"The Russian advance has become just that I think, an advance. I do not think our army will survive another winter on the Eastern Front," Thomas remarked to the girl in order to lift her spirits. The Corporal failed to mention to the nurse - which he did report to Duritz however who was hardened enough to deal with the truth - that at the rate of the evacuations the ghetto would be emptied before it could be liberated by the Russians or Allies.
"What will happen to you when the Russians come?" Jessica asked, attractively caring for the future of the Corporal.
"I don't know. I'll either get shot in the back retreating, or shot in the chest running towards the enemy," Thomas said dryly, trying to diffuse his black fate with grim humour. The Corporal half-smiled but Jessica's heart went out to the goodly soldier and she touched him upon the knee again. Thomas felt a little uncomfortable at the gesture, remembering Maria, but he refrained from moving his leg.
The early evening sky was of a deep purple, plum coloured. Duritz was still in a relatively good mood from his visit by Thomas. He was not of that insipid Catholic strain of thinking that the confession of one's sins equates to somehow being absolved of them - nor was his speech to his friend as cathartic as you might suppose. But Duritz did seem better for having - for want of a better term - unburdened himself before Thomas. He spoke of Jessica - without mentioning her name - and the trappings of conceit and idealism, beauty.
More and more Duritz began to think of Anna. He pictured her uplifting expressions, clement heart, unaffected charms and sweet flesh. He scanned across the words and turned the pages of his book but our re-born lover wasn't really reading. As when a child will keep staring at a clock as if he may speed up the minutes and be surprised at the time from when he last checked, Duritz similarly kept checking his watch (which he had confiscated from a rich widower) for the time when he believed Anna would be free. His smelly, undarned socks and feet tapped rhythmically on the end of the bed, as if he were listening to jazz, with impatience. Coiled energy. The adolescent was desperate to go upstairs and see her. Partly just to see her and partly for sex. He finally put his book down, a Polish translation of Rousseau's "Confessions". He had intended to work on his translation of Plutarch today but he had all but abandoned that project now (although Duritz was now flirting with the idea of writing up his account of the fall of Warsaw, indicting the Poles for their complicity, cowardice and lack of military acumen. So too for their cooperation and actions after the fall they needed to be indicted). Adam began to bite the inside of his mouth out of boredom and because he was hungry - but then realised that Anna might soon be running her tongue around his mouth in succulent kisses. He couldn't wait any longer. He told himself that the nights were drawing in earlier of late (which they were), anyone there would've surely left Anna's place by now.
The dusty, wooden flights of stairs that Duritz climbed up were so dried out as to be cracking in some places. Aromas of cabbage soup, urine and disease saturated his nose and throat. Cries, coughs and ridiculous but understandable arguments deposited themselves in the air. The lover finally made it up to Anna's landing and heard her voice and the door close when he came to the top of the stairs. Adam performed a slight double-take on noticing the soldier, his uniform blending into the dim light and ash-coloured decor of the walls. Duritz had seen him before in the building and even knew something of the old soldier from what Anna had reported to him. His name was Oscar. Anna liked him. Even drunk he wasn't rough with her, indeed sometimes he would just come and talk. Other times he would say near nothing at all and just want sex and be in and out so to speak in ten minutes, leaving some bread and fruit on the side as payment. Anna had spoken fondly of the German one time when she recounted how he had once beaten up a Latvian policeman who had tried to hassle her. If not for his lowly rank and lack of influence Duritz might have considered him as a candidate for the patron he hoped that Anna might secure.
As soon as the two men passed by each other Duritz had to smile to himself. The normally gruff soldier, with stubble so rough as to light a match on, looked veritably sheepish upon exiting Anna's room. For once it was the German who could not meet the Jew's glance as, with downcast eyes and a crimsoning countenance, he had walked by him, his hands fumbling as he tried to do up his jacket buttons. Duritz momentarily mused upon the situation of how this man could commit murder (or at least be an accessory to murder) and carry out countless acts of barbarity and larceny - but only appear to be ashamed of himself upon being caught outside the room of a Jewish prostitute. As much danger as was involved in daring to see a Jewish prostitute Oscar perhaps did so because it was forbidden - his "Rassenscharde" (race crime) was an act of defiance or rebellion against the sacrilegious regime.
Adam knocked upon the door and she let him in. Not fifteen minutes ago Anna's face had been shaped with partly feigned, partly genuine ecstasy and gratitude. She had giggled, batted her eye lashes and seduced (at the same time acting as though she were being seduced however). But at the very moment that the soldier departed her features dropped - nor could they fully revive themselves upon seeing Adam. She let him in however. A blind man could discern the tiredness and worry in the woman's expression so Duritz wisely put on hold his amorous intentions. He offered, but Anna insisted that he just sit down and that she would make the coffee upon the small stove she possessed. When Anna stood side on to him and tucked her hair behind her ear Duritz couldn't but notice again the streaky yellow remnant of a bruise which ran down her heavily made-up cheek. A Jewish policeman had done it a week or so ago; a young constable called Marek had slapped her during foreplay, thinking himself masterful, even playful. Duritz had offered to play the chivalrous boyfriend but who could he complain to? Any act of revenge would be prologue to an act of suicide, for both of them. In the end they both suffered in silence and remembered to forget the incident.
The coffee was weak. Ever since they had started to see each other again Anna had noticed how her rations and provisions had lessened, having to provide for Duritz. More and more he came up to see her. Emotionally, physically, materially, he was becoming a burden. The night before Anna had thought how little time she had to herself nowadays. Hope and normality were luxuries in the ghetto but, during those first few magical evenings together, they had talked and planned as if they were a couple who would survive the ghetto and make a life together. They could go into hiding, or Adam could become a policeman again and provide security for them. But still he hadn't committed to anything. Whilst Anna was working all day to provide for them he remained happily holed up in his room, painting or reading. If he didn't care about himself then why should she care about him? - Although it was perhaps partly due to the fact that no one cared for her lost boy that attracted him to her.
She handed Duritz his coffee without saying a word and sat in a chair away from him. Anna knew what he had come up for but she was too fatigued - and not in the mood. So too the woman wanted to deny him as a form of punishment. Duritz wanted to comfort her but he thought that she might think that he was but making sexual advances. Adam softly smiled at her in hope of some form of reciprocal expression, but Anna pretended not to notice.
A spherical, milky moon shone through the window to illuminate the room sufficiently for Halina Rubenstein to notice the dust-laden cobwebs still shackled to the dead light bulb. Kolya was but a small bundle, a brown silhouette in the corner. He had fallen asleep almost immediately after supper. The past couple of day's exertions had caught up with him. He had worked in the armament factory in the morning and then sneaked off in the afternoon to make his runs for the black market food smugglers. The mother had cause to love her son more than most. It dawned upon Halina that - whereas she had entered the ghetto believing that she would never get the chance to watch Kolya grow up and become a man - he had indeed grown into a fine young man because, and not in spite, of the ghetto in some ways. Her features were drawn but one could still detect a faint, warm smile on the old woman's face as she gazed upon her chil
d, her eyes moist with fond tears. So too there resided a dull glimmer in her heart as Halina scanned the room and rested her eyes upon Jessica, who was similarly asleep. Her daughter had come home in a good mood, for whatever reason. There was liveliness in her aspect and conversation that Halina had not seen for awhile. She chatted, laughed, pretty - like the Jessica of old. After dinner she had read to the family from her book (the Dickens book), which again she had not done for some time. She then fell into a slumber, the book clasped to her breast as if it were a child's favourite doll.
14.
Jessica left for work early that morning having been woken up by another nightmare. She remained awake - with the debris from the arresting visions and the daydreams of the gallant Corporal on her mind - so decided to turn up at the hospital early. She would help out at the clinic and serve what little breakfast they could muster for the patients, which usually just consisted of a fifty gram ration of bread and margarine. The early bird of Kolya, hoping to smuggle a worm or two, also left the apartment before sunrise that raw morning as to his industrious routine.
Aktion. The shrill whistles even pierced through the sound of the shots which seem to hammer out in celebration almost. For a moment or two Halina Rubenstein's heart stopped, but then the petrified woman wrestled as much control over herself as she could. She knew what needed to be done - and what was going to happen. The low thuds of their heavy hobnailed boots sounded upon the stairs below. The whistles and rifles grew louder, oppressive. They would be here soon. They flushed people out from working from the top downwards. Halina quickly hid what little valuables and provisions they had stored in their family trunk by placing them into the cubby hole underneath the lose floorboards. She placed into the alcove the unfinished letter to her two children, tenderly stroking the white envelope and briefly gazing upon it as if she were saying goodbye to Jessica and Kolya in person. An otiose Solomon Rubenstein sat on his chair at the table, seemingly passive. Sometimes his tired eyes followed his wife in curiosity as she scurried around the apartment. The tears, sobbing, already began to get the better of Halina. She knew it was the end, but had to act for sanity's sake as if it wasn't.
The quartet of soldiers (containing an imperious looking SS Corporal, two adolescent Latvians and an old, brutal Ukrainian) were spearheaded by a Jewish policeman as he first voraciously glanced around the small apartment for any obvious valuables on show. He then approached the woman of the house who stood to attention before him.
"I have papers," Halina said with confidence as she retrieved the couple's old cards and documents which stated that their children were essential workers, who possessed the necessary Ausweis (a card stamped "Operation Reinhald" containing the emblems of a swastika and Nazi eagle, as well as the words "Not subject to resettlement"). At the same time as addressing the policeman Halina witnessed the scene over his shoulder as a young couple across the hall displayed their papers to a soldier and in return he allowed them to retreat back in their apartment. For a fleeting moment hope rose in the woman's knotted heart.
"These are old papers. And your children's papers are not your papers," the pugnacious constable (a former lawyer's clerk) replied, barely examining the documents before him. A gun shot, followed by a despairing wail, shattered the air from along the corridor. Halina flinched but the policeman continued to issue his instructions in the same flat, officious tone.
"You and your husband are to report downstairs. You have been fortunate enough to be transported to work camps in the East. There you will be able to remain together. You will need food and water for the journey but do not burden yourself with anything more. You will be provided for."
Without another word said the policeman and soldiers efficiently repeated the process in a number of neighbouring apartments. Resignation, cowardice and sickliness were platted together like strands of frayed rope in Solomon Rubenstein's features, but he got up and seemed to comprehend enough of what was going on when Halina spoke to him.
More shots rang out, cracking like thunder. Echoing. Halina caught the sound of someone falling down the stairs and splintering the banisters on the floor below. Hastily packing up some rations (taking but a day's bread, for Jessica and Kolya would need the provisions now) and some spare garments the elderly couple made their way out of their mouldy apartment.
As they got to the top of the stairs a policeman barged past Solomon and nearly knocked him over. The constable was dragging a boy by his bleeding ear (his lip was also bloodied) who had tried to hide. But the zealous ex-civil servant had ferreted out the child. How many people might have been saved, or would have had their lives prolonged at least, had some members of the Jewish police have turned a blind eye sometimes? They worked "as if they were on commission" Anna Weil had once remarked, hard disdain in her usually feminine voice.
Children screamed, as did adults, but anyone making too much of a commotion was swiftly beaten or shot. A chill ran down Halina's spine as she walked down along the floor below and witnessed the wet blood (and flesh and bits of brain) splattered upon the dimpled walls, the dead bodies of women and children slumped upon the ground. A multitude of people, as if shunted out from nowhere, streamed out of their apartments, clutching their bundles or holding their children by the hand. A couple of neighbours glanced at each other and tried to offer a comforting smile. Most bowed their heads, not wishing to make eye contact with the soldiers. Even when struck by riding crops, as impatient soldiers attempted to quicken and direct the woeful procession of their charges, people didn't dare react. They tried to carry on as normal.
To hasten the aktion further an SS officer, in both Yiddish and Polish, firmly declared that:
"The last families to depart from the building will be punished for their lack of cooperation."
Although this proclamation, issued in a confident and almost amused tone, did not produce the panic that one might have expected the inhabitants of the building did shuffle down the stairs and exit the tenement block with more speed.
Halina held her husband's skinny hand. Torn between the desire to look after him but also hasten their departure from the building she led him down the stairs. Patches of grey, or rather white, mottled his dirty wiry hair and beard. Sometimes his hand was limp and unresponsive, other times he held onto Halina for dear life.
Four parked trucks, two on each end of the block, vibrated as if shivering from the cold - or in fright. A half a dozen rickshaws, to be bone-breakingly pulled by Jews, also sat waiting for passengers (those too infirm to walk) as Halina and Solomon Rubenstein made it out into the street. Shots continued to be fired to disorientate and control the evacuees caught up in the aktion. Riding crops continued to be used as whips (along with whips themselves) to punish the tardy and innocent alike. Policemen bloodied their wooden truncheons. Corpses littered the street, victims of being made examples of so the rest would comply more easily. Ironically, these corpses strewn across the road and all along the route to the Umschlagplatz would save the lives of some of the people selected later, as the SS would requisition a small work detail of Jews to dispose of the dead.
The line of people exiting the building were immediately filed and herded into a large, enfeebled phalanx. Whilst waiting for the tenement to be cleared, squeezed dry of every applicable candidate, the group outside were ordered to get down on their knees and lock their fingers behind their heads. Halina helped her confused husband assume the required position. Thankfully she had still been able to remain close to him. Her joints ached, in both her stiff knees and arthritic hands, but any discomfort Halina experienced was soon displaced by terror. From a couple of rows behind she heard an old woman whimper and then fall over from being unable to balance on her knees. The woman was soon shot in the back of her head without warning. Such was her proximity that the blast made her ears ring. Halina shuddered as she also felt spots of blood spit onto the back of her neck.
A long drawn-out note was sounded upon a whistle - which was reciprocated by two similar res
ponses - and Halina's column was ordered to get to their feet and march up the street. Policemen and SS flanked the evacuees like soldier ants protecting a colony on the move. The group was expected to keep the pace of the marching soldiers. Those that fell behind were beaten - struck in the head with a rifle butt - or shot. Halina prayed that Solomon would be able to keep up. She tried as much as possible to make eye contact with her husband in order to encourage him. He breathed heavily but kept up the pace. Although the temperature was tepid, with smoke-grey autumnal clouds filling the sky, Halina began to sweat profusely, her head scarf clinging to her forehead and temples in spotted wet patches. Her heavy black cotton socks also began to slide down her shins, bunching up around her already swollen ankles and revealing a slack-fleshed pair of besmirched hairy legs. But the once vain woman was not even tempted to break step and pull them back up.
Seen from above the large body of people might have resembled a huge undulating snake as it wound its way up Smocza Street - right along Niska Street - then left into Zamenhof Street and into the entrance of the Umschlagplatz. As macabre, unaccountable and singular as the funereal procession appeared it had also become a daily occurrence in the ghetto (albeit occasionally the round-ups would skip a day).
The column began to compress against itself as people were fed into the mouth of the Umschlagplatz and Halina was again able to take hold of her husband’s hand. Flustered and nauseous from the odour of the crowd the Rubenstein’s eventually made it through the narrow channel at the entrance to the compound and into the large holding area of the converted plaza. Even if Halina was not huddled into the space by the natural drift of the crowd, she would have gladly chosen to follow it as the mass of people shifted themselves away from the SS Headquarters which was situated at the far corner of the holding area. So too no one wanted to be near the opening which led into the final selection area - which led to the trains.
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