by Mary Wood
‘I’m sorry. They really are ideal for what we need. There was no one else. But how I wish there had been.’
‘I understand, more than anyone. I have been through it all, as has Laurent. We had difficult choices to make and we didn’t falter. I’m proud that my children, and you – whom I look upon as I would a son – are doing your bit, now that you are called on to do so. You didn’t ask for a war to begin, but you are trying to protect us all. Nothing more can be asked of you. You don’t have my condemnation; you have my deep admiration. My initial reaction has passed. But is there no way my mind can be put at rest, concerning what will be asked of them?’
‘No. I can’t tell you. All I can say is that it will concern a communication line.’
‘In France?’
Brendan didn’t answer this. Not wanting to tell a direct lie, he hoped that staying silent would seem to her to be a ‘yes’. He would hate her to suspect the real truth.
Her scrutinizing look made him glance away.
‘Thank you. I feel a little relieved, at least. Now come through to the sitting room. Laurent is waiting for us.’
Brendan followed her, feeling even more wretched than he thought possible.
‘There you are. You took a long time coming through,’ Laurent said as they appeared.
‘Sorry, darling. I thought I might get Brendan to talk about what is troubling him, but as usual he is having to be careful of what he says.’
‘Nice to see you, Brendan. It has been too long. And, you know, Edith is very worried about you. Is there something we can do to help you?’
‘Unless you can unwind the last few weeks and let us all start again, then no, Uncle Laurent.’
‘Sadly, none of us can do that. But it is not good to let moroseness take hold of you. Your Aunt Ada could have done that, after all she had to contend with, but she didn’t. She soldiered on.’
Laurent’s words seemed like those of a father giving his son a lecture, but Brendan knew that he was right.
‘Why don’t you visit more? And talk to us?’ Aunt Edith asked. ‘No, don’t answer that – I know why. The hurt has been so deep for us all that it has caused a small chasm between us. We have become guarded with each other, like fragile creatures afraid of reality; we prefer to dance around the issues, when we should be supporting each other. That must change now.’
‘It will. I’m sorry – I’ve felt so guilty. Not just about Elka and Jhona, but, well . . . I left the kitchen; my mother had threatened me with a knife and I stepped back.’ The words were tumbling from him, and he couldn’t stop them. He needed for them to know. ‘Joe had moved forward, and so had Aunt Ada. That left me nearest the door to the front hall. When my mother smashed the methylated-spirits bottle, none of us moved.’
Everything that he’d lived that day – and relived a million times since – came pouring out. Then, when he’d said it all, and knowing that his face was wet with tears, he told them about the final minutes.
‘I could hear Joe talking, coaxing, then a crash, then nothing. But it all happened so quickly, in a flash really. Oh God, why didn’t I grab them both . . . Why?’
His body trembled when he’d finished telling it all. A silence hung in the air that gave him no clues as to how they felt. He’d dragged up the painful incident of the fire and had brought to life all the details they hadn’t known. In doing so, he’d cleansed something within himself, as if releasing a burden. For them, though, he could see that it had been too much. ‘I’m sorry . . . I shouldn’t have told you this.’
‘No. It is right that you should, and that you did. We should share our feelings, and what transpires when something so traumatic has happened to us. I was guilty of holding so many of my war experiences inside me that it stunted me from moving forward. I did that for years, and it caused a lot of strain to my darling Edith,’ Laurent said.
Brendan noticed the look that passed between them and wondered about the nature of it. His aunt looked hurt for a second, but then Laurent reached for her hand, before continuing.
‘The answer to why I held on to these emotions for so long lies in what you have just said. Brendan, you had no reason to believe that Joe and Ada weren’t just behind you. It is understandable – the fire would spread rapidly. You say that your mother turned on the gas and that one ring was already lit under the kettle. This must have ignited the meths. Your mother lighting a match drew flames to her; she’d probably splashed some of the meths onto her sleeve. It only takes seconds for a large amount of gas to enter the air. And so with one gas ring already lit, and almost a never-ending supply of escaping gas, and with methylated spirits having been splashed everywhere, all the elements for an instant inferno were in place. Not to mention copious amounts of deadly smoke. The only outcome of trying to help them would have been your death as well.’
Brendan knew what Laurent said was true. Aunt Edith’s gentle voice came to him. ‘Maybe you should give yourself time. It has only been a few weeks since it all happened. Perhaps taking some time away would be good. You have your trip down to Leicestershire soon – that will help.’
‘I’m not able to go. I need to contact Douglas, and to tell Ginny, too. As it happens, I do have to go away – but not for pleasure, though I can’t say any more. Sorry. Thank you for understanding and helping me.’
‘We are always here for you. You are family.’
Hearing Laurent use the word ‘family’ warmed him. And with a lovely kind smile on his aunt’s face again, the strained feeling that had lain between them these last few weeks dissolved. He was back where he belonged, in the heart of his family.
‘Eeh, lad, come here and let me give you a cuddle.’
‘Ha, Aunt Edith! You sounded just like her. I’m one for using a bit of the northern accent meself, lass.’
They burst out laughing. But when Laurent thought he would have a go at mimicking Aunt Ada, it turned to real belly laughs, which made them double over and brought tears streaming down their faces.
‘By, it’s grand to see you both happy. It cheers me no end!’ he said. His accent was more French than northern, but it topped his own and Aunt Edith’s efforts, in how comical it was. It felt good to laugh. It broke the tension and made Brendan feel there was some purpose to life after Ada. They would find a way to carry on. They would miss her till their hearts broke in two, but they would also live with her memory – a precious gift that she left behind for them.
16
Ania
Krakow, Late February 1940 – The Horrific Reality of German Rule
As offices go, this one in the headquarters of the Gestapo in Krakow was like any other. Ten typists sat in rows, clicking away in a soothing kind of rhythm, but there was nothing soothing about the atmosphere. A tangible fear hung in the air. The typists were Polish girls, forced to work there under the threat of what would befall their families if they refused.
Ania tried to convey this threat to Baruch in her messages to him. She had begged him to make his men, and the Polish people, understand and stop treating these girls as if they were collaborators. She wanted them to stop carrying out reprisals. But the reprisals still went on, Ania realized, as her eyes rested on a girl in the corner. The girl’s hair had been cut very short, but the style didn’t hide the fact that a lot of it was missing. Angry red patches showed where it had been pulled out at the roots. Surely Baruch will listen to me? Is he getting my messages? She didn’t doubt that he received the messages concerning secrets that would help the cause, but she wasn’t so sure if he received her personal messages, and the thought that he might not both worried her and broke her heart.
She sent messages to Baruch through the young man who had taunted her the day she had been recruited. She always thought of it as the day she got the job in Gestapo HQ, rather than letting her mind dwell on the other things that had happened that day.
The young man’s name was Stefan Baranski. He had been instrumental in bringing her to the attention of the Germans, for
the sole purpose of helping her get this position. Unable to speak German at the time, he had told the Germans in English – despite having little command of English, either – that she lived as a Jew and yet didn’t wear the Star, didn’t look like a Jew, and that she spoke many languages. This had led them to seek her out.
Stefan had used knowledge of his German descent to further his own position. He had also denounced his Jewish faith and was now given special privileges.
One of the recent documents that had come to her concerned lists of people such as Stefan. They were typing-pool copy documents written in German, which were then sent for approval and finally came to her for translation. These lists were called the Deutsche Volksliste – the German People’s List – and classified willing Polish citizens into four groups:
Group 1 comprised ethnic Germans living in Poland who had taken an active part in the struggle for the Germanization of Poland.
Group 2 included ethnic Germans who hadn’t taken an active part, but had ‘preserved’ their German characteristics.
Group 3 were those individuals of alleged German stock who had become ‘Polonized’, but whom it was believed could be won back to Germany. This group included persons of non-German descent who were married to Germans or were members of non-Polish groups, as they were considered desirable, for their political attitude and racial characteristics.
Group 4 consisted of those of German heritage who had become politically merged with the Poles.
These groups were considered worthy of being – or easily manipulated into becoming – German citizens again and were even given German passports.
Stefan fell into Group 3 and had been taken off the hard-labour duties imposed on the Jews and been attending a school set up by the Germans. There he was learning the German language and was taking to it surprisingly quickly, besides being indoctrinated with the Nazi regime’s principles. He was reviled by all Poles and Jews. Even Ania disliked him, as his methods towards those who went too far in their intended reprisals of him were often cruel, and he betrayed those helping the Jews. He insisted that he did all this to ingratiate himself with the Germans, and to give him more and more freedom of movement and greater credibility. He tried to convince her that his actions were for the greater good, but she wasn’t entirely won over, and worried about him and whether he was truly to be trusted.
The latest work handed to her had instructed that all Poles were to wear a purple badge with the letter ‘P’ on it, to distinguish them. They were not allowed to travel on the trams and had to avoid certain shops and cafes. They even had to walk on the other side of the street if they saw a German approaching – something that brought the Poles ever closer to their Jewish neighbours, as they shared some of their suffering.
Within days of this order, many Poles were hauled from their homes – men and young boys alike – to be dispatched to Germany. They were to work in hard-labour camps. Ania shuddered at the thought of what they would go through. It was a pitiful sight to see them leave, crushed into railway carriages as if they were animals.
As this went on, weeping women and broken elderly, afraid and lost, lined the streets. Many were hit with the butt of a rifle if they tried to cling onto their men.
Such a raid was in progress as Ania left the office at lunchtime. Unable to shop in her usual store, because of the purple badge that had been imposed on her, she had to walk several streets out of her way to get to the little shop she was allowed to use. Bitter cold bit her cheeks, as the icy wind carried wails of distress and protest in its wake. But it was the screams of a woman not far from her that turned her blood to ice in her veins.
The woman was heavily pregnant, and a German officer was trying to pull a small boy from her arms. From what he was shouting, Ania knew he would kill the woman if she did not let go. She silently prayed she would do so, as maybe then both of them would stand a chance of living. But the woman clung on. Unable to hold his footing in the deep snow, the German officer let go and stood back. Once steadied, he swung his rifle, hitting the woman across her head. Falling backwards, she let go of the boy and stumbled on the kerb edge, landing on her back. Another soldier threw the boy onto the waiting truck. Ania controlled the gasp she’d drawn in, as she saw the officer lift his foot and brutally drive his boot into the mound of the woman’s stomach, before spitting in her face.
Clutching the rough wall of the building that she was near to, Ania stifled a scream. Despite the cold, sweat broke out over her body. Vomit rose to her throat, but she swallowed it down, leaving her throat stinging with the coarseness of the vile-tasting acid. Her fists clenched. She wanted to run after the officer and hit him, but knew she must stay out of sight.
When the soldiers had moved on further up the road and were intent on carrying out their mission, Ania ran to the woman. ‘Let me help you – here, take my hand.’
The woman looked up at her. Between gasps of pain and through gritted teeth, she said, ‘Don’t touch me, Collaborator!’
To Ania, the woman might just as well have stuck a knife into her, for she couldn’t have hurt her more. ‘I’m not what you think. I tried to refuse to help them and I was raped and beaten. I have no choice; none of us girls working for them have a choice. Just as you had none, just then. Please let me help you.’
The woman stared through her tears, the hatred in her face dissipating. Reaching her hand towards Ania, she gasped in despair, ‘My boy, my boy! Oh, Kakper, Kakper. Don’t let them take him – please help me!’
Ania didn’t reply, for her tightened throat wouldn’t let her utter any words. Trying to get a grip and stop herself sliding, she helped the woman to her feet. With the movement, blood flooded from between the woman’s legs, contrasting with the white of the snow on the pavement.
‘Oh no! Oh God, no! My baby, my baby, my baby!’ The scream caught the attention of the retreating officer. He turned round, lifted his gun to his shoulder and fired. Blood splattered Ania. She looked down into what had once been the woman’s face, but was now a gaping hole. Her grasp loosened. The woman’s body slithered back onto the pavement. Shock held Ania rigid and unable to cry out. The gun was now pointed straight at her. Fear stilled her. Her sandpaper tongue wouldn’t let her form the words to beg for her life. Then, slowly, the gun lowered.
‘Kenne Ich Sie?’
Relief helped her to find her voice. ‘Y-yes, you do know me. I – I work in Gestapo HQ as a translator. I was just passing. She needed help. I couldn’t pass by.’
The officer’s steely eyes took in her body, from her face to her feet, giving Ania the feeling of being stripped of her clothes. A smile curled his lips. ‘I will see you later.’
Her body trembled violently. The meaning behind those words was clear. Her mind screamed as she looked down at the body of the woman through stinging eyes. Why, why, why . . . ?
A child’s voice penetrated her anguish. ‘Matka, Matka!’
Horror seeped into Ania at the sight of the boy the woman had held, running towards her and his mother’s dead body. The fear in her deepened to terror. ‘No! No, child, go back, go back. Go back!’ Her words were drowned in a blast of gunfire. The boy’s body danced hideously, as bullets peppered him from the machine gun mounted on another vehicle.
Falling to her knees, Ania vomited. Unable to stop the spasm this time, she choked on the vile-tasting liquid that her stomach had rejected. Spitting the last of it out, she made an attempt to crawl away from the scene on her hands and knees. A bullet whizzed by her head, stopping her in her tracks.
‘You!’ In German he commanded her to get on her way.
She could not obey. Her legs were like jelly and prevented her from standing. Her head spun with the pain of what she’d witnessed.
A hand came under her arm and lifted her roughly. A low Polish-speaking voice that she recognized as Stefan’s grated in her ear. ‘Do as he says and, in future, walk on by. Don’t get involved.’ He pushed her roughly forward and shouted, in surprisingly good German
, ‘An order is an order, woman. Do not disobey your superiors.’
Somehow, by clinging onto the walls of the houses, Ania managed to walk away. As she did so, something happened inside her. A kind of acceptance of how life was, and would continue to be. Stefan was right: she had to walk on by. She had to behave differently from the way her heart dictated, if she was to survive. Sometimes she didn’t want to live and cried out for death to take her, but she knew she couldn’t give up. If she did, who would get to the Resistance the valuable information to which she had access? For she wasn’t only able to tell them about the badges and the daily horrors that she knew were to be imposed on the Jewish people, and now on the Poles, too. She also had access to other confidential material that she was able to take a look at discreetly. Names on lists that stated who was in a privileged position, and lists of the people of whom the Germans should be wary. Then there were documents and maps that related what military strategies were to take place in the area. And, most importantly, a target list of those to be captured and disposed of. She’d seen Baruch’s name on one of these.
When she reached the store, the female manager who’d witnessed everything helped her to a chair and rubbed her frozen hands. ‘What you just did will help you in the neighbourhood. Life will be easier for you. Now, let me get you a drink of water and clean you up.’
Grateful, but unable to say so, Ania just stared ahead. The few bottles, tins and jars on the shelves danced before her. The stench of the near-rotting vegetables on sale only increased her nausea. Closing her eyes and shaking her head steadied her.