by Max Ciampoli
I scooted my body down to where the rods came to a V and joined the axle. That V supported my lower back; however, there were other challenges to contend with. Every time the train went over a point where two rails were joined, there was a sound like “ba-da-du, ba-da-du,” and the train shook. “Your body can’t take that, Marc. Pull it up, pull it up,” I demanded, encouraging myself. With my hands and arms, I pulled my torso up at each seam to avoid the painful jarring of my back. Although my legs and torso had pretty good support, I did not dare relax the muscles of my upper body. I had to keep tensed up so as not to fall. The train shook a lot, and I could feel every bump acutely.
Before each station, I had to get off because at those scheduled stops the trains were searched by German patrols, as I’ve already mentioned. As soon as I heard the brakes, I turned my body over, still holding on with my feet, legs, and hands about sixty centimeters above the track. Then, all at once, I would let go and let the train pass over me. Next, I would quickly run for cover and wait for nightfall to find my way around the village or town to the other side of the station.
Before every bridge, the train would also brake. That was my signal to drop to the tracks. I would get off, hide, and wait for dark if it wasn’t night already. Then I would climb down the mountain, into the deep valleys, often cross a river or a stream, and climb up the other side. I was usually bruised and often bloody from the time I spent hanging from, and dropping off, the underbelly of the train. It was extremely helpful that I loved to climb. The mountains of Austria are tall and difficult to scale. After each arduous detour, I would catch the next train on the same track and continue my journey, not knowing the exact destination of that particular train. The trip from Lyon to Vienna took me between six and eight weeks.
During that time, I had to find food and water. The only way I could do this was to steal from farms along the way. I had to risk my life by taking rabbits, chickens, eggs, water, whatever I could get my hands on, while on foot. During the daytime, I would find safe places to sleep and recover my strength. Sometimes I would even make a little fire to cook a rabbit or a chicken. At night, I would look for more food and water.
It’s hard to explain just how much tenacity this journey required. What got me through was total dedication to my goal. For strength I would repeat to myself, “We will rid the world of Nazi tyranny. My beautiful France will be free again.”
I must say that this was, without doubt, the most difficult task I had to accomplish during the war. It was extremely wearing, physically and mentally. Many times, I found myself on a train heading in the wrong direction. You can imagine how distressing this was since I knew it was vital that I get to Vienna. In retrospect, it was miraculous that I was able to arrive alive and in one piece.
Just before the Vienna station, I dropped onto the track and ran to hide for the last time. I knew the place I needed to find, just not how to get there. At all costs, I had to avoid any confrontation with the authorities. It was extraordinarily dangerous for me to be traveling with no papers, especially in a large city governed by Nazis. If stopped, I would certainly be put in prison.
I was totally exhausted. It was early morning, and the temperature was below freezing. “Come on, body, cooperate. You must move,” I tried to persuade myself to go forward, as I got on my feet. “You can move. Don’t pay attention to the cold or the pain,” I commanded.
All my muscles, my back, my arms and legs—everything ached. I needed to find my way to the Château de Schönbrunn, as my contact was the castle’s guard. There was no choice. I had to risk asking directions from one of the railroad employees. I saw an older man, about sixty years old, walking away from the station along the tracks. Many Austrians, especially the older generation, were not Nazis. So I addressed him in German and asked him the location of the château. As usual, luck was in my favor. “It’s in the same direction as my home, where I’m headed right now. Walk along with me, if you like,” he offered.
I don’t know what he thought of this dirty, ragged traveler, but he said nothing about my appearance. In fact, he talked very little as we took the road toward his house. We saw no pedestrians on the way and only a few cars and trucks. I was so dirty that I must have looked like a coal miner just coming off shift. My clothing was probably even dirtier than I was, full of soot and smoke from the coal burned by the train for fuel.
I was concerned that sunrise would soon come. “Perhaps you’ll join me for coffee at the house,” the man suggested. “Well, it’s not really coffee,” he added. “We can’t get any. We make a warm drink from grilled grain. I’m sure you’re familiar with it. And right now, we have no milk to add because of food rationing.”
We continued walking. Then, in the distance, I spotted the silhouette of the château. It was immense. It resembled the Château de Versailles but on a smaller scale.
“Thank you, monsieur, for your kind offer, but I must continue on,” I told him, and gave a slight wave of my hand. I was anxious to get there before the sun came up and wanted to avoid any unexpected encounter. I needed to be hidden from any prying eyes. I had no desire to be prey for the Nazis.
Once I reached the château, I tried to open the shutters of a window and found them unlocked. I pushed the window, and to my surprise, it opened but not easily. I pressed on it and realized that the heavy drapes inside were preventing it from fully opening. I steadily applied pressure until the window opened wide enough for me to climb in. Then, I quietly closed and locked the window.
I peeked through the draperies and my eyes grew wide with amazement. I was in a sumptuously decorated, enormous ballroom. I silently crossed the room toward a door that I soundlessly cracked open. I felt like a burglar. There was a grand hallway with numerous doors. Closing the ballroom door behind me, I moved cautiously down the hall and tried one of the doors. It opened, revealing a magnificent bedroom suite, complete with a grand canopy bed. “Ah, this is perfect,” I said to myself. It was time for me to rest although the room felt like an icebox. I crawled underneath the bed and instantly fell asleep.
SIXTEEN
The Barber of Vienna
Suddenly, I awoke. I listened as heavy footsteps coming down the hall grew louder. Then the door opened. A man entered who was dressed as a guard. He was whistling softly to himself the tune that the partisans would often sing. This must be my contact, I thought. Trusting my instinct, I began whistling the same tune as I came out from under the bed. As I crawled out, I saw a huge smile illuminating the guard’s face.
“I’ve been waiting and watching for you for weeks. What took you so long?” I must have looked awful because before I could respond he said, “Come, come and wash up. I can’t even see your face. There’s no one else in the château. I’ll find you something clean to put on. Tomorrow or the day after, I’ll accompany you to your rendezvous. I have a motorcycle. But for now, follow me. I’ll tell you more about your new contact later.”
He brought me to a utility room filled with brooms, mops, and the like. And there it was—a sink with running water! This was going to be delightful.
“There are clean towels in the cabinet,” he said. “I’ll go get you some overalls and something to eat.”
“If it’s possible, could you find me some handkerchiefs? My nose is full of soot. And I could also use a comb and some sort of medicated cream for my lips. They’re terribly dry and cracked. I appreciate all your help.”
The air was so cold, though certainly not as cold as it had been under the trains. It was just that now I had time to reflect, and, stiff, cold, and sore from the contortions I had to endure while clinging for hours and days to the cold iron of railroad car undercarriages, I had to exhort myself not to complain. I changed my focus to being grateful that I had made it to the safety of the château, and for the comforts it offered. First and foremost among these comforts was running water. Although it wasn’t heated, it was warm in comparison to the air temperature and therefore felt wonderful.
All of a s
udden, I again heard steps coming down the hallway, but this time they were different. I immediately hid behind the door. Whoever it was, I would take care of him. The person passed the utility room and continued on. The guard had said that nobody was at the château except him. Who, then, was this other person? I stood there in my briefs. I wasn’t going to put on those awful, dirty clothes again. Since there were some closets in the room, I started opening them. In one, I found a raincoat. That was better than nothing, so I slipped it on.
Fifteen or twenty minutes later, I heard more footsteps coming up the hall, lighter, less-hurried steps this time. Again I jumped behind the door and waited. When the door opened, a little voice said, “Monsieur? Monsieur?” I stepped out from behind the door and saw this little woman carrying a tray. On it was a terrine of soup and dark bread. She said, “My husband will be here soon with some clothes for you. Sit down now, and try this white bean soup. Don’t pay any attention to me, just go ahead and eat. You need to.” The soup warmed my insides. Another half hour passed while I ate. Then the guard returned with some clothes for me.
“Thank you both for your kindness,” I told them appreciatively.
As it was Sunday, the couple left to go to mass. While they were gone, I waited in the utility room. After church, the guard came back to check on me and to supply me with food for lunch and dinner. After eating, I decided to wrap myself in a rug and lie down on a couch. I slept all day long. That evening the guard took me to another building near the stable.
“Tomorrow is Monday,” he said. “Nobody will be coming to this building, but just in case, I’m going to lock you in so that no one can open the door. There’s nothing to fear. I have already locked the château, and I am the only one who has the keys. Sleep well,” he said, and bid me good night.
I went to bed in my new “home,” which was infinitely better for me than the château. Here, there was a bed, blankets, pillows, plenty of towels, and a bathroom with a bathtub and handheld shower spray. “Why didn’t he bring me here earlier?” I asked myself. I was still extremely tired and sore, so much so that I wasn’t even tempted to take a bath. I fell right to sleep and slept through the night.
It was morning when I heard the key in the lock. The guard set my breakfast down on the table and left. I ate right away and then took a sponge bath. It did me a world of good. I got dressed in my new clothes and went back to bed.
The guard came again that afternoon to bring me more food for the day. “I’ll be back before daybreak,” he said, “and I’ll take you into the city. Your contact is a barber who owns an exclusive salon where the high-ranking German officers go for their haircuts and shaves.”
Early the next morning, we climbed on his motorcycle to go to the city. He dropped me on the corner where the opera house was located. What a magnificent building! “There is the salon,” he said, as he pointed. “When you think it’s relatively safe, go to the back door. It will be unlocked.”
People were not yet out on the streets. I needed to find a vantage point with a good view of the barbershop. Then I needed to make my way to the back entrance without attracting attention. I thought, My only possible cover is to be a beggar. I dragged my leg as if I couldn’t use it and kept my head down low. I found a good place to watch from, the building across from the opera house. The barbershop was on the far side of the building. Large command cars were beginning to arrive, bringing German officers, one or two at a time, to the salon.
Stealthily, I made my way down the street and to the back door of the salon. I partially opened it to peek in. I was sure the barber had been expecting me for a long time. I entered the back room and peeked through the door. I saw that each chair in the salon had blue curtains to pull around for the privacy of the customer. Perfect. Then the barber spotted me and gave a slight nod in recognition of my presence.
At an opportune moment, he looked at me and pointed to a chair. I moved quickly. He immediately closed the curtains around me, draped me with a long cloth, and put a warm towel over my face. He whispered, “Don’t move from this chair. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. I need to finish with my clients. You’ll need to stay in the chair till my lunch break. We’ll talk then.” He was careful to hide my appearance even from under the curtains. He rolled my pants up to my knees, took off my shoes and socks, put them away, and put my feet into a basin of water.
When he left, I whispered to myself, “I’m sure he doesn’t have another client who looks like I do!” A while later, he changed my damp facial towel for a fresh, warm one.
“Sleep if you like,” he said. “You’ll be fine here. I know you must be hungry, but I’ll be busy till lunch. I’ll come see you whenever I can.”
The warmth from the towel felt soothing on my face. My feet were blissfully soaking in warm water. I fell asleep, waking up now and again throughout the morning.
After escorting his last client out before closing for lunch, he came over to my chair. “Now I have time to trim your beard and cut your hair. You are a mess, young man,” he said. He had a reassuring touch and an air of self-confidence. As soon as he finished, a client knocked at the door even though it was locked for the noon break.
He glanced out the window. “Ah, it’s a regular customer. I have to let him in. That will take care of my lunch,” he said as he covered up my face again and drew the curtains. I soon fell back to sleep.
After the final client of the day left, the barber woke me up and took me to the back room where I could wash up and change clothes. “I have new clothes for you so you won’t draw any attention to yourself,” he told me. The barber was in his sixties, Jewish, small of stature with a beautiful head of white hair. He looked like an angel to me. He was gentle and extremely kind. He seemed to be as totally dedicated to the cause as I myself was.
I cleaned up and put on the clothes while the barber tidied and locked the shop. Someone must have let him know my size in advance because the clothes fit me well. The “angel” gave me some bratwurst and sauerkraut. He had most certainly saved his lunch for me. “Now we’ll go by alleyway and side streets to the place where I’ll hide you,” he said.
The package I was to pick up would originate in Poland and be conveyed via Polish messenger. What I was to receive was so highly confidential that they only trusted the messenger to pass it directly to the barber, who was also of Polish descent. Once the barber received this package, he would in turn have to personally hand it to me.
About forty-five minutes later, we arrived at our destination, a bombed-out building. Much of the outer structure was destroyed, but the staircase was still intact. I followed him as we stepped over the debris and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. “This is where you’ll be staying until the messenger arrives with the package. I had to wait for your arrival before contacting him.”
As we entered, he said, “Welcome to my property, such as it is. A mattress and blankets are inside the bathtub. At least, we know you’ll be safe here. The whole neighborhood has been bombed. Only the remnants of buildings remain. Do not leave under any circumstances. I’ll bring you food and anything you need. Rest well. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
The tub was too confining for me, so as soon as he left I put the mattress into the kitchen, the only other place that wasn’t demolished. As I looked around, it appeared that others had stayed here before. This is where I was to wait for the messenger from Poland.
I stayed longer than I expected. The barber brought me fresh water, eggs, sausage, cheese, olives, bread, butter, chocolate bars, and pastries. At this time in Austria, the rationing system allowed each person very limited amounts of food, but the barber was in a very privileged position, dealing with influential German officers, and was generously rewarded. When he brought the food supplies, he would stay with me to talk and keep me company. He would eat quite a few of my olives—he adored olives—before leaving with my waste in a bucket.
While I waited in the bombed-out building, I made myself useful. The barber had shown
me what to do. There were about thirty carrier pigeons on the roof. I took care of removing messages from arriving pigeons and of attaching outgoing messages to the departing pigeons’ legs. They were being sent to a short-wave radio station located a few kilometers away. The information collected at the station was forwarded to England.
It took the messenger three more weeks to arrive from Poland. One night, the barber arrived, puffing hard after climbing the steep stairs. “Here is the package,” he said proudly. “It is extraordinary!” he said, as he told me about it. “My compatriots”—he still considered himself Polish—“found this machine that the Germans left behind when the Russians invaded. Somehow, the Poles got it from the Russians. Nothing was done with the machine because the Russians didn’t know what they had. The Polish officer who found it turned it over immediately to the Polish underground, who contacted London right away. They described their find and emphasized its importance. This machine, called Enigma, can decode messages from German headquarters.”
The barber handed me the package that was about the size of a typewriter. “Be ready for departure before dawn,” he said. He handed me a brown and beige angora scarf. “My wife knitted this for you. Wear it in good health,” he said with a smile.
I slept well that night, the scarf around my neck. I was happy to be leaving my three-sided residence.