When the Heart Sings

by Liz Tolsma

  Dominik, still weary from his middle-of-the-night screaming session, slept late the following morning. So did Elfriede. When she did make an appearance in the kitchen, red rimmed her eyes and her always-tidy and rolled blonde hair hung in disheveled waves around her face and shoulders.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” Natia bent to stir the fire in the stove.

  “Coffee.”

  “More? Eggs?”

  “Nie. Just coffee.”

  Natia poured the brew into one of Elfriede’s fine Dresden china cups and motioned for her to sit. Even though Elfriede said she didn’t want anything else, Natia cut slices from a loaf of brown bread and slathered them with butter and marmalade, foodstuffs no ordinary Pole would have access to. She presented the plate to Elfriede and sat across the table from her.

  Elfriede sipped the coffee and nibbled on the bread. Natia let her be until the dark half-moons under her eyes faded.

  “Last night? Your husband?” How did she convey to Elfriede what tore at her soul? “Why?”

  “Angry.”

  “Why did he hurt the doctor?” Natia mimicked Pan Fromm’s chopping motion.

  “He is not bad.”

  “He hurt the doctor.”

  “The baby cry.” Elfriede studied the steam rising from her cup.

  “He was going to take me to the factory. And probably kill Dominik.”

  “I do not know why. He is good man.”

  “Nie. Look at what he did.”

  Elfriede peered up, her brows furrowed.

  Natia blew out a breath. “Your husband is bad.”

  “Nie. Bad day at work? I don’t know.”

  “Can’t you see? Are you that blind that you don’t know the kind of man your husband is? What is going on in this town? Even in this house? Wake up.” She banged on the table.

  Elfriede startled. “I don’t know what you say. But Erich is good man.”

  “Why? Why last night?”

  “Our baby never cry.” A tear shimmered on Elfriede’s pale lashes. “Our baby die. In here.” She pointed to her abdomen.

  “My baby too. Three never cried. My husband doesn’t hurt people.”

  “Erich is sad. Angry at God. Why God do that?”

  And that was one of the questions for which Natia had no answer. Why, Lord? Why so much hardship and trouble and grief in this life? And why take it out on the innocent?

  “But he shouldn’t hurt people. Not the doctor. Not Dominik.”

  “He not hurt the doctor.”

  “He did.” Elfriede had stood in the same room, watched the same things as Natia. Saw what her husband did. Why did she refuse to admit it? Why did she cling to this idea that her husband was good and honorable? “He punched the doctor. And hit him.” Natia again pantomimed Pan Fromm’s actions. “He hurt me.” She rolled up the sleeves of her white blouse to reveal the bruises.

  Elfriede bit her lower lip. She stared at Natia, her pale-blue eyes blank. Empty. Like she was trying to push last night’s images from her mind.

  “Nie. You can’t deny it. I won’t let you. It’s time you faced it. He made my husband go outside. He hit the doctor. He hurt me. You understand me, I know you do. Listen to me.” She grabbed Elfriede by the hands. “Listen to me.”

  “I love him.” The words came out little more than a whisper.

  “He’s evil.”

  Elfriede yanked free of Natia’s hold and covered her ears. “Nein, nein.” She continued in German for a long while.

  A little child who refused to see the truth. Who refused to open her eyes to what was going on.

  Natia pulled her hands away so she had to listen. “He is bad.” She enunciated every word.

  Elfriede gazed up. For half a second, the world stood still. No one moved. No one breathed. No one’s heart beat.

  In the next instant, her eyes and mouth softened. Tears streamed down her face. Sobs wracked her slender body.

  And Natia went to her and comforted her.

  Led by Hauptscharführer Krug, Teodor wound his way down the musty staircase. Nothing had turned out how he planned it.

  They suspected him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should have never thrown that shovel. Of course, it pointed the finger straight at him. No one else would have known about it. Would they?

  Nie, he couldn’t sacrifice someone else, lie about them, to save himself. He would never be able to live with himself.

  Even if it meant leaving Natia alone.

  Hauptscharführer Krug shoved Teodor into a cold, metal chair, went around his large desk, and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke rings into the air. His hat, an eagle on the front of it, sat on the desk beside him, and his light-brown hair stuck up in the back. “So, we have a situation here.”

  Teodor tapped the edge of the seat.

  “You see, I know you were the one who tossed that shovel through the window last night. Who else could it be? You knew where it was. And you’re strong. I watched you from the window the day you were in the yard. Like an ox, you work.”

  Teodor stared at Krug, right into his deep-green eyes, and didn’t blink.

  “What I can’t figure is why you were outside. You didn’t hide that shovel in your room for so many weeks. It was there yesterday when I walked by. That leaves me to conclude you left the building, retrieved the shovel, and then, under the guards’ noses, hefted it through the glass.”

  Teodor’s stomach rumbled.

  “Do you care to enlighten me?”

  “About what?”

  “Why you went out. Your boots were wet, and not from your water at dinner. From the damp ground. Why did you do it?” Krug cracked his already-gnarled knuckles.

  “I didn’t. I never left the barracks.”

  Krug leaned forward in his chair, resting against the desk. “That is a lie.”

  Teodor didn’t cower. “It is not. I’ve already tasted the German methods of discipline. I have no desire to become subject to them again.”

  “And that’s why you aren’t telling me the truth. What if I question the other men?”

  “You would hear it wasn’t me.” He stilled his trembling knees.

  Krug slithered around the desk and stood over Teodor. “Is that so?” He stroked his clean-shaven, pointed chin. “I’m not convinced. I have a feeling a few hours outside shoveling coal would have them singing like caged birds.”

  Teodor grabbed the edge of the chair with all his might to keep his expression neutral. “They cannot testify to what isn’t the truth. No matter what, they won’t implicate me, because they can’t.”

  “Is that so? Shall we test that theory?”

  “Do what you want, but you will not get information either from me or from them.”

  “You and your Polish pig friends are lucky. Berlin is sending some of its best and brightest here to inspect the plant. We don’t have time to go down the line one by one until we find a man whose mouth will run like a faucet. Nie, we need to increase our production in the next week to make our best impression. In fact, that’s what I’m going to do. Double quotas for everyone.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Krug returned to his seat. “Oh, I am.”

  “The men are exhausted and starving. Already, you push them to their limits. You will kill them if you demand more. What will you do without workers?”

  “There are plenty where you came from. And for your insubordination, I’m going to triple the quotas. Is that all, or would you like to go for quadruple?”

  Teodor bit his tongue until the metallic flavor of blood filled his mouth.

  “Very good. Get to work. And by the way, you yourself will work twenty-four hours for the next five days until the inspectors arrive. If you fall asleep, I will shoot you myself.”

  No sleep? Could a man survive that long? Already he’d gone almost twenty-four hours without rest, and his mind was foggy.

  “Get to work.”

  Teodor scraped back his chair and dallied up the stairs and down the h
all to the factory floor. Look what his hasty words had gotten them, not just himself, but all the prisoners. Not double the work but triple it. He hadn’t exaggerated to Krug. The men wouldn’t survive.

  And he doubted he would himself.

  He tuned out the hum of machines and the grating of drills as he sat on the stool in front of his press. He picked up a piece, set it up, drilled it, and plopped it into the box beside him, his actions automatic. Maybe he could do this in his sleep.

  A few machines away from him, a man swayed and fell from his stool. Krug marched over and kicked the man in the side. “Get up, you worthless swine.”

  The man didn’t move. Under his breath, Teodor willed him to get to his feet.

  Krug’s face reddened. “I told you to get up.”

  After a moment, the man came to his knees, trembling all over.

  Krug pulled his pistol from its holster and shot the man in the head.

  Teodor gasped.

  Krug marched to his side and pressed the firearm against Teodor’s temple. “Do you want to be next?”

  Teodor held his breath, not able to think or move.

  “Get to work. You have a long time until your shift is over.”

  The day dragged on. Making mistakes on pieces didn’t require concentration anymore. And his ordeal had just begun. Once the shift ended and the other men left, he was alone in the factory with a solitary guard standing watch. Teodor’s skin prickled under the Nazi’s stare.

  The emptiness of this place, of his own heart overwhelmed him. Where was God when he needed him most? Probably sleeping, certainly not watching over his children.

  Children he had stolen from them. Would this crushing pain ever ease? God, help us.

  But no thunder rolled, no shaft of light split the darkness, no angel descended from the heavens.

  He was alone. And fighting for his life, one the guard would likely snuff out at some point in the coming hours. No one could stay awake for five days.

  A time or two, Teodor caught himself nodding off, jerking awake as his chin touched his chest. To keep sleep at bay, he allowed his mind to whir like a mower in the grain field. There was only one thing he could do in this situation. During the long hours, he perfected the plans for sabotaging the machines.

  And just when they would do it.

  Natia wiped the sweat from her brow as she worked over the kitchen stove, boiling pierogi for dinner. With meat in short supply, the potato-and-cheese dumplings would be filling. She tucked her loose hair behind her ear to keep it out of her eyes.

  Pan Fromm would be home soon. For the time being, Elfriede played with Dominik in the living room, keeping him content as she sang little songs and clapped his hands. He didn’t care that an alley cat being attacked sounded better than Elfriede.

  But what if he whimpered while Pan Fromm was home? What if he cried again tonight? Was sitting here, waiting for him, crazy? Maybe Natia should take Dominik and run. Run where? To the woods? Pan Fromm would bring his German shepherds and hunt her down.

  And he would show them no mercy. Elfriede couldn’t hold him off forever.

  Natia shivered. She stared at the whitewashed ceiling above her, the one that reminded her of clouds. “Oh God, how can I do this? How can I keep Dominik safe? I don’t know if I have the strength to keep going. I can’t run. I can’t fight. What can I do? Tell me, I beg you, tell me.”

  Her answer came in the squeak of the front door. Heavy footfalls. Then Pan Fromm’s bass voice reverberated throughout the house. But it wasn’t hard or angry like last night. Instead, it was light and his words were rapid.

  Elfriede squealed. Natia peeked through the doorway to see Pan Fromm lifting his wife around the waist and swinging her in a circle, kissing her face the entire time. Then he set her down with a gentleness Natia had never seen from him.

  When he approached the kitchen, she ducked back to the stove.

  Pan Fromm stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. “My, my. What a lovely picture.” He righted himself without uncrossing his arms, his eyes warm for a change. “There is a stack of books on the piano. Box them up and mail them to the address on the slip of paper in the top book. A friend of mine has a son who broke his leg and has a long confinement ahead of him. Without his Hitler Youth activities, he will be bored. I thought the books might cheer him. He’s a good boy, much like I would want my son to be.” A wistful sigh crossed his lips.

  “And I have some good news. My father-in-law has come through for me at last. He is sending a delegation from Berlin to inspect the plant. If they bring him a favorable review, he will buy me a better commission in Germany.”

  Germany? And if that happened, would she be expected to go with them? Or . . .

  To keep her hands from shaking, she wiped them on the white apron covering her full black skirt.

  “To that end, I’m hosting a dinner party next week. Some high-ranking SS men are coming to tour our operation, to see what a fine job we’re doing. This may be a little outpost on the edge of the world, but I intend to show them we aren’t backwater. I’ve tasted your food, and I’ve heard you sing. Quite beautiful. I want you to entertain us.”

  “Sing?”

  “Yes, sing. Not a lullaby, of course, but a few rousing, patriotic German tunes. Lively ones that will put the men in good humor. I have no doubt you will enchant them.”

  “But I don’t speak German.”

  “Pani Fromm can teach you a few songs.”

  With Elfriede’s tone deafness, how would Natia ever get the tune right?

  “And, of course, you shall cook for us.”

  “Cook?”

  “What are you, a parrot? That’s what I said. You will cook. But none of your basic, plain Polish dishes. You will cook the finest of German cuisine. Schnitzel and sauerbraten, and a Black Forest cake that will make them think they died and went to heaven. Can you handle that simple task?”

  “I don’t know how to make any of that. I’ve ever only cooked the food my mother taught me.”

  “Then read a cookbook. Pani Fromm has several.”

  “I don’t speak German.”

  “The woman who lived here before us left a collection. All in Polish, I believe. Before you came, I flipped through them. One has several German recipes. That should suffice. Unless you have more objections?”

  Natia swayed back and forth. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Nie.”

  Except that she couldn’t read.

  Natia stared at the spines of the cookbooks on the shelf above the stove. Polish, German, Japanese. The language they were written in didn’t matter. Not one made sense to her. Though she’d attended the village school, she never could decipher the strange markings on the page. They blurred together until her eyes burned. At last, the teacher stopped trying to force her to learn.

  Two days. That was all she had until the inspectors arrived for the dinner party. Important men. And if she failed to please either them or Pan Fromm? She shivered. Nie, she had to do this to protect Dominik.

  All the German dishes he mentioned to her, she’d never heard of. She didn’t even remember what he said anymore. How was she going to pull this off? She plopped onto the kitchen chair and covered her face.

  Dominik gurgled and cooed as he knelt on all fours and rocked on the blanket on the floor beside her. The one light in this dark, dismal place. The one thing that kept Natia going. Teodor hadn’t answered her song all week. The barracks sat dark and empty when she went by, no matter how early in the morning. Instead, the buzz of machines greeted her.

  The Germans must be working the prisoners extra hard in anticipation of their visitors.

  She glanced at the baby. Dominik grinned, one tooth poking through his bottom gum. So far, teething hadn’t bothered him. So far.

  Natia sighed. “Well, then, there is only one thing I can do.”

  She swooped Dominik from the floor and kissed his cheek. “Are you ready for an adventure?” She wrapped the growing
boy in several warm blankets. She’d unraveled her own blue mittens to knit a cap for him. She popped it on his head and tied the string under his chin.

  Elfriede had gone to her room to rest, so Natia hurried out before she woke. Today, she didn’t even bother to head to the factory. Teodor wouldn’t be there. She rushed to the center of town, by Chopin’s statue, averting her eyes from the composer’s likeness and the blood-stained stones. Instead, she headed to the butcher shop.

  “Pani Rzeźnikowa, hello, are you here?”

  A red-haired man Natia hadn’t met before stepped to the counter. “Can I help you?”

  “I need to speak to Pani Rzeźnikowa.”

  “She’s not here. Is there something I can get for you? Though we are out of meat for the day.”

  “What? Nie. Nie, I need her. Now.” This man wouldn’t be able to help her, couldn’t solve her problem. “When will she be back?”

  “Not for a while, I suspect. Her husband passed away last night. His bad heart gave out.”

  Natia clutched the wooden counter. “Oh, that’s horrible.” Even though Teodor was still alive as far as she knew, she also understood the depths of despair that must be gripping Pani Rzeźnikowa.

  “He hadn’t been well for a while.”

  “I’m so sorry. Please, if you see her, convey my sympathy. I’m Natia Palinska.” Dominik fussed, and she patted his back as she stumbled from the shop.

  What a terrible blow to that wonderful woman. How was she going to cope without her husband? From what she had told Natia, they had been married for many, many years.

  She kissed Dominik’s cold, round cheek as she left the town square. “Now what am I going to do? How am I going to cook for these men? And sing for them?” Though she pinched the bridge of her nose, two big tears rolled down her face. Once they let loose, a stream of them followed.

  She stopped in front of the many-windowed factory building, smoke pouring from the two stacks on either side of it. Clinging to Dominik, she sunk to her knees. “Oh, Teodor, Teodor. I need you. Why won’t you answer? Can’t you hear me?”

  Only the blowing of a whistle replied.

  Chopin’s requiem “Poland’s Dirge” sprang to her lips. The slow, mournful, minor key allowed the tune to weep along with her in both the words and the music.