Warsaw

by Richard Foreman

  “Like a lily among thorns

  Is my darling among women.”

  Usually he was early but for once Lieutenant Kleist decided that he would miss the evacuation completely. He was still hung-over from the night before and he did not wish his men to see him in such an unfit state. Christian also wanted to see Dietmar this morning. Although he would not openly apologise to the adjutant he promised himself he would act in a conciliatory manner to the youth, as if he was saying sorry to him and also forgiving Dietmar for his own incorrect behaviour the night before.

  Christian left the bacon and egg upon his breakfast plate but partook of a little toast, with the last of the English marmalade, to help settle his stomach. He also drank a couple of cups of pungent coffee, along with a glass or two of water.

  Dietmar entered, the thin film of perspiration on his face highlighting his delicate complexion and attractive features. He tentatively smiled at his Lieutenant and lover. Christian smiled back.

  "Morning Dietmar. Did you sleep well?"

  "I've slept better, but yes. Thank you."

  "I dare say you still slept better than I - and I dare say you look better than myself this morning."

  The two men here briefly shared a moment of understanding and friendship before one of Christian's maids entered. For once the authoritative soldier had an air of vulnerability about him, contrition.

  "Sorry to disturb you Sir but there is a Lieutenant Schiller here. He says he wishes to see you urgently."

  Christian knitted his brow and even "humph" before replying.

  "Tell Second Lieutenant Schiller that I shall be out in a moment. I for one do not wish to see him as urgently as he desires to see me."

  The maid duly retreated out of the kitchen, hoping that the unpredictable Lieutenant was not going to be in a black mood for the day. She prayed that he would take things out on the unwelcome caller, rather than the messenger.

  Kleist poured out another cup of coffee for himself, as well as one for Dietmar, and finished his toast before remarking,

  "Would you be so kind Dietmar as to fetch my cheque book from the top drawer of my office desk? I shall meet you in the hall where, hopefully, Second Lieutenant Schiller is impatiently waiting."

  Luke Schiller fidgeted in the hallway. He adjusted his collar, which was already perfectly fixed, and rubbed his fingers over the raised runic letters of “SS" on his immaculate uniform. He breathed heavily through his nose, exhaling in a sigh almost. He tried to control his breathing and pulse - with little effect - as Lieutenant Schiller felt his self-control ebbing away; he might as well have attempted to stop the tide from coming in. The Second Lieutenant wanted to fly back to Berlin as soon as possible. But first he needed to collect the second half of his payment.

  Schiller had pestered the Lieutenant more than once last night for him to write him out a cheque but Christian, deeply unhappy and ungrateful at the outcome of the would-be Olympian's services, had finally snapped at the money-grabbing officer. He dismissed him from his sight, saying that he was busy right now - the senior officer was occupied by two twittering Polish houris feeding him grapes on the divan. He should come to his apartment the following morning for the rest of his money. Kleist then instructed the tightly-coiled Second Lieutenant to enjoy his hospitality in the meantime. But without a word said, albeit his expression spoke volumes, the frustrated officer stormed off and left the party. Christian Kleist had been attracted to the young officer upon being first introduced to him in Berlin. One would have to confess that he in part he flew the Second Lieutenant over in hope of trying to seduce the German Adonis - but Kleist now just wanted to be rid of the arrogant annoyance.

  Both officers saluted and greeted each other cordially enough.

  "My adjutant is just fetching my cheque book. Perhaps I should have inserted a codicil into our deal in regards to a lesser fee should the outcome prove unfavourable. Or perhaps, rather than for personal gain, you should have fought for the honour of the SS."

  Resentment broiled underneath the Second Lieutenant's skin, firing his countenance. But the fear of what he might say and do - and the fact that he knew that the once so accommodating senior officer was trying to provoke him - checked Luke Schiller's response.

  "If you recall I won the competition - two hits to his consolatory one."

  "I am not sure Herr Klum took such equal consolation from the hit. I fear you may have crossed swords and made an enemy of more than a lowly Corporal from the Wehrmacht last night."

  Trepidation could be traced in the youth's features (and Christian inwardly smirked at the change in the man's expression). Luke Schiller was sure he had earned Lieutenant Kleist's displeasure - and he was ready to suffer his ire this morning so long as he ultimately collected his money. But so pre-occupied had the youth been with Kleist's reaction he had almost clean forgotten about Herr Klum. How high up was he in the Gestapo? How displeased was he with him?

  "Please give my sincere apologies to Herr Klum."

  "I will do my best to placate him, but I fear Herbert cannot drive your commiserations. Ah, Dietmar. You remember Second Lieutenant Schiller from the party last night? Thank you," Christian added kindly, as the adjutant handed him his brown leather cheque book. Dietmar politely, somewhat timidly even, bowed to the Second Lieutenant, whose face had now been drained of colour. The officer barely acknowledged the secretary though, distracted as he was by his thoughts.

  "It is of course up to you but it could prove a winning token gesture - and the amount would be but a token gesture compared to the sum Herbert lost - if you donated the money to Herr Klum. I am sure he would appreciate the generous and honourable action. Or do you still wish me to just write the cheque out to yourself?"

  Christian glanced at a duteous looking Dietmar; he smiled and even cocked an eyebrow at his lover - unnoticed by Herr Schiller, who had his head bowed down in reflection.

  Soon afterwards the deflated, punctured, Second Lieutenant made his exit. He made sure however that Lieutenant Kleist would offer Herr Klum his sincere apologies, as well as the cheque, when he next saw him.

  "Money talks - but I will give him your regards nevertheless," the Lieutenant replied.

  As much as the crestfallen Second Lieutenant castigated himself during the uncomfortable plane journey to Berlin he soon put the whole unfortunate episode behind him upon arriving back home - with his wife and six month old son waiting for the officer.

  As soon as a good-humoured Kleist saw the back of the irksome Second Lieutenant he decided to take the afternoon off - as well as also dismissing his staff for the day - to spend it in happy seclusion with Dietmar. He made love to his young adjutant and even cooked a light lunch for his faithful partner.

  A waferish disk of a sun hung high and distant in the afternoon sky. Every so often an easterly wind would blow into and numb features - contracting the facial muscles, disinclining people from altering their drear expressions.

  Duritz, his chin tucked into his chest and shoulders sloping forward, walked three paces or so in front of the Wehrmacht Corporal as they made their way to the north eastern quarter of the ghetto near the Jewish Cemetery. Duritz would soon receive his final instructions for the evening - and also pay the first instalment. Thomas, for his part, stared dispassionately at the prisoner in front of him, the blueing barrel of a Karabiner Kar 98K rifle levelled between them.

  When they reached the corner of Smorcza and Gesia Duritz came to a stop and turned to the German.

  "I think I should go on alone now. I might be some time."

  Thomas nodded his head, offering his friend an encouraging expression.

  "I understand. I'll still wait for you here though. Be careful."

  "Thanks, but I gave up being careful a long time ago once I realised how much trouble it got me in to."

  Thomas raised a corner of his mouth in an appreciative grin - in a gesture which was intended more to relieve the tension in Duritz's expression than to show his amusement at the c
omment.

  Yitzhak Meisel had been deliberately obnoxious towards a nervous looking Nelkin. The policeman confidently marched into the bureaucrat's office and demanded the address. It was already upon the desk, written on a scrap of paper, waiting for collection.

  "I can't say for sure if they're still living there though."

  "Well for your sake, as well as mine Andrjez, I hope they are. Because if they're not there it'll be you who'll be finding them for me."

  As much as it might have amused Meisel to stay and intimidate the Nelkin for longer the policeman clutched the scrap of paper in his hand and departed. A mixture of delight but also apprehension suffused in Yitzhak's being however as soon as he was out of the doomed official's presence, walking down the stairs of the condemned building. He decided that no matter how much it would cost him - in both goods and owing favours to his self-serving colleagues - he would pay out for a couple of fellow constables to help apprehend the fugitive. They would then all take Duritz - and maybe even the boy and girl who were harbouring him - back to his apartment where Meisel would finally teach the conceited student a real lesson.

  An inexorable increase of dapple-grey clouds first permeated the horizon but then wafted over and unfolded above the city's skyline - slowly smothering out the brittle sunlight. Thomas creased his brow at the prospect of another soddening downpour but then raised one of his eyebrows in an optimistic gesture. An overcast night would conceal their movements even more during their escape.

  With the absence of a spy hole Yitzhak Meisel knocked on the door to the apartment. Two fellow Jewish policemen flanked him. Both had been recruited by the constable, one through the extra incentive that they would be catching up with the deserter Duritz - Jakob Sztokman had always detested the new recruit, his aloofness and sarcastic sayings. The other constable had given up his afternoon for the sake of ten packets of cigarettes which Meisel had promised him. Yitzhak told the man that the girl they were selecting was a bit of a looker, which further roused the bullet-headed Marek into action.

  Yitzhak snorted before the address on the fateful scrap of paper in order to catch his breath from having bested the several fights of stairs of the building so eagerly. It was also the constable's custom to fill his lungs with air, grind his teeth and grip his sweat-drenched cudgel before every aktion. The bully felt more effective, powerful, when he worked himself up into a seething rage.

  Jessica and Kolya were in the bedroom of the apartment when the policeman first knocked and they could not be sure at first that the noise was indeed a sound upon their door. Upon the second knock however Jessica, now in the principle room of the flat, instinctively clasped her younger brother's hand - both to comfort him and herself. Scared. Jessica dramatically grabbed Kolya thinking that he was about to answer the door. Adam had a key and Thomas was still in the routine of using his secret knock. Already the woman's composure and dreams began to shatter, even before the ominous knocking on the door transformed itself into two, battering rams. She was screaming and tears soaked her cheeks before the ogres even entered the apartment.

  At the same time as the door splintered and opened it also came off one of its rusted hinges. Meisel and two other snarling policemen invaded the apartment. At first they all but ignored the woman and the boy, wary as they were of finding Duritz - and maybe having to deal with some retaliation from the Jew. The policemen smashed anything and everything that came in to the range of their flailing truncheons.

  Frustrated and wrathful Yitzhak paced around the empty bedroom like a caged animal, scratching his head and cursing his luck and the absent Duritz. He soon noticed however the half-packed bags in the corner of the room, one of which contained men's clothing. He charged back out to the despairing woman. Jessica's face was still moist with tears but her hysterics had now ceased. An efficient Marek had slapped the girl across the face and threatened her with a raised cudgel. The boy at this point had tried to attack his sister's assailant but Marek had gripped him by his scrawny neck, choking the boy, whilst similarly threatening him with further violence. Once unhooked from the policeman's vice-like grip Kolya coughed for air on the floor, subdued.

  "Where is he?" Yitzhak demanded, his two eyebrows knitted in such fury as to become one. By now Marek was clasping Jessica from behind (already he had the plan not to let the girl out of his sight; from the moment he saw her he wanted to have first go with the woman -Yitzhak had promised him). Jessica dearly wanted to be strong, to protect Adam, to be proud and defiant in the face of the brutal policeman but an enfeebling fatalism had already started to infect the captive. Jessica's tone faltered, as too her expression sank as if coupled to the woman's quaking heart.

  "I, I don't know. He's not here."

  "I know he's not fucking here. I can see that for myself you stupid bitch. When is he coming back?"

  "He left us. What she means is that he moved on. That's why we packed his stuff. We're going to try and sell it," Kolya, as convincingly as possible, exclaimed after having just recovered his breath.

  "I wasn't born yesterday boy. If I was you I'd keep your mouth shut. You're going to need to save all your strength for later."

  Fearful that events could turn violent again Jessica confessed all that she knew, her cheek still burning with pain from being struck by the leering policeman.

  Asparagus soup followed by guinea fowl followed by strawberry cheesecake graced the table for dinner. Despite both men having worked up an appetite during the afternoon they were still uncommonly full after their coffees. And so Christian suggested that they take a nap each after their meal as they had a long night ahead.

  A couple of hours later the two companions reconvened and Christian, still full of energy and congeniality, invited his adjutant into his study. There was an air of a ritual or an initiation to the event. Dietmar duly acted with a sincere sense of gratitude and honour as the Lieutenant opened up a converted antique wardrobe to reveal a weapons collection. Dietmar's eyes lit up and Christian's expression brightened too, revelling in the favourable impression his collection had instantly made on the youth. A sumptuous smell of polished rifle stocks and oiled barrels wafted out from the rosewood wardrobe. Black steel glistened attractively. But as much as the young adjutant desired to handle the beckoning weapons he was worried that he somehow might soil them. He wondered if he needed Christian's permission to touch them. Dietmar already recognised a few of the sleek looking weapons - the standard Karabiner Kar 98K with its turned down bolt. Next to it was its predecessor the Gewehr, an elderly but faithful rifle which Dietmar's father had used during the Great War. Displayed together - and so lovingly maintained - the young soldier saw the weapons in a new, prouder light. Upon the back board of the wardrobe Christian had also mounted an array of German pistols (various shiny, almost toy-like Mausers and Lugers). A Panzerfaust and Maschinengewehr MG34 - with its colander-like barrel to help cool the notoriously over heating weapon - also ran up the length of the large wardrobe to flank the rest of the collection.

  Christian reached across Dietmar to pull one of the rifles from its stand, in which every weapon was held in place by a leather-cushioned mount. He held it upwards with one hand, the butt lodged in the joint of his muscular arm, his finger on the trigger. As much as the officer was familiar with the weapon he still clasped and surveyed it with a primal reverence.

  "A Karabiner Kar 98K," Christian pronounced whilst testing the smooth action of the bolt, "fires a 7.92 mm cartridge and has a range of approximately 800 metres. So many of them now are constructed from plywood," he plaintively remarked whilst shaking his head at the cost-cutting, but then brightened up again when he finally exclaimed "But still a handsome, effective weapon. If it's not broke, don't fix it."

  Kleist had already arranged the hunt for the evening, although he still wanted to surprise Dietmar with the present of the pristine rifle and the honour of actively taking part in the sport.

  Night enveloped an emaciated dusk as though it were dismissive of its righ
ts and timetable. Twilight was but a comma, a pause in which to catch one's breath, before evening swooped down upon the city like a vulture, wings blocking out the light, its cold breath on your neck. The moon could occasionally be seen, feebly peeping out in between the traffic of fat grey-black clouds.

  The inhabitants of the ghetto began to retreat back into their homes and hideouts. Some mournfully, some frantically, some painfully - wheezing from infection or wincing from various rheumatic disorders. A widower, his beard matted with blood and lice, lay sprawled out on the curb - more rags than flesh. He had passed away in his sleep. Small mercy. No one took any notice of him, apart from a child who scurried out from a doorway. First checking the man's pockets for food or possessions the boy then stripped the corpse of its best garments. Thomas, for a moment, was transfixed by the child as he watched him battle the increasing rigor mortis of the body. The German's face squinted up in pity as the boy wrestled a flannel jacket off the contorted figure. He watched as the desperate but practised thief held his loot up to the falling light and then shook the coat - a proliferation of grit and lice sprinkling down upon the road like some form of macabre fairy dust.

  The soldier's attention was snatched away from the pitiable sight though as soon as he spotted Adam hurriedly returning back down the street. He had been gone for some time. To show his gratitude to the smuggler Adam had accepted the old man's offer of a couple of glasses of vodka over some black bread with margarine. Duritz nodded to Thomas that things were fine and, without a word said, walked back to the apartment.

  Both figures, now side by side, maintained their poignant silence as they made their way through the crumbling streets of the ever receding, imploding ghetto. The two men, friends, were duly pre-occupied with the same thing. They knew that it could well be the last time they were alone together.