What World is Left by Monique Polak

Author:Monique Polak
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV000000
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2008-10-01T04:00:00+00:00

“Your father is working too hard on those murals,” Mother tells me one afternoon soon after that. She twists some strands of dark hair around her index finger. “I worry about him.”

I reach into my apron pocket and take out the potato Frau Davidels has just given me. It is small and misshapen, but I know Mother will be pleased. “I’m going to boil it up straightaway,” she says, glad, as usual, to have some task to keep her occupied. “Then you can deliver it to the children’s infirmary.”

Father is standing on a chair, using a thick pencil to draw a giant frog on the wall across from the doctors’ station. He is concentrating so hard on getting the warts on the frog’s back right, he doesn’t notice me coming down the hallway.

“Father!” I call out, looking around to see no one is in earshot. “Mother asked me to deliver this.” She has packed three thin slices of boiled potato inside her enamel cup. Theo and I have already eaten our share. Mother didn’t want any. “I’m not hungry,” she said when she sliced the potato. Of course, I know it isn’t true.

Father’s face brightens. My stomach rumbles as I watch him pop the first slice into his mouth. I am so hungry it hurts. “You take this one,” he says, offering me the second slice.

I remember how Mother said she was worried about Father. “I’ve already had my share,” I tell him, looking away.

On my way out, I see two doctors. I know they are Jewish because I’ve seen them in the soup line with the rest of us. They are outside one of the small rooms they use to perform operations. “Now that we’ve set the bone, the child will likely walk without a limp,” one of the doctors says to the other.

I smile as I pass them. I want them to know I am grateful for everything they do. It’s a blessing the child they’re discussing won’t have a limp.

They are standing in front of the Rapunzel mural. Rapunzel’s hair looks so thick and blond I can practically feel its coarse texture. I have an urge to tell them my father painted her, but I am too shy. Just then, the younger of the two turns toward the mural, looking at it as if he is noticing it for the first time. “Part of the Embellishment,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Designed so that when the Danish Red Cross visits, its representatives will be impressed by the looks of our fine infirmary.”

My urge to tell them that the mural is my father’s work disappears. So I am not the only one who disapproves of the Embellishment. Why else would this doctor roll his eyes?

“We’re living in an insane world,” his colleague observes.

I suck in my breath. I’m right, then, to be suspicious of the Embellishment. These men are doctors, scientists; they must know the truth.

“What’s most insane isn’t this new wall decoration,” the first doctor says. “What’s most insane is that the Nazis ask us to treat children, only to dispose of them in the death camps.

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