sleep like loaves laid on the stove.”
“That was fun, Nelka.” Gretel smiled and turned so that Nelka could braid her hair. Gretel lifted her arms and wanted to dance. She had forgotten what it was to be able to stand perfectly still and not have the crawling in her hair and on her body, not have to scratch until the skin bled.
Nelka took what was left of the kerosene and dabbed it on Gretel’s wrists and neck and ankles. “Polish perfume.” She grinned at Gretel, and Gretel blinked back the tears that the fumes of kerosene stung from her eyes.
Telek stacked up as much wood as Hansel and Gretel gathered in six days. They ate potatoes and bread and drank hot water with ground rye in it.
Telek pulled out a flask and Magda and Nelka took sips.
“Where do you get it, Telek?” Magda’s cheeks were red. But Telek didn’t say a word. Gretel knew it was vodka. Where would a ragged man like Telek get vodka? He didn’t look like any of them. He wasn’t afraid or angry. He just looked hard.
“Magda? Why do you have such a big stove?” Hansel asked.
“Because the baker’s wife had to go and have twins and I got them out of her. He gave me his old stove when he brought a new one from the city.”
“It’s awfully big.”
“Too big,” Magda agreed.
They lay on the sleeping platform, Magda in the middle where it was warmest. Then Gretel and then Nelka. Hansel was on the other side of Magda and Telek slept on the floor.
In the middle of the night, Gretel woke and saw that Magda lay wide-eyed.
“Magda?” she whispered. “Priests don’t have children do they?”
“Yes.”
“Yes they do, or yes, I am right and they don’t?” But she was so warm that she fell back asleep and didn’t feel Hansel when he crawled over Magda and her and under the blankets next to Nelka.
“I love you, Nelka,” he whispered. “I’m going to marry you.”
She didn’t say a word but gathered him in her arms and pressed her warmth against him. He lay next to her, the rhythmic kicking of the baby bumping against his backbone and keeping him awake until it blended with his own heart thumping in his chest, and Hansel knew no longer what was his flesh, what the baby’s, and what Nelka’s as he fell asleep.
Pictures
“ I told them that you needed it for a wound. Said you cut your leg chopping wood.” Father Piotr was out of breath.
“I’ll need a bottle every three weeks.”
“The Germans must not want peroxide because I can still get it. But that may not last.” He looked at the boy. “Cut his hair short first. That’ll get rid of the curls.”
“And the papers?”
“In a week. The children can’t be seen until their baptismal certificates are done. Don’t go to the village until then. The less you’re in the village, the better.”
When he’d gone, Magda called Hansel inside.
“Help me, boy.”
She went to the corner of the hut and lifted a board in the floor. Under the floor were baskets of potatoes and onions and another basketful of odd metal instruments. Hansel sat on the table so Magda could reach him easily, and she cut off all his hair. Gretel picked up each curl as it fell and held them in her skirt. When he was shorn so closely that not a curl could show, Gretel took the hair to the stove and opened the heavy door. With a flick of her skirt, she threw the dark curls onto the coals where they lay for a moment and then vaporized, leaving threads of red until the threads disintegrated and became invisible.
“We’re burning you up inch by inch.” Gretel grinned at Hansel. “All the parts that are no good are going in the stove.”
He put his hands over his penis and frowned, and Gretel giggled. “I’m joking, silly. Just your hair.”
“I’ll never get in the oven,” the boy said.
“No one asked you to. Sit still, child.” The witch had to use both bottles to get his hair the proper color. When she was done, it was a golden yellow, darker than Gretel’s but believable next to the
“That was fun, Nelka.” Gretel smiled and turned so that Nelka could braid her hair. Gretel lifted her arms and wanted to dance. She had forgotten what it was to be able to stand perfectly still and not have the crawling in her hair and on her body, not have to scratch until the skin bled.
Nelka took what was left of the kerosene and dabbed it on Gretel’s wrists and neck and ankles. “Polish perfume.” She grinned at Gretel, and Gretel blinked back the tears that the fumes of kerosene stung from her eyes.
Telek stacked up as much wood as Hansel and Gretel gathered in six days. They ate potatoes and bread and drank hot water with ground rye in it.
Telek pulled out a flask and Magda and Nelka took sips.
“Where do you get it, Telek?” Magda’s cheeks were red. But Telek didn’t say a word. Gretel knew it was vodka. Where would a ragged man like Telek get vodka? He didn’t look like any of them. He wasn’t afraid or angry. He just looked hard.
“Magda? Why do you have such a big stove?” Hansel asked.
“Because the baker’s wife had to go and have twins and I got them out of her. He gave me his old stove when he brought a new one from the city.”
“It’s awfully big.”
“Too big,” Magda agreed.
They lay on the sleeping platform, Magda in the middle where it was warmest. Then Gretel and then Nelka. Hansel was on the other side of Magda and Telek slept on the floor.
In the middle of the night, Gretel woke and saw that Magda lay wide-eyed.
“Magda?” she whispered. “Priests don’t have children do they?”
“Yes.”
“Yes they do, or yes, I am right and they don’t?” But she was so warm that she fell back asleep and didn’t feel Hansel when he crawled over Magda and her and under the blankets next to Nelka.
“I love you, Nelka,” he whispered. “I’m going to marry you.”
She didn’t say a word but gathered him in her arms and pressed her warmth against him. He lay next to her, the rhythmic kicking of the baby bumping against his backbone and keeping him awake until it blended with his own heart thumping in his chest, and Hansel knew no longer what was his flesh, what the baby’s, and what Nelka’s as he fell asleep.
Pictures
“ I told them that you needed it for a wound. Said you cut your leg chopping wood.” Father Piotr was out of breath.
“I’ll need a bottle every three weeks.”
“The Germans must not want peroxide because I can still get it. But that may not last.” He looked at the boy. “Cut his hair short first. That’ll get rid of the curls.”
“And the papers?”
“In a week. The children can’t be seen until their baptismal certificates are done. Don’t go to the village until then. The less you’re in the village, the better.”
When he’d gone, Magda called Hansel inside.
“Help me, boy.”
She went to the corner of the hut and lifted a board in the floor. Under the floor were baskets of potatoes and onions and another basketful of odd metal instruments. Hansel sat on the table so Magda could reach him easily, and she cut off all his hair. Gretel picked up each curl as it fell and held them in her skirt. When he was shorn so closely that not a curl could show, Gretel took the hair to the stove and opened the heavy door. With a flick of her skirt, she threw the dark curls onto the coals where they lay for a moment and then vaporized, leaving threads of red until the threads disintegrated and became invisible.
“We’re burning you up inch by inch.” Gretel grinned at Hansel. “All the parts that are no good are going in the stove.”
He put his hands over his penis and frowned, and Gretel giggled. “I’m joking, silly. Just your hair.”
“I’ll never get in the oven,” the boy said.
“No one asked you to. Sit still, child.” The witch had to use both bottles to get his hair the proper color. When she was done, it was a golden yellow, darker than Gretel’s but believable next to the
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