"Would you like some help?" offered a friendly voice.
Jessica looked up to find a tall soldier standing before her. Her eyes initially darted to the left and right of him to see if the kind voice could've emanated from anyone else but it was the soldier who had approached her. He had a sweet smile the girl would later muse that evening in bed as she tried to beat back the tide of her other thoughts by dwelling upon the Corporal, Thomas.
Understandably however, as well as being unsettled by his manner and his fluent Polish, Jessica remained fearful from being addressed by the uniform and all it represented - and manifested. She looked at him, half perplexed and half petrified. Wishing to prove his intentions and to put the traumatised girl at ease, Thomas began to pick the vegetables up from the street. He flattened out what was left of the paper bag and placed it on the pavement with all the provisions carefully piled upon it. Thomas held the thick book in his hand and tried in vain to recall why it appeared so familiar.
"You speak Polish?" Jessica said nervously, quizzically.
"Not as so to read Dickens but yes," the soldier replied. He later day-dreamed of the times when he had taught "The Tale of Two Cities" in his village outside Bonn. It was one of Thomas' favourite novels when he was a student and he conceitedly fancied himself as something of a Sydney Carton during his youth when he had first read the text. Even now he could still quote his favourite extract from the book, albeit he would smile at his former self and romantic ego,
"Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose up upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of his own help and own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away." Duritz too could quote the passage, but smiled not when he did so.
"Do you live far from here? Would you like me to help you home with all this?"
Jessica, who could not take her eyes off the enigmatic soldier, now sensed that she was attracting attention. She felt she had no choice but to accept his assistance if she wanted to make sure she carried all the food and candles home, despite her ingrained reservations. But so too there was an intuition in her heart which persuaded Jessica that she could trust this good soldier.
"I live a few blocks from here."
"My name is Thomas. Here, stack as much as you can in my helmet and arms."
"My, my name is Jessica," she replied whilst tentatively placing some bread into his cradling arms, glancing up at him with trepidation and wonder.
She was pretty Thomas thought to himself. Jessica is also a pretty name, though he refrained of course from telling the girl this. Her eyes were a little red and her cheeks puffy - he guessed that the poor girl had been crying - but still she was strikingly attractive. Her face was a little drawn and skin pale but yet there was still an intelligence and comeliness in her features. Despite her unflattering garb and malnutrition Thomas could easily imagine what her figure must've looked like a few years ago. Yes, she was beautiful and her long fair hair reminded the Corporal of how Maria's used to look - but he hoped and believed that that was not the reason why he was helping her. Later that night Thomas even feared for Jessica because of her beauty and uncomfortably wondered if she had suffered for it - or would suffer for it - at the hands of some of his more barbarous SS and Eastern European comrades?
3.
Halina Rubenstein scrunched her face up in discomfort. Her feet, sweaty and swollen, pinched inside of her stiff shoes. Yet still she refused to take her husband's advice to just wear the woollen socks he had bartered for her six months ago. They were ugly and it was common to wear just socks in the home she had argued. Halina had been on her feet all day, washing, sewing, haggling, cleaning and delousing. Finally she was cooking and about to set the table, the task which signalled the end to her day nearly. All she had to do was mash the potatoes - which had been cooked in one of the tenement's three communal kitchens - and slice and ration the bread.
The last three years had aged the Jewish matriarch more than the last fifteen. Her auburn hair had turned grey and brittle. Crows’ feet perched upon her eyes and, where most of the old women in the ghetto looked glum with sunken cheeks, Halina strangely looked glum through having developed jowls. Her calloused hands had suddenly become liver-spotted over the course of the summer although at first she fancied that they were just freckles. The heat from the kitchens exhausted the once supercilious socialite but still she refused to take the weight off her feet whilst waiting to serve dinner. They were a family and they would eat as a family. Halina nervously looked at her watch again and flared her nostrils in frustration at her daughter's tardiness.
"Where is she?"
Halina Rubenstein had repeated this question again in hope of getting an answer or at least a comment, from her husband sitting at the table - but he either deliberately ignored his wife or was just "away with the fairies again". Nowadays she couldn't tell.
"Can't we eat now?" Kolya pleaded once more, his fork upright in his tiny hand.
"No!" his mother snapped back, "Be patient! We always eat as a family. Don't be so selfish. You're not the only one who's hungry."
Witnessing the chastised expression on his face and understanding how hungry her child must have been the mother cut off a piece of bread for him, said sorry and stroked him on the cheek. As famished as Kolya was he savoured the ration by slowly chewing each bite-sized piece of the stale bread which he broke off from the thin slice.
Solomon Rubenstein broke into what was for him a smile upon witnessing the lively enthusiasm and satisfaction on his son's face as he enjoyed his bread. Father and son had all but swapped roles over the last two years. Kolya now took care of his "Papa" - often washing, dressing and feeding him when his mother couldn't manage or was busy. The boy had replaced Solomon as, quite literally, the principle bread winner in the house, running dangerous errands (which he insisted were quite safe) for the Jewish Council and black market smugglers alike. The teenager had shown a keen nerve and acumen for business over the past year as he took it upon himself to get the best deal for what little valuables the family had left to sell. Where Solomon had once tucked his baby boy in and read to him, it was now one of the father and son's small pleasures when Kolya read to his weak-sighted father in the evening. More than his wife and daughter it was Kolya who an ailing Solomon derived the most pride and happiness from. Unlike him his son's mettle had hardened at misfortune. Kolya, seeing the faint expression of satisfaction in his father's eyes, grinned back.
There was no one incident or reason that could explain away Solomon Rubenstein's atrophy. Partly it was all the false hopes that had toyed with and then lacerated his heart - that the Poles or French would resist, that Britain would come to their aid, that things couldn't get any worse. So too the once respected patriarch had tormented himself with guilt. Wasn't he responsible for not having got his family out of Warsaw? Halina had tried to comfort him and argue, "Where would we have gone? Sooner or later we would have ended up here, or Lodz," but her words proved little or no consolation for the doctor. There was even a period when Solomon knew himself to be suffering from a number of symptoms of depression, but still the stultifying blackness spread, like a virus, throughout the capillaries of his soul. His sleep patterns swung between insomnia and then, for the next month or two, he would spend all day sleeping. At first Halina tried to eliminate her husband's detachment by encouraging him to practise medicine again. She spread the word and offered her husband's services for free (while hoping that she would be able to make the neighbours pay eventually). He duly received a number of patients. But what could he do for all the malnourished and terminally ill children? Where was his pharmacy? Did they think he was a miracle worker? More and more he couldn't concentrate or remember things that were standard to the profession. He soon felt even more useless and was vexed that his wife had forced him into doing it. They needed to look after themselves now. It was selfish, but true.
Halina Rubenstein had all but given up on her hus
band of late in terms of him returning to the proud man he used to be. She would still nag and sometimes even hit him in order to provoke a reaction, or she would sometimes break down and cry upon him hoping that if he too broke down then he might be able to have a break-through and come to his senses - but her husband was all but dead to the world most of the time. They had murdered him. She felt guilty about it but she hoped that someone, something (God?), would murder them all or imprison them in the ghetto. They would all get their comeuppance. They must.
One can only imagine her terror and hate then when one of "them" stood before Halina, smiling, in her own home. Why was he here? Was he on his own? Was he with Jessica? If so, why? - she questioned to the stamp of her galloping heart.
"The soldier helped me home with this food Mama. It's okay."
"It's okay!" Halina half says to herself, half ignoring the fact as to why her daughter has such a large amount of food. Shock was now thankfully displacing terror. But the hysterics would come later that evening, complaining in bed to her dormant husband.
Thomas, embarrassed, remained standing in the doorway. During the awkward silence which ensued he surveyed the room. The Rubenstein’s were somewhat privileged in the ghetto, if one may be permitted to use such a term. The average room in the Warsaw ghetto housed six people; the Rubenstein's were a family of four and possessed a sizeable living room/kitchen as well as another room which served as the parent's bedroom, a storage space and a cupboard for a toilet (that was where the bucket could be found). A dining table, covered with a yellowing bed sheet, rested on worm-ridden floorboards in the middle of the room. Underneath the two grimy windows were two beds, or rather two woollen blankets (during the winter however the two blankets would become one as the two children, hugging each other for warmth and comfort, slept together). A medium-sized trunk with a heavy padlock - which was also chained to a water pipe - sat upon the floor in the corner. Thankfully, what with one of the windows being able to be opened and closed, the room was ventilated and free from the putrid air of the rest of the tenement. So too the room seemed cleaner, tidier than the other cells that the Corporal had witnessed as he had ascended the numerous flights of stairs (with doors closing and fearful silences erupting as he did so). He looked down and noticed a basin of spirits, which Thomas suspected was used to delouse the family.
Halina Rubenstein remained transfixed at the imposing soldier, her hands clutching her apron. Kolya too stopped eating and glared up at the German and large rifle which was slung over his shoulder. Even Solomon seemed to carefully and intently assess their unexpected visitor. Nothing good could come of this. It was the stuff of nightmares.
Jessica looked up at Thomas and then turned her head towards her family again. She broke the silence and inaction by unloading the food from her arms and his and placing her bounty on the table.
"I saw Andrzej today and he gave me all this food (a white lie that Jessica had prepared, which she would square with the would-be suitor and son of a Jewish Council member when she next saw him). Unfortunately the bag split. The Corporal kindly helped me carry it all home. He speaks Polish."
Realising the confusion and anxiety he was creating in the household Thomas decided to take his leave. He fully understood their wariness. But how did Jessica expect the family to react? He also thought to himself as he descended the stairs how he even might've caused unwanted trouble and attention for the family in terms of the other Jews living in the building.
"Sorry, I do not wish to intrude or cause any inconvenience," Thomas politely issued and smiled nervously whilst running his fingers and thumbs around the rim of his steel helmet. The Corporal bowed to the mother and Jessica and then left.
"Thank you again Thomas," Jessica exclaimed in his wake. Halina Rubenstein neither approved of her familiarity with the soldier or the telling expression upon her face. The mother eyed her daughter suspiciously, accusingly, but Jessica refused to bow her head before her. She was embarrassed for herself and the Corporal - and angry at her overbearing mother. She knew that it had been a mistake, a silly and dangerous one, to have invited the German up but equally the daughter was in no mood to suffer one of her mother’s moods and lectures.
"Smiles at him she does and calls him by his name," Halina remarked with disdain, waving her hands in the air. One couldn't be sure if she said this to herself, her husband or her idiotic daughter. Maybe all three.
"What was I supposed to do? Leave the food in the street? The rats already eat better than us!" Jessica replied.
"You weren't supposed to bring one of them back here!" Halina spat back, "What are the neighbours going to think? What did he do to you? What did he say?" Halina shrewishly gunned out, raising her voice even louder than her daughter's as if volume alone would decide who was in the right. Soon she would strike the girl if she continued to talk back, or did not answer her questions satisfactorily.
"Nothing. Nothing," Jessica remonstrated, stamping her foot. Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered what he did and the exhausted girl found just enough energy to convulse and sob. She felt isolated. Violated.
"You can't worm your way out of this by crying. You stupid, stupid girl!"
Kolya climbed back down from the window - from where he had watched the soldier leave their building - and sat at the table again. Only upon hearing his sister call him "Thomas" did he begin to suspect who the stranger had been. Was he the Corporal who he had overheard a couple of people call the "good German"? Others deemed it as an impossibility, or even blasphemous, to use such a term. Was he the same German who had carved out of wood a toy truck for Maxim, a friend of his, all those months ago? Maxim had said he could speak a little Polish. Still, he didn't, couldn't, dare trust the German.
"Please Mama, can we now eat?" Kolya asked, not only hoping to eat but also wishing to end yet another argument between the two women of the house.
"Halina, please. Let's eat. Don't be too hard on the girl .What's done is done," Solomon remarked in an act of rare assertion. He knew that his daughter could be as stubborn and proud as her mother (it was one of the reasons why they clashed so much). But Solomon Rubenstein also somehow sensed that there was something wrong with his daughter that was not just borne from encountering the soldier. Usually she wasn't this emotional, or suppressed.
"Oh, it speaks. Take her side always. Don't be too hard on the girl?! You're not hard enough. It's because I care that I must shout at her. She must learn. Don't you even talk to one of them again - or let one of them look you in the eye. Do you hear me you sinful child?"
Jessica half snivelled and half nodded but she wasn't altogether listening. She shuddered as she felt his sweaty, hairy body on top of her again. She could never turn the clock back and Jessica felt as if she would be haunted by the episode for the rest of her life. She yearned for a shower with every besmirched fibre in her young body, but knew that she had to observe the block's rota. How the girl had hoped that she would bring her parcel home and put it on the table and her parents would have been grateful and happy - like they were when Kolya had a surprise score. They would have had a feast and they could have all have sat around together and Kolya could've read to Papa. But she couldn't do anything right. She wanted to scream back - but wouldn't and couldn't - how she had saved the whole family this afternoon through her selflessness but Jessica pretended to take her medicine.
Kolya, half taking his mother and sister's argument in, scanned the table and catalogued what his sister had brought home. He seriously doubted whether Andrzej would've been so generous. Never before had his sister extracted such a score from one of her suitors, although he didn't underestimate the value of their gifts to the family's income. As the boy cocked his head and noted the gold leaf writing upon the large book's spine he suspected too that it wasn't from Andrzej. When he questioned his sister later on as to who had given the goods to her she impatiently just replied, "Keep your nose out, go to sleep". Yet Kolya did not dwell too much on his sister's mysterious ben
efactor, whether it be the soldier or not; he had enough to worry about and a long day ahead come the morning. Although summer, he would be up before the dawn.
"Halina, please, let's just eat."
"Look Papa, a book," Kolya enthusiastically announced, unofficially in cahoots with his father to change the topic and tone of the conversation.
Halina Rubenstein sighed, tired and famished. She closed her eyes and quietly absorbed the aching discomfort from her shoes again.
"You'll have to remove all that stuff from the table first if you want to eat. Put it all in the cupboard Kolya."
"Please, may I be excused from eating for now Mama? I'm tired and not really hungry at the moment. May I have a nap on your bed?"
"Okay, rest but then you must eat. If you feel worse, tell me," Halina answered, her tone suddenly maternal.
"Thank you Mama - and sorry Mama," she meekly, tiredly, exclaimed.
Jessica closed the worn curtain behind her which substituted for a door between the two rooms. Hunger chomped upon her stomach and she was tempted to change her mind and eat with the family but she couldn't muster the energy. Jessica desired to be on her own, to sleep, more. Hugging her pillow like she did when she was a girl - when she was too old for dolls - Jessica finally drifted off to sleep, forcibly trying to replay her conversation and picture the Corporal's friendly face as he had kindly escorted her home.
Kolya lit the candle and, as that signalled to Halina that it was officially night time and her day was over, she allowed herself to remove her shoes. After clearing the table she took up her usual position of resting near the window, feet up upon the family trunk, gazing out of the greying pane whilst sewing - and wondering when the Russians or British were coming.
Warsaw Page 3