“If they bring their own guns, they are very welcome to stay,” Chaim said, and he and his brother shared a weary smile.
“Come,” Zus said, raising his voice to address the whole group. “There is much to tell all of you, and I want to hear everything about what happened to you, too. Shall we go have a meal?”
Laughing and chattering, with the clouds overhead temporarily parting to let in the light, the group that had followed Yona into the swamps began to walk back toward the place they had come to know as home.
* * *
That night, after meeting the eight newcomers—all between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four, and all bright-eyed with anger and grief for loved ones slain by the Germans—Yona walked a hundred meters away from their camp and found herself alone in the woods for the first time in weeks. It was safe here in the camp, as safe as it could be, and even Chaim and Rosalia had let down their guard and crawled off to sleep. Israel and Wenzel, who had come back with Zus’s group a week before and were well rested, were on patrol tonight, and Yona could hear their distant footsteps moving through the trees. But still she was able to close her eyes and block out the sound as she sat by the edge of a burbling stream.
The soft rushing of the water comforted her, gave her leave to let go, and before she knew it, tears were running down her face, and then she was sobbing, her body heaving with the sudden effort of drawing a breath. The moon shone down, peaceful and quiet, the stars twinkled overhead, and Yona wept at last for all the things that had been lost: for the people who should still be here, for the father she’d never see again, for the death of Aleksander, for the senseless loss of young Leib’s life, even for Jerusza, who seemed farther away than ever. The Germans, they don’t just wipe out our people, Aleksander had said to her long ago. They wipe out our future. Aleksander’s family line, and Leib’s, were forever erased now. How many futures had the Germans snuffed out the same way?
She was crying so hard that she didn’t hear anyone approaching until warm, callous fingers touched her arm. She jumped up, whirling around, and found herself face-to-face with Zus. The scream in her throat melted into a whimper, and without a word, he folded her into his arms and simply held her as her shoulders shook. When she finally pulled away, she knew that her face was streaked with salt and dirt, and her eyes were bloodshot, but when Zus reached out and gently tucked an errant fall of hair behind her ear, she saw herself reflected in his eyes, and she saw none of those flaws.
“I’m sorry about Aleksander,” Zus said, his voice rough as he broke the silence between them. “I know what it is to lose someone.”
“I’m not crying only for him,” Yona said, and there was something about the way that his shoulders sagged slightly in relief that made her heart beat a bit faster. “My tears are for everyone we’ve lost. All the lives that should not have been extinguished.”
Zus nodded, and they looked skyward at the same time. Yona watched as a splash of stars, an infinite galaxy far away, disappeared behind a dark cloud, and then she looked back at Zus.
“They took my wife and daughter,” he said, his voice flat. He was still looking at the space where the stars should have been. “Right in front of me. I—I could not stop it. Did Chaim tell you?”
Yona nodded. “I’m so sorry, Zus.”
She reached for his hand, and he laced his fingers through hers. After a moment of silence, she followed his gaze back to the sky.
“I’m broken, Yona,” he said, still not looking at her. “I always will be, no matter what I do, no matter how many lives I help save.”
She hesitated before moving closer and resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m broken, too. But sometimes it’s the jagged edges that allow us to fit together. Sometimes it’s the breaks that make us strong.”
Zus didn’t reply, and for a moment she was certain she’d said the wrong thing, that in trying to make him feel less alone, she had instead made him feel as if she were comparing her losses to his. But then he placed his index finger under her chin and gently tilted her face up. He studied her eyes for a few seconds, his gaze stormy, and then, wordlessly, he leaned in and kissed her, so softly that at first his lips barely touched hers. When she leaned in and kissed him back, he turned slightly, angling his body toward hers and pressing her against him.
When he finally pulled away, the light had returned to his eyes. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but there was no need for words. After a few seconds, she placed her head on his shoulder again, and he rested his head against hers, and she wondered if maybe their broken edges had been a perfect fit all along.