Warsaw

by Richard Foreman

  The angel-faced Private rightly spoke of how it would be an honour to serve on the Lieutenant's staff. Before the interview the Private had rehearsed his lines. In that Dietmar was cynical and an opportunist, you may deem him intelligent. He was wise enough to know that the Russian Front was tantamount to a death sentence. He was worldly enough to realise that the Lieutenant could be his meal ticket for the rest of the war and - although he was suitable for the job in terms of his qualifications and aptitude - Dietmar was under no illusion as to why the officer had picked him out of the ranks to serve as his adjutant.

  Dietmar's first homosexual experience had been in the Hitler Youth. He had been fifteen. A troop leader - popular, attractive, a magistrate's son - had taken the impressionable teenager under his wing from the very beginning of their week's camping. Dietmar felt flattered that Rudolf should pay so much attention to him. They shared a tent. They shared similar backgrounds, intimacies and eventually, on the last night of their week together, the same sleeping bag. Dietmar never saw Rudolf again after that weekend, although he felt a twinge of envy and resentment towards his former partner recently when he heard that he had qualified as a lawyer and was working on Adolf Eichmann's personal staff. Yet Dietmar sufficiently enjoyed the experience to attract and not spurn the advances of a succession of Rudolfs. He grew to know what these older influential men wanted and provided a service, sexual or otherwise. Dietmar found it arousing and amusing that these wealthy and powerful businessmen and officers - who were sophisticated, repressed, generous with their gifts and pearls of wisdom - thought and acted as though they were seducing him. Whilst all the time it was him and his act that was seducing them. Nowadays we might deem Dietmar bisexual however as he also occasionally enjoyed women. It was interesting if not strange though that whereas he was content to be the object of a man's affections - the feminine or receptor in the relationship - he could be nothing but callous (sometimes violent) in his affairs with women. It was equally so, with men or women, that the Catholic Dietmar would feel a little guilty, disgusted, after sex with his partners (what with the ideas of cleanliness and conformity that had been propagated in his young head). But such thoughts would pass for the conceits which they were.

  Christian squeezed the attentive Private's shoulder from behind. The Lieutenant was pleased to sense that his new adjutant wasn't tense.

  "Did you enjoy the food?"

  "Yes Sir. It has been a while since I've had such a meal."

  "Would you like a cigarette?"

  "Thank you, but I do not smoke," Dietmar replied, calling his host by yet another, flattering honorific afterwards.

  "I'm glad; it is not the most pleasant of habits. You're a good soldier Dietmar."

  The fraternal scrunch of his shoulder now transformed itself into an affectionate rub of his soft neck. The Lieutenant felt compelled also to stroke the silky blond hair upon the back of the adolescent's head.

  "I will be discreet Sir - in regards to my work for you."

  Christian smiled as he blew the silver smoke from his mouth. Did a glint form in his eyes as he did so? Yes the boy would be discreet. Both men, soon to become lovers, believed themselves to be the dominant partner in the relationship, albeit for different reasons. Christian was the youth's superior, the one who initiated the relationship and who could call it off at any time. He would provide for Dietmar. Dietmar however, such was his confidence in his performance, was sure that he could make himself indispensable to his employer. Christian would be possessed in possessing him. So too as much as the adjutant could be discreet, it was implicit that he could always eventually be indiscreet. The Gestapo were rewarding in terms of their informers, as they were ruthless also in dealing with those who were informed upon.

  Duritz lay awake. It had been perhaps the first evening in many that he hadn't heard shots ring out or trucks growl from what, he supposed, was another one of Kleist's sickening hunts. Yet it was perhaps the first evening also where Duritz had to wear his clothes in bed. Summer was over. As beautiful as the star-filled nights might be, they would no longer be warm. He idly thought to himself how much the phrase "I love you" sounded the same in Yiddish ("Ikh hob dikh lib") as it did in German ("Iche liebe dich"). As if to exercise his faculties, the student then recited the phrase to himself in all the other languages that he knew it in: Polish, "Kocham cie"; Latin, "Te amo"; English, "I love you"; Hebrew, "Ani ohev otach"; Ancient Greek, "Se erotao".

  His thoughts catching up with him, it dawned upon Duritz that he had played the same game one night when day-dreaming about Jessica Rubenstein, all those years ago. As her name reverberated in his mind he tried to coldly analyse, as if he were re-reading or re-appraising a poem, what he now thought of Jessica. No romantic fancies came to mind of them meeting by chance with dramatic scenes ensuing; he did not put words into her mouth as if she were a character from Flaubert or Turgenev; he still thought her beautiful, the Jessica of yesteryear, but then many women were similarly attractive, including Anna. He felt terrible and uncomfortable remembering their last encounter, but then made an act of volition to think of something else in relation to her. He felt regret in regards to the time and energy he wasted being delusional about gratifying his love for her, but were not most youths guilty of such venial sins at some time during their adolescence? Besides, he was thankful of his old conceit - that he loved her to the point of religious devotion - for the feelings had inspired him to write and better himself. Good had come from that. Wasn't that what she was, a phase? She was the Past, Duritz determinedly and philosophically thought to himself. She was "a stage on life's way", as Kierkegaard might have described it, Adam concluded.

  Anna was his present and hopefully future. Although they had but briefly seen each other this evening, with Anna being exhausted from her day's work, she had again pressed him for a decision on when they should arrange to leave the ghetto and go into hiding. Adam himself had been busy also that day, meeting with a couple of his old black-market and criminal contacts - and the price for getting out was almost doubling by the month. The money and valuables that Anna had saved up could only buy passage and sanctuary for one he calculated. If Adam had his way he would not have her choose to go into hiding. The Poles could not be trusted and, if discovered (which would be likely sooner or later), Anna would be killed almost immediately. He wanted to encourage her to try and become a servant to one her influential lovers who she trusted. But how could he then say that he loved her when he wanted her leave him and be with another man?

  Anna had pressed him for they both knew that his time was nearly up. Duritz would soon have to either re-join the Jewish Police, or be eligible for selection. Anna had naturally thought to herself at first that there was no choice to make; he would have to become a policeman as the alternative meant no alternative. But yet with only a couple of weeks remaining he still hadn't indicated that he would return to his former position, nor did Adam express a desire to attain a work card through a different channel.

  And so a new species of anxiety sometimes crept into Duritz's moods of late - but not as much as you might have thought - that he would soon have to make a choice to decide his fate. In the same way that he knew that he didn't have it in him to return to the ghetto police, the happy ending of Anna and himself escaping and seeing out the war would similarly fail to transpire. The thought of trying to bribe a corrupt official to obtain a work card also formed a bitter taste in his mouth. No longer also was a work card a life card - you would either be worked to death or eventually be selected. Even now there were parts of the ghetto that resembled a ghost town; such was the speed at which the Germans were emptying it. Duritz had overheard the black humour of a cobbler the other day who called this time last year - with its beard pulling, verbal abuse, the old epidemics, random sadistic beatings, bureaucratic corruption - the "golden age" of the ghetto.

  Despite the fateful choice that Duritz would soon have to make he was, often, indifferent to his fate. He had grown so attuned to livin
g day to day that he had become naturally adjusted to not invest too much hope or pessimism in the future; more so he thought of Anna, Thomas, his brother (wherever he now was), Jessica and the Rubenstein’s - and their futures. Happiness was knowing that other people would eventually survive and flourish. It was a comforting thought that Duritz was willing to put to the test- that he would rather commit suicide than bow down and be executed. Even before the occupation the Hamlet-obsessed student possessed a philosophical attitude towards death. Suicide was attractive, romantic; she was a femme fatale with a figure to die for so to speak, silk black dress, sexy, glossy black hair, movie siren looks, dark seductive elegance, tapering stroking fingers, powerful, sensuous, hypnotic eyes, womanly, a pouting mouth moist with ruby-red lipstick which, even if you knew were being poisoned, you'd still wish to kiss. As an insomniac, death alone could furnish him with the sleep he needed to catch up on Adam joked. So too death alone would provide him with the answer to the eternal question of whether there was God or not, the source of the intellectual youth's despair.

  It may be argued also that the reason why Duritz abstained from making a decision to settle his fate was that he was content with his current existence. He was in relatively good health, he owned companionship in the shape of Thomas and Anna (who took care, provided for and stimulated him in their own ways) and to some extent Adam lived a life of leisure. He didn't have to get up in the morning for anything and, when he did, he could read, write or paint. Or just sleep. If one ignores the Sword Of Damocles which hangs over our heads, one has a chance to be happy.

  13.

  It was borne from an impulse, a notion. Thomas walked past one of the ghetto's remaining medical centres on his way back to the barracks from visiting Duritz. At first he thought he would walk by and glance up through the murky windows to see if he could espy the Jewish nurse. If he saw her in that instance then he fancied that it was fate that they should so meet. Once arriving at the building's front however, Thomas dismissed this idea and resolved to wait outside the old building in hope of seeing the girl.

  The area no longer resembled a rich, bustling town square but still the location was home to one of the few remaining patches of greenery in the ghetto. Situated in the middle of the square the small park could have barely been deemed that now. Out of sympathy perhaps for the ghetto's inhabitants, or infected by their necrosis, the emeralds and browns had become jaundiced or were fading to grey. The bark upon the trees was brittle and flaking, the once glossy leaves were curling up upon themselves - and what little trace of flora Thomas could see were the remnants of violets and tulips trodden into the mulched earth.

  Under a crisp blue sky, with the odd off-white rag of a cloud breaking up the azure, the jaded Corporal sat down upon a bench facing the hospital's entrance. He felt a little uncomfortable intruding upon the town square so - and couldn't help but furtively notice the covert glances he received - but his desire to see Jessica again overruled the shards of strangeness and transgression. He gave thanks to the two cypress trees behind the bench and the two sizeable shrubs which flanked him and concealed any overt conspicuousness.

  While waiting Thomas mulled over some of the things Adam had told him that day.

  "She was ravishingly beautiful. Aye, she ravished me. I can still picture the first time I saw her. She was in her garden, playing with her brother. The lawn was as green and short as the baize upon a billiard table. A swing was tied in between two apricot trees. I can still smell the cinnamon and jasmine in the air. The roses were in bloom. Do you know though that is when the thorns on rose bushes are at their hardest? Ironically, forget-me-nots were also prominent, as well as love-lies-bleeding. Nature played Cupid. The reason why I can remember the scene so vividly Thomas is that it was the beginning and end of my life... Bored with just hating her, I started to hate womankind in general. In the same way that Miss Havisham created Stella to wreak revenge on mankind for ruining her, I wished to be or to create a Byron or Pechorin who would similarly seduce and then ruin my she-devil and all her sisters... They're Sirens. They have a sweet song, but they lead you to your death. Or they're Circe. They can turn a man into a slavering brute with but a show of a pretty ankle or softly spoken word, no matter if it's a yes or a no... But women are women. She might have provided me with the material, but it was I alone who wrote me into the tragi-comedy of the whole ridiculous affair... Ignore me. I've been reading too much Chekhov," Adam had finally issued, waving his hand dismissively and smiling.

  Thomas remembered how Adam had described the object of his adolescent infatuation as having "scintillating eyes" (albeit Duritz had lifted the expression from Stendhal). The German idly thought the phrase apt to capture Jessica's aspect also.

  Thomas beamed as he saw the bright reaction upon Jessica's face as she spotted him. Her dwindling heart skipped a beat. She blushed out of shyness or shame - feeling herself unpretty after her demanding shift. What did she look like? The nurse's face was a little fuller, as was her figure, from the last time they had seen each other but still those once contoured, coquettish features appeared older and lifeless compared to that deeply alluring girl in the picture. Her lank tresses contained streaks of now ash blonde, or grey, hair. As elated as Jessica was at his dramatic appearance the girl momentarily felt regret, that he was seeing her like this; she had a dress picked out and a little make-up left that she intended upon wearing when she saw the German again. Her blushes brought a kind of colour to her countenance however, so too an expression of joy, relief and even salvation couldn't help but burst forth from Jessica's aspect. The nurse forgot all about her tiredness and veritably floated towards the soldier. Thomas stood up from the bench and straightened his uniform, as well as flattening the tuft of hair which stuck up from him owning a double crown. Thomas looked around him to check if anyone was observing their scene together for it seemed mutually implicit that the makeshift bower was as good a place as any to conduct their meeting. The German gallantly brushed Jessica's part of the bench clean before she sat down.

  "I'm sorry that I haven't been able to see you for a while Jessica," Thomas said apologetically, his eyes at once meeting her searching aspect and then lowering themselves to the ground in contrition.

  "No, no. It was my fault. I was late for our last meeting. I'm just glad you've come to see me now," the girl said effusively, her slender fingers touching his knee in a friendly gesture. Thomas was buoyed by the girl's understanding and visible pleasure at seeing him again. He felt and stored the sensation upon his leg, replaying and interpreting the affectionate touch over in his mind's eye later that evening.

  "I have just been visiting my friend who I told you about."

  "Is he any better?"

  "Yes, very much so," Thomas said and smirked, thinking of his friend's earlier embarrassment and the idea of him being romantic and in love - despite his comments on womankind later on.

  "What's so funny?" Jessica exclaimed, smiling herself upon witnessing his infectious grin.

  "Nothing. I'm just thinking of my friend. He's seeing someone at the moment, a woman. If you knew him you'd understand why I'm laughing at picturing him as a lover. Romance and he go together like a politician and the truth."

  "What's his name?" Jessica replied. Both she and Thomas were laughing together, or to themselves, now - neither of them not really knowing why. They were just enjoying the ordinariness and harmony of the moment.

  "I know it may seem silly, but I'm afraid I can't tell you. He made me promise one time that I'd preserve his anonymity. Besides, I would much rather talk about you. How are you Jessica? How is your family?"

  Jessica attempted a half-smile and shrugged. Two years ago the girl might have been sitting on the very same bench with a boy - but the conversation would've been so much gayer. She might've been talking about the film the couple had just both seen, or the boy would be complimenting her on her dress, or she would be flirting, bathing in his admiration. She might have let him kiss her if he was worthy
. After their meeting, late that night, Jessica lay awake and closed her eyes. She transported them - sitting on the bench in their leafy arbour - outside of the ghetto, or just blanked out the rest of the world. Her adoring, pretty semblance was cupped in his strong, tender hand. He was a blend of Ashley Wilkes and Rhett Butler she indulged. With his soft thumb he wiped away a lonely tear which snaked down her cheek. The power of her imagination and desire cultivated a real-like sensation. Jessica melted at the touch. She closed her eyes even more tightly and sighed when the courtly soldier seemed to take on a life of his own and he pressed his sensuous lips against her gratified mouth. She didn't mind that he was so much older than her, indeed she liked it.

  An awkward pause ensued. Reality is always strained. Jessica did not know what to say. She did not want to talk about her family. The perilous state they were in made her feel despondent. Or Jessica did want to talk about them, to the point where Thomas would want to rescue them all. How was she also to put into words the condition of her own existence and anguish? And did he not know how she felt about him? The discordant silence the soldier and Jewish girl shared was not their first however and at such times Thomas usually had a question - such as wanting to know a word or phrase in Polish or giving Jessica some news from outside of the ghetto - that he had pre-prepared to re-animate the atmosphere.