Last Stork Summer Read Online Free PDF Page A

of theirs. I was too afraid to ask my mother about the things I saw. Anxiety furrowed her brow, and increased her sighs; I didn’t want to add to her concerns or make her voice the ones already consuming her.
    I did talk to Basil though, on our walks around the farm. When I was finally quiet and worn out from the worry, he’d head off and find something. He’d bring it to me, dropping it at my feet; a goose feather, a pine cone, an unusual rock. He’d probablyhave brought me a squirrel if he could have caught one. I guess he was trying to make up for the things that were disappearing from my home and life. I saved all of his gifts in a box under my bed.
    I wished I had them under the wooden bunk I slept in now. Hugging him always made me feel safe, a feeling that I visited often in my dreams; but now, that feeling was as foreign as a full meal, or kindness from the guards. At night, while drifting off to sleep, I would reach into my coat pocket and rub the cluster of coarse dog hair I’d accidentally pulled out of Basil when the soldiers ripped me away from him. I tried to pretend it was his ear and that I was rubbing it like I did before all this madness took my world away. That cluster of Basil’s hair was one more thing the Germans couldn’t take from me. I’d kept it carefully hidden, along with my memories. It wasn’t impossible to keep things hidden from the guards, but it was challenging, and always risky.
    I wasn’t the only one keeping things hidden. Mama had kept her concerns hidden from me as well. She seemed to be preparing me for survival, a mother bear teaching her cub how to ride out a storm. She reminded me of how strong I was. A few days before the German invasion, we were hanging laundry on our clothesline. There was a slight breeze blowing, infusing our sheets with freshness. I loved crawling into fresh, crisp sheets at night. She asked me if I remembered the song she’d taught me to sing when I’d had a bad dream. It was a song about the moon. She told me that after she’d taught me the song, I’d never woken her again, but sometimes she’d heard me singing softly in the middle of the night. She held my face gently in her hands, and gazed into my eyes before speaking the next words.
    “Ewa, I don’t want to frighten you, but if we should get separated in the war I want you to think about all those little things, and cling to them, because they will bring you safely back to me.”
    “I will mama, I promise. Don’t worry, mama, we’ll be ok. We have papa, grandpa, and Basil to protect us.”
    She quickly bent down and grabbed another sheet out of the laundry basket. I could see her eyes tearing up, but couldn’t figure out why.
    * * *
    I lay back down. The siren hadn’t called us to work yet, so there was no need to rush it. Back on my bunk, I quietly hummed the song about the moon. I looked out the narrow window and my heart filled with love for my family. Just as a young stork leaves its nest but continues to be fed by its parents, I would continue to be fed by recollections of mine.
    I whispered, “Mama, I’m staying strong like you taught me.” I knew wherever she and papa were, they would be so proud of me.

Chapter 5
Understanding
    Adult white storks are about three feet tall, with long red legs , a straight pointed red bill, white plumage, and black wing feathers .
    Understanding happens when wisdom and experience collide. Many of the children in this camp were aware of the fragile nature of their existence. Many had understanding beyond their years. They had learned to survive and adapt to one of the harshest environments imaginable. A natural pecking order developed in each barrack with younger or newer inmates following the lead of those who’d been here the longest.
    From the outside looking in, you wouldn’t see how we’d obtained understanding. You would only notice the dirtiness of our appearance, the thinness of our bodies. You wouldn’t be able to see the hearts in