Which provided me with a different set of challenges: I didn’t know what ‘normal’ was. I was flattered that Brühl thought enough of my abilities to let me get on with the work single-handedly, but it would have been helpful to know that work actually entailed.
The Marek Ringelblum case had already run its course. We’d searched through every scrap of paper yesterday; there was nothing to follow up, never mind anything for me to conceal. The Gestapo had come over night and taken the printing press back to Pomorska. At some point I could expect to be called upon, as liaison, but until then, I had to find a way to occupy myself.
All I could come up with was sorting through the contents of my new desk. The furniture had obviously belonged to somebody else before me – I didn’t like to think about their fate. In the more hopeful fantasy, my predecessor was dismissed for failing to keep the desk drawers tidy. Things were certainly a mess down there, a dusty, ink-stained mess strewn with loose drawing pins and stray staples.
I wondered if it was possible to waste an entire week pretending to be busy. Why not? Certain teachers I knew at Kiel had made careers of it.
With roll call over, Symche Spira came in hopping from foot to foot to advise us of a ‘red hot’ lead from an informant. Brühl laced his fingers behind his head and leant back, crossing his boots on the slats of an empty seat. I got up and pulled another chair from the waiting area by the window.
‘Sit down,’ I told Spira. ‘You’re giving me motion sickness.’
‘Thank-you, sir. But I prefer to stand. Bad back. The doctor said - ’
Brühl rolled his eyes. ‘Get to it.’
Spira removed his cap. I half expected his glasses-and-nose ensemble to come away with it.
A Jewish high school beauty called Anna Salit had got herself mixed up with Rudolf Korner, assistant chief of Cracow Gestapo. In exchange for her protection, the girl had allowed herself to be ‘turned out’ as an informant. Thanks to her looks and intelligence, Salit became one of the most feared Jew-hunters in the city. No shelter, bunker or safe-house was safe from her reaches. One of her favourite tricks was to swaddle a doll in a baby carriage and wait around in playgrounds, eavesdropping on Polish mothers. In this way she heard from a neighbour of a spinster called Danuta Jagiellon who was hiding a Jewish lover by the name of Moses Montefiore. Salit followed the neighbour home to the Rondo Mogilskie area and had just this minute supplied the address to Spira, who was barely able to contain his glee.
‘That’s it?’ Brühl said. ‘One measly Jew? Hardly seems worth my while.’
‘Jagiellon’s a rich cabaret singer. If we play her right,’ Spira paused, leaning in and shaking, for some inexplicable reason, a pair of imaginary maracas. ‘The bitch might turn out to be a golden goo-oo-oose.’
‘Alright,’ he sighed wearily. ‘I’ll add her to the list.’
When Spira left, Brühl jumped up to use the bathroom, telling me to check the Registry. ‘If Montefiore’s got family, we might be able to squeeze them too.’
I suspected the lover’s name was an Akiva alias. I’d once taught a short course on nineteenth century London and knew that the original Moses Montefiore was a Sherriff of the city, and something of a Jewish activist, in his own way. At a banker’s dinner party, an anti-Semitic nobleman whom Montefiore was seated opposite recounted his recent travels to Japan, where ‘they have neither pigs nor Jews.’ ‘In that case, you and I should go there,’ Montefiore replied. ‘So it will have a sample of each.’
The only Registry I knew was the one where I’d searched for Marek Ringelblum. I was on my knees checking for non-existent Montefiores when my colleague came back from the bathroom, buttoning his overcoat.
‘Have you already checked the Registry then?’
‘Which one?’
‘The whole District.’ He turned and pointed to the wall under the staircase. ‘Eight filing cabinets, every single animal in the zoo, all seventeen-thousand of them, alphabetically indexed.’
I should have thought of this before. Everybody had to be accounted for, even the Jews. It was the German way. To think I hadn’t looked yet. Who else could be in those drawers? The last I’d heard from Shoshana, she’d taken my mother and sisters to live in the countryside. But that was six months ago, an eternity during war. They could be anywhere now, including right underneath my nose.
I crossed the room and overshot the cabinet labelled ‘M, N & O’, stopping instead at its neighbour, ‘S, T & U’, where I would find any imprisoned Sieglers.I opened the top drawer and flicked through the name cards, starting with Sachs and getting as far as Scholem when Brühl approached, pointing to the cabinet on my left.
‘Montefiore begins with M,’ he said.
I knocked my head. ‘Stupid me. I was looking for Salit.’
Outside, the snow was so heavy it was quicker to walk across the river to the Old
Town. We headed north into the Ghetto, crowds parting to let us pass. A sullen young man in a shop doorway removed his cap and stood watching us go, clenching and unclenching fists at his thighs. A gaunt woman lay twisted against the wall, starving to death before my eyes. Such thick, dark locks and the olive skin of an Italian movie star. She looked to be in her early twenties, with the body of an animate corpse. How did a young woman end up like this? Brühl picked a path over her withered legs and said, ‘Even crocodiles look after each other better than this lot.’
We turned right on Solna Targowa to cut across Zgody Square. I realised I had made the same journey yesterday, at almost the same time.
‘Are you Kunde’s happy with me?’ I said. ‘He brushed past earlier with a face like thunder.’
‘I wouldn’t take it personally. It’s not you.’
‘What is it then?’
‘I don’t like gossip. I leave that to Vehicles and Statistics.’
‘You don’t talk much to anyone, I’ve noticed that.’
‘It’s difficult for… men like me,’ Brühl said. ‘I’m not the social type. The office have all been together since March, when the Zoo was established. Civil Affairs is new.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘When was Monday? You lose track of time in this place. Since then, anyway.’
‘You only started a day before me? I thought you were part of the furniture.’
‘I’ve known the Hauptsturmführer for two years, on and off. When I heard they were giving Spira a spin, I jumped at the chance. Came over from the Governor General’s castle.’
‘Because you like dealing with informants?’
Brühl smiled. ‘Because I like working in a gold-mine. Haupttreuhandstelle Ost take the lion’s share when it comes to Aryanising enemy property, but we do alright. Enough to keep a chap in cognac and cologne anyway. And Kunde’s a decent boss, which is rare enough. Rottenführer Rausch, upstairs? Not the smartest tool in the box. The Hauptsturmführer keeps him on as adjutant – a one-handed typist. That’s loyalty. And now there’s you.’
‘Me? I don’t think Kunde had much choice in the matter.’
‘Don’t be cryptic, Harry, it doesn’t suit.’
‘What are you getting at?’ I stopped and looked over my shoulder. ‘I’d rather this didn’t get out, at the station. Is it alright if we keep it just between you and me?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘My father’s close friends with Oberführer Scherner.’
A beat passed, marked by a whistle. ‘Talk about friends in high places.’
‘As Erich’s little brother, I’ve lived my whole life under a shadow. Now I’m finally out of it, I don’t want people thinking I got special favours. That sounds callous, but I don’t mean it.’
‘I understand.’
‘Let’s just say an arrangement was made, and I got lucky.’
‘Good for you. Seriously. Make the most of it. The gold-mine’s open for another few months yet.’
I nodded, unsure what he meant.
‘Your old man and Scherner, eh, you dark horse. H
ow do they knew each other?’
For once, I was all out of lies. A picture of Rudolf Ditzen in his large hat and coat floated into my mind.
‘They were neighbours.’
‘In - where was it - Dahme?’
I nodded, desperate to bring this strand of the conversation to an end. We had reached Zgody Square. On the other side of the square, a short queue stretched out the pharmacy door, the Ghetto’s older residents leaning on their sticks.
‘Look here,’ I said. ‘If Kunde’s in any kind of trouble, you would let me know.’
‘In trouble?’
‘If he’s unwell. You said we might only have a few months left…’
‘God, no. Kunde’s not going anywhere. Strong as an ox, that man. That’s his problem, really. An excess.’
‘Of?’
‘Vitality.’
‘Now you’re being cryptic,’ I said.
‘Let’s just say, the Hauptsturmführer’s not the one in trouble. He’s the one who got somebody else in trouble. Why do you think Dr. Eyebrows was summoned?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Come on Harry, use your imagination. Back room job. Hot towels, coathanger…’
Brühl mouthed the three syllables, for we were approaching the pharmacy corner.
Abortion.
‘Who’s he been schtupping?’ I said. ‘Not a Jew?’
But my companion would not be drawn.
The elderly couple outside braced themselves as we passed. Doubled over on two scythe-like sticks, the man cursed a greeting, ragged white beard fringing his coat like a ruff. The woman clasped his arm with an arthritic claw and turned to watch us go. Her tiny skull rustled in its headscarf like an Egyptian relic.
Rondo Mogilskie was a quiet suburb on the north-east of the old town, but it wasn’t promising. The apartments might have been considered chic at the turn of the century, but the buildings had not aged well. We stood on Jozefa Brodowicza looking up to Danuta Jagiellon’s sixth floor.
I said, ‘Damn that Spira for sending us on a wild goose chase.’
‘In the folk tale, the goose is well hidden, otherwise somebody else would have found it first.’
‘Good point.’
‘The youngest brother discovers the goose that lays the golden egg in the roots of an old oak tree.’
‘You’re confusing your versions,’ I said. ‘That’s the Grimm Brothers. It’s the feathers which are golden, not the eggs. After the brother, the whole village tries plucking the bird, but they all get stuck fast, a whole line, glued to each other.’
‘Hang on. There are two golden geese stories?’
‘Both end badly,’ I said. ‘The other one’s English, but don’t hold that against it. The English goose lived in a nice barn, with a greedy farmer. He wanted her to lay two eggs a day instead of one. When she said she couldn’t, the farmer killed her.’
‘English folk tale logic,’ Brühl scoffed. ‘Declare war on Hitler one minute, let us walk all over Poland the next.’
The apartment door was opened by a woman in her seventies, possibly the same age as the wizened babushka outside the pharmacy, but there the similarities ended. Bright yellow hair cascaded on her shoulders and taut silver blouse. A chain of belts encircled her hips, hoisting a white leather skirt above her knees. Barefoot, varnished toenails, one ankle bracelet.
‘Frau Jagiello?’ She nodded, rolling her lips together. Her mouth was painted like a clown’s, a ring of red from the nostrils to the chin the only sign that something was amiss.
I enquired if her daughter was at home.
‘There are no absolutely no children allowed in these rooms, young man. I believe they are reared next door, however.’
‘It’s a Danuta Jagiellon we are looking for,’ I said. ‘Could that be you, Fräulein?’
Brühl brushed past without awaiting an answer. I swept my hand through the air and followed Frau Jagiello inside.
The living room was as garish as its owner, but of considerably more value to a man like August Brühl. His eyes swept like klieg lights over the gilt-edged mirrors and gold drapes. There were no newspapers, no mess, no dirt – no sign of a masculine presence in the room for at least forty years. Frau Jagiellon showed us to a pair of brocaded chairs beside a vase while she seated herself in a leopard-skin throne by the fireplace.
‘I don’t wish to alarm you,’ I began while Brühl continued his shameless inventory. ‘But we’re investigating reports of Jewish bandits holed up on the sixth floor. Have you noticed any suspicious activity?’
‘I wouldn’t know, my dear. I haven’t been outside for years.’
‘Are you alone here?’
‘I am alone, but I am not lonely. I feed my mind on the finest diet of dramatic Scandinavian compositions. Ibsen and Strindberg are my companions in dotage.’
‘That’s heartening to know,’ I said. ‘But presumably they don’t bring the groceries.’
‘I have a house-maid once a week, for milk and whiskey - ’
‘I’m sorry,’ Brühl said, hopping to his feet. ‘May I use the bathroom?’
Frau Jagiellon looked from him to me and back again. She might have been old, but she was as a shrewd as a serpent. ‘Down the corridor, last door on the left.’
Alone, I continued. ‘And you receive no other visits or gentleman callers?’
‘You are the first contender for the sobriquet in many months.’
‘And how about neighbours. You mentioned a family with children next door?’
‘I hear their racket from time to time, but that’s - ’
When I was sure Brühl was out of ear-shot, I sprang off the seat and kneeled at the old lady’s side, taking her jewelled fingers in mine. ‘Please, Frau Jagiellon, we haven’t much time. I want to help you. Tell me where Montefiore is.’
‘What are you doing?’ She pulled her trembling hand away. ‘Get off me!’
‘Not everyone in this uniform means to do you harm. But you have to tell me the truth.’
‘I am telling you the truth. How dare you suggest otherwise! What is this, some kind of trick?’’
‘I’m not a Nazi,’ I said. ‘I’m - ’
A piercing whistle rang out from the hallway. The old lady gasped and gripped my wrist as Brühl shouted, ‘Harry. Get down here. I’ve found our man.’
Frau Jagiellion’s head bowed. A small voice croaked, ‘What will to happen to me now?’
‘I don’t know.’ Whispering, I rose to my feet and backed away. I tried to help. I’m sorry.’
Three doors were open off the main corridor. I guessed Brühl had nosed into each one. I paused at the first, the dining room. Wood stove and stone sink, low-hanging chandelier over the table, four empty chairs.
Next door, a luxurious dressing table held hairbrushes, perfumes, and candles. Books and newspapers lined the bedroom shelves. The bed’s coverlet was tossed back, revealing nothing but empty space between the mattress and the carpet.
I found Brühl crouching in the corner of the second bedroom. He was alone, except for two dolls propped against the wainscoting, a grinning Mickey Mouse and a pig in a red bow-tie, and the full-size stuffed ostrich towering above, its beak pointing to the window. I approached the bizarre menagerie, stopping when I saw the wooden cot my colleague was squatting over.
Without turning round, he said, ‘Say hello to Moses.’
Squirming contentedly behind its bars, a naked infant squeezed Augustus Brühl’s index finger. The covenant of circumcision had already been performed between its plump thighs.
I might have muttered, ‘Jesus Christ.’
‘Good old Symche Spira. He always delivers the goods. Come over here, will you, keep this chap quiet.’
Brühl stood; we swapped places. The baby reached for my finger. How easily its affections were transferred.
Brühl said, ‘Don’t these Poles realise we’re trying to save their wretched country?’
‘What on earth are we going to do with the old dear
? She can’t go back to the station.’
‘Why not?’
‘She’s Polish.’ I waited a second but Brühl’s furrowed brow only deepened. ‘It’s a Jewish Ghetto.’
‘The cells are full of Poles. They’re incorrigible, I told you. Trespassing, smuggling, looting. We only bother arresting Jews if they’ve got money - ’
Frau Jagiellion appeared in the doorway, clawing the rings from her fingers. Take them all,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t last a day in prison.’
I turned back to the cot, leaving Brühl to collect his bounty.
I was staring at the baby’s gurning face - the left eye creasing shut while the other rolled like a marble, the way its button nose lifted up to one side, curling the lips like a fortune-telling fish – when a pistol exploded behind us.
Frau Jagiellion remained on her feet for a second, swaying, then fell against the door-frame. A bone snapped as she went down, possibly her hip. Not that it mattered. A hole had opened up in the middle of her forehead from which a thick line of blood tracked like lipstick.
Replacing his pistol in its holster, Brühl looked at me and said, ‘She was right about one thing. They’d have eaten her alive in prison.’
Moses’ face contorted into a tight purple bud then opened into a howl. I tried feeding my fingers into its mouth like a pacifier, but it almost choked.
I managed to say, ‘What about the baby?’
‘Honestly, Harry. What kind of monster do you think I am?’ Brühl tumbled a handful of rings into his tunic pocket. ‘Killing babies? Not my style at all. That’s why I brought you.’
I had resigned myself to committing heinous acts in order to preserve my identity, but this… It was out of the question. I gripped the bars as if I might lift the cot up, infant and all, and crash it down on my colleague’s head.
‘For God’s sake.’ Brühl stepped up so close behind me I felt his chest against my back. He gently squeezed my shoulders. ‘I was joking. Babies have a habit of soiling themselves on me – you carry it. Come on, let’s get out of here. HTO will be here any minute. We’ll let them clean up.’
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