Star in the night: On the way to the quarry

She's crying. She cries all the time, and I don't know what to do. Dad's gone. He left a long time ago. He left, and never came back. Then Grandma Schlessnig from next door came over and spoke to Mum. They sent me out into the stairwell. I'm scared, and my friend Karel told me that he's leaving, too, but he's not allowed to talk about it. However, he told me anyway. It's a matter of honour.

When we're grown up, we'll sail the seas together and find treasure. That's a promise. Karel knows a lot about pirates and hidden treasure. His dad gave him some books, which he let me borrow. We're whispering because Mum said we mustn't speak loudly, because of the Blackshirts. You always have to be on your guard against them. You're never allowed to do anything or go anywhere. When Karel and I were younger, we used to play in the old quarry. We used to build pirate rafts there and read, but we're not allowed to do that anymore. I don't feel like it anymore either. I'm freezing and usually hungry, too. If I tell Mum, she cries terribly, so I don't say anything.

Now, Karel says he has to go inside. I slowly make my way back up the stairs, as I hear the flat door open. Granny Schlessnig has probably left by now, so I'll be allowed back in. But Mum drags me inside and tells me to put my boots on. And my coat. The coat looks silly and is too tight, but when I mention this, Mum snaps at me. She's crying as she does it, and I don't know what to do, so I stay quiet and do as she says. She's filled my old rucksack and her own with something. We used to take them with us on walks when Dad was still around. She throws her scarf over her shoulders, covering the yellow star she's sewn onto her coat.

We go downstairs, and she takes my hand. She's squeezing my fingers too tightly, though, and it hurts. It's slowly getting dark. Why are we going out now? There's no one on the street, and Mum keeps pulling me along. Then we hear footsteps. They're boots, not shoes. Mum shoves me into a dark doorway next to us and presses me against the damp wall. The Blackshirts are coming straight towards us. They're talking loudly, and their heels are clattering on the cobblestones.

I can feel Mum trembling, but I'm not. After all, I'm the world's most famous pirate captain, so I draw my sabre to protect her. The Blackshirts are scared and drop everything. They recognise me. One by one, they slowly back up the plank until they fall into the deep water below, where the sharks and sea monsters lurk. Then, we hoist the sails and set sail.

Mum's hand digs into my shoulder so hard that I almost scream, but I bite my tongue. No one's allowed out after dark. The Blackshirts pass through the gateway. One of them stops. He approaches us in the darkness. I don't even take a breath. He does something. Metal clinks softly, and then there's a splash. A liquid splashes onto the tips of my boots. I keep my eyes shut, making the gateway even darker. Then the Blackshirt mumbles something, and shortly afterwards, I hear his footsteps again. He walks out onto the road.

Mum and I wait there for a long time, until we can't hear anything anymore. My boots are wet, and because they have holes in them, my socks are wet with that disgusting stuff, too. But I don't say anything, because we have to keep going. Mum doesn't say a word until we turn onto the sunken path that leads to the fields and the woods. This path also leads to the quarry. I could find it even in the dark.

Where on earth is she going? What about Dad? And where are we going to sleep tonight? She told me earlier that we're not going back home. We've been walking for so long. I'm tired and scared, because I don't know my way around anymore. I start to cry, and Mum tells me something about the border and about friends, and how we'll make it. She says we'll walk at night and sleep during the day. Just when I can hardly walk anymore, I see lights flashing ahead of us, like torches.

© 'Star in the night: On the way to the quarry': A short story set during the Holocaust by Ilona E. Schwartz (translated by Izabel Comati), 08/2026. The illustration shows 'A Street View in the Warsaw Ghetto', a drawing by Chaim Goldberg (1952), CC0 (Public Domain Licence).