When the Heart Sings

by Liz Tolsma

  Elfriede brought her to the living room and motioned for her to sit on a dark-blue couch in front of an elaborate blue-and-white-tiled stove. With all gentleness, Elfriede situated Natia, placing a colorful embroidered pillow under her feet and a downy yellow blanket over her shoulders. Who would have thought just an hour ago that a German woman would be waiting on her?

  Within moments, Elfriede brought a warm cup of real coffee. Natia gulped it and burned her tongue.

  But Elfriede didn’t laugh. She took the delicate flower-sprigged cup from Natia and set it on the rough-hewn end table. She pointed at Natia’s belly, still a might distended, and then made a rocking motion.

  Natia nodded, then glanced at the ceiling. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She had no one left. Her parents and siblings were gone. Her children were gone. Teodor was gone. Maybe not even alive.

  Then Elfriede rubbed her own stomach, rocked an invisible baby, and gazed at the heavens.

  Perhaps, just perhaps, she understood Natia’s pain. But a sympathetic captor didn’t lessen the knife ripping open her middle.

  Each time Teodor attempted to turn to catch one last glimpse of Natia as the German woman led her away, the soldier who split them up barked at him and poked him with the business end of his rifle.

  Natia’s hollow wail ripped Teodor to shreds, her beautiful, hopeful song replaced with mourning. She should only ever make joyful music, a melody that spoke of peace and happiness.

  As the Nazi pushed him along, Teodor lost even the noise of her cries in the din of people around him.

  He was alone. Without her. Torn from her without so much as a good-bye.

  He had failed her.

  His dry throat stung. He hadn’t had anything to drink since they left the house yesterday morning. Was it only twenty-four hours ago that they bade farewell to their home? Their children? When would they get a drink? Even a few drops of water? But none was forthcoming.

  The Nazi soldiers had separated the men from the women and children. More husbands without their wives. More fathers without their children. Helena and Zygmunt would be alone. But he didn’t spot them anywhere. Not even Filip. What had happened to them?

  After a long roll call, during which Teodor didn’t hear Filip’s name, the Germans led this motley band of farmers and shopkeepers down the cobblestone street, away from the Pieśń Nabożna train station. At least they remained on Polish soil.

  No one peeked from any of the brick and stucco buildings. Why? Was there no one left here? Anyone who cared?

  Not too long into their hike, his legs cramped and so did his stomach. A piece of bread, a few sips of milk. That’s all he needed. All he wanted, besides his wife.

  Shooting pains started in his ankles and bolted up his calves and thighs. Still, the hike continued. They bypassed the heart of the town. All the better for the Germans to hide their dirty little secret.

  And then a sprawling industrial complex came into view. The sandstone buildings weren’t any great feat of architecture but long, low places with rows upon rows of windows watching the new arrivals. Dual smokestacks rose three times as high as the three-story factory.

  Screams and cries filled the air once more. Were Filip’s and Helena’s and Zygmunt’s among them? Teodor closed his ears to the sounds.

  The Nazis shaved everyone’s heads. To get rid of the vermin they brought along, or so they said. Teodor caught a whisper of Russian prisoners coming here a few months earlier after one camp was closed due to typhus. The razor touched his head, his already short, fair hair floating to the ground.

  Maybe the Lord took Natia from him to protect her. So she could heal in body and soul. So she wouldn’t have to experience this treatment. Yet shouldn’t he be the one looking out for her? Wasn’t that his job?

  The soldiers handed them each navy-blue, long-sleeved coveralls and herded the clutch of men who were left into a large room crammed with three-tiered bunks and prisoners’ belongings. Turning around was next to impossible. Where were they all going to fit?

  The officer from the train station, the one with the perfect nose like the slope of the Alps, stood on a crate and gave a shrill whistle. All talking halted. Each of the new arrivals turned to him.

  “I am Untersturmführer Fromm. This is to be your new home. Each day, you will work in the factory producing parts vital to Germany for her success in her defense of the fatherland. You will be assigned tasks throughout the complex. You are expected to work hard, doing your part to bring glory to Germany.

  “No talking will be allowed on the floor. You will be expected to work as many hours each day as we need you. You will be given lunch and dinner. Work hard, and life will go well. Disobedience will be met with swift and sure retribution.

  “You may find a place for yourself. Work begins in one hour.”

  One hour? They expected them to start labor without food or drink? The guards strode out of the room, and a mad scramble ensued for the thin mattresses on the rough plank beds. Just a few square meters for each man. With the rest of the group, Teodor rushed forward. He was fast enough to snag a middle bunk near one of the many arched windows set into the brick wall. He dropped his case on the narrow pallet and pulled out a blanket.

  And his picture of Natia on their wedding day. The only photo he owned of her. For several minutes he gazed at her as the film captured her in that moment. Eyes shining, shoulders relaxed, laughter on her lips. So young. So carefree. So innocent. Before the troubles of the world pressed on her and wore her down.

  He shuddered. Where was she? What were they doing to her? Lord, please help me to figure out a way to take care of her. May the woman who took her from me treat her with kindness.

  He stroked the picture, touching her cheek. “Be well, moje slońce.” He set the precious photograph under his pillow.

  “I was here first. You can’t have it. I’ve claimed it for myself.” The shout rang out from across the room.

  “You weren’t here before me. I already had my hand on it when you strode up and shoved me out of the way.” This man had a deeper voice than the first.

  Teodor turned to see two men matched in height and weight facing each other.

  “Shoved you out of the way? I did no such thing. You pushed me when you got here so you could say you had the bunk.”

  “Do you want to see pushing? I can give it to you. Don’t underestimate me. I wanted to be an Olympic boxer.”

  “Wanting something doesn’t make it so. I wanted to be king of the world. You don’t see that happening.”

  “You’re acting like it by taking others’ belongings.”

  Teodor moved forward for a closer look. Most of the men in the room had the same idea.

  Smack. One man’s fist connected with the other’s cheek.

  “Umph.” The second man landed a punch in his opponent’s stomach.

  The crowd got in on the action. “Get him. Don’t let him get away with that. Take him down.”

  Teodor threaded his way through the gathered throng. He burst through the circle around the men. The fairer one had the other in a choke hold. “Stop it. What are you doing?” He pried the one man’s hold loose and forced his way between the two of them.

  “Stay out of it.” The blond one reached around Teodor and cuffed his opponent’s ear.

  Teodor chopped him across the arm. “Leave him alone. Both of you, quit it.”

  “Make us.” The darker man kicked his foe between Teodor’s spread legs.

  “If I need to, I will. You’re behaving like naughty schoolkids. Like them.” He nodded in the direction of the door.

  That sucked the fight out of the prisoners. Another man came forward and pulled the blond man away.

  “This is what they want.” Teodor raised his voice so all the men in the dorm heard him. “They want to divide us, to demoralize us, so we turn on each other. That makes us weaker and easier victims. If we expect to survive, we must stand together. To fight for ourselves and for each other against the N
azis. How will we come out alive if we attack each other rather than the enemy?”

  The question hung in the air. The words soaked into each man.

  “He’s right.” The voice was familiar to Teodor. Jerzy Skala. Tall. Skinny. They went to the village school with each other. “If we stick together, it will be harder for them to break us. A herd of cows is more difficult to control than a single one.”

  A murmuring buzz filled the room. One by one, the men peeled from the crowd and returned to their tiny living spaces.

  Teodor approached Jerzy and clapped him on the shoulder. “Dzięki for your help. It’s good to see you.” A familiar face. A touch of home.

  “I couldn’t let an old chum stand by himself. Especially when he’s right.” Jerzy walked alongside Teodor as he found his way to his little spot in the world. “How have you been?”

  “Not too bad. I moved to the next village over after school and got an apprenticeship with the local cabinetmaker. He taught me the trade, and I took over for him when he died. Married Zofia, and we have two children. How about you?”

  “I married Natia, and we have a small farm. We’ve had three children, but all of them passed away.” Pain sliced through him. “I’m blessed to have a devoted, loving wife.”

  A shrill whistle pierced the air. An officer in an olive-drab uniform and a red-and-black swastika armband stood in the doorway. “Time to work. Schnell, schnell. Let’s go.”

  The men hustled out of the room. Jerzy and Teodor brought up the rear. The officer from the station leaned over and whispered to him as he passed. “I’ll be watching you. Every minute of every day. And remember, I have your wife.”

  A shiver raced down Teodor’s spine.

  For most of the day, Natia rested on the couch, sleeping away the hours. When she did wake, the German woman left her embroidery on the flowered wing chair near the sunny window and brought some broth from the kitchen.

  “Essen, essen.” She held the fine silver spoon to Natia’s lips.

  She sipped the warm soup that contained several pieces of beef. And soon her stomach rebelled. She hadn’t been hungry since before her baby’s birth. Even though Teodor had urged her, she hadn’t eaten much.

  But she had to regain her strength. If she couldn’t work, they wouldn’t let her live. Each time Elfriede encouraged her to eat, she did, no matter how hard she had to fight to keep the food in her stomach.

  By midafternoon, the dizziness and weakness that had overwhelmed her lessened to where she managed to sit up for a while. Elfriede joined her on the couch. With a shy glance to the side, she showed Natia her work.

  With tiny, intricate stitches Elfriede had embroidered a mountain valley scene. Snow capped the tops of the purple peaks, while yellow and red flowers bloomed in the meadow. A half-finished chalet filled one corner of the piece. “It’s beautiful.” Natia smiled and pointed at the work. “Beautiful.”

  Elfriede nodded. “Danke.” She jabbered on. If only Natia could understand. Then she might ask Elfriede what she wanted from her and where Teodor was. When they might be reunited. But for now, gestures would have to do.

  Elfriede made progress on the little chalet as the shadows lengthened across the tile floors. Before the lamps needed to be lit, she got up and went to the kitchen. She banged pots and pans together. The stove’s heavy door scraped back. The shovel clanged against the coal bin as she fed fuel into the oven. Then a moment of silence.

  “Ouch, ouch.”

  That word was universal. Natia slung back the blanket and rose to help, the world tilting as she did. As she stood and fought to regain her balance, the rear door clicked open and banged shut. A man’s deep, rough voice filled the small cottage. A moment later, the soldier from the train station trooped into the room, his jaw clenched, his hands fisted, his dark-blue eyes narrowed.

  He marched to her and slapped her. She staggered, her heart thumping as fast as a polka’s beat.

  “What are you doing? You are to help my wife.”

  “She didn’t tell me anything.”

  “What? You thought you were here on holiday?” He struck her again and stared down at her. “You are going to have a baby?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then you have no excuse for lounging. You’re a fat toad. My wife is delicate. Fragile. You are a Polish workhorse. You will take over the duties here. Immediately. The cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Tak, I will.” Still wobbly on her feet, she scurried by him to the kitchen. A knife and a pile of potatoes sat on the table.

  Pan Fromm moved by her and crouched beside his wife, who perched on a nearby chair, blood seeping through a towel.

  The way he stroked Elfriede’s hair intensified Natia’s longing for Teodor.

  “Hurry up and tend to my wife.”

  Though every part of her shook, Natia steadied herself against the chair and unwrapped Elfriede’s finger.

  Thank goodness, it had almost stopped bleeding. Natia cleaned the wound and, with Elfriede pointing her in the right direction, found more dressings in the lavatory. She bandaged her up. “Good.”

  “Ja, sehr gut.” At least they understood each other about that.

  By the time she served Elfriede and her husband the potatoes and sausage she prepared, blackness edged at Natia’s consciousness. The food and the chair invited her to rest and replenish herself.

  Elfriede motioned for her to sit. She pulled out the seat to join them. Pan Fromm pounded his fist on the table and shouted at his wife in German. She slouched in her chair, a single tear trickling down her cheek.

  Pan Fromm turned to Natia. “You are here to work, not to fraternize with my wife. She is far your superior. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Very.”

  “Tomorrow, I’ll have a pallet brought for you from the factory. The floor is good enough for tonight. That should teach you your place.”

  Her cheek stung and her face burned. Mama’s wise words rang in her head. “‘He prays but has the devil under his skin.’”

  Oh, Teodor, Teodor. How was she ever going to survive?

  Pawel Bosco finger-combed his thinning gray hair and tapped his pencil on his scarred desk. Papers littered the top of it, notes on various patients he had treated over the years. Many of them had already succumbed to the Nazis. Many of his intellectual peers had disappeared as well.

  Including Józef.

  A deep ache, one that penetrated his bones, spread throughout him, and he bit back the sob that arose at the thought of his son.

  How many more would die before this madness ended?

  Another trainload of prisoners arrived last week. The factory sprawled on the outskirts of the village and dwarfed the modest homes around it, but how many could even that large building hold? He shuddered. How many of the newcomers brought the fleas that spread typhus?

  An epidemic of some sort was a real possibility.

  Antonina knocked at the open door and entered. After thirty years of marriage, she knew him inside and out. “I brought you a cup of tea, such as it is.”

  He stood and pushed his glasses up his nose, then worked the kink from his back. “Dzięki.” He took the cup, the earthy fragrance of dandelions breaking more of his tension.

  “You work too hard.” She gazed at him, her eyes as green as the summer’s grass.

  “I’m going to get busier, I’m afraid. The dysentery and severed fingers I’m seeing from prisoners at the camp may only be the beginning.”

  A soft knock sounded at the front door, and Antonina scurried away to answer it. What would he do without her?

  She returned a moment later with Pani Fromm trailing her. “I told her you only have a minute.”

  “Nonsense. I have plenty of time.” He switched to the German he learned while studying in Cologne many years ago. “Come in, Frau Fromm, and have a seat. Dzięki, Antonina.”

  As she left the room, his wife closed the door.

  He leaned forward and st
udied the perfect Aryan woman in front of him, skin unblemished, blonde hair rolled in the latest fashion, her blue silk dress not showing any signs of wear. “What can I do for you today?” He asked the question, though he knew the answer. Elfriede Fromm paid him a visit just about every month.

  She rubbed her hands together, as if washing them. “It’s the same. No baby again this month.” She pulled a handkerchief from her black patent leather pocketbook.

  He rubbed his jaw. What could he do for her? And if he didn’t come up with a cure for her, what would happen to him? Too many of his colleagues had disappeared in the early days of the war when the Nazis sought to wipe out the Polish intelligentsia. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “I’m terribly sorry. As I’ve told you, I don’t see a reason why you aren’t conceiving. Not a physical malady, anyway. But you are worried and emotional.”

  “I carried a child once before, a little boy that I lost. What is wrong with me that it isn’t happening again?”

  “Stress takes a toll on your body. If you relax, I’m sure you will conceive.”

  She nodded and stroked a strand of blonde hair back into place. “I long for a son to carry on my husband’s family name and to bring honor to the fatherland. To have as many boys as possible to fulfill Germany’s destiny. That’s the duty of every good German woman.”

  Pawel leaned back and studied the Nazi’s wife. So young. Her blue eyes shimmering with naïveté. And she came to him, a hated Pole, one targeted by powerful men like her husband, seeking to further the pure race the Germans sought.

  Yet there was something about her. Fresh. Innocent.

  Part of him reached out to help her.

  Part of him retched at the thought of another Nazi roaming the earth.