Candlelight Stories

by Andrzej Galicki

  And exactly tomorrow was the date of his eviction.

  “How do you feel?” asked Victor, reaching for the pack of cigarettes lying on the table. Stefan felt that he sensed in his friend’s voice a note of hope that something may actually or eventually be not so good, probably envious that he always felt so good and healthy while Victor looked so pale, almost transparent. In addition, Victor smoked. Not his own cigarettes admittedly, but he smoked nonetheless.

  Stefan put some cucumbers and herring on the plates directly from the jar, cut a few slices of bread and poured vodka into the glasses.

  “I have some trouble with the blood pressure, not much, but enough that it has become more and more difficult for me to climb up to the fourth floor” he said, immediately noticing that the other one’s face brightened.

  “Well, let’s have a shot, ” he proposed. “For old times' sake.”

  They clinked the glasses and drank.

  “And you, how are you?” Stefan inquired. “Has nothing still happened?”

  “Over there, always nothing happens” Victor answered. “That is the worst, I think. Nothing, nothing and nothing, just empty and hopeless nothingness ever since that day...”

  ***

  “Today is the last day, ” said Victor. “Probably tomorrow General Bor-Komorowski will sign the act of capitulation. We will have to lay down our arms and surrender to the enemy.”

  Victor was the commander of their squad. Lieutenant Vic, they had called him in conspiration.

  “And what they’ll do to us?” Asked Iza, who was a courier in their division.

  From twenty-five of them, there were only three left. Stefan, who was the deputy commander, said:

  “I say do not give up. We have enough weapons and ammunition to defend ourselves for a few more days. We must fight until the end, to the very last cartridge. If we surrender now, then it all will be for nothing. Our comrades all died for no reason, for free. I will never accept it.”

  His words revealed what had been troubling the three of them for the last few days, when they had learned that the uprising must collapse. Why exactly had they been spared? They had exposed themselves to the first line of fire as the other members of the squad and bore the same risk, yet why did they still live? It was not fair. They should all die together. If it was not going to happen, to the end of their lives they would feel what they felt now - guilt and shame. Shame that death didn’t want them, despised them. Yes, it was as if they were worse than others, unworthy to die for the cause.

  And yet they had fought fiercely from the very first day, from the first and to the very last, which was tomorrow because they had no doubt that tomorrow would be the end of it. They would have to lay down their arms and surrender. They still had a lot of arms left: two Bergmanns, a pistol and grenades, and a huge quantity of explosives, the supply for the whole division, protected from the moisture with several layers of carefully greased canvas.

  During the night, so that none of the tenants could realize what was happening, Victor and Stefan dug a big hole in the basement, down to the foundation of the main wall. Once the hole was finished, they laid the explosives carefully inside the hole, and then covered them with old junk, so that the floor had an even surface and nothing suspicious could be noticed.

  “How much do you think there is of this stuff?” asked Victor. “I mean, what it can do?”

  “Just enough to turn this whole building into dust” Stefan answered. He had attended a secret training about explosive materials and he had a basic knowledge of how to blow up buildings. This is why the division commander gave him the task to look after the explosives. It was necessary to guard them as one’s own life since they were already earmarked for a greater destructive action.

  “You cannot do it, ” said Victor. “Orders are orders.”

  “I 'm pissing off such orders. Who wants to surrender?” Stefan said. “If you want do it, do it. I’ll fight on, or go back underground.”

  “Me too,” said Iza. “I do not want to go to the camp. Anyway, you know what they do with the women.”

  “Very well. I’ve been outvoted” surrendered Victor. “After all, I cannot leave you.”

  In his mind, he added "together". He was jealous because he loved Iza, and Stefan was also jealous because he was in love with Iza also. Did Iza love any of them? They did not know and that was their big problem. She gave the impression that yes, she loved one of them, but it was not certain whom she loved more. Maybe she loved both of them equally? They decided that after the war, they would fight each other; only the death of one of them would bring a solution. If one fell, there the problem would end. She would have to choose the latter.

  But for now, both of them were contenders and they both were precious as every insurgent was, especially the young and armed. Victor and Stefan both were young and armed. Iza also had a small Walther pistol. She had received it as a gift from big Walter, a German officer who was crazy about her - what an irony to receive the gun as a gift of love from the enemy. Moreover, he was the only man whom she had ever tried to shoot in her life, with poor results. Nonetheless, she had treasured the weapon right from the beginning...

  ***

  They met in Kabaty forest in small groups where they underwent their training: drills, tactical training, lessons on handling different weapons. Their Polish instructor was sent to Warsaw from England. He was a commando officer, his nickname was "Star". Already, during the first training session, he asked if anyone had a weapon. Iza did not admit she had one. She was afraid that they would confiscate her small Walther. It turned out later that her fears were justified.

  Classes were held on Sundays, disguised as a trip for a picnic outside the city. The girls took with them a basket of fruits, the guys something to drink and go. The place of the meetings was on the edge of the woods so they could watch the access road without being seen. The instructor brought the guns to practice with - where he got them remained his secret. Each meeting, they got to learn how to handle a different type of weapon, as you never know, what you will fight with when your time comes. After classes, they had orders to disperse in groups of no more than three people, and in the train or the bus, they had to pretend to not know each other, avoiding each other as much as possible.

  They were thrilled by all the secrecy, although sometimes, their curiosity would win and they would start their inquiries when they will start to fight. The instructor would answer them casually “You’ll know when you are ready”. Nothing more could be drawn from him. Maybe he did not know the answer as well.

  ***

  One of the most important nights of their lives came on the first Saturday, when, after passing the matriculation examination they met in Adria. Why in Adria and not in one of those cheap cabarets that were abundant in pre-war Warsaw? It was simply because they decided that way. They knew that it would cost them a fortune, but anyway, one only got to live once. There were four of them, all from the “Batory” high school, from the same class. They were finally adults. They could do what they wanted; all old prohibitions were no longer valid. New life, new people.

  They got drunk quite quickly, viewing the ‘for adults only’ spectacle in front of them and smoking one cigarette after another. And it was then that they met Iza. She was a taxi dancer, beautiful and moving like a young kitten. She quickly realized that she would not be able to make a lot of money on them, but she liked them, especially Victor and Stefan and danced with them almost the entire evening. They were about the same age and it was a fact that drew her to them. Besides, she knew that she would have recovered her losses soon enough, and earn a surplus even, dancing with those old, fat hogs with their sticky hands and thick wallets. She hated them. They were the same each evening, boring and ugly. And these young guys? They were like the classmates from her school. Finally, she was able to stay with such clients and speak their own language. In vain, the restaurant maître winked in her direction, trying to tell her to take care of the richer
customers but she pretended not to see it. Too good a reputation she had here to be afraid of losing her job. It was her best night in Adria as far as she could remember, dancing for her own pleasure and not under duress. She could not recall being so happy long before. And when the night was over, both Victor and Stefan escorted her home on foot, because they had no money for a taxi, which was even funny. Anyway, it was not far from Adria to Krochmalna street where she lived and the evening was so beautiful. From that moment, she already knew that one of them would end up being her lover, but she did not know yet which of them. All she knew was that she needed someone young to forget about her work, about those old, rich grandfathers and their sticky fingers.

  After some time, when she still could not decide on one, they both became her lovers and she made it a point to spend time with each one separately. In this way, each of them had certain exclusivity for him, and although they were damned jealous of each other, they quickly became accustomed to such an unusual situation. They simply had no other choice. Both were already living in the same attic, and they had both started studying law at the University of Warsaw. Even so, they visited Iza’s house at Krochmalna street separately, so each of them had time with her alone and it was a taboo to do otherwise. They never broke this rule. Other than Krochmalna, they often went places together - all three of them, either to the movies or to dance, and when someone would ask jokingly which one of them was her boyfriend, Iza responded also with a joke - both of them.

  Once, they all went together to the National Museum of Art. They had a long walk through the halls full of old works hanging on each wall until all three stopped before a terrifying image. Some medieval painter had painted the scene of an execution on a wooden board. The painting was made without concern for perspective or proportions, in an old-fashioned way, but with great efforts in presenting the details. Namely, the scene presented was the skinning of some poor guy. It was a truly gruesome sight. The convict was attached to a wall with iron shackles, and two masked executioners tormented him without mercy. One used a knife to cut strips of skin from his body and the second, using blacksmith tongs, tore them from the poor wretch from the top to the bottom. It must have been a very unpleasant procedure and of course, the convict was not happy. A lot of blood around, the artist did not spare the gory details and you could see every hair on the victim's balding skull and the sparks of joy in the malignant eyes of his executioners. So appalling was the sight that for a long time, they just stood there watching it with horror.

  “Is it possible that people did such things?” Asked Iza. She was really shocked.

  “Maybe a long time ago, in the Middle Ages” Stefan answered. “Now, they probably do not punish like that. And by the way, I wonder what did he do, this poor fellow. They probably wouldn’t have punished him so severely for nothing.

  “No crime would be so severe to deserve this punishment. It is inhuman,” said Victor. “That's why we study law, so that nothing like this will ever happen again in our world.”

  But they never become lawyers. The war began before the start of the next academic year. Insane Hitler invaded Poland, and everything went to hell.

  ***

  The first bombing of Warsaw came as a real shock. Residents of the capital watched in fear and amazement as German bombers flew over the city, throwing their bombs on the houses and streets of Warsaw. The city, however, was defended bravely until September 27. Although after the treacherous invasion of Poland’s eastern neighbor, it was already known that the Polish army would not be able to cope. Warsaw still hoped for a miracle. Despite the carpet-bombing, brave city defended itself over and over. Bombs killed tens of thousands of residents of the capital. Part of the city's population began to leave for the provinces, to relatives, to friends, wherever one could go, but most of the Warsaw population stayed. They had to defend the city. The defense lasted long, but the well-armed German troops prevailed, finally occupying the Polish capital and dividing the country between two aggressors.

  Just like that, life in Warsaw was transformed. Enemy troops took over the main official buildings. On the walls appeared red and black flags with gruesome swastikas in the middle - the flags of the Third Reich.

  More and more of them came. The streets were full of the gendarmerie patrolling on foot, on motorcycles and in cars. Some workplaces and schools got shut down. The others were forced to switch over to producing the needs of the invading army. Polish documents become null and residents of the capital received new identity cards with the German black eagle, together with riveted photographs and fingerprints.

  It all happened slowly, gradually, in keeping with Germany’s intention to "Germanize" the city. At the same time, however, the underground resistance movement also began to form, and this was the main motivation, especially for young people, to survive.

  Stefan and Victor found work in a factory of kitchen utensils. Now, it manufactured the helmets for German soldiers and other equipment for the army. The factory worked efficiently and its employees received a passes to move freely around the city.

  Then, the boys found contact with the underground movement. Thus, started the first clandestine meeting. It was not yet training, just a discussion of ideas. The organization started out slowly, after all, but there was a lot of enthusiasm, a lot of promise. Of course, its main aim was to fight the enemy and liberate the country, and in order to do this, they needed weapons and the best way to get them was from the enemy. As well, underground production began. Stefan started secretly after work hours, fabricating some treated metal sleeves. It turned out later that they were parts for a submachine gun "Sten", a copy of the English arm, very simple and effective in action, calibre 9mm Parabellum. They were not at all inferior to the originals, dropped later from the English aircraft piloted by Polish pilots - volunteers to help the insurgents. It was a pity that only a small number of these discharges got into the right hands.

  Victor engaged in the conspiracy with great zeal, devoting all his free time and energy to it. Both of them however did not forget about Iza, and none of them, let the other see her more often than himself.

  Iza, still dancing in the nightclub, also did what she could for the cause. A lot of important information reached the Polish underground headquarters through her mouth, as high-ranking German officers now frequented Adria. Hitler had sent to Warsaw many officers, some of them even knew a little Polish language. And those officers really liked to show off their importance and bragged as much as they could; sure the beautiful taxi dancer did not understand their intricate, military language. In truth, she really could not understand their words too much, but she had a good memory and that was enough. The staff of specialists compiled the received messages and separated them all into two categories: valuable and unnecessary.

  Every Sunday they met, the three of them as before the war, and traveled by train to the countryside, to buy food.

  In Warsaw, the food was mainly distributed through the system of food stamps, while in rural areas, it was still possible to buy meat and eggs. It was all very expensive, but you had to eat in order to effectively fight the enemy. Winter was especially difficult. The shortage of coal - it was also on consignment - made life miserable, causing people to freeze inside unheated homes. Those who worked for occupant had consigned goods and food stamps and as such, had better lives. The rest had to manage as they could. People were selling everything they had. First, went off all the valuables, including furniture and clothing. Flea markets were booming as street shops offered little goods for sale.

  Once, Victor, Stefan and Iza met at the Iron Gate bazaar. Iza wanted to do some grocery shopping and they both promised they would deliver the goods together to Krochmalna street, where she still lived. They squeezed through the crowd of traders, those who traded whatever they had, since you could find a buyer for anything at all, you could make some money on any stuff. All of a sudden, it became spacious, the people parting hastily as the army patrol approached, walking slow
ly through the middle of the street. Three German gendarmes with their guns suspended from their necks marched nonchalantly, casting hostile glances from under their thick helmets. One of them stopped suddenly and grabbed by the neck a hen sitting in the basket of a female trader. The hen made a huge scream. She had no desire to be eaten by enemies and trader woman also screamed something and pulled her chicken to her side. The other two gendarmes roared, the bazaar crowd watched it all with the grim faces. Germans always took what they wanted, simple plunder under one official word: confiscation.

  The angry soldier pushed the crone, so hard, that she fell to the pavement and then pointed his sub-machine gun at her. Iza, standing next to the woman, instinctively protected her, standing in front of her, before Stefan could stop her. The gendarme pushed Iza violently yelling something in German. Then Iza raised her hand and slapped him hard, straight on his fat, red mouth.

  Deathly silence reigned around, even among the gendarmes who had become completely speechless. Stefan and Victor were already preparing to jump to her defense, but Iza calmly pulled something out of her purse and exposed it to the eyes of the soldier standing in the middle, who seemed to be the leader. He looked at Iza with amazement, then at this piece of stiff paper, then at her again. Finally, he snapped something in German to the others and they went away as if nothing had happened. Overwhelmed with joy, the hen returned back to her basket, but did not cease to inveigh the Germans retreating down the street. Quickly, Victor and Stefan pulled Iza out of the crowd. Both were pale with terror. They had been almost certain that they were going to lose her. Each of them could truly lose his own half, which together formed a whole, extremely alluring being.

  “What did you show them?” Stefan asked.

  Iza pulled the photograph out from her purse again. It had been taken inside the elegant interior of Adria. Iza stood in the middle, surrounded by four high-ranking officers of the Wehrmacht in their output uniforms. Both Stefan and Victor whistled with admiration.