In Their Mother's Footsteps

by Mary Wood

  Ania didn’t know how she got through the rest of the day. Back in her apartment, she stripped and went through the ritual of scrubbing her body roughly with a flannel dipped in hot water. The store hadn’t had any soap, so she used the last of the huge bar of hard green soap that she normally used to wash her clothes. When dry, she patted herself with talcum powder.

  Suddenly the fear she harboured in her every waking hour escalated, as a knock on her door, followed immediately by a kick, sent it swinging into the wall with a crash. Instinctively she grabbed her towel.

  ‘You won’t need that.’ The towel stung her as it was wrenched from her. ‘Nice, and just what I imagined. Are you a virgin?’

  Steely blue eyes stared into hers, then travelled down her body, just as they had done in her earlier encounter with this same man, though now he wasn’t wielding a gun and she was naked. As he stared, his eyes glazed over, his lids half-shielded. Everything about the appearance of this German officer suggested the perfect Aryan specimen: tall, lean, with blond hair and square, handsome features.

  Exposed as she was under his gaze, Ania cowered away from him, in her vulnerable position. He followed her, moving forward as she stepped back, but keeping close to her.

  She lifted her head in defiance. ‘No, I am not a virgin. I have been raped by one of your men.’ She dare not tell him she was married.

  He stepped back, relieving her of his close presence. ‘What! Who was it? Give me a name!’ Anger reddened his face from the neck upwards. His eyes had lost their lust.

  Hope trickled into her. Maybe, just maybe, he was no longer interested, now that he knew she wasn’t a virgin?

  ‘I – I only know that when he took me to SA-Standartenführer Koertig, I heard the receptionist call him “Friedrich”.’

  ‘Schweinehund!’

  Ania thought she would call Friedrich something stronger than a pig or a dog, but at this moment she felt almost grateful to him, as the officer turned on his heel and made for the door. As he reached it, he stopped.

  Her heart thudded in despair when he turned round. ‘It is of no matter. You will lie with me. I must have you.’

  ‘No. Please. I – I . . . No!’

  The space between them lessened before she could move. As he neared, she tried to dodge him and make for the door. His hand lashed out and the blow sent her reeling. Then a tight pain assailed her forehead as he grabbed her hair, clutching it and forcing her back towards him. His other hand locked in an agonizing grip on her arm, twisting it behind her back. Propelled forward, she could do nothing to stop their progress towards the bedroom. Once inside, he threw her onto the bed.

  ‘You will do as I ask.’ His hands unbuckled his belt. As he slapped the strap across the palm of his other hand, his voice became gravelly and she knew his thoughts were heightening his lust. ‘Everything I want, you will give to me. I will punish Friedrich out of your body!’ His spittle sprayed on her as he gritted his teeth. ‘Everything, everything – I will beat you . . . beat you!’

  The sting of the belt on her buttocks caused her to take in a deep, rasping breath. Drawing her knees up, she hunched herself into a ball at the top of the bed and huddled into the wall, pulling the pillow in front of her, but he snatched it from her.

  Once more the belt rose like a snake high above her, ready to strike. A moan came from her. When it landed on her thigh she screamed out, ‘No, no . . . no more, no more.’ But something in his expression told of his extreme pleasure and she knew he wasn’t going to stop. The next lash cut her back. An indescribable pain seared through her. Her scream pierced her own ears as it ripped from her in a holler that reduced her to nothing more than an animal. Then, unable to scream any more or even to speak, she grovelled through her tears and snot, gasping for breath, flaying her arms and legs, kicking him and clawing at him.

  ‘That is good. Fight me, whore!’

  After a few moments weakness seized her and her body crumbled in a heap. There was nothing she could do to stop him.

  He removed his trousers, then positioned her without her protest. She took his thrusts and the hideous pain of him entering her with a moan that sounded to herself like a pitiful creature who was nothing – not a human being, just a thing worthy only of violation.

  Unaware of it coming to an end, she lay still. Throbbing, stinging pain swathed her whole body. Her bed beneath her was a bath of blood.

  Conscious of a tap running for a few moments and then of a door slamming, Ania didn’t move. Her mind emptied. She ceased to cry. A deathly silence enclosed her.

  She didn’t know how long she lay like that. All light had faded when finally, she made her way to her sink and filled a bowl with water, each step dragged out as if her body had turned to lead.

  She didn’t care that the water was cold. Not having the energy to heat it, she swabbed herself down, stopping to change the water when it turned red. The cold shivered through her body, bringing life back into her. Unable to bear the icy dousing for long, she wrapped herself in a towel and made it to her bed. Tearing the soiled top cover from it, she pulled back the rest of the blankets and climbed in.

  Cold, humiliated and still in unbearable pain, Ania allowed her body to cry. In her anguish she called out for her beloved Baruch and for her dear sister, Elka. For her lost mama, for the mama she’d never known, and for her babcia. None of them came to her. How could they?

  Exhausted, she dropped into a fitful sleep, where men were monsters grabbing at her, taking pieces of her flesh and laughing as they threw them in the air, until she stood – just a skeleton with a face. A face that she thought would never smile again.

  17

  Elka

  London, Early March 1940 – A Mountain to Climb Alone

  Holland Park, the peaceful haven in West London, lay just behind Edith’s London home. The sounds drifting up from there – birds singing, trees rustling in the wind and children playing – were almost a rude intrusion to the sadness that clothed Elka and Jhona’s sitting room on the top floor of the house. They had spent so little time here. Everything was still unused and had a new feel to it. Beautiful, but untouched by their personalities: that was how Elka saw it now.

  Her heart ached as she sat close to Jhona on the sofa. The minutes ticked away the precious little time they had together. She’d tried being angry with Brendan, but in the end she knew it hadn’t been his fault. But to have to part with Jhona was almost undoing her resolution to carry this mission through. Only the possibility of saving Ania kept her resolve strong.

  Jhona clung to her.

  ‘I will be safe with Brendan. You’re not to worry, my darling.’

  ‘But he won’t be going all of the way with you. How will he be able to protect you?’

  ‘I don’t know. They haven’t told me all the plans – as we have found is their way. I am worried they have something they need you to do, and that is the real reason we are being separated. I fear we will be parted for much longer that we expect.’

  ‘I have feared that myself, but I didn’t want to say anything. Our instructors seemed very interested in me being able to speak Russian. And now I have been summoned to the War Office tomorrow at eleven.’

  ‘No! Surely they wouldn’t send you to Russia? Why should they? I know Russia is occupying the eastern section of our country, but aren’t the Russians still allies of Great Britain? Isn’t it that they moved to protect part of Poland and will fight the Germans?’

  ‘Yes, but maybe the British don’t trust the Russians and need someone in Russia to find out what is going on. My thinking is that all they will need me for is as an interpreter. So please don’t worry. It is I who will fear every minute of the time you are away.’

  Elka agreed: using Jhona as an interpreter seemed the most likely plan. Or at least this was what she told herself. It wasn’t really what she was thinking, but she didn’t want to consider the type of mission Jhona might be asked to do. It was far better that they part with Jhona thinking she wouldn
’t be too worried about him. She would be worried, of course. She wouldn’t put anything past those who had trained them, and who were now in charge of them. All of them had been focused on the job that needed to be done, and gave the impression that although agents were vital to the success of a mission, they were also pawns in a game.

  Brendan’s voice made them both freeze for a split second. He was calling up the stairs that they had to go. As they clung onto each other, Elka thought Jhona would never let her go. When he did, she had the strangest feeling that it would be the last time she would see him. Grabbing him and kissing him hard on the lips, she took a moment to scrutinize his beloved face.

  ‘Go, my darling. Go!’ Jhona’s voice shook with emotion. ‘And may God protect you and bring you back to me.’

  Elka ran from the room.

  Saying goodbye to her mother and Laurent proved almost as difficult. Edith remained brave and stood on the steps of the beautiful house in Holland Park, waving until they had disappeared. Her slight figure belied the courage that she held within her tiny frame.

  Knowing now all that her mother had gone through during the last war gave Elka the courage she needed to face whatever she had to in this war.

  The training had indeed been gruelling, and at times Elka had thought she would fail to come up to the required standard. But eventually both she and Jhona had mastered all that had been asked of them. Now the time had come, and all the techniques they had learned to keep each other safe now had to be applied to Brendan, who had different skills.

  The noise of the engine of the civil plane that she and Brendan were on whirred in Elka’s ears. She felt warm and uncomfortable in the stuffy atmosphere. There were few passengers.

  They were flying to Budapest posing as journalists. Sitting together, the two of them were unable to show any of the sibling affection that had built up between them over the last few months since her arrival in England. This enforced restraint meant that for the most part they sat in silence. Elka reflected on the training she and Jhona had endured. As it was specific to their mission, they had rarely been joined by other trainees. They had both found the exercises to be more difficult mentally than physically. This was particularly so when they were put through the mocked-up circumstances of being caught, tortured and facing being shot. The enactment had been so realistic that she had actually wet herself when the gun had been held at her head.

  They had had to take on board techniques to help them in all kinds of situations, and these had helped to give Elka confidence. The worst experience had been when she’d been taught how to kill a man. Despite this, she had to admit that she’d enjoyed learning some of the disciplines taught to her: how to use equipment disguised as ordinary items that anyone would have in their pockets, case or handbag. Examples of this were the lipstick that became a knife when a small button was moved to the correct position, and the pen that held poison, which could be administered by releasing the clip in the side of it, causing instantaneous death.

  These things had fascinated her and yet frightened her. But it was the sinister cyanide pill that terrified her the most. Would I be able to kill myself? She didn’t know. And she hoped she would never be faced with the decision of whether or not to bite on that pill.

  Turning her mind to what lay ahead, she went over what Brendan had told her as they had been driven to the airport. It appeared that there was a lot of German activity taking place in Zakopane, and at this very moment a conference between Russia and Germany was taking place there. The mission was now considered highly dangerous.

  His words had struck fear in her, but she’d found that it was a different fear from that she’d experienced previously in her life. This fear gave her an edge and made her absorb what she was being told, with a kind of professional detachment she never thought she would possess. With this feeling came the knowledge that she was well equipped to cope.

  Brendan had told her that a school had been set up close to the Slovak border in Zakopane by the commander-in-chief of the Security Police, SS-Brigadeführer Bruno Streckenbach. The school’s purpose was to train selected candidates from collaborators among the Ukrainians, the Polish police and other Secret Police personnel, including intelligence-gathering sympathizers.

  This meant that many high-ranking Gestapo and SS officers were based in or visiting the area, especially as Zakopane town had been turned into an entertainment centre for senior officers of the SS and Werhmacht, and the Gestapo had taken over the Palace Hotel as their headquarters.

  The intelligence had also informed them that all Jews were to be removed from the district, and that some had already disappeared.

  This hurt Elka deeply, and she wondered at the plight of her people. The good news was that it had been a member of Baruch’s group who had supplied this information. He’d managed to get to Budapest and contact the British Minister there. The map he’d left, showing where Baruch could be found, would be invaluable to her.

  The banks of cloud below her looked like mounds and mounds of cotton wool. She was sure that the snowy Hungarian terrain lay beneath them. At this thought, her heart lurched. Hungary was a neutral country, but was not to be trusted. It had recently accepted Slovakian territory that was offered to them by the Nazis. Elka had been warned that the Hungarians were more likely to cooperate with the Germans than with the Allies.

  To make things even more difficult, Sir Owen St Clair O’Malley, the British Minister in Budapest who held the information they needed, wouldn’t be all that favourably inclined towards them, as he took a dim view of Section D’s cloak-and-dagger work and refused to have anything to do with it.

  Cold air stung Elka as she stepped off the plane. Pulling her fur coat around her helped to combat it a little, but also helped to steady her nerves, as she could hug herself under the pretence of holding the coat around her.

  ‘Umm, more than a little colder than England, Miss Carter, don’t you think? Lucky you, having a fur to keep you warm.’

  It was strange hearing Brendan say this to her, though it pleased her that he was assuming his role and hadn’t tried to whisper some encouragement to her. And especially that he had remembered her cover name.

  ‘Call me Ella.’ It was a name she had chosen as it wasn’t dissimilar to her own and was therefore easy to remember.

  ‘In that case you may call me Joseph and, if we really become friends, I might let you call me Joe.’

  She laughed at this, and for a moment the feeling gave her confidence. But she would stick to Joseph. She knew Brendan had chosen the name after his Aunt Ada’s husband. From what she’d heard about his life, the poor man hadn’t had a good time of it. She wouldn’t want to jinx Brendan.

  As they entered the small hut-like building they both remained quiet while negotiating border control. Elka breathed a sigh of relief at not being challenged; she waited, holding her breath once more, as she watched Brendan’s papers being scrutinized.

  Just behind him, an incident happened. A young woman was pulled aside for questioning. The only reason Elka could imagine for this was the woman’s obvious Jewish look. Brendan and Elka didn’t linger to see the outcome, but Elka prayed the girl was let free and thanked God that Jhona wasn’t with them. He too might have been recognized as a Jew.

  Once safely through this first obstacle, they were met by Hubert Makinson. He handled Section D’s Polish contacts, whilst posing as a Balkan correspondent for the News Chronicle, the paper for which they were supposed to be war correspondents. With him was Gerick Radinski, a former Polish intelligence agent, now living in a safe house in Budapest. Both were to help them with the next leg of the assignment.

  After greeting them, Gerick told them, ‘I have rented two apartments for you in the Alkotmány Ulitsa. They are in the same block, so they will give you the opportunity to talk to each other without raising suspicion, and for me to communicate easily with you.’

  This warmed Elka more than her fur coat could have done and brought a smile to her l
ips. ‘Thank you, Gerick, you don’t know how much that will mean to us.’

  ‘But you must take extreme care. I have eyes and ears in every quarter of the city, so I will know if any rumours start, regarding your relationship to each other. Being affectionate like siblings may seem natural to you, but it could look like something different when it concerns someone who is supposed to be a work colleague, and it could lead to gossip. It could also lead to you slipping out of your cover story. If I see anything like that happening, I will report you and have you lifted out.’

  This shocked Elka. She was reminded of why she was here. ‘Of course. We will be very discreet, I promise you.’ It didn’t seem appropriate to tell him that they hadn’t known each other that long and weren’t affectionate with each other in an overt way.

  As they drove towards Budapest, Elka saw many similarities to her beloved Poland in the buildings and the wide streets. Most buildings were of a grey stone construction and had four or five storeys. They were large and square, yet elegant. Some surprises lay in store in the cobbled back streets, though. Here there were rows of cottages, obviously poor dwellings, but nonetheless clean and pretty. Passing one of these, they heard music. On the steps of a corner building sat two gypsy boys in felt hats playing violins. The sound was magical and lifted Elka into another world. A world she dared not visit for long, as the memories would suffocate her and make her yearn to be back in the happy times she had known.

  Crossing over the beautiful River Danube from Buda into Pest – once two different places, divided by the river snaking through what was now the united city of Budapest – Elka could see the striking parliament building, with its domes and towers paying homage to the sky.

  The driver took them round and into a street that held its own beauty. Alkotmány, or Constitution Street, lay before her. Wide but cobbled, it bustled with life, with its many cafes and shops, their colourful blinds blowing in the breeze and seemingly doing a roaring trade. One would never guess that this tree-lined, prosperous-looking street was in a country separated only by a border from Austria, a country that knew the pain of occupation.