Warsaw

by Richard Foreman

  "Where's Adam?" Jessica exclaimed breathlessly as soon as she entered the apartment.

  "He's still out, arranging things," Thomas replied, taken back by not only Jessica's tone but also from the fact that that was the first thing she should say after not having seen him - for what had sometimes seemed like an age.

  "I'm sorry. I'm just worried."

  "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

  "We don't have any."

  "You do now, courtesy of the officer's mess no less," Thomas said and smiled, that old friendly smile which had once contained the power to make the girl's day.

  "Thank you," Jessica replied and pressed her thin lips together in a grateful smile. But Thomas could still see that the woman was concerned about Adam. He got up, lit the burner and began to boil the water. Whilst Jessica vigorously rubbed her hands and removed her wet scarf from her neck Thomas cast a covert glance at the Jewess. He smiled, lovingly (but not ardently), at the young woman. Perhaps he looked upon her with the fondness that he'd nurtured for Jessica in the past, or Thomas owned such a strange expression imagining how the girl would turn out should she survive the occupation. She would be beautiful again, her hair glossy and face comely. Thomas couldn't help but notice how she took care of Kolya. She would make a wonderful mother. Was she really suited to Adam though? It would be interesting to know if Thomas Abendroth posed this in the vein of a jealous rival, or protective older brother. Perhaps both.

  The atmosphere of the room was sown in awkwardness, as proliferate as the dust which filled in the air. So much was being eloquently unsaid. How many times had Thomas rehearsed in his head the apology and explanations that he owed Jessica for the way with in which he had edged himself out of her life? Or had she edged herself out of his life? But it was dangerous, for both himself and her, every time he visited her. He was ignoring his duties, or rather his platoon. He was married - and scared of the inappropriate feelings that he was having for the girl. He felt like he was being unfaithful. But none or all of those arguments convinced Thomas wholeheartedly. All he knew was that he desperately wanted to say sorry to Jessica. Jessica too was so distracted by thinking upon what she should say that she failed to actually say anything. She had loved the virtuous soldier - or rather thought that she had loved him before. But she had been young, foolish and desperate. It was a schoolgirl's crush she fancied one sleepless night. Maybe it was just that their timing was out, like Onegin and Tatiana. What she felt for Adam both was real and transcendent. Yet she had - and still did - admire the gentile. The German was brave, intelligent and kind. Adam spoke of Thomas rarely, but highly - calling him "the only Christian I know who I can call such, without sarcasm choking in my throat". But bitter remnants of teary, lonely nights blurred Jessica's affection for the German soldier - and the very fact that he was a German soldier prejudiced her feelings against him. She would hate them all for all time after taking her parents. And he had abandoned her without reason. Jessica had at one time believed that she was but just a curiosity, a source of amusement and time-filler for the soldier. Or was he kind to her to ease his conscience for how he had treated other people, Jews? But yet how the introverted woman wanted to open up her heart now to her old confidant on how she cared for Adam, how he and she had changed, grown. Perhaps, in part, Jessica wanted to make him jealous. She wanted to tell Thomas how she could now read her Bible again, after at one time confessing to him how she could no longer do so.

  Jessica relished the warmth and flavour of the sweetened coffee. Her sigh of pleasure also did something to relieve the tension, as well as her thirst and chill. The usually self-assured Thomas did not quite know what to do with himself. He was running the palm of his hand across his stubbled jaw to assess its growth, working out if he needed to shave for the party this evening. He saw out of the corner of his eye though that Jessica was motioning to speak.

  "I'm sure Adam has already thanked you from me for what you are doing for us, but thank you again. You have been a good friend Thomas. No matter what happens, Adam and I will always consider you a friend - and remember you."

  "Both you and Adam have been far too memorable friends for me to forget you too," the valorous Corporal warmly replied, his gentle, trusting expression echoing that from when they had first met.

  Both desperately wanted to know what the other felt for each other perhaps. But it was enough for them to know that what went before could be remembered with fondness. Both similarly knew that it was for Adam's sake, as well as their own, that past feelings should remain in the past. It would remain unsaid that certain things would remain unsaid. Sometimes secrets are healthy. Some emotions should remain buried.

  The brief telemetry between Jessica and Thomas was broken however as the woman quickly rose at the sound of the apartment door being opened. Adam was drenched to the bone but Jessica encountered a summery expression. Jessica beamed back, a fond and silly smile - as if both were about to break out into laughter for no apparent reason. He wanted to embrace her. Adam nodded to communicate that everything was fine and then acknowledged Thomas. On another day Duritz might have felt awkward at being in the room with Jessica and Thomas (for he knew something of Jessica's past feelings for the soldier; so too the German knew things about him that he would wish to keep Jessica in the dark about, and vice-versa) - but Adam grinned at his friend also.

  Kolya woke up with a headache. Dehydrated. He was famished, yet devoid of appetite - or at the very least unable to hold much food down. His back ached from having fallen asleep in a contorted position, slumped as he was against the wall and floor of an apartment that had recently been evacuated. He had downed the half bottle of diluted vodka almost immediately. For half an hour or so his face expressed a contended forgetfulness, dreaminess, but he soon felt tired and nauseous in equal measure. Maybe a month ago the boy would have been physically sick at having imbibed so much alcohol but he was getting used to it. And then the oblivion of sleep warmly washed over him.

  The flask of water was as tepid as it was stale but such was his thirst that Kolya drank the liquid as if he had been thirsting in the desert. He wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand and licked his lips, satiated and unsatiated at the same time. He hastily opened cobweb-filled cupboards in hope of finding further stores, but it was to no avail. With his head beginning to throb again Kolya sat back down, this time on the solitary backless chair which resided in the middle of the sparse room (the back to the chair, along with its accompanying table, had been used for firewood by the apartment's former occupants). He did not want to go home yet. His inclination was to rest some more. He also didn't want to go home to a lecture from Jessica. She didn't understand. Nor did Adam even nowadays, always siding with his sister in everything.

  The wind whistled like a kettle through a gap between the window and window frame from where the wood had rotted and crumbled away like sponge cake. Kolya peered out into the coal-black night. Perhaps the whistle sounded like the one in the factory and he sub-consciously realised that it was time to go home, or maybe Kolya realised how the weather was between showers and he could make it back without getting soaked. All the same he roused himself and left the apartment. The bitter night air was free from rain but Kolya immediately drenched his feet upon leaving the evacuated building by stumbling into a puddle. Heated curses, directed at as many targets as there were stars, littered the atmosphere. Depressed, like a person three times the boy's age. As if the youth possessed a rolodex within his brain Kolya began to search for a potential contact or score to get his quart of spirits for the next day.

  Adam and Jessica soberly went over the plan again, as they had done so with Thomas just before he had to leave. Adam would meet and pay the smuggler half of the fee in the afternoon. He would then rendezvous with Thomas and they would proceed back to the apartment together. Meanwhile Jessica would wake in the morning and explain to Kolya that they would not be turning up for work that day - and why. They would spend the time preparing for the escape, sor
ting out what they would take and what they would need to leave behind. It would be suspicious and a risk for the pair of them to be absent for the day from the factory but Duritz reasoned it was a risk worth taking. Hopefully they would not check up on the Rubenstein’s immediately, believing that their absence could be explained through them having been selected. Surely they realised that the penalty for not attending their work detail would amount to the same thing? Duritz argued that they could not chance either of them being detained after work. They could not afford to miss their rendezvous with the smugglers on the other side of the ghetto, who they would pay the rest of the agreed fee to. In terms of getting through the checkpoint of the ghetto Thomas said he would accompany them and use the excuse that he was requisitioning the Jews for work back at his billet. Thomas would but accompany them all though for a couple of streets inside the Polish side of Warsaw. If the German soldier was spotted with the party then it would scare the smugglers off.

  At the beginning of recounting the details of the arrangements again Jessica listened with a duly serious and attentive expression upon her face, but by the end of his speech the girl was somehow just smiling coquettishly at Adam across the table. The bottle of wine Thomas gave them helped. At first their knees rubbed together by accident under the table, but then Jessica deliberately touched Adam's knees with her own. It was a seduction technique and game she used to play whenever one of her boyfriends would come to dinner and they would try to act the would-be son-in-law in front of her parents. Adam tentatively responded, his voice and expression faltering, but the more he tried to rein himself in - by being solemn and going over the practical details the plan yet again - the more Jessica was amused by Adam's attempted gravity. In the end he gave up and smirked in harmony with a blooming Jessica. Her skin was pink and radiated in the candlelight. She prettily tucked her fair hair behind her ears also as it covered half of her face after laughing so freely. She then spoke, her right hand entwining into Adam's left which rested upon the table. He gazed lovingly into her fine, spirited eyes. The couple were lost and found at the same time. Affection and friendship took root and blossomed simultaneously. She had never appeared so beautiful to him. Once he had wildly worshipped the heavenly girl, muse. But now Duritz sedately esteemed and cared for Jessica in a way that he did not and could not have imagined in his adolescence. He wanted to kiss her. She him. Again though their intimacy swiftly concealed itself as they heard Kolya return. Jessica gave Adam's hand a quick, tender squeeze and she greeted her brother with a uniquely happy expression on her face. She even alarmed the boy somewhat. Until she explained herself.

  During his slow walk out of the empty streets of the ghetto Thomas reasoned that he would be philosophical and optimistic about Adam and Jessica. He would suppress his doubts over any relationship they could have. Maybe she would be good for him and him for her. So too he tried to be positive in regards to the plan for the following night. Like Adam, Thomas was confident that Jessica and Kolya would not be checked-up upon immediately for missing their work detail. No one would question him at the gates of the ghetto as to why he was commandeering three Jews for a work duty. The smuggling ring had to be trustworthy; otherwise it would be out of business. Adam would take care of Jessica and Kolya also, that much Thomas could have full confidence in. Yet the soldier knew that plans are but plans. Though the prospect of saving Adam, Jessica and the boy lifted the German's heart - if something should go wrong he would equally be responsible for their deaths.

  And so a tobacco chewing Oscar Hummel was greeted with a froward expression from his Corporal as Thomas returned to their billet. The Private sat on a chair, waiting - with his friend's best uniform washed and pressed beside him, hanging on a hook on the wall.

  "You don't have the face of the man who is going to Warsaw's social event of the season."

  "Evening. Perhaps I should start calling you my fairy-godmother," Thomas replied, breaking himself free from his dark reverie, wryly smiling and raising an eyebrow upon noticing his rejuvenated uniform.

  "If I was a fairy-godmother I'd turn a carriage into a pumpkin. I'm starving, which is partly why I sorted out that old thing for you."

  Oscar went on to say what he wanted his friend to pilfer - and how he should steal it. Meat and beverages were a priority; he should put bags in his pockets - and stay till as late as possible to take whatever was left. Oscar was as earnest as he was demanding in his requests. Thomas smirked at his friend in amusement - to which the Private again insisted that he was "being serious" - and declared that he would try his best to meet the order.

  24.

  Thomas took a deep breath and exhaled, puffing his cheeks as he blew the tired air out from his lungs. He yawned and in one movement stretched his arms, chest and back, bones clicking as he did so. It had been a long day, but an equally involving evening was about to unfold. The Corporal tentatively peered up into the sky, purple and black like smudged ink. Strips of cloud appeared pinkish in the mellow moonlight. The rain was so fine as to be but a spray and Thomas appreciated its bracing effects to keep him awake. Even when imagining what the party would be like - the conversation, guests, decadence - Thomas was as bored as he was repulsed by the imminent gathering.

  A skeletal Polish girl with a Louise Brooks bob took his coat as the Corporal entered the grand looking building.

  "Doesn't it ever stop fucking raining in this miserable fucking country? It has more types of rain than it does cuisine," the Major complained as he wiped a film of fine rain from his face and charged into the reception area of the building. Major Hans Barkmann - a boar of a man with large round shoulders, a broad flat nose and flabby, scarred face - began his official military career as a Sergeant-Major under Theodor Eicke at Dachau. Jewish lives, or rather deaths, were a matter of quotas now for the under-pressure SS officer. Himmler again had been on the telephone to him that afternoon, desiring to know the week's figures and then making a humming noise down the phone as if expressing disappointment, or frustration. The Reichsfuhrer always ended their exchanges though with an appreciative word or two for the Major, which was nice and showed a degree of sympathy for the SS officer's difficult mission. Alarmingly Himmler had more and more questioned him on Kleist's performance. The Major felt that he could not help but praise the efficient Lieutenant, both because of his efficiency and also the fact that he knew how respected and influential Kleist's father was inside the Party's senior circles. Hans Barkmann was conscious of the fact that Kleist could - and would - replace him at any point given the opportunity. Indeed Hans Barkmann was beginning to resent his privileged and wealthy young Lieutenant's success - albeit his work and success had helped the Major meet his previous targets. In an idle thought before the party this evening the Major had argued though that Christian's star was rising as a result of reflected glory from his success.

  A humourless yet laughter-lined Second Lieutenant, about twenty years junior to the Major, accompanied Hans. Thomas had never seen the tall SS officer before. Such was his long, bored expression and gangly frame that Thomas would have surely remembered him. Michael Wittmann was tempted to dryly reply that, out of anyone, his porcine Major could attest to the range of Poland's native dishes - but the Second Lieutenant merely rolled his eyes and shook his head when his senior officer wasn't looking. Not for the first time Michael Wittmann had to act as an audience to the Major's constant berating. He told himself that the only reason why he still stayed attentive to the bellicose grouch was that, one day, he might for once take responsibility for something himself, instead of blaming and taking it out on the "filthy Jews”, "dumb, lazy Polacks" or "womanish Wehrmacht".

  The Major was as clumsy as he was impatient in taking off his greatcoat and all but threw it at the nervous Polish girl who was working the cloakroom to the party. Such was its size - and the girl's delicate frame - that she nearly fell over upon receiving the oversized fur-lined garment. Although, like his fellow officer, the Second Lieutenant refrained from speaking or t
hanking the girl he was slightly more considerate in handing over his long greatcoat to the meek receptionist.

  Hans Barkmann knitted his brow - which creased itself below an increasingly bald, shiny pate - and looked the lowly Wehrmacht Corporal up and down as if he were either confused or insulted that they should both be attending the same party. A mix of a sniff and "humph" emanated from the senior SS officer and he made his way up the marble staircase towards the second floor, increasingly breathless and reddening in the face as he did so. A haughty look of suspicion laced the SS Lieutenant's thinly smiling countenance as he walked by Thomas and nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement of the Corporal.

  As soon as they were both out of sight Thomas grinned to himself and shook his head in amusement. In some ways finding such people ridiculous was a defence mechanism against the rancour involved in what Thomas really thought of the cretins. Allowing sufficient time for the two SS officers to make it up the stairs, without the prospect of him catching up with them, Thomas finally made his way up to the party also. He could hear bouts of bellowing laughter, the clink of champagne glasses and a cacophony of voices before he made it to the top of the stairs. Again Thomas puffed air out of his cheeks and took a deep breath, making a face as if he were an actor waiting in the wings and about to go on stage.

  The guests, of whom all were men, numbered around thirty. Most were separated and clustered in groups of three to five. A few suited civilians and SS personnel in black populated the room - as well as the female catering staff servicing the party - but for the most part it was a variety of SS officers in grey who filled the guest list.