by Liz Tolsma
“What am I supposed to do?” The guard whispered the words.
Teodor allowed the question to hang in the air.
“‘Christ in me . . . Heart of flesh for lifeless stone . . . Now bold to serve him.’” He took two steps in Teodor’s direction. Then he stooped and set down his firearm. He slid off his coat, held it out, and turned his back. “Get out.”
For a moment, Teodor couldn’t move.
The man hissed, “Get out now.”
Teodor sprang into action, climbing from the tub. The soldier untied Teodor’s hands, and he slipped the coat over his bare body. Compassion. Dignity. Almost too much to believe. A miracle. Perhaps God was watching out for him after all.
The man turned to him. “I’m Hauptmann Maas. Call me Wilm. I have to take you back to your cell, but I will bring you a hot cup of coffee. And get you warmer clothes. I’ll ask to interrogate you from now on.”
Teodor couldn’t force his mouth to move so he could speak. Kindness from the most unlikely source.
Wilm led him into the building and down the dingy hall and slid the coat from Teodor’s shoulders. “We must be careful. Act the part. Both our lives are on the line.”
Teodor shivered once again.
A grimness settled over the Fromm household, much like the turbulent weather outside. This darkness was a physical presence, clouding them, covering them. Natia pulled her sweater tighter as she rolled out the egg noodles.
Christmas had come and gone without joy. Only Pan Fromm had exhibited much holiday spirit, and that might be due to the quantity of rum and eggnog he consumed.
Dominik crawled around the kitchen, over to Natia, and held on to her leg to stand. He bounced and giggled. She clapped the flour from her hands and picked up the little boy. “What is it, my sweet? Would you like a rye husk?”
Dominik babbled in reply.
“Very well, then, since you asked so nicely.” Natia went to the cupboard and got out a piece of dried bread.
From down the hall, Elfriede’s bell tinkled. These days, she seldom left her room. She wore Natia out with her constant demands. “Come on. Let’s go find out what she wants.” With the baby in her arms, Natia entered the darkened room, the blackout shades pulled down, the bed unmade, the white-and-blue quilt in a lump at the edge of the mattress.
“There you are. I want cup of coffee.” Elfriede’s blonde hair hung in greasy strands around her face. How long had it been since she’d washed and combed it? Her cheekbones jutted from her thin face.
“And I’ll get you something to eat. Then, after lunch, I’ll wash your hair and get you dressed. Get out of bed and start living.”
“Why you so mean?”
“Mean? Hardly. I’ve done everything you’ve asked and more. All these weeks, I’ve held my tongue. But not anymore. You are in this bedroom, away from your husband, away from the world. No life.”
“My life not good.”
Natia closed the door and set Dominik on the floor to eat his rusk. “Maybe not. But you can’t give up. You must keep going. It’s what I tell myself every day.”
“Why? My husband is bad man. He does not love me. He does not love anyone. Only himself. What happens to me? Why is he so bad?”
Natia sat on the bed beside Elfriede. She held her bony hand. “I don’t know the answers. I have questions too. How could the world have gotten so topsy-turvy? The opposite of as it should be? We have to survive. That’s all I know. I promised my husband that. I promised myself that. And now, I’ve promised Dominik.” Elfriede probably understood few of her words. “You must live.”
“But how? Why?”
“Day by day. I don’t know if my husband is dead or alive. If he’s alive, I have no idea where he is.” Her heart clenched. She couldn’t allow herself to think the worst. If she started believing that, she would drop to the floor in a puddle and never get up. To get out of bed each morning, she had to cling to that sliver of hope that Teodor was alive somewhere.
“You have love. Your husband loves you. I have nothing.”
True, Natia wouldn’t trade places with Elfriede for anything in the world. At the very least, she had known genuine, passionate love for a few years.
“Go away. Leave me alone. Let me die.”
“Nie.” Natia shot to her feet. “I won’t let you.”
Dominik crawled to the bed and pulled himself to a standing position. A brief smile flashed across Elfriede’s oval face. Natia picked up the child and placed him in Elfriede’s lap. She kissed the baby’s dimpled cheek and murmured to him in German.
Natia’s stomach flipped. She’d done what she could to keep Elfriede from getting attached to Dominik. If she fell too much in love with the child, Natia stood to lose him. Another little one would be ripped from her arms. Even though she told Pani Rzeźnikowa that she didn’t believe Pan Fromm would allow the child to become part of his family, the truth remained that if Elfriede truly wanted Dominik, there might be nothing Natia could do to prevent it.
Natia’s breath came in short spurts, because on the other hand, she couldn’t allow Elfriede to shrivel like an old woman without hope. Dominik cheered her, brought her out of her depression, if even for a few moments. Natia left to prepare some lunch, Elfriede and Dominik playing on the bed.
Two hours later, Elfriede sat in a chair in the living room, her hair brushed and loose around her shoulders, Dominik dozing on her lap.
“Do you feel better?”
“Tak. Good not to be in bed. But what about Erich?”
“What about him?”
“I am scared of him. Scared for you. And Dominik.” Elfriede kissed the boy’s forehead.
“I can take care of myself. And him.” But could she? How long before Pan Fromm deduced the truth. Then what? Natia shuddered and pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Mama would say, “Hidden from the eyes, out of the heart.” And Mama wasn’t one to worry about anything. Natia swallowed. How difficult that had become.
She returned to the kitchen to start dinner. Even the German officers now had a tough time getting food. She had very little meat for tonight’s meal. The flour in the tin was running low.
The front door banged open. Heavy footfalls crossed the living room.
Elfriede spoke to her husband in German, words Natia still didn’t understand.
Pan Fromm answered her in his native tongue. His tone was harsh. Hard. Angrier than ever.
He stomped into the kitchen and strode in her direction. “There you are.” He slapped her, and her eyes stung with tears. “You swine, you scum of the earth. I should do away with you and your husband right now.”
Natia backed away until she hit the wall.
“You and your kind are the rottenest, the lowest of all people, no better than the Jews. The world will be a better place without you.” He raised his hand to strike her.
She slumped to the floor. How had she angered him? “Nie, please, I didn’t do anything.” She covered her head. “Don’t hurt me.”
“Just what I don’t want. A sniveling, whining, begging pig.”
Mama would say, “Mądry Polak po szkodzie.” Smart Pole after the damage is done.
“You sicken me. Don’t tell me you don’t know what is going on. I’ve followed you to the factory. For weeks now. Yes, I know how you stop and sing. And I’m not so foolish as to miss the message in your words. What kind of code are you sending?
“All along, I thought your husband was responsible for the sabotage. He confessed. I punished him. But maybe it was you telling him what to do. Spying on me. Passing on my secrets.”
“I did no such thing. Only sang to my husband words of love.”
“Have you ever heard of Auschwitz?”
Natia froze. Was he going to send her there? Was that how he had punished Teodor?
At the sound of her husband’s voice reverberating throughout the house, Elfriede set Dominik on the rug. The child screamed. Elfriede ignored him and rushed into the kitchen.
/> Erich stood over Natia, who huddled in the corner. He raised his hand, about to strike her.
Elfriede dove forward, between Erich and Natia. “Stop it, Erich. Don’t hurt her.”
“What are you doing? She is a spy. Machines break down. Pieces are milled wrong. I blamed it on her husband, until I realized that when she sings to him she’s passing my secrets.”
“That’s nothing but your wild imagination.” The blood whooshed in her ears. “She doesn’t know about your work. She doesn’t speak German. She can’t even read.”
“Don’t let her fool you. She can pretend she doesn’t understand, but she does. A little infiltrator, that’s what she is. Worming her way into our house to bring the fatherland to its knees. I won’t allow it. This time, not the factory but the extermination camp.”
“You’re drunk. Don’t come near me unless you’re stone-cold sober. I picked her out of the crowd when she first arrived. She didn’t have anything to do with coming here, couldn’t have known that I decided to bring her into our home. Don’t delude yourself with your fantasies.”
He leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, “You are deluded, my dear. That woman will ruin us.”
Shivers raced down her arms. “I will keep her with me in the house. How is that for a compromise? And don’t speak of anything war related here. I don’t need to know.” She didn’t want to know, especially about those death camps. “Don’t send her away. You’ll see things better in the morning when your head is clearer.” She pushed against his shoulders, and he stumbled backward.
“Fine.” He pointed at her, his finger like an arrow to pierce her heart. “But she is not to go anywhere near that factory ever again. If I catch her outside of these walls, I will kill you both. Since you want to stick up for a Jew-loving, filthy, swine Pole, you can share her fate.”
He staggered out of the kitchen. A few moments later, the bedroom door slammed shut.
Summer 1944
Teodor lay on the straw-filled pallet in the stifling infirmary at the factory and stared at the water-stained ceiling. Wilm had been true to his word. For months, he had brought him extra rations. The torture stopped. But the loneliness didn’t. And Wilm could do nothing about the prison conditions. Sleep, that blessed relief, came hard. Broken men screamed day and night. If you could tell what time it was. Almost impossible. And the pests. There was no way Wilm could eradicate them.
Teodor wiped away the sweat that trickled down his temple and along his jawline. Without warning, he found himself released and back at the factory. Wilm had done what he could. He had saved Teodor’s life. But he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, free him.
This place was either freezing or roasting. No happy medium. And most of the summer stretched in front of them.
He scratched at one of the many red marks on his arms. Fleas, lice, who knew what else. And the reason he lay in this oven of a room. Quarantine. They didn’t want him back at work enough to risk spreading the typhus those bugs brought.
So here he was, alone again.
But maybe Natia would come. Perhaps he would hear her voice and get to answer her and let her know he was alive. She must have been frantic all these months when she didn’t get any response.
A soft knock came at the door. “Pan Palinski?”
Teodor sat up. The voice was familiar. Polish. “Come in.”
Dr. Bosco stepped inside and closed the door. “It’s good to see you again.”
Teodor stood and shook the man’s hand like a well pump. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see anyone, much less a kind face.”
“For a man who has been in prison, you’re looking well.”
Teodor stepped toward the doctor and spoke so only he could hear. “A kind guard took pity on me, brought me extra rations, and saw to it that my torture stopped.”
“Torture?”
“How is my wife? Do you see her or hear from her?”
“From time to time, but not much lately. They must be well, because they haven’t sent for me.”
Teodor’s arms broke out in gooseflesh. “It’s enough to know she is alive. She will come to me then, at some point.”
“I assume so. Now to get down to business. They brought me in to make sure you don’t have typhus.”
“I figured that was why. As eager as they are to be rid of us, it’s curious the Germans are so concerned about the disease.”
Pawel snapped open his black doctor’s bag, took out a thermometer, and placed it under Teodor’s tongue. “That they are. And for good reason. I heard that an outbreak at another camp decimated their workforce. They had to shut down the plant for several days until those remaining alive recovered enough to resume their duties. That’s the reason they segregate the Russians, who often bring the illness with them.” He withdrew the thermometer. “Your temperature is normal.”
“I can tell you I’m healthy.”
Pawel held up a finger for silence as he took out his stethoscope and listened to Teodor’s heart and lungs. “Everything sounds good.”
The doctor leaned close to examine Teodor’s ear. “Did you know the Russians are knocking on the door of the prewar Polish border and that the British and Americans are in France?”
“Wilm whispered something along those lines to me. So it is true?”
“Germany will be squeezed in the middle until she is forced to surrender. If all goes well, it shouldn’t be too many more months until the Soviets march into town. Hold on a little while more. The war is almost over.”
Could he? Could any of them? The war might not end soon enough. “Could you do me a favor?”
Summer’s heat pressed on Natia as she sat on the narrow mattress in the tiny attic. Dominik toddled around the room, chattering and carrying a rag doll she had sewn. His damp curls clung to his sweaty forehead.
If there were space, Natia would pace like the caged tigers at circuses she’d heard about. Because that was what she was. The Fromms might as well have chained her to the bed for all the freedom she had. Months had passed since she last left the house. Not even a minute of sunshine bathed her skin.
Should she run away? Take Dominik, get as far from this place as possible, and wait for the war to end? She would, if it was only her life on the line. If Pan Fromm had only threatened her, she would have been gone long ago. When peace came, she would find Teodor.
If he was alive. With everything inside of her, she worked to bring his face to mind. The sound of his voice. The softness of his touch.
She failed. Was that because he had left her forever? Another good-bye she hadn’t been able to say? She squished her eyes shut to force away the thought. But it popped up again, over and over.
Elfriede had shared with her what her husband told her. The Russians were advancing. If they got too close, he was going to send her to their chalet in Germany. Worry had edged Elfriede’s words, because the Americans were also progressing from the west.
The war was coming to an end. Perhaps the Soviets were nearing their small village and their farm. Natia could go home and wait for Teodor there.
But then Elfriede reminded her of Pan Fromm’s threat. How he would kill them both if Natia left the house. Had he really said that, or did she fabricate it so Natia would stay? Truth was a difficult commodity to come by these days.
What should she do? What could she do?
And if she left, would she be giving up any chance of finding her family? Months had passed since she had word of Zygmunt, and over a year since she had seen Tata and Helena.
Dominik grabbed Natia’s hairbrush from the end of the bed and put it in his mouth.
“Nie, nie.” She took it back. “That’s not for you. You play with your baby.” She handed Dominik the rag doll.
“Natia?” Elfriede stood on the other side of the door.
“Come in.”
Elfriede entered and sat on the floor. She tugged on her hands and bit her lip. “It is hot in here.”
“Very hot.”
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br /> “You can sleep downstairs.”
And relinquish her privacy for the cooler living room couch? Never. Pan Fromm used the spare bedroom for an office, and sometimes he slept in there. Here, at least, she could lock the door and rest well at night. “Nie, dziękuję Ci. I’m fine. The summer doesn’t last too long.”
Elfriede crossed and uncrossed her legs. “What is wrong?”
Natia furrowed her brow and shook her head.
“You are not happy. You do not sing. You work and not smile.”
How did she explain to her that grief drew the song from her lips, the song from her heart, the song from the very depths of her soul? That her being was as dry as the Russian steppes in summer. Elfriede’s people had stolen Natia’s home, her family, and every speck of joy. “I can’t go outside. I can’t sing to my husband. I won’t be happy until I see Teodor and the rest of my family. Until I can go outside. Hear the birds. Feel the grass between my toes.”
“I don’t know what to say. I want you happy. I want you to sing.”
To find her happiness again, God needed to restore to her everything he had snatched from her.
“I like you here.”
“I miss my home.”
“That, I understand. But what can I do? Erich, he will not let you go. And if you go, they bring you back maybe. Or somewhere else.”
That speech was the most Polish Elfriede had ever spoken. And the truth. “I want to know my husband is alive. He might be dead.” Her stomach clenched. Nie, he couldn’t be gone. She would know it, would feel it in the very depths of her soul. She clung to the rope of hope hanging over the yawning chasm of despair, praying she didn’t fall even though her hands were raw and bloody. “I don’t know where he is.”
Elfriede side hugged Natia. “This war is hard, nie? How can we understand? You are nice. I like you. I help you. But what can we do?”
“My mother always quoted Psalm 30 verses 4 and 5.”
“Wait. I get my Bible.” Elfriede clomped down the stairs and back up a moment later, her red, leather-bound Bible in her hand. She flipped the pages and found the passage. Though the words were different, the sentiment was the same. Elfriede read while Natia recited. “‘Sing unto the Lord, O ye saints of his, and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness. For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favour is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.’”