1 September 1939. My entire family was camped out on blankets and goosedown bedding in the apple orchard behind Aunt Uchka’s little house. Out of all my aunts, Uchka was my favourite. Not even ten years older than me and not much taller, she was more like a best friend. Zygush, her three-year-old son, scampered about the orchard picking up fallen green apples. His father Hersch Leib was on his heels, but only managed to catch his shadow. After 20 minutes or more, Uchka finally intervened, handing her little baby Zosia to Babcia, my grandmother, and reaching out to capture the laughing boy as he ran by. Zygush didn’t understand that he shouldn’t be laughing or running or having a good time. He would only be quietened with the traditional bribe of a cookie. [download]
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