Bogdan, not Bożena, brought the passport the next day, explaining that, along
with her library job and teaching, she’d joined the Polish underground.  He and their mother had joined as well, and their father was thinking about it.  “We all do what we can,” her brother went on.  “I can do more, since I have just one job and, unlike Mama, I don’t have any children.  Right now the main task is hiding refugees.  But soon we’ll have passports, or at least I hope we will, so we can get them to a proper place of safety.”  He shook his head.  “We’re too close to Germany.  These people aren’t safe with us.  No offense, but I don’t think they’ll be safe with you either, in spite of the magic you all do.”
“We all do what we can,” I vacantly dismissed while inspecting the recalcitrant page.  I frowned in concentration, unable to find anything special about it.

“It’s the paper.  We just can’t get the paper right.  If you can get the paper right we can do the rest.”  Relief pressed a cool hand to my brow.  Matka Lasu had made parchment from a speedwell leaf, and I’d made notepaper from a cabbage.

“Well we can do that!” I tossed with a grin, my confidence edging toward conceit. 
“Where are you hiding all those people now?”

“In the country.  At farms, for the most part in basements.  But some of the farmers have donated land, and we’re thinking about building a temporary town where the people can wait in greater comfort.”  Terror flung icy tentacles over my shoulders and, hanging by my neck, whispered frost-laden warnings.  They’d be easy to find in a town of their own, easy to imprison, easy to kill.

“They might be safer with us until we’ve made up their papers.”  Having salvaged and assembled the memories of my time with the fairies, I was sure that no Nazis would look for the Jews in the trunk of an ancient birch.  “I’ll talk to Matka Lasu and see what she says.”  The frozen creature on my back relinquished its grip and, melting, dribbled onto the nascent ferns of spring.  “Tell Bożena to be on the lookout for a crow.”  With a frown and a squint and a sidelong glance he let me know he was convinced that I had lost my mind.  “Bolesława,” I retorted, as if the crow’s name would clarify everything.  “We’ll wrap a message around Bolesława’s leg and send her to Bożena in the morning.  So tell her to watch for a crow at dawn.”   I shrugged and twitched my wrist dismissing the questions I knew he wanted to ask.

“We just agreed they wouldn’t be safe with you.”

“You agreed.  I was thinking.”  Then softening my tone, “I have a chilling fear about a Jewish town.”   Years later I learned about the ghettos for the Jews that multiplied over the land, their malevolent walls and inexcusable barbed wire turning dignified people into captive animals.  While I know that trapping people was not part of Bogdan’s plan, I’m so grateful he succeeded in dissuading his neighbors from putting up a Jewish town.

At lunch Matka Lasu, Tranoc, Heidi and I had a meeting with the fairies and the pilgrims, setting up a picnic around Pan Dąb to include the old oak in the planning.  Still groggy from winter, his leaves still tightly budded, he rubbed his eyes and smiled warmly when we arrived but could not manage a full human form.  

“There’s a face in that tree!” Gerhard poked me in the ribs and pointed at the ancient oak. 
“Put your hand down,” Edith ordered.  “Don’t you know it’s rude to point?  Did your mother not teach you anything?”  She shook her head and clucked.  “This young generation.”  He lowered his hand and she lowered her voice.  “Bizarre things happen here.  But everyone here has been wonderfully kind to us.  And when people are kind it’s enormously rude to question their peculiarities.”

Like a china figurine that turns into a girl.  Heidi, changing from a statuette to a plucky girl, punched her fists to her hips and, not saying a word, dared him with a huff and a toss of her curls.  She gave him a moment to digest what she had done then, just as abruptly, shrank back to a doll. 

“She’s mischievous sometimes.”  I tucked her into my pocket with an apologetic smile and a shrug.  “But there are other, more important things we need to discuss.”  I told them about the new underground in Poland, people who could take them to Sweden. 

“I don’t want to go to Sweden.  I don’t even speak the language.”  Pouting, Trudy shoved a chunk of matzoh at her borscht as if to punctuate the statement.  “I want to go home!”
“Of course you do, Liebchen,” Matka Lasu caressed the frightened woman with her voice.  I was selfishly glad she’d used the German endearment, not the Polish one she saved for me.  “And the portal’s always open any time you want to go.  But you have to understand that your homeland won’t be safe for Jews for about a dozen years.

“Oh I don’t believe that.” Addressing Matka Lasu, Edith patted Trudy’s knee and held a full fork in midair.  “We’ve seen pogroms before.  They always blow over.”  She raised the forkful of salad to her lips again and, still chewing, sliced the air with the thing.  “You don’t understand what it is to be a Jew.  We live with a suitcase packed by the door.”  She laid the utensil on the plate in her lap.  “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“We seek shelter as people do from a storm,” her husband Erich finished her thought.  “And then we go back, fix what needs to be fixed, give thanks for our well being, and live on.”

“Oh, we understand better than you think,” my teacher countered between swallows of her soup.  “Witches and Jews have a history together.  The holy fathers accused both the witches and the Jews of causing Bubonic Plague.”  Georg dropped his spoon.
P. 62 The sentence that begins “Go to Sweden or stay in this Godforsaken woo
“You’re witches?” he demanded.  

I nodded.  “They’re witches!  My God, we’ve sought refuge with witches!”  Lobbing a fireball of blame at Erich’s eyes, his voice cracked with fury and fear.  “You brought your people to witches?”  He sputtered and brandished his slightly bent spoon like a sword.  “Saul commanded that no witch should be allowed to live!”  All eyes flew to Edith’s husband.  He placidly laid down his bowl to clean his glasses.

“Yes, I know King Saul said that.  And many witches were killed.  But when he knew he was in danger, he consulted a witch.”  He examined the glasses and rubbed a spot again then coiled them back around his ears.  “Oh yes, and those four virtues you recited last night may be true but they’re not part of the rite.  Learn your Torah.  You’re a Jew.  Take some pride in that fact.”  Georg shriveled like a desiccated leaf.  His glasses clean, the gray haired man shoved his hankie to his pocket and challenged the group with an authoritative gaze.

“Each of you discovered your own way here, and you each had your own motivations.”  His inflection, as homey as the voice of a father explaining a basic truth to his children, he glanced around again, but this time included Tranoc and my teacher and me.  “Edith and I—,” he kissed his wife’s hand with such pathos I had to turn away, “—have been married a long time.”

“Fifty-seven years,” she coached.

“Fifty-seven years,” he repeated.  “We’ve learned to rely on each other’s good sense, so when a friend Edith trusted, who is not a Jew, suggested we come here, we simply packed our bags and came.  When your life is in danger, you call on good people, regardless of how or what they worship.”  He shrugged one shoulder and continued, “Matka Lasu is right.  Whenever Jews are ill-treated, witches tend to be too. But the point is that these are good courageous people.”  He nodded to Tranoc and my teacher. 
“They’ve put their safety in danger by taking us in.  Instead of blame, I think we owe them gratitude.”  The issue settled, the others returned to their meal.  A few grunted their approval, but Gerhard and Georg glowered at their salad and soup.

“Well, once we have the passports, you’ll be free to go or stay.”  I flicked a pointed glance at the frowning men.  
                       
“Go to Sweden or stay in this Godforsaken woods?”  The man I’d chosen for
Bożena crooked his mouth into a sneer.  “What species of choice is that?”  The man actually spat.  Once again our lunch was halted for a pithy and prickly pause.  “Israel’s the only home the Jewish people have.”

Dagmar jerked her head up and startled her son who’d been quietly nursing at her breast.   Vindication strutting like a rooster in her eyes, she ignored the infant’s irritated yelp.

“Wherever you go, you should start with Polish passports,” I instructed so she wouldn’t have time to interrupt.  “This is more than a pogrom.  This will be very bad.  With Polish passports and names you can travel more safely, since no one will know you’re German Jews.”  I brandished the document Bogdan had brought.   “The underground people have been working on passports, but they can’t seem to get the paper right.  I think we can do that.”  I passed it to my teacher and searched her eyes for verification. 

Testing its texture between fingers and thumb, she absently nodded and waved her hand, an invitation to go on.  Ludwig, a plump man, rubbed his balding scalp and opened his mouth to speak.  I held up my hand.  He huffed exasperation.  Matka Lasu smelled the passport and licked its lower corner.  “Wait!  There’s more.  Some underground people want to build a temporary town for the Jews.”  Wanting to test Erich’s feeling for the town, I waited to see what he would say. 

“Oh wouldn’t that be nice!” Utelisa’s eyes gleamed at the thought of a town all to themselves. 
       
 “It would be dangerous.”  Squinting, Erich shook his head.  As if he’d read my thoughts, he repeated my objections, ticking them off with his soupspoon on his fingers.

“I agree.”  I raised my bowl to sip the last of my soup, mentally patting myself on the back for having had the wisdom to see the same perils that the patriarch had voiced on my behalf.  “But I don’t think German Jews are any safer in Poland than they would be in Germany.  It’s too close.  They’re too exposed.  I think we need to bring them here.  Until we can get them all to Sweden. ”

“What!  We’re not already crowded enough?”  Gisela threw her hands into the air.  “We’re sleeping on the floor!  We live on top of one another!  There just isn’t room for any more!”

“No, not in the houses.  You’re right about that.”  I looked squarely at the fairy matriarch.  “But there’s room in the village.  Could you take them in, Ludmiła?  At least until the passports are ready?”

Ludmiła tipped her head toward a neighboring fir, and the whole fairy clan disappeared behind it for a conference, their little lights winking through the breeze-prodded boughs, their voices muted to mere hums.   In a breath they were back, their lights brilliant with joy, their grins almost bigger than their faces.   “We have plenty of room for whoever wants to come,” Ludmiła bragged, barely able to conceal her proud delight.  Infusing each pilgrim with the soft light of welcome, she spread her arms to encompass them all.  “You all were here first, and so you get the first choice.  “Who of you would like to come with us?”  Erich silently asked Tranoc if going with the fairies would taken as unappreciative.  Echoing the patriarch’s head tilt and shrug, Tranoc held up his hand for a moment to chew.  He swallowed the dry matzoh and to wash it down he gulped the last bit of his soup.

“You’ve been crowded with us.  Besides, it won’t be long.”  He flashed a smile at my teacher that she didn’t see, having pressed the passport to her brow.   “Pretty soon you’ll all have papers and be on your way, if that’s what you decide to do.  In the meantime you might as well have room to take a breath.”

“For I, who hold sage Homer’s rule the best, welcome the coming, speed the going guest.”  Winking, Pan Dąb bowed then stiffly straightened with a wince.  “Alexander Pope wrote that.”

“Fairies, talking trees, dolls that change to little girls!  I’ve gone mad!  I’ve finally lost my mind!”  Flailing his arms, Gerhard paced and swore.  “I’m going back!  The Nazis can’t be any crazier than this!”

“Think, Gerhard!”  Dagmar fruitlessly grabbed for his hand.

“Get your passport!  Go to Sweden then to Israel!”  Trudy begged as if her future were dependant on his.

“You go back, you’re a dead man,” Ludwig swiped his pointer finger across his neck just above his Adam’s apple.  “Just like that.  Here and gone.”

“I think Ludwig is right.”  Meaning to push his cap back on his head, Tranoc knocked it to the ground.  He retrieved it and, as if he’d never seen it before, examined it inside and out.  “Gerhard, you’ve entered an enchanted wood.  Things will happen here that you won’t understand.   And some of those things will end up saving your life.”  He patted the ground.  “Stay with us for the moment.  Then, after we’ve done everything that we can do, you’ll be welcome to go if you will.  But not back to Germany.  Please not back to the Nazis.”  He plopped the cap back on his head and launched himself to his feet, stretching out a hand for my teacher.   “Let’s get this show on the road.”     
       
To my surprise all of them, including Gerhard and Georg, decided to stay with the fairies.  By late afternoon they had moved all their things and had sat down to a sumptuous meal.
“I think they’re happier now,” Małgorzata assured.  “They all have their own apartments, and everything’s arranged to appear to be exactly as they’d like.  For some that means wide windows flooded with sun.  For some it means the comfort of trees.  Some want gardens.   Some want streets.  Some want pools.  Some want fields.  Each sees what she or he wants to see.  And when they leave, we’ll provide them with memories that have nothing to do with the real village.”  She alit on Tranoc’s shoulder and, sitting, hugged her knees, flaunting an impish smile.  “Even Gerhard appears to be doing just fine.  Now I have to get back.  Ludmiła will need me.”  She rode on Tranoc’s shoulder as he sprinted up the steps and threw the door open for her.  Returning, he plopped into his customary chair.  I sat on its arm next to him.

“I don’t like him,” I confessed.  “I’d hoped Bożena would love him, but now I don’t think he’s good for her.  Or for anybody else.  The truth is I’m not sure he’s even any good for himself.”

“He’s just frightened, Kochanie.  Our ways are strange to him.”  Reaching out from her wingback, my teacher touched my wrist.  

“He’s lonely and angry that the home he’s always loved is no longer predictable and safe.”  Rubbing circles on my back, Tranoc gently reminded that when I came to the woods, his voice, so like my brother’s, had carved a homesick hollow in my soul.  He reminded me of how, each time I visited my parents, my brother’s voice, so like his, had done the same.   “We’ll see a lot of that.  People pine for the familiar.  And for the Jews it will be worse, because they’ll also feel betrayed.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.”  Matka Lasu sipped her tea.  “I think Gerhard needs some special attention.  He needs something to do—something bigger than himself, something that will let him be a hero.  Bożena will guide him, and he’ll be grateful for her.  And they’ll manage that with or without your interference.” She winked mischievously at me.  “Oh, and speaking of heroes, you were good out there today.  You saw that I was busy and you simply stepped in and even earned the patriarch’s respect. That’s not easy to do for a woman your age.  I’m so proud of you, Kochanie.  You are quite an anarkhara.”  I stuffed her praise into my heart and for a moment I was tall.  “Now let’s see,” she reminded, “if we can duplicate this paper.”

At dusk, the most magical time of the day, we gathered samples of the few open leaves.  Then, back at Matka Lasu’s, we made paper after paper, but none of the sheets we made was right.  “We’re getting sloppy,” she complained, massaging her eyes.  “We’re just too tired to focus well enough.”  She yawned and looked longingly at her unmade bed.  “Let’s get some rest.  I’ll write a note to Bożena.  Bolesława will take it.  We’ll do this in the morning.  Or at least we’ll do the best we can.”  She slapped the sample passport.
 “No wait!  Oh! Just a minute.”  She held the paper to her face.  “It’s not the focus that’s off!”  Her eyes had turned triumphal gold.  “It’s the leaves!  This passport wants a dandelion leaf!”  We hadn’t bothered with any dandelions.

I blasted up the steps taking two at a time, erupted from the door, slamming it behind me, and realized I’d forgotten a lamp.  Swearing, I jolted back to the door, thrust my hand out for the knob, and grabbed a lantern instead.  Grinning, Tranoc held back a second light and joined me in the nocturnal search.  In an hour we each had a basket of leaves, and he hadn’t tweaked me once about forgetting a lamp.

We flanked the candle on the kitchen table with our lamps so my teacher would have enough light.  Then we leaned on our elbows, each focusing with her, Tranoc on the green chair and I on the stool.  “You asked the plants for permission before you took the leaves?”  Both of us promised we had.  “You told the plants why these leaves are absolutely necessary?”   We nodded again.  “Good.  That’s good.”  She closed her eyes and pulled in a few slow deep breaths.  Leaning closer, we willed our power to her.  Then, holding a leaf flat on both her palms, she recited the conjuring words.  “Dandelion you be, wild and true.  But now I make passport paper of you.”  She lightly laid her left hand over the leaf, all of us focusing as hard as we could. 

Slowly spreading beyond the confines of her hands and drooping over their sides, the leaf faded so subtly I hardly noticed it.  At last it was as white as a beech.  A little squeak of celebration escaped from my lips.  Matka Lasu held up her left hand.  She laid the paper and the sample side by side on the table.  They looked the same.  She stroked them both and grunted.  She licked the corner of each.  She held both up to a lamp.  At last she smiled.  “It is done!”  We all exhaled.  “By the blood of Matka Ziemia, the paper is right!”

“We did it!” Tranoc roared.  “We actually did it!”  He yanked me from the stool, knocking it to the floor, and swung me around in a reel.  Laughing, Matka Lasu made up a little ditty and clapped to its syncopated beat.  Grabbing both her hands, we whirled her around, picking up the tune of the song.  Then, breathlessly laughing, we collapsed to the floor.

“We have to get back to work,” my teacher reminded once she had collected her breath.  Tranoc scrambled to his feet and reached a hand to help her up, and giggling, she yanked him back down.  We literally wallowed in the pleasure of the moment, rolling into each other just to do it.  And then she got to her knees and crackled to her feet.  “I really mean it.  We have to get to work.” The merry blue of her eyes had finally settled back to brown.  Tranoc rose.  I followed suit.  And then he pinched me.  I pinched him back, and he slapped me.  I tumbled into giggles.  “All right!  I really mean it!  People’s lives are at stake.”  My teacher’s scolding wrenched the humor from his eyes.  Well and truly chastised, we returned to the table, and settled down to do the task at hand.

Seated in her chair, she closed her eyes and bowed her head, taking a moment to regain her concentration.  Tranoc joined her at the table and, righting the stool, I sat back down and focused on the foliage too.  We all teetered toward the leaves.  My teacher held out her hands and then, nodding, made another sheet of paper. 
        
Making page after page and examining each she laid papers in a stack until the foliage was gone.  Then relaxing her hands in her lap, she sat back and, shaking her head, marveled in a muted voice, “Dandelion leaves!”  She rubbed her violet eyes.  “Who would have thought the humble dandelion could save so many lives!”  Yawning, she massaged her awestruck purple eyes again before they went to ordinary brown.  “Stay here tonight, Kochanie.  Dawn will come before you know it.” And so I cuddled in her bed as I had for many years, and she and Tranoc slept in the wingbacks.

I’m concerned about the Feldens, Heidi whispered to my heart.  I mumbled and, ignoring her, rolled over.  I’m concerned about the Feldens, she repeated with more force.  I knew that she would nag until I answered.

“What’s wrong with the Feldens?”  My too-weary voice scraped like a razor on a day old beard.

They’re Jewish.  A lightning bolt of fear shot through my body. 

“No!  You’re wrong!” I hissed in the fire-splotched dark, knowing that she was never wrong.  “I’ve been to their house!” Before the words hit the air, I was aware of how stupid they were.

I’ve seen seventeen Passover Seders at their house.  Judy, I have lived with them.  The truth of her words thudded dully to my heart.

“Why haven’t you called them?” I accused.  I glimpsed them huddled at my hearth like the frightened girl and woman in the corner of the big brown fairy room.  The image was too sad.  I crumpled it up and jettisoned it to the fire.

You think I haven’t tried?  I’ve been calling them for months.  Judy, they simply won’t hear!  I saw them lying like garbage in the street, torn and bloodied, a blanket of flies feasting on their naked flesh.  Again I balled the picture up and tossed it to the fire.  There had to be something we could do.

“Then there is no other choice.” I had snatched at a decision.   “We have to rescue them and bring them here.”