Chapter 16Beulah lay curled up in a ball rocking and moaning. She held the blankets tightly, pulling them around her. They looked like a shroud.
“Oh Mama,” she groaned. “Mama, mama.”
I sat by her side holding her hand.
“Keep talking, Mr. G. Keep talking.”
“Maybe you should get some rest?”
“Can't rest, I'm on fire. Talk to me. Take my mind away, okay?”
“Okay.” So I continued.
Krasnowicz, 1929
The summer I turned sixteen, I began my last year of high school.
As I rode my bicycle to school that first morning, I thought about Maria and in fact, could think of nothing else. I had only seen her once all summer and that was by chance. She worked in her parents' bakery, kept as a prisoner locked away. Each time I passed by I looked for her. Then one day, she stepped out of the shop. She w
