Tulips in Her Hand

Chapter Four

"Do you always sleep with your mouth open?"

Her timid voice sent Celina flying upwards, her head colliding with a broken branch. A smattering of leaves fluttered down and clung to her raw cheeks. Sunlight streamed through the kaleidoscope-like canopy of trees above her, morning dew adhering to her skin. A lump of tattered clothes lie merely a few feet away, rising and falling ever so slightly. Anka's wispy hair stuck to the sides of her dirt-stained cheeks, a crooked smile forming on her lips.

"For crying out loud, you startled me to death," Celina murmured, pulling her knapsack towards her chest. A dragonfly whizzed past her ear, prompting her to sit up and face the pleading eyes of the mud-coated girl before her.

"Can you wake up Mariusz, please?" she whispered. Groaning, Celina crawled over to the lump of clothes, gingerly shaking him back and forth. The sun was already sparkling high in the sky, portraying its brilliance to the trio of travelers. They had to get moving.

"No." The word was hardly a whisper, barely reaching his lips, yet it was surprisingly filled with anguish. Furrowing her eyebrows, heavily tainted with frustration, Celina proceeded to yank him upright, exposing him to the sunlight.

"No? I'll tell you what. One minute I'm happy at home and the next-"

"Sorry, just dreaming," he mumbled, rubbing his sleep-deprived cheeks. His fingers pried at the white stitches of his blue and white armband, branding him unwanted, and with one swift movement he thrust it upon the dirt. "We are much, much too late. It's probably almost noontime. Do you have the identity cards?" Forcing himself off the blackened earth, Mariusz timidly grabbed his sister's arm, strategically removing her armband. His eyes almost seem to sparkle in her presence, Celina thought.

Hands rifling through the canvased knapsack, they fell upon two crucial slips of paper. "Yes, I have them, but they won't do us any good if we don't know where we're going."

"You're the leader, darling. Mr. Budny said you have a list of contacts that can help us find a hiding place," Mariusz said, his hand gently resting on Anka's shoulder, urging her to move forward.

Disgust littered her iris, almost as present as the flecks of dark blue. "That's right, I am the leader, and I need you to just be quiet unless I say otherwise," she murmured, forcing her aching feet to put one in front of the other, "the closest contact is in outside of Prague, so I think we should head towards there."

"Then our best bet is to try to make it to Łódź. It's approximately seventy-five miles from Warsaw, so it'll take about two-and-a-half to three days depending on our efficiency. From there, we'll take a train to our next destination, and so on," Mariusz said, smacking a cap on his mused, dark hair.

Her mouth agape, saliva long dried up, Celina could merely forced herself to nod along, following closely behind Anka's short, stumbling steps. She took extra care to remain several paces behind the two Jews. Every fragmented step they took, every glimpse into their eyes flashing years of horror from the war threaten to cripple her. Best to remain as distant as possible from the very people that might get her killed.

Walking, always walking, always running.

10,080 steps later: rolling hills.

Her feet ached, her muscles burned, the ground seeming driving into her foot as if it were a hammer and she was a nail. Anka gradually started to stumble behind, erupting into a fit of horrific coughing. Eventually Mariusz swooped her up onto his shoulders, like a little swallow, its wings failing to beat. The Polish countryside seemed to mock the trio, Celina thought, so blithe and sparkling with its myriad of vivid daffodils and soaring birds. Eventually her steps came in sync with those of Mariusz, yet emotionally she remained as distant as possible, leaving his words unheard, his eyes unseen.