserved so much better, but the German laws were against them.

The Dollmaker’s hand shot up in a wave, the abrupt movement drawing Jozef’s gaze to him. Their eyes met, and Karolina thought that Jozef would greet his friend. She wouldn’t have been able to contain herself if she had been in Jozef’s position; Karolina knew she would have needed the comfort of a friend.

But Jozef put his hand on Rena’s shoulder, shifting her body in the opposite direction. Then he shook his head sadly at the Dollmaker.

Would the Dollmaker listen to Jozef’s silent plea not to approach him and Rena? Karolina didn’t think so, and a moment later the Dollmaker started across the street. Never graceful on the best of days, he was made even clumsier by the sheer volume of people pulling carts, wheelbarrows, and even baby carriages piled high with their possessions past him.

He did not make it far. A German soldier, who had been lingering nearby to ensure that the soon-to-be exiles did not deviate from the road, stepped directly into the Dollmaker’s path. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Karolina froze in the Dollmaker’s pocket.

“I’m trying to say goodbye to someone,” her friend said.

The soldier asked, “Are you a Jew?”

“No,” said the Dollmaker. “But I need to get across the street.”

“Give me your papers,” the German said. He held out his hand.

The Dollmaker tried to look over the soldier’s shoulder to the cart, which was being loaded with the last of the Trzmiels’ things. “Please, I need to—”

The German placed his hands on the Dollmaker’s chest and shoved him away. Karolina barely stopped herself from crying out in surprise.

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