Warsaw

by Richard Foreman

  Thomas turned and shrugged his shoulders to an equally miffed Walter Fest. A buoyant Kleist soon returned with a tall glass of the gravy-brown beer. Indeed as Thomas held it in his hand and eyed the dark liquid he could see how much the drink resembled gravy in its texture, as well as tincture. Before he even sampled the beverage Thomas rightly suspected how strong it was. He wanted to wince at its pungent strength but Thomas swallowed it and said it was "good" - and duly thanked the Lieutenant when he insisted upon sending over a case to his platoon in the morning.

  Jessica pulled her bedclothes up to her chin and turned over on to her other side again. She couldn't sleep, thinking about Adam. After dinner it was decided that they all should have an early night so as to be rested for the following day. During dinner Adam and a desirous Jessica couldn't keep their eyes off each other. Clandestine glances and telling smiles were expressed and reciprocated. If Kolya did notice something about the peculiar atmosphere across the table then he relegated its importance, as hopes and fears fittingly occupied the youth concerning their escape. When the boy's back was turned as he got ready for bed Jessica even boldly squeezed Duritz's hand and then, when Kolya's back was turned again, the stimulated, stimulating woman quickly ran her hand up the shirt of Adam and stroked his back. She nearly laughed upon witnessing the shocked expression upon his face.

  Jessica closed her eyes again, either in a wish for sleep or for Adam to descend upon her. The needful woman wanted him to come into her room and, without a word said, take her in his arms...

  "Double the number of Deaths Head regiments and you'll quadruple our successes, mark my words gentlemen," Major Barkmann loudly pronounced, perhaps in order that the Wehrmacht Corporal might overhear. What was Fest doing talking to him for all this time anyway?

  "Here, here," an oleaginous Second Lieutenant on the Major's staff chimed in.

  "More control should be given to the SS, not less, if we are to win this war. Germany is haemorrhaging men and progress is faltering. Rommel is a self-serving glory hunter. And Von Paulus is weak. It should be out with the old guard... As Himmler rightly prophesised, the future belongs to us."

  Although the Major was hesitant in his respect and praise for Himmler - the "anti-soldier" as he was occasionally dubbed as a result of the ex-fertiliser salesman's lack of military service - the veteran member of the SA and then SS believed in and often quoted the Reichsfuhrer's pseudo-philosophies and speeches. Indeed this very night he would trot out Himmler's tenets - more and more as the drink flowed - in order to stress his own arguments.

  "Blood, selection, toughness. The law of nature is simply this: whatever is tough is good, whatever is strong is good, that which prevails in the struggle for life, physically, spiritually, and through effort of the will, is the Good... eradicate the weak and unfit through selection by physical appearance, through constant exertion and through selectivity, applied brutally and without human sentimentality," the Major preached.

  Hans Barkmann initially grew up on a pig farm. As a teenager he lost his livelihood when a Jewish syndicate of businessmen bought up all of the farms in the area and then rationalised the labour force. Although only in his teens Hans Barkmann turned to drink and, bitter and resentful of his lot, he was quick to get into fights. By the age of twenty he'd had his nose broken four times. With little schooling and opportunity the "ardent patriot" signed up immediately when the Great War broke out. He, along with Germany, would show the world what they were made of. He enjoyed it when people cheered him and girls blew him kisses at the train station. His uniform brought him a certain respect, self-esteem. His service record was untainted, if unremarkable. He returned home feeling betrayed by the military and his government - and blaming them for Germany's defeat. He was homeless and jobless. For a year or so he turned to crime, petty theft and housebreaking. He spent six months in prison for assault. Seeking employment Hans Barkmann moved to Munich and stayed with an old trench comrade, who had recently become a recruit in an organisation called the SA. Hans first enjoyed the comradeship and recreational activities of the group, the drinking and brawling - but the proud German soon conformed to other ideas of what it meant to be a National Socialist. For once things started to make sense and have meaning for the soldier. He was part of something bigger than him. He and Germany could give themselves a second chance. He was a willing follower and was proud of the fact that, when asked to do a job by Rohm or Schreck, he got it done, whether it was with an "eraser" (rubber truncheon) or "lighter" (pistol) - both of which Barkmann still kept in his office as fond reminders of the old days. The foot-soldier rose through the ranks and was happy to sacrifice the friendship of some of his embittered SA comrades to join the elite, Hitler-patronised unit of the SS. He felt honoured. He enjoyed being a soldier again, fighting for something he believed in - a vessel and mouth-piece for Nazi propaganda. Although far from bored from being involved in policing the Party's own demonstrations - and breaking up its opponents (Jews, Communists, Liberals) - Hans Barkmann accepted the offer, which rumour had it that it came from the Fuhrer himself, to be involved in Himmler's recruitment drive for the SS. He was told, by a secretary of Himmler's, that he spoke "the people's language" and would be an asset in his new role. Hans Barkmann did however become bored with the position, which increasingly involved too much paperwork for the ill-educated member of the SS. He proceeded to serve under Theodore Eicke - first in a position of training SS recruits but then as a Sergeant-Major at Dachau. Impressed by his zeal for the cause Eicke recommended his brutal foreman for promotion. Such was Eicke's influence that Hans Barkmann finally received his new rank. Religiously believing that the SS were, in the Fuhrer's own words, "the vanguard of Germany's awakening", Hans Barkmann was a devout soldier. He was decorated for his courage and leadership in Poland. In France - frustrated and bloodthirsty - he murdered surrendering French and English POWs, rather than spare the manpower to guard them, during the British evacuation at Dunkirk. He had committed far worse crimes at Dachau and Lodz. Seizing the opportunity of further promotion (which Heydrich did indeed thankfully bestow upon the good National Socialist a month before the architect of the Final Solution was murdered in cold blood by two assassins) Hans Barkmann signed up to help administer the occupation of Warsaw and the transportation of its Jews. Thanks to the officers and legislation that Heydrich - and then Eichmann - put into place his commission was not an over-taxing one though. Indeed, when not attending a function similar to Kleist's party or working his way through the female clerical staff at his headquarters, Barkmann invested most of his time in arranging for his spoils of war (valuables and monies confiscated from Jews who had no need of them anymore) to be safely dispatched back home to his wife. But no one could question the veteran's commitment to the cause. And hadn't he earned his rewards? Besides, everyone was doing it. And he was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth like Kleist.

  "At the very least it's about time they were made to salute. If they were also made to swear to our oath ("Loyalty is thine honour" - a motto penned by Himmler one afternoon) then perhaps some of them might believe in it and start making a difference." The Reichsfuhrer himself conveniently forgot his own oath however at the end of the war when he attempted to negotiate his own surrender whilst Berlin was falling.

  Although Kleist agreed with some of the arguments of his superior officer he feared that the beer-swilling Major might upset one of his guests or make a scene. He was already starting to wave his hands around, clenching his fist, spitting as he spoke. Swaying. Perhaps he'd had a few drinks before arriving Kleist surmised. He glanced again at the Corporal to see if he too was getting drunk. Christian had instructed one of the Polish waitresses to keep his glass full at all times during the evening. It would make his humiliation all the more likely Kleist told himself, should his victim be drunk when the sport commenced later on in the evening.

  Adam could still feel her warm, soft hand upon his back - like butter melting upon toast. Adam raided his sensory archive
and felt the magical tingle upon his cheek again where Jessica had kissed him the other day. He even put his fingers to the sacred spot again. Had he read the signals right? Should he go into her room? He had everything to win - and lose. Duritz cursed himself, as it had been his suggestion that they all get an early night. If only he had stayed up a little later with her whilst waiting for Kolya to drift off to sleep, then he could have judged Jessica's intentions. Did she think that same thought as him that tonight could be their only chance to be together? He tried in vain to come up with a believable excuse to go into her room. Despite losing the precious heat from underneath his blankets Duritz raised himself up from his bed upon the floor to see if he could spy into the other room but it was too dark and the curtain was pulled too far across the door.

  "Corporal, Walter, would you join us? I fear that we might need an adjudicator soon for our friendly discussion."

  The two men, who were still annexed (or annexed themselves) from the rest of the party turned to their convivial host.

  "Gentlemen, would you be so kind as to help settle a disagreement, or contest, that we're having?"

  Christian Kleist formed part of a trio of officers who were standing together. To the left of the Lieutenant stood Captain Peter Strasser, a merry looking officer with prematurely greying hair. Next to him stood a po-faced, bespectacled Lieutenant, Erwin Rinser. Drinking carrot juice the vegetarian seemed to be forever arching his eyebrows in scepticism or snobbery. One was also drawn to looking at the Lieutenant's middle-aged visage, rather than that of the open and welcoming countenance of the Captain's, due to a persistent tick which afflicted one side of Erwin's face. It was as if a prankster had placed a fishing hook in the corner of his mouth and pulled upon the line every now and then.

  "I'm used to provoking, rather than settling arguments - but the novelty at least should keep me interested. What's the matter so to speak?" Fest remarked. His pink lips were unable to suppress an impish smirk and the deep-set eyes within his chubby face veritably sparkled.

  "The question is this. Who in History can be considered our greatest or most influential figure? For argument's sake we have removed the Fuhrer - and Christ - from the discussion."

  "Heavens, I'm not sure who should be the most honoured to be separated and placed above the discussion so."

  "If Herr Fest cannot take this seriously –“

  "Then what Erwin? - you're going to take away your toys and say you're not playing anymore?"

  The Lieutenant's mouth twitched more than it was accustomed to do but his response was but to glower intently at the civilian. Thomas could scarcely believe that Walter had dared to say - and then got away with his comment. Fest did confess to him earlier in the evening that he owned friends in high places and was, for the most part, untouchable by "most of the cretins and deviants here tonight". Thomas couldn't help but be curious as to the extent of the man's wealth and influence.

  "Gentlemen, please," Christian quickly remarked, half amused by the way Fest had riled the conceited Rinser - and half annoyed by his disruptive influence.

  "My apologies Erwin, it was the drink talking. Was it Hamlet that wronged Laertes? No, never Hamlet?" Walter issued, his tone still laced with an unrepentant irony.

  In response Erwin arched an eyebrow - so that it rose almost a full inch above the gold-plated rim of his glasses - and affected an expression of being dismissive of his fellow guest's facetiousness.

  "Surely you have no need for two referees though Lieutenant? With your permission I'd like to join the discussion, rather than judge it. I'm sure Thomas can live with the pressure of being sole adjudicator," Fest asserted.

  "Of course, you haven't been introduced. This is Corporal Abendroth. Don't ever play a game of chess with him gentlemen. Thomas, this is Captain Strasser."

  "Please, call me Peter," the amiable Captain said, leaning over, smiling and shaking the Corporal's hand whilst doing so.

  "And Thomas, this is Lieutenant Rinser".

  The Lieutenant made no similar gesture of cordiality towards the Wehrmacht Corporal. Thomas could not decide whether it was a prolonged twitch, or half-smile, which he received as a response. Erwin Rinser thought himself gracious and sociable enough however in that he was even tolerating such indifferent company.

  "Now, firstly, Lieutenant Rinser here proposed that Frederick the Great is indeed the greatest figure ever to grace History's stage. His principle argument is that he was the founder of Germany's military greatness, which will in turn be the fulcrum and lever which goes on to conquer and civilise the entire world."

  The supercilious Lieutenant here looked down his beak of a nose at the small group for their reaction, not that he cared much for its opinion. In his mind Rinser was right. It was an original and forward-looking answer he judged.

  Jessica peered over her blankets and tried to look through the narrow gap between the scraggly curtain and chipped doorframe to see if Adam was still awake, but he was out of sight. She briefly wondered, on the cusp of an even deeper pensiveness, if Adam found her attractive? Maybe that was why he hadn't come. She saw herself in the windowpane one evening a week or so ago. Looking dowdy, she then felt dowdy. Jessica once joked to herself that it was only the rotten odours which held her clothes together, but this time the joke failed to cheer her up. Her hair was sometimes greasy, sometimes dry, but always lifeless in colour and body to how it had once been. She thought to herself if she had any perfume or make-up left but then remembered how she had used the very last of it up when she had met Thomas once. As swiftly as this cloud of diffidence passed over the young woman though a more powerful sun banished such thoughts for the girl beamed realising again how much Adam loved her. He made her feel desirable, a woman, again. Jessica could understand also why he had not come to her tonight. He had already said how he wanted to wait till after leaving the ghetto before telling Kolya about them. Or maybe he just hadn't read the signs she tried to give during and after dinner - that she wanted to be with him. Maybe he thought he'd be spoiling things. Jessica suddenly, darkly thought that it might bring back awkward, hateful memories for both of them of... But she had told him how much he had changed. She loved him because he had changed. Jessica wanted to be with Adam now to prove to him how much she loved - and had forgiven - him.

  With his back turned to Christian Dietmar succumbed to the temptation and started working his way through the morish chocolate truffles which were piled up upon each other on a large china plate at the end of the tables of food.

  After wiping any evidence away of his greed upon a napkin the adjutant suddenly found himself in front of the imperious looking Second Lieutenant who Dietmar noted earlier on in the evening. Dietmar smiled, almost femininely so, at the sculptured officer who he had never seen before. He was greeted with the same revetted expression that had hung upon the Second Lieutenant's face for most of the night. With the wine gifting the adjutant a certain confidence - and with feeling that there was nothing to lose - he addressed the young officer.

  "Are you new to Warsaw Lieutenant?"

  At first the Second Lieutenant made a face as if to express that he was a little vexed for having to lower himself to speak to the adjutant, but then he replied with due civility.

  "No, my regular posting is in Berlin. I am here this evening as a guest of the Lieutenant's. We met recently in Berlin on his last visit there."

  Dietmar's heart sank, his stomach churned. The sensitive adjutant suddenly found it difficult to speak, as if he were swallowing a golf ball. Suffocating feelings of envy, inferiority and impending disaster attacked Christian's lover with a chilling maliciousness. Dietmar felt like being sick. He remembered again how earlier on in the evening Christian had been laughing and joking with the handsome Second Lieutenant, introducing him to fellow officers and affectionately clasping him around the shoulders or patting him on the back (as he had once done to Dietmar himself when he was a Private). A short, awkward silence ensued.

  "Excuse me," the Secon
d Lieutenant finally said, nodding his head and forcing a quick, barely polite smile.

  "I'm not sure," Captain Strasser answered honestly, partly because he had just not given the academic subject that much thought. "Napoleon," he answered, albeit more in the tone of a question than answer.

  "He would've doubtless thought so himself, but is that your answer Captain? Unless you say Winston Churchill Peter, there is no wrong answer," Walter Fest issued.

  "I was thinking also of maybe Alexander the Great as well. Or Charlemagne. I'm afraid History is not really my subject," the ex-Physical Education instructor exclaimed, scratching his head.

  "Well if you're truly in two minds then I for one don't mind you having two answers Peter," Fest added.

  Erwin Rinser made a face, though one could not tell if his vexation was directed at his Captain for being so undecided or at an overbearing Fest for trying to take over what was once a serious debate.

  "Now, we come truly to the matter Christian. As you first proposed the question I'm guessing that you have the most considered, and prepared, answer. Have you already rehearsed a speech?"

  "I wish now that I did Walter, if only to give someone else the opportunity to get a word in edgeways. But my candidate is Caesar. Most people will select someone because of one virtue. They may have been a great General like Napoleon or Frederick the Great, or a great writer like Goethe, or statesman like Bismarck. Yet Caesar was great for encompassing all these noble traits. He was soldier and General, statesman and writer. He was a visionary, whose ambition was married to his singular abilities. Whatever he put his mind to he achieved, whether it was the project to build a road, or become Emperor. He truly "bestrode the world like a colossus", as another great man once wrote. Caesar is all great men," the Lieutenant exclaimed, with not a little profundity or affection in his voice.