Karolina's Twins

by Ronald H. Balson

  “You can throw up on demand?” Catherine said.

  “He didn’t see me stick my finger down my throat. I just figured it might work.” Lena smiled. “And it did. For the next mile or so, I shook like a leaf. Thankfully, I didn’t see another person for the rest of the night.

  “I reached the farmlands as the dawn was breaking. What a difference. The pastoral landscape lay in stark contrast to the apocalypse raging in Chrzanów. Rolling golden hills. Fields of sprouting wheat. Fruit orchards flowering in the April sun. Cattle grazing. It was nothing less than a table set with the bounty of Poland’s fertile farmland. And a few miles away, our entire town was starving.

  “Farther down the country road, the Tarnowski farm came into view. I walked up their path. Chickens were pecking in the yard. That meant eggs, and I was so hungry. I knocked on the front door and Mrs. Tarnowski opened the door a crack. ‘Yes?’ she said, with an uneasy stare.

  “‘I’m Lena. Captain Scheinman’s daughter.’

  “‘Oh, child, come in quickly.’ She looked around to see if anyone else was in sight.

  “‘No one followed me.’

  “She eyed me up and down, tip-to-toe. I’m sure I looked like somebody who’d just walked twenty miles through the night. She took me by the elbow and led me into the kitchen, where she fixed a breakfast of eggs and biscuits. Food never tasted so good! I hadn’t enjoyed a hot breakfast since the day my family was taken. I told Mrs. Tarnowski what I’d been through and asked her if she knew anything about my family.

  “‘No,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been into the city for a couple of months. It’s too dangerous. Willy goes in twice a week to deliver his milk and butter. He tells me that the Jewish families are being relocated one by one. I suppose that’s what has happened to your parents as well.’

  “‘I think I should go to them.’

  “Mrs. Tarnowski shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want, then that’s what you should do. But you just came out of the city. You must be tired. Why don’t you take a warm bath and I’ll make up a bed for you. I promised your father I would keep you until the war was over and I am not a woman who breaks a promise. Lord knows, it’s dangerous for me to hide a Jew, so if you are determined to go, I won’t stop you.’

  “I laid in that warm bathwater pondering what the Lord knows and what he doesn’t know. I recalled my religious classes. The tenets of our faith. Our God is an all-knowing and all-powerful God. He knows everything that has been and that will be. Such a concept now seemed improbable. If that were true, why do Nazis inhabit the earth? Aren’t they like scorpions, like adders, like the bugs that caused the plague? They seemed to me to be all the same, with no purpose but to spread evil and cause harm. Why would a good and just God allow such evil to roam the earth, and if God can right the ship, why is he asleep at the wheel? Lying in the tub, I rejected my faith. Logic demanded it.

  “I tried to clear my mind and think about happier times, about our peaceful life before the Germans invaded. Life in Chrzanów, life with my family, life with my friends. The bathwater seemed to draw all the tension from my body. I looked at myself lying in the tub. I had lost weight. It bothered me that my figure was losing its newfound curves.

  “I worried about my family. Where were they? Were they just in another part of Chrzanów? Had they been sent away? Who was the trespasser in Karolina’s bed? Where was my friend living now? I dreamed about joining them all again. There I am, sitting at Shabbat dinner. I hear Milosz’s laughter. Mother’s soup is delicious. Our house is warm and bright. I can feel the joy and all the love. The next thing I know, Mrs. Tarnowski is tapping me on my shoulder. ‘Lena? Lena? Are you sleeping?’

  “She handed me a towel and a clean robe. I helped her make up a bed in a small storage room that sat at the end of the second-floor hall. I asked her, ‘Does Mr. Tarnowski deliver to the section where the Jews live? When he comes home, can I ask him if he’s seen my family?’

  “My question hit a nerve. She shook her head and punctuated the absurdity of such a question with a ‘Ha!’ ‘Deliver to the Jews? Certainly not. Does he want to get shot? You think the Jews get deliveries of butter and milk? It’s against the law. These days Jews are fortunate if they get a loaf of bread. Me, the farmer’s wife? I don’t get deliveries of butter and milk. The Nazis, they take it all. You come from the city, don’t you see what’s going on?’

  “I nodded sadly.

  “‘Willy delivers to the few customers he has left. The Nazis take ninety percent of what we produce. They come out here in their canvas trucks and raid my farm like a fox raids the henhouse. They don’t buy, they just take, and then they order Willy to deliver it all to them at their homes. I barely have a pat of butter left in my house. Child, they’ve taken over most of the Chrzanów factories—the lumber mill, the coal mine, the power plant, the bakery and, of course, the Shop. If your mother’s still in town, that’s probably where she is. Working at the Shop.’

  “‘What shop?’ I asked.

  “‘The Shop. The old garment factory on Rzeka Street. Now they’ve tripled the size, with ten times as many workers, all sewing uniforms and coats for the Germans. The Jewish women that are still in town are working there. They work for meager wages. But Poles work there as well, because they need a job. They get paid based on how many coats they make. Since the Germans came to town there are lots of jobs. The Germans brag they brought full employment. Ha! Willy says I might have to work there if he loses any more customers. But I won’t work for the Germans.’

  “She looked around the little storeroom where she’d made my bed. ‘I used to keep my linens in here. It’s not very large, but it will do for you.’ She smiled weakly. I knew my presence made her uncomfortable and she was doing her best. All in all, I was warmed by the hospitality of this hardened farmwoman.

  “‘Sometimes they come out here, the Nazis, you know, just to check on us. They want to make sure we’re not hoarding butter, even though we give them almost everything we have.’ She pressed her lips and stood defiant with her hands on her hips. ‘Sometimes they even help themselves to our chickens. If they come out here and they see you, you tell them you’re Lena Tarnowski. They won’t know the difference.’

  “I thanked her and told her that I was grateful, but it was patently clear to me that not only was I an imposition, but a ticking time bomb for her family. I decided that I would have to move on when I got the chance. I would not hold her to her promise.

  “I awoke from my nap to the sounds of Mr. and Mrs. Tarnowski engaged in an animated conversation. More like an argument. And I heard my name mentioned several times. They were startled when I walked into the kitchen.”

  “What were they like, Lena?” Catherine asked. “The Tarnowskis?”

  “Mrs. Tarnowski was sturdy. A strong farmer’s wife. A lifetime of summers had weathered her skin. Her hair was dark gray, but always neatly combed and frequently accented with a colorful bow. She wore housedresses that hung like draperies. Mr. Tarnowski was a bear. He had broad shoulders, big hands and stood well over six feet. No facial hair. He was always neatly shaven. They were a matched set. Good people.

  “When I walked into the kitchen they immediately stopped talking and offered me a cup of milk. It was a little awkward because the three of us knew I was the topic of the morning. I sat down to drink my milk—fresh milk right out of the cow. There’s nothing like it.” Lena smiled and her eyes brightened. “I still like milk. I drink it every day. But farm-fresh milk is something entirely different. Have you ever had fresh milk on a farm?”

  Catherine shook her head.

  “It’s like drinking ice cream, only better. You should try it sometime. It’s good for expectant mothers.” She punctuated her imperative with a sharp nod.

  Catherine blushed. “Who told you I’m expecting?”

  Lena smiled and shrugged. “I don’t have to be told.”

  Catherine quickly looked down at her midsection.

  Lena laughed. “It’s not there,
it’s in your face. And in that of your husband.”

  “How could you possibly…?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “My babcia always told me there’s a little Gypsy in our family.” She laughed again.

  “Well, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t…”

  Lena held up her index finger. “Mum’s the word.”

  She chuckled softly and continued with her story. “Sitting around the kitchen table, I told the Tarnowskis, ‘Please don’t think me ungrateful, but it’s probably best for all if I go back into the city. I think it’s my place to rejoin my family. I’m sure they’ll be with the rest of the Jews somewhere.’

  “Mr. Tarnowski shook his head. ‘Big mistake. You stay here. You’re safe here. The Jews of Chrzanów are not safe. It’s true that many have been forced to move into a small area, but the Germans are not done with them. They are enemies of the Germans and we are at war. They will not be permitted to run their little area without interference and abuse. The Jews have no protectors, not anywhere in Europe. They will live so long as the Germans have use for them. And then they will die. When the Jews are gone, the Catholic Poles will be next. The Germans speak of Lebensraum, their living space. They intend to expand, to clear out Poland for the German people. We do not kid ourselves. I make plans.’ He nodded his head.

  “‘Shah! Enough,’ Mrs. Tarnowski said. ‘There’ll be no talk of the plans.’ Then she turned to me. ‘You may come with us when the time is right for us to leave. Until then, we do not speak of any plans.’

  “I stayed with the Tarnowskis through the end of the month helping out with the chores whenever I could. I’d never lived on a farm and my ignorance of even the most fundamental farming techniques was a source of constant entertainment for Mr. and Mrs. Tarnowski. We had dinner every night at six and they were in bed by eight. I know they had a son, but he was never home and no mention was ever made of him at the dinner table or anywhere else. I respected those unspoken wishes and never brought it up.

  “Finally, after a few weeks, my anxiety got the best of me and I told the Tarnowskis that I had to go back to Chrzanów and find my family. They cautioned me against it, but my need was stronger than my common sense. I would go into town the next morning with Mr. Tarnowski on his delivery route. It was a disastrous decision.”

  Lena’s eyes filled with tears and she paused to take a sip of water. She seemed ready to say something but stopped and shook her head. “This is a good place for me to stop. Do you suppose we could take a break? Pick it up in a few days?”

  “Anytime you’d like,” Catherine said. “Why don’t you call me whenever you’d like to resume?”

  SEVEN

  “AND THAT’S HOW YOU left it?” Liam said.

  Catherine nodded. “I told her she could take all the time she wants—tell me the story at her own pace. These recollections are very hard on her.”

  “Did she say anything more about the two girls or Karolina?”

  “Nothing yet. At this point in her story she doesn’t know what happened to Karolina, and there’s no mention of any twins.”

  “I got a call this morning from a man named Arthur Woodward. He says he’s Lena’s son and he wants us to stay away from his mother.”

  “She has a son?”

  Liam nodded. “He sounded concerned, but irritated. He asked me if his mother was talking to me about a woman named Karolina. I told him I really couldn’t say, that any communications between an attorney and her client are privileged and confidential and that I was working for the attorney.”

  “Perfect,” Catherine said. “We can’t disclose any information, even if he is her son. Not without her permission.”

  “Right. And then Arthur said to me, ‘Is she repeating those crazy stories about two lost children? Is my mother telling you she wants you to find Karolina’s lost children? Can you at least tell me that much?’

  “I told him I was sorry but I couldn’t tell him anything. I suggested he ask his mother what she’d said. Then he got downright nasty.

  “‘Look,’ he snapped, ‘she’s a senile, delusional old woman. There’s no babies, there’s no Karolina. Never was. I don’t know what your play is, but I don’t want some moneygrubbing lawyer leading her on and making bullshit promises. You’re not going to find any missing children. So leave her alone. And I better not find out you’re taking any of her money. Do you understand? Am I clear here?’ And then he hung up.”

  “Whoa. What a pleasant fellow,” Catherine said. “I know I’ve only had a couple of days with her, but I don’t get the feeling that Lena’s senile. To the contrary, her narrative is well structured, organized and detailed. She’s articulate. And Liam—she knows I’m pregnant!”

  “Maybe she’s also very observant.”

  “I’m not really showing, am I?”

  Liam shook his head. “Nah. And I keep a careful watch on all parts Catherine.”

  “Did you say something to her?”

  “I haven’t said anything to anybody.”

  “Lena said she’s part Gypsy, so maybe she’s got mystical powers.” Catherine wiggled her fingers and laughed. “You know, I’m growing to like her. It’s like she’s my grandmother. And I don’t believe she’s mentally impaired. I have colleagues at the bar who can’t communicate half as well as she does.”

  “I agree with you. She doesn’t appear to be senile or delusional. I get the feeling that Arthur’s more concerned about her money than her mental condition. Do you think he’s looking forward to a sizable inheritance?”

  “I don’t know. She lives on East Pearson Street, in one of the vintage buildings. Her wardrobe is exquisite; she wears beautiful clothes. Haven’t you noticed?”

  Liam shrugged. “I guess I wouldn’t know the difference. She always looks dignified. Put together. She’s certainly not some dowdy old lady.”

  “Liam, that’s not a very nice thing to say. Still, I bet she drops a pretty penny on Michigan Avenue.”

  He nodded. “She’s a very attractive woman.”

  “Without letting her know, can you get some background on her? And on Arthur Woodward?”

  “Cat, you cut me to the quick. You’re talking to the world’s greatest investigator. Not to mention the world’s greatest…”

  “Stop. I’m serious. See what you can learn about Lena and her family.”

  “I will.”

  “I don’t think I’ll mention Arthur’s call to Lena. Not yet. I’ll just go ahead with the interviews like we’ve been doing.”

  EIGHT

  “I SLEPT VERY LITTLE the night before I left the farm. Once again, I was beset with contradictions. With the Tarnowskis, I was safe and comfortable, and they were kind to me. Why would I leave? Yet I missed my family dearly and I wanted to be with them. If they were in trouble, I wanted to be in trouble with them. I had to find out what happened.”

  Lena took a sip of hot tea and set the cup down on Catherine’s desk. Liam sat to the right of the desk and leaned his chair back on two legs. Catherine continued to jot down notes on a yellow pad. She hadn’t mentioned Arthur’s disturbing phone call earlier that week.

  “I knew that returning to Chrzanów would be risky, that Jews were being detained and taken into custody. There was talk about transfers to labor camps, but I chose to believe that my family had been taken because they were requisitioning my house. My father had said there was no evidence against him. I was convinced that my mother, father and Milosz were alive and living in some apartment in a resettled area of Chrzanów.

  “Mr. Tarnowski, who always rose before the sun, was surprised to come downstairs and see me sitting at the kitchen table. He saw my duffel on the floor and nodded his understanding. I waited while he milked the cows, did his chores and prepared to leave for town with his daily supply of dairy products. After a hearty breakfast, I said good-bye to Mrs. Tarnowski, who hugged me tightly and begged me to be careful. The evolution of our feelings toward each other over such a short time was not lost on either
of us. When I first arrived, she received me as an unwanted obligation. Now, just weeks later, we had developed a bond.

  “She had tears in her eyes when I climbed up onto the wagon seat. She held my hand and looked at me with concern. ‘Trust no one. If you don’t find your family or if things aren’t working out, you know you can come right back here. And watch your money.’ I nodded and patted the arm of my jacket. A day earlier, Mrs. Tarnowski had convinced me to sew my money into the lining. ‘Don’t show it to anyone. It will only mean trouble for you.’

  “Very few were awake when we clip-clopped into Chrzanów. The streets were empty as we reached the center of town and veered toward the northeast and to a run-down, tired area of apartment buildings and warehouses, where I believed my parents would have joined the displaced Jewish families.

  “‘I can take you close, but I’d better not stray too far from my usual route,’ Mr. Tarnowski said, and no sooner had he finished his sentence than a black sedan honked and motioned for us to pull over. Mr. Tarnowski looked at me and put his finger to his lips.

  “A Wehrmacht officer got out of the car and walked slowly to our wagon. He was a tall, good-looking man dressed in his officer’s uniform. He wore a peaked cap with its shiny black visor, golden braid and the silver flat-winged eagle, Germany’s national symbol, over the green hatband. His long trench coat was open, revealing his olive tunic with padded shoulders, silver buttons, tall black collars and red waistband. His tunic was adorned with badges and medals. The officer was graying at the temples, clearly in his fifties, not one of the brash young soldiers who bullied their way around town.

  “‘Ah, Herr farmer, so pleasant to see you out and about so early this morning.’ He patted our horse on his neck. ‘But what are you doing on this side of town? Your products don’t get delivered here.’”

  “What did he mean by that?” Catherine asked.

  “Milk, eggs, cheese—they were under strict ration and only could be purchased in certain stores. As I told you, Jews were not allowed to buy milk and eggs. Although I didn’t know it at the time, the area we were approaching had been demarcated by the Germans as the Jewish ghetto.”