Others were not safe in building however and Yitzhak Meisel soon dutifully turned his thoughts towards them. He made a mental note of where he was going to get his next five from. He already had four sorted out, including an elderly couple from the ground floor. He trotted out his old kindly and practical argument, that they'd be relocated to a work camp outside of town where food and water were in greater supply and distributed more fairly. They would be able to stay together. It was a performance perfected by Duritz he had to concede. He of the some time holier than thou attitude - Meisel sardonically added to his thoughts. Whether the old couple believed him or not though, or convinced themselves that they believed the policeman, the outcome would be the same. Meisel also had two candidates saved up from the building across the street. He'd done the deal a week before that he would call upon a couple of families. They had a couple of infirm members living with them. One had contracted typhoid and the other was dying from scarlet fever. In return for giving them up the policeman would do his token best to protect and preserve the rest of the family (and wasn't there a danger of them being a source of infection to the rest of the family?). Considering the options it was the harsh but right thing to do Meisel put it to them. He would find the last of his five whilst in the same block. It would be the survival of the fittest. He'd barge in on a few possible candidates and the one who came up with the smallest bribe would be receiving a second knock on the door later.
After the round-up and an early afternoon spent in the Umschlagplatz Yitzhak Meisel promised himself that he would pay a visit to Andrzej Nelkin to sort out some unfinished business. Vengeance still aggravated his brain as much as his headache, indeed the policeman even reasoned one wine-filled night that there was a relationship between the two. Yes, if he could be rid of Duritz then his tormenting migraines would disappear also.
Jessica promised herself that she would keep her head down and concentrate on her work more than usual. But hopeful, tantalisingly thoughts couldn't help but distract the girl as she fetched and carried various tools and tins of grease for the engineers who were checking and re-setting the machines. Had Thomas met Adam yet? Was Adam with the smuggler now? How much would it cost? She prayed that they had enough money to provide passage and hide all of them together. Adam had protested but eventually Jessica had made him vow that if they all couldn't stay together then none of them would leave.
Kolya's mind was fixed upon getting his hands on a vender in the factory who could fill his hip flask for the day. Either his hangover was over or the dregs of it were responsible for his morose mood. He craved a pick-me-up. The traumatised teenager was only happy now, or just plain functional, with a drink inside of him. It warmed him. Animated him. Kolya touched again the half-pack of cigarettes inside his coat pocket to make sure they were there. His secret rainy day stores of money, cigarettes and valuables had dwindled considerably of late in funding his drinking. Although once prudent in his business dealings Kolya couldn't care less now about the unfavourable terms he received. Just as long he felt alive, or dead to the world, for half of the day was all that mattered.
Adam discussed his plan with Thomas inside the apartment.
"It's best if you wait at the end of the block and that we don't travel together. In fact you shouldn't come with me at all. There's a slim chance I might be followed when I leave - and I don't think they'll take too kindly to my being accompanied by a Wehrmacht Corporal. You should wait here."
"I understand," Thomas replied and proceeded to retrieve the envelope of money from the deep pocket of his greatcoat. Adam raised his eyebrows in astonishment at the half-brick of banknotes the German handed him. Even before the occupation he had seldom seen such a sum, let alone handled it.
"Are you sure about this? Can you afford it?"
"I'm more worried about the money not being enough, rather than it being too much."
"It should be enough. The man I'm going to speak to is one of our more honest gangsters."
"How quick do you think he'll be able to set things up?"
"It could be as soon as twelve hours, or as late as twelve days. Even when I was a policeman I had little idea as to how many people were trying to escape, or what the market was for hiding those daring to do so on the other side of the ghetto."
"Won't arranging for all three of you to escape prove difficult?"
"Difficult is one word for it, expensive is another. Jessica made me promise that we'd only leave if we could all remain together, but I'm willing to break that promise should necessity demand it. But I'll cross, or fall off, that bridge if and when we come to it."
"You two have become close it seems."
"Our friendship is the one good thing to have come out of this season in hell," Adam asserted. He was going to add half-jokingly that their friendship was so precious as to make this war seem worthwhile, but didn't.
"Have you become more than friends? Sorry, I don't mean to pry," Thomas remarked, his words and tact unmeasured for once.
"I think we're somewhere in between saying "we have" and "we will" in answer to that question," a gladsome Adam answered, the unmistakable expression of a young man in love illuminating his appearance.
"I'm happy for you, for both of you," his friend in turn replied. Naturally Thomas did not put his doubts at their relationship down to envy (for the Corporal might well indeed have been free from such feelings) - but he could not deny the gnawing feelings of something upon hearing the news. Perhaps just the sheer newness and shock of the confession disconcerted the Corporal and that, given time to appreciate the situation, he would give the affair his true blessing. In a way Thomas knew he would never be able to consummate any relationship, bar friendship, with Jessica - but in turn he felt perhaps that no one was good enough for her, including Adam. Perhaps his feelings were just paternal though in their possessiveness.
"I'm happy for me, for once," Adam joked. Again the German's expression was somewhat forced.
Christian Kleist filled his nostrils with the welcome smell of polish. It was as stimulating to him as certain scents were to an amorist. He radiated satisfaction at the freshly waxed wooden floorboards beneath his boots. The brass fittings and windows also glistened. The room, previously filled with desks and the staff of a senior Wehrmacht quartermaster, had been transformed. He duly gave himself credit for spotting the venue's potential and suitability - thinking little, or nothing, of the Polish and Jewish workers who had actually transformed the room. Indeed it could have been deemed a hall more so than just a room, such was its size and now austere atmosphere. The chandeliers were attractive but not overly garish, the walnut had an air of age and character in its grain and the view, looking out from large elliptical windows which lined the far wall, was far more favourable than most - positioned as they were over a courtyard in which young SS recruits were assessed for their medicals. Such was the attractiveness of the room that the Lieutenant felt the stirrings of temptation for commandeering the space for himself. He would of course compensate the quartermaster. The party would provide a night to remember Christian savoured, clapping and rubbing his hands in anticipation as he did so.
Yitzhak Meisel blew into his hands to warm them, albeit they were already mittened. In order to pick things up and search people more efficiently the policeman had cut the finger tips off his gloves however, hence they were bitten by the nip in the wind. His face also felt taut in the sterile air. At least the cold subdued the evacuees the policeman reasoned as some sort of consoling thought. Perhaps more than any other soldier or policeman Meisel had been on duty during the daily transportations at the Umschlagplatz. At first the constable was conscientious as a result of wanting to convince his superiors of his loyalty and usefulness. Soon after though Meisel chose to serve at the train station for the bribes and valuables he took whilst policing the square. People were most vulnerable at their most desperate. He enjoyed the authority of sending uppity Jews to their deaths - it was just desserts for the magistrates, hypocritical so
ciety and religious zealots that had once so vilified and punished his class.
It was whilst policing an evacuation two days before that Meisel came up with the idea. A man was struggling and protesting about boarding the train. He was in the middle of a crowd of people and the closest soldier was so hemmed in that he was unable to unshoulder his rifle and dispatch the trouble-maker as smartly as he might have liked. He threatened to do so however but still the hysterical man tried to swim against the tide of people who were being forced upon the freight cars by the sheer momentum of the people jostling behind them. Suddenly though the surly SS Private was inspired. He reached over and plucked the man's son from out of the crowd, grappling him away from the father's grasp. His rifle still strapped to his shoulder, but finger on the trigger, the brawny Private put the barrel to the petrified child's head, intimating to the father that if he did not board the train immediately he would shoot the boy. The pathetic Jew went from hysterics to submissiveness in an instant, pleading with the soldier not to shoot - and that he would comply. Inspired, Yitzhak Meisel was suddenly struck by the idea of similarly finding and threatening that scavenging, slippery urchin in order to get to Duritz. Even if he did not know where Duritz was - if indeed the fugitive was still alive - he would take great pleasure in catching up with the boy as a task in itself. If memory served him right the boy had a sister the policeman indulged, glassy-eyed and all but licking his lips as he did so.
The afternoon brought intermittent showers. Even the rats found the sleet inhospitable and retreated back into the sewers. Jessica shivered, taking solace from the fact that she had finished for the day and was returning home. Kolya had said to his sister that he would be home in a couple of hours. She knew that her brother would be off risking his life by scavenging in the apartments of recently evacuated people - and that he would probably try and barter anything he found for alcohol. But Jessica was too tired to have an argument with the wilful boy. So too she was selfishly looking forward to spending time with Adam alone.
Dietmar licked his chocolate-stained fingers and then rinsed them thoroughly in the basin with soap. He neither wanted to mark his freshly cleaned uniform, nor did he want his fingers smelling of the sweet Belgian chocolate he had just consumed. He lay upon his bed and started to tap his feet, nervously thinking about the imminent party. The youth was worried that the officers at the party would treat him as someone of a lowly rank, which he was. What should he do if they ordered him to fetch them drinks? Officially he was a guest like them and not staff, but Dietmar was conscious of not wanting to cause any scenes or embarrass Christian. He reasoned that should he be asked to get some drinks he would in turn order the nearest servant to arrange them. Yes, that was a suitable compromise. The adjutant was also torn between wanting to impress the senior officer’s circle he was being introduced into and worrying about saying something out of place. Should he or should he not try to engage people of senior rank on their level? He had hoped that Christian would have instructed him upon the etiquette of such things - and what was to be his role for the evening - but all his Lieutenant had ordered him to do for the night was to not follow him around like a "poodle" during the party. The only guest he knew and was confident enough to talk to at the party was the very person who he had promised himself he would snub, his old Jew-loving Corporal.
His heart pounded as he left the old cafe to the point where Duritz placed his hand over his chest to feel its powerful, elated throbbing even more - or he did so in vain hope of tempering the sensation. He breathed in the damp air of the ghetto backstreet. The meeting with the smuggler had gone well. Not only could they afford the passage for three but fortune was smiling upon them in that there was going to be a collection by his Polish partners as soon as tomorrow evening. Tomorrow night they could be free Duritz dared to think to himself. He could not believe their luck and also how he had handled himself - the calm business-like way in which he had bargained for their lives and freedom. Yet, as Adam began his walk home in the hissing rain, he sensed how - though he would never admit such a thing for fear of driving his asking price down - the black-marketer he had dealt with seemed content to do business just for the satisfaction of seeing people escape from the ghetto. For was it not now extremely risky for the smuggler to remain in the ghetto himself? And surely he had made his fortune? Yet the crime boss remained - and most of his energies were directed in helping people escape and providing sanctuary for them on the other side. But ultimately Duritz thought little of the criminal philanthropist, tantalisingly imagining how he and Jessica would be together and free soon. Rare tears of happiness, like blood from stone, were even unassumingly welling as a hopeful Duritz made his way through sluicing showers. Or maybe he just had something in his eye. But everything was going to be all right.
When they first had dealings with each other Andrzej Nelkin and Yitzhak Meisel had treated the other with mutual, if begrudging, respect. Andrzej was the son of a senior Judenrat official. He was a man who could both call upon favours and deal them out, as he had done for the corrupt Jewish policeman. Necessity rather than affection had fed their previous relationship - indeed in truth the pair couldn't help but resent each other. The supercilious official could barely stand the sight of the depraved miscreant and the policeman resented the pretentious bureaucrat who treated him with veiled contempt, as he if were beneath him.
But things had changed. Trepidation rather than arrogance and loathing filled the hollowed out eyes of Andrzej Nelkin as he took in the figure from the past who had just intruded upon his life and office. Yitzhak smirked in satisfaction at seeing the daddy's boy fall from grace. He would find it easy to get what he wanted from the powerless official. Yitzhak enjoyed it as he witnessed the flecks of fear in Andrzej's restless aspect as the policeman unsheathed his cudgel and played with it in his large hands.
Nelkin sat behind his desk, his confidence, rank and wealth wrung from him. His sapped body reflected the woeful demise of the man's internal constitution. His nerves were as frayed as his cuffs, his hair as grimy as the windowsill. Andrzej's rations were now just that, rations. Stress, or distress, carved worry lines his once porcelain-smooth face.
For a minute or so after bidding his old friend a cordial (sarcastic) good afternoon the policeman said nothing and just prowled around the office, enjoying keeping the official in suspense in regards to his visit. He examined pictures on the wall, leafed through papers on the desk (which seemed to just consist of lists of names) and then made Andrzej jittery by standing behind him and placing his hand upon the administrator's shoulder.
"You seem busy Andrzej. Don't tell me that even you now have to prove that you're an essential worker?"
"I just keep my head down and do my work."
"I don't doubt it, but innocence and usefulness are no defence sometimes in being selected. You know that as much as I do Andrzej, eh?" the malicious policeman remarked and chuckled whilst affably patting the official on the back.
"What do you want?"
"I remember Andrzej how I used to come to this office and ask for favours. Now I reckon I can demand them. I want you to find someone for me. I've only got a first name for you, Kolya, but I'm hoping you'll still be able to help. He's a teenager and runner for some of the smugglers. He's also got a sister who you wouldn't kick out of bed, or at least you wouldn't have in the past."
It was when he mentioned the sister that the politic official realised who the policeman was looking for. He wouldn't even have to scour the records of addresses and work placements to give the policeman what he wanted. At that moment Andrzej was firmly in two minds whether to relinquish what he knew, due to knowing the fate which would befall the Rubenstein’s should the policeman catch up with them. The official was reticent in giving up the information before he gave himself a chance of receiving something in return for it.
"It's not much to go on. It could be difficult, or costly."
The policeman laughed heartily, mockingly. Yitzhak rudely sat
down on Nelkin's desk, knocking some papers and pens and pencils on the floor as he did so. He bowed his head over his old acquaintance.
"I'll tell you what Andrzej, I'll make a deal with you, if that's what you want. Old habits die hard, eh? Your incentive for finding the boy is that you won't take his place as one of my lucky five in his absence. Does that sound fair to you?"
The crestfallen clerk clenched his jaw and squeezed a smile out. He detested the policeman. Meisel challengingly gazed upon the stricken bureaucrat. Andrzej finally bowed his head before the dog-toothed, treacherous policeman.
"All right. Come back tomorrow."
Relief and duress flooded through his body in equal measures as Andrzej watched the policeman leave the building through the dusty blinds at his window. Later that sleepless evening he hoped that Jessica had already been taken. For all of the names he had called the girl - and wished her ill as he sometimes idly thought of his rejection - Andrzej felt twinges of sympathy for her now. The depraved constable would no doubt take advantage of her - and then make her one of his five. The boy was also as good as dead. A sickening feeling stirred in the official's belly, but he had no choice. He would have to give them up. Andrzej toyed with the idea of trying to warn the woman or the boy beforehand that the policeman was after them, but he didn't want to get involved. He didn't have the energy, or courage. Nelkin had read pornography instead of Virgil in his youth. And things would come to the same end anyway, if they hadn't already. His stomach grumbled, acids fizzing inside and crying out for sustenance - like hatchlings chirruping in competition to their mother for food. The civil servant took a bruised pear out from his desk draw and bit into it, an epicurean pleasure visible upon a malnourished face. Sour yet sweet. Andrzej thought for a moment how lucky he was that the tempting fruit wasn't on the desk when the policeman had entered. He subsequently continued his work of alphabetising the seemingly endless lists of names spread out in front of him, some now crumpled or smudged from the vicious oaf having sat upon them.
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