Warsaw

by Richard Foreman

  And so Duritz killed time - before the times would kill him - lying on his back and drafting another note. A stubby pencil and scrap of paper rested on the floor beside his makeshift bed. It was impossible for the student, no matter how he phrased it, not to imbue his tone with a modicum of gallantry. He would sacrifice himself. Jessica's wishes would come first. He sincerely apologised for any trouble he had caused already, hoping that "Miss Rubenstein" would understand. The ex-policeman was gratitude for what Miss Rubenstein had done for him already in providing him with shelter for one night. He would never forget her. The penitent inserted into his letter however that he would try and see Kolya again, once he was settled. Adam folded up the letter and placed it in his pocket. He decided that he would not just leave it on the table and disappear. He would see Jessica for one last time.

  Duritz woke up from his afternoon nap ten minutes or so before Jessica returned. She was on her own. Kolya was out attempting to play various water vendors off each other. The young man's intended memorable phrases and facial expressions were forgotten. Postures undone. Words stuck in the writer's throat upon seeing the enigmatic but disdainful looking woman who held his fate in her hands. Adam smiled tentatively. Her face was unreadable. Before Duritz could open his mouth in order to declare his intent to leave Jessica spoke first.

  "More out of gratitude to Thomas - than anything you're owed - I've decided to let you stay for a few more days. After that though, even if you have to be put out on the street, you're not my problem. And if I have any trouble from you, you know what I can do. You're to eat what you're given, do what you're told. You're also not staying under this roof for nothing. Your provisions and valuables are to be shared. You're also not to keep Kolya up like last night - we need our sleep. We work long days. I also don't want you promising him anything. Do you understand?" the young woman issued with severity. At first his features registered shame but afterwards an unexpressed wave of something else washed over Adam's slaked heart.

  19.

  Thomas told his wife what she wanted to hear in his letter to her - that he missed her and Wilhelm dearly and that coming home to them again was the only thing keeping him going. After writing this though he added that she was not to worry, that he was healthy and in good spirits. He asked the same routine questions about what was happening in village? - and how was her mother keeping? Some of the sentiments he expressed in the letter were sincere; some of them weren't.

  The disillusioned soldier finished the letter, not entirely happy with it. A feeling of guilt or melancholy nagged him like a wife. But yet Thomas was equally sure that he could not be bothered to re-write it. He was tired again, indeed after his brief breakfast with Oscar he had gone back to sleep. A physical as well as spiritual lethargy extracted the wind from his sails. What with not feeling up to it - and arguing with himself that Jessica would not have the heart to turf Adam out on the street without her telling him first for fear of upsetting him - Thomas decided not to visit the Rubenstein’s that day. He sympathised with what his friend counselled. He had been neglecting his duties and his men. He was after all a soldier. And what if his liaison with the woman was discovered? They would then all perish.

  The list seemed to be endless but the increasingly diligent secretary duly noted down the arrangements his Lieutenant crisply poured out in regards to the party he was planning. Christian Kleist was in an uncommonly relaxed and good mood. His polished boots were propped up upon his lion-footed walnut desk and tapped away excitedly. His top button and collar were undone - which was usually out of fashion for the fastidious officer - to reveal the top of his broad, hairless chest. He leaned back upon his chair and rested his interlocked manicured hands upon his trim stomach. He smirked seductively - amused. Self-satisfied.

  "By the very fact that he'll probably hate me for it I'm going to invite your old Corporal. Besides, we should really have someone there from the rank and file so to speak. I warrant he'll be free that evening, having nothing to do."

  Dietmar's expression echoed his superior's denigrating view towards his ex-Corporal. For whatever reason Dietmar had not thought of Abendroth for a while, but the closer he had grown towards Christian the more he had adopted a position of ill-favour towards the unambitious Corporal. Initially, when posted to the ghetto and under Abendroth's command, he took to the popular soldier. Indeed such was the way that Thomas looked after the new recruit Dietmar even flirted with the idea that the Corporal was attracted to him. But Dietmar realised that the Corporal favoured everyone - rather than him in particular; he eventually felt some what spurned. Thomas even preferred the company of that cliché-ridden oaf Hummel to his. So too why shouldn't he feel bitterness towards the Corporal - for after all hadn't he ousted him from the unit and set-up the posting to the SS? Being seduced by Christian - and all the virtues he represented - only increased his antipathy towards the lowly Wehrmacht Corporal.

  "It'll be alright I guess as long as it's just him you invite - and not that coarse Private of his. Two seconds from him quite literally squeezing through the door and there will be nothing left of the buffet."

  "Oh no, don't worry about that. My plan is to have Thomas Abendroth feel very much isolated on the evening," Christian issued with a darkly mischievous glint in his eye.

  Night plummets, like the temperature. Some people shiver, some people hug. It makes little difference. There was a prayer meeting in Jessica's building for the evening, being held in the basement. At first Jessica asked Kolya if he would like to attend the service with her. When he said no she then insisted, saying that he "should" and that she did not want to go on her own.

  "I can't be bothered, I'm too tired. What's the point anyway? You'll be okay going by yourself. You have before."

  Jessica looked hurt, partly because she had one eye on the tactic of shaming Kolya into attending - and partly because she was indeed disappointed and chafed by his tone. She suspected that his attitude had something to do with the ex-policeman. It was not the first time that he had tried to impress Duritz with a cynical or rebellious posture. As well as trying to show how independent and wilful he could be it should not be underestimated how much the youth just did not want to attend the prayer meeting, for various reasons. The service would be boring in the dank basement - the old boiler room. Kolya could not believe as he once did. He had also planned that evening to play cards with Adam, albeit a King and two Aces were missing from the ex-policeman's deck.

  Jessica stared fixedly at her brother - her mother's daughter. One did not know whether she was about to break down into tears, or combust. The woman's glare was also understandably directed towards the unwelcome guest. Although she knew Kolya was acting alone in his contrary behaviour, the ex-policeman presence was behind it all she couldn't help but feel.

  "I'm not going to stand here and have an argument with you about it," Jessica rigidly issued, standing and having an argument with the equally entrenched teenager.

  "What's God going to do if I don't go? How can he punish us even more?" Kolya sarcastically replied. He briefly then looked at Adam, to see his reaction, for was not this performance of his partly for Duritz's benefit? Kolya found that the ex-tutor had his own part to play back though. Duritz creased his brow. For the first time Duritz made it clear to Kolya that he was disappointed in the boy - in his conceit and disrespectful behaviour towards his sister. He could sympathise with the boy's lack of faith, but that was another matter.

  "You shouldn't really let your sister go on her own Kolya. Besides, there might be food at the meeting - which is enough to give thanks for is it not? We can always play cards another evening, or afterwards. Funnily enough my schedule is free."

  Duritz's touch of humour cleverly relieved the mounting tension and offered Kolya, or rather his pride, a way out. Thankfully the boy was man enough to take it, despite feeling a little patronised. As much as he was up for another argument with his sister, to prove that he was no junior in the house to her senior, he did not want to
provoke any serious ill feeling.

  Whilst Kolya retrieved his threadbare jacket Adam and Jessica shared a moment. Restrained, yet grateful, she pursed her lips and fleetingly smiled in appreciation of the ex-policeman's timely support. The moment was brief, but long cherished on Adam's part.

  When Jessica came back however she returned with her antipathy still intact towards her former tormentor. During the service she could not help but feel, as she bowed her head and mouthed the same old Psalms, that it was all so futile. Why had she attended? For Kolya? Because she had made a promise to her mother's letter that she would? To still feel part of something? Had she any faith left to bring consolation?

  Thomas suddenly woke up as if he had himself been struck by the lash of the whips which he heard crack and snap in the air outside. The SS were practicing - and drunk - again. The whips, used to herd and punish their charges in the Umschlagplatz, were the new toy of the fresh SS recruits. Some doused the ends in vinegar to harden the leather. Some even inserted ball bearings into the sinewy tips. There were instances when Thomas could laugh at the sadists, when they clumsily struck their own backs and faces - but sorrow enveloped the soldier when he witnessed the torture inflicted upon their victims. The butchers even seemed to be inured to the pain of catching themselves so long as the whip's venom bit into the Jews more. The Corporal had half a mind to march down to the courtyard to confront his SS comrades and remind them how late it was but he half hoped that the thugs would grow tired of the sport on their own account. Moreover, not wishing to undermine his own directive to his platoon that they should try to avoid friction with their SS colleagues, Thomas tolerated the fracas. A burgeoning chill also overruled his will to rise up from his bed; Thomas merely clutched his old blanket around him more tightly - half burying his head beneath it - and tried to steal as much sleep as possible before the gruelling morning.

  20.

  Time passes.

  The vermillion glow of a charming sunset warmed not a single heart, German or Jewish. If anything the inhabitants of Warsaw wished for cloud cover to trap any heat in for the raw night ahead. Jessica's begrimed hands trembled as she re-fastened the pin which kept the second of her two shawls around her. Dry strands of ash-blonde hair crept out of her tightly bound headscarf like spindly twigs. She looked twice her age, but beauty still could be discerned behind her hollow cheeks and fatigued frame if one chose to look. Her blistered feet dragged themselves along by the power of routine and fear as she, along with her bedraggled work party, was marched back into the ghetto. She yearned to just collapse.

  The day had been longer than usual. Someone in the factory had sabotaged some machinery, substituting water for anti-freeze in one of the motors. The engine eventually cracked and production was halted to diagnose the problem and remedy it. So too punishment needed to be fittingly metered out. The labour force was ordered to fall in onto the factory floor. The culprits were asked to confess - or rather people were instructed to name names. The SS officer of the day took charge and announced that all were complicit and guilty. He duly shot the first three random workers nearest to him (Jessica was but two rows behind one of the victims who fell). The SS officer - taut, impatient, and inexperienced - then ordered that another three Jews were to be shot every five minutes until the conspirators were revealed. After fifteen minutes the SS martinet, either fearing failure or wary of the time he was losing in terms of production, ceased the punishment and merely ordered that rations were to be cut for the week and that the time would be made up. Jessica did not argue when instructed by her floor manager that she too would have to make up the time, despite her needing to fulfil her duties at the barracks. As much as the weight of the tragedy troubled her heart, Jessica was not alone in feeling that in some way the sabotage had still been worth it. It had been an act of resistance.

  The thoughtful girl spoke to Duritz that evening about how she felt.

  "I know it might sound ill of me, but I think people were still glad that it happened. We're all going to be transported anyway, why not die for something instead of nothing? I walked through the ghetto today. So much of it is empty, or emptying. Another block of people seemed to be moving into our quarter from the neighbouring one. It is like you said, they're tightening the net around us," Jessica issued sadly.

  "I'm not sure if anyone can remember the precise moment when it dawned upon them, but I think that everyone now realises their fate. They won't stop the evacuations. It would not surprise me though if this sense of fatalism also breeds a sense of liberation. Sabotaging production is not the only means of resistance that has cropped up of late I gather. Kolya tells me a few policemen have been attacked. And even when I left I heard stories of small arms being stolen, as if someone were beginning to create a small arsenal."

  "What do you think will happen?"

  "I'm not sure. All I know is that I'll be here for you and Kolya if and when it does. I'm here to stay - like typhoid." Jessica laughed and prettily tucked her hair behind her ear. The two young people looked at each other with smiling eyes and a burgeoning fondness.

  It had not happened overnight but Duritz and Jessica had grown closer. She first had to speak to him out of necessity. It also soon grew unnatural and pronounced that Jessica's tone would be terse and antagonistic whilst Adam always spoke to her with kindness and respect. But she still did not, could not, trust him. But they could not avoid each and Jessica did not wish to prolong the strained atmosphere in the household. It took more energy and time to be blunt with the policeman than civil. Duritz was also some adult, male company. Thomas had written a letter informing Jessica that it could be a while before he could visit again, delivering the note during an afternoon when he knew Jessica wouldn't be there. Frustrated and hurt at being all but abandoned Jessica took her mood out on the sheepish messenger who gave her the unwelcome letter. As well as missing the German's company though Jessica was rightly worried about how they would fend for themselves without the soldier's extra rations, especially now with Adam being a part of the household. The next evening Duritz tapped upon the wall next to where Jessica had drawn the curtain to her room.

  "Yes?" the troubled woman impatiently replied.

  "Sorry to disturb you. I have been talking to Kolya, he says he might be able to get a good price for some of my things. He reckons he'll be able to trade my books for food. Apparently there's also a market for paper and writing implements."

  "Kolya will sort it out then. What are you talking to me about it for?" the woman said sourly, clutching the absent soldier's letter in her hand from having read it again.

  "I just thought I'd let you know. I thought you might be concerned about Thomas' letter the other day. I'm sure he'll be in touch soon. I just thought I'd let you know that we'll be able to manage still for a while."

  "What do you know? What has he told you?" she said almost pleadingly.

  "Probably as much as he's told you I'm afraid. I'm sure he has his reasons." Duritz did not reveal how his friend had appeared ill when he had visited him, for whatever reason. He tried to reassuringly smile at the thorny woman but his expression faltered in its failure. He turned and made his exit.

  Later that night the girl was blighted by the thought that she was being cruel to the ex-policeman (though but half of her suffered from this sense of guilt; the other half argued that he deserved far worse treatment). When Jessica witnessed the pained and almost lovelorn look on his face the evening after, as Kolya began to put his books and possessions into bundles for prospective buyers, Jessica felt sorry for the ex-tutor. She tried to tell him that it wasn't necessary now to sell all of his favourite books, that he could keep some of them back - along with writing materials - but Duritz merely smiled, appreciating Jessica's rare softness and consideration towards him. He then jokingly dismissed the idea.

  "Thank you, but it'll be okay. Besides, as much as some people in the past would have appreciated the gesture, I cannot now eat my words. We'll need the food in the weeks to co
me."

  That same crisp evening, by the light of a fresh candle which would reach a stub by the early hours of the morning, Jessica lay in bed and avidly scanned some of Duritz's writings which Kolya had stored and bound in string in her room, ready for him to sell over the following days. The blank paper on the other side was still of value to some people. At first she consumed extracts from a diary that Duritz had kept during the fall of Warsaw and the initial months of the occupation. At the top of the notebook the diarist scribbled the following quote - which made an impression on Jessica all the more after reading the rest of the entries.

  "In the hope of preserving from decay the remembrance of what men have done. Herodotus."

  "The phoney war - as I called the battle for Poland - is now over. The fight for our lives will begin in earnest during our occupation. If only our Polish army had fought with as much energy and purpose as they worked today to take down the barricades and the defences they had constructed to keep our enemy out... I was taken back to my childhood this afternoon: the colourful banners spearing upwards; the endless well-ordered formations of men flanked by giant horses and imperious, homogeneous-looking soldiers. My mind turned back to a picture book in a library which I devoured and re-devoured as a child, on Rome. What is all history but the praise of Rome?...

  To take my mind off things - or to prepare for the prospective, dreaded actuality - I picked up Stephen Crane's "The Red Badge Of Courage" today (one of those American novels that is not so much derided in Eastern Europe, as just plain ignored). You should've witnessed the amused/dejected expression upon my face as I read the passage when our narrator expressed the following in regards to his surprise that war could rear its ugly head again in such a civilised and progressive society - for surely