The Kommandant's Girl

by Pam Jenoff

  Suddenly I am overwhelmed by everything that is happening. “I have to go,” I say, standing to leave.

  Alek reaches up and grabs my hand. “I know this will not be easy for you.”

  Easy, I think. Easy is a concept from another lifetime. “It’s all right,” I reply, though nothing could be further from the truth. I look down at him. “Just one question—does Jacob know about this?”

  He shakes his head. “Only that you are working for the Kommandant. He’s mad enough about that since he didn’t want you getting involved in the first place. I haven’t told him about this latest assignment.”

  “Good. Promise me that you won’t tell him?”

  “I swear it. Your husband will never know.” Looking into his unblinking, solemn, eyes I know he can be trusted not to say anything. “He’s worried enough as it is.”

  “Thank you.” I pull my hand away and start to turn.

  “Emma, one last thing.” I turn back toward him. “Time is of the essence. If you find something, anything that you think might be important, don’t wait for our Tuesday meetings. Send word through Krysia and we’ll find a way to get the information from you.”

  “I understand.” I turn again to leave, feeling Alek’s eyes still on me as I walk away.

  Several meters across the square, as I cross through the archway of the cloth hall, a voice explodes behind me. “Anna!” I freeze, terrified that someone has recognized me. Then I realize that the speaker has used my pseudonym; this is someone who knows Anna, not Emma. I turn to find that the shrill, nasal tone belongs to Malgorzata.

  “Hello,” I reply, trying to smile. Hoping to cut off any questions she might ask, I gesture to her bag. “Doing some after-work shopping?”

  But Malgorzata is not easily distracted. “Who was that?” she asks, and I can tell by the direction in which she jerks her head that she has seen me with Alek.

  “I don’t know what you’re—” I begin.

  “You don’t have to play coy with me, Anna,” Malgorzata interrupts. “I saw you having coffee with that handsome young man.”

  “Oh, that.” I wave my hand, trying to sound casual.

  “Don’t worry,” she winks, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “I won’t say a word to the Kommandant.” Yet I know that was exactly what she would do, if he ever gave her half a chance.

  “That’s Stefan,” I fib quickly. “He’s an old friend of my aunt Krysia’s.”

  “Oh.” I can tell from the way her voice goes flat that she accepts my explanation, and is disappointed that there isn’t more to the story.

  “Well, it’s a long trip home,” I say. “I must get going. Dobry wieczor, Malgorzata.”

  “Dobry wieczor, Anna.”

  Knowing that Malgorzata will watch my retreat, I try to walk rather normally across the square. I turn the corner onto Anna Street and stop, feeling as though I might be ill. Malgorzata had seen me with Alek. Thank goodness she is stupid enough to believe my story. But it might not have been Malgorzata. It could have been one of the officers from Wawel who had spotted me, I think, leaning against the side of a building. Or worse, the Kommandant himself. We have gotten entirely too cavalier about these meetings. My identity, our plans, could all go up in smoke, just like that. And they mustn’t, I tell myself. Not now, when we have so much to lose.

  I intended to head directly home after my meeting with Alek, but instead I find myself instead cutting south from the city center toward the river. The towpath by the water is crowded with pleasure-seekers this warm August evening: young couples, strolling as Jacob and I once had, children running ahead of their mothers to chase the birds. I walk past them, barely seeing, my mind wrapped up in what Alek has asked me to do. Get into the Kommandant’s personal study to find out what is going to happen to the Jews. This was not a simple matter of slipping into an office and grabbing some papers. I would have to go to the Kommandant’s apartment repeatedly, become familiar with his desk and study, and learn what he keeps there. Unlike my forays into Krich’s office for blank passes, Alek could give me no key or secret code to gain access when the Kommandant is not home, and breaking in was out of the question. No, I would have to go to the Kommandant’s apartment deliberately, find some pretext for spending time there with him. It would not be difficult; I know that the Kommandant likes my company and would invite me over if given a hint that I would accept. Perhaps if we have dinner and some wine, and then when he is asleep…

  I stop walking, freezing in the middle of the path. Stay at the Kommandant’s apartment at night, perhaps even sleep with him…is that what Alek is really asking me to do? I picture his grave expression as he described how I would have to get the passes. No wonder he cautioned me against agreeing to the task too readily. He wants me to become intimate with another man and betray my husband. Suddenly I cannot breathe. There is no way I can be unfaithful to Jacob. It is impossible.

  Jacob. His sweet face appears in my mind. He will never know, Alek promised. I had not known the full meaning of his words at the time, but now their impact hits me like a rock. Betray my husband, lie to him. If this were somehow to happen, it would be a secret forever between us. And if he did somehow find out…I shiver.

  “No!” I say loudly. Passersby, who are making their way around where I stand motionless in the middle of the path, turn to look at me. “No,” I repeat under my breath. I walk to a bench by the river’s edge, still thinking about Jacob. What would he do if the situation was reversed? Jacob believes in this cause, I realize, perhaps even more than in us. Otherwise he would be here with me instead of underground with the resistance. And I would not be faced with this dilemma.

  Enough, I think. There is no point despairing over what could have been. And this is not Jacob’s decision. He did not even want you involved with the resistance, I remind myself. But it is too late for that now. Anyway, this is not about Jacob, I know, or even about me and Jacob. It is about me. I am here, alone, and the decision is mine. Or was. Suddenly I regret having accepted the assignment so readily. Alek had given me the choice and I could have said no. But there had been something in his expression and tone of voice that I had not seen or heard before, a kind of muted desperation that said I was the only one who could possibly get close enough to this man to do what needed to be done.

  But this is not just any man, I remind myself. The Kommandant is a Nazi. I suddenly picture the Gestapo shooting the rabbi’s wife, Lukasz’s pregnant mother, in the doorway in the ghetto. I see Lukasz standing over her as she lay dying on the ground, her head wreathed in blood. The Nazis killed her and they have killed so many others. And the Kommandant is one of them. And now, to show him affection…? My stomach turns.

  Even as these dreadful thoughts run through my mind, though, I think again that getting close to him would not be hard. Since the Kommandant’s return from Berlin, it has been impossible to ignore the fact that he is attracted to me. I sometimes wonder if it goes beyond physical attraction and he has actual feelings for me, despite the fact that I am one of his subordinates and, in his eyes, a lowly Pole. Until now, I have deliberately kept him at arm’s length. The Kommandant is polite, even if he is a Nazi, and I know that he would not take improprieties with me uninvited. It would take time, of course, to make him believe that the attraction is mutual and real. But with the right encouragement…

  Stop! a voice inside my head shouts. This is madness. The magnitude of what I am contemplating crashes down upon me. I cannot do it. I lean over the water. Who are you? I demand of my reflection. The image does not answer, but asks back: what is it that matters most? My family, I think, without hesitation. My husband and my parents. The answer has not changed.

  A siren erupts on the far side of the river then, breaking me from my thoughts. I look up; the place where I have stopped is exactly parallel to where the ghetto sits, several blocks back from the far bank. My parents. With every passing day they spend in the ghetto, their situation is becoming bleaker, their chances more remote.
Every day they become sicker and weaker and at greater risk for deportation or worse. Every day people like them are dying, or being killed by the Nazis. That’s why Alek has asked me to do this. He needs me to get this information so that the movement can try to save my parents and the other Jews in the ghetto. To get close to the killers so that we can try to stop the killing. I can do this; I can help.

  Even as my resolve strengthens, my nagging doubts persist. How will I be able to convince the Kommandant that I really like him? Will I be able to go through with becoming intimate with a man such as him? Perhaps it will not even come to that, I tell myself. Maybe I will be able to find the information without letting things get that far. It is a lie that I desperately want to believe. But whether I do or not is of no consequence. My mind is made up: if there is any chance that my actions might help my family, I have to try. Jacob will never have to know. Perhaps, I venture, something I discover might actually bring him back to me sooner. Lifting my chin, I turn and begin the long walk home.

  CHAPTER 13

  The next morning I walk up the ramp to Wawel Castle filled with newfound purpose. Time is of the essence, Alek said. In any event, there is no point in delaying getting close to the Kommandant. It is like pulling off a painful bandage, I analogize; best to do it quickly. The only question is how. Once at my desk, I review the Kommandant’s schedule. He has meetings over at the offices on Pomorskie Street all day. Usually on days when the Kommandant has afternoon meetings out of the office, he returns to his residence rather than the office, and has work delivered to his home for the evening. As I pass through the reception area later that morning, I overhear Colonel Diedrichson telling Malgorzata to arrange for a messenger to deliver files to the Kommandant at the end of the day.

  “Colonel, I can take the files on my way home,” I interject. Diedrichson looks in my direction, an eyebrow raised. “There are some matters the Kommandant wanted to go over this morning, but we did not have the chance because of his meetings,” I continue smoothly. “Matters that require his personal attention.”

  “I don’t know…” Diedrichson hesitates. He is a typical Nazi, thrown off by anything that is not strictly by-the-book.

  “I have to go that way, anyway, to run an errand,” I persist. The reluctant expression remains on his face.

  Just then, the telephone on Malgorzata’s desk rings. “Jawohl,” she says into the receiver, then looks up. “Colonel, it’s for you.”

  Taking the receiver, Diedrichson looks over at me and shrugs. “Fine with me. The files are heavy, though. Arrange to have Stanislaw take you over.” Inwardly, I breathe a sigh of relief. Then my stomach tenses again. I’ve just committed myself to going to the Kommandant’s apartment, I realize. The most difficult task of my life has begun.

  At five o’clock that evening, I leave work carrying the files for the Kommandant. Stanislaw drives me to the apartment building and lets me in the front door. I climb the steps carefully, not wanting to drop the files. Standing in front of the Kommandant’s door, I hesitate. I cannot do this, I think, panicking. I will just leave them on the doorstep and go. I set the files down on the mat in front of the door, then turn to leave. As I step forward, a floorboard creaks loudly. “Hello?” the Kommandant calls from inside the apartment. My heart sinks as I hear his heavy footsteps shuffling toward the door. It is too late now to run. With a deep breath, I bend over and pick up the files again. As I straighten, the door to the Kommandant’s apartment swings open. “Anna!” The Kommandant’s stubbled jaw drops and his eyes widen.

  “The messenger was gone for the day,” I lie, knowing that he is too surprised to doubt my story. “Colonel Diedrichson said you needed these.” I jog the files slightly as an indication.

  “Come in, come in,” he repeats, stepping back unsteadily. The Kommandant’s jacket is off and his sleeves are rolled up. His shirt has several buttons undone at the collar, revealing a small patch of hair flecked with gray. I have never seen him dressed so informally. Setting the files down on the end table where he has indicated, I stand awkwardly in the middle of the dimly lit room. The Kommandant’s steamer trunk lies on the far corner of the bare wood floor, open and still unpacked from his trip to Berlin. The temperature is too warm, and the mixed odor of brandy and perspiration hangs heavily in the air.

  “Welcome.” He swings his arm in a wide, sweeping gesture and the liquid in the glass he is holding sloshes precariously. He’s been drinking, I realize. A wave of concern flashes through me; I have not seen him like this since before his trip to Berlin, and I wonder what has set him off again. “Come in, have a seat.” Reluctantly, I walk to the sofa and perch on the edge. “Would you like a drink?” he asks.

  My stomach twists, and I fight the urge to turn and run. “Please.” Perhaps if he gets drunk enough to pass out, I can search the apartment without having to get close to him. “Thank you.” I accept the glass of amber liquor he offers and take a small sip. The liquid burns my throat like fire. It is stronger than anything I have ever tasted.

  The Kommandant finishes his drink in one gulp. He walks to the window and draws the heavy curtains aside. The glass is unwashed, coated with a film of gray. “Do you miss the ocean, Anna?”

  I hesitate, caught off guard by his question. “I have never…” I stop midsentence. I had almost said that I had never seen the ocean. Anna is from the seaport town of Gdańsk. In that moment, I had nearly forgotten who I was supposed to be.

  “Never what?” He looks back at me.

  “N-never seen such dry weather in late summer,” I improvise, trying not to panic.

  “Mmm,” the Kommandant murmurs, and nods in agreement, too inebriated to notice my slip. “The weather is much milder on the coast,” he adds. Suddenly I feel as though my life is a balloon balancing on a needle; the slightest misstep could burst it.

  I take another sip, welcoming the burn that now reaches to my stomach. The Kommandant is looking out the window again. I hesitate, unsure what I am meant to do. Get close to Richwalder, Alek said. But how? I know nothing about flirting with a man, much less seducing one. When I met Jacob, it was different, we courted like young people…Stop, I order myself, knowing that if I allow myself to think of my husband even for a moment, I will never be able to do this. But it is too late. Suddenly, Jacob’s face burns in my mind and I know I must get out of there.

  I stand up quickly. “Well, it’s getting late. I should be going.” I hesitate again, torn between wanting to escape back to the safety of Krysia’s house, and hoping he will stop me from leaving so I can go through with my mission. “Thank you again for the drink.” The Kommandant follows me as I leave.

  “Anna.” Suddenly, the Kommandant is in front of me, standing between me and the door. He reaches out and I freeze, watching his hand as if it is moving in slow motion, fighting the urge to jump backward. He touches my temple, brushing back a lock of hair that has fallen from behind my ear. His fingertips graze my cheek. “Good night,” he whispers, not moving out of the doorway.

  “Good night,” I say, turning away from him, my face burning. My hand reaches around him and grasps the cool brass doorknob. I slide through the narrow opening, take a step.

  “Anna,” he calls again through the half-open door. I can barely hear him through the blood that pounds in my ears. I hesitate and, in a moment that I know I will wonder about for the rest of my life, turn around. The Kommandant’s lips crash down upon me like a wave.

  I do not know how we got back inside the apartment, nor can I remember taking my coat off. Suddenly my memory and most of my senses are gone—it is as if I can no longer see past the star-bursts in my mind, nor hear above the roaring in my ears. Only taste and smell and touch remain, the saltiness of his ear on my tongue, the grating of his stubbled cheek against my collarbone. I have forgotten my role: Anna should be a virgin, a faraway voice in my head reminds me, tentative and shy. Instead, the noises that come from within me, the way I clutch at his shoulders and back are those of a woman who ha
s known desire. But surely I am not Emma, either, for by the time the Kommandant carries me to his bedroom, lips still glued to mine, I am half dressed and kissing him back with an urgency that gives no hint of the deception this is meant to be. Later, I will tell myself that my passion was part of the role, the mission, to get close to him. But in that moment, as he lays me across the bed, my skirt lifted and crushed under me, I am lost in his musky scent, and in the strong hands that claim me for their own.

  I lay trembling on the sweat-soaked sheets some hours later. My limbs throb with an ache that tells me there will be bruises later, as much of my own making as his. The Kommandant snores, one arm thrown back over his head, the other draped heavily across my midsection. Earlier, when his breathing had subsided to a level where he could speak again, he had apologized. “I’m sorry,” he said, stroking my face. I knew he meant for the roughness of it all, that what he thought was my first time should have been gentle and romantic. I pressed my lips together in what I hoped passed for a smile and nodded, afraid of what might have come out of my mouth if I tried to speak. Taking my silence for contentment, he soon drifted off to sleep.

  Now, lying awake beside him, the reality of what has happened begins to sink in. I have slept with another man. A Nazi. I tried to leave, I tell myself, but even as I think it, I know that my walking away was part of the seduction, the chase. No, my betrayal was calculated. Not here. Do not think of it here. But it is too late; panic rises within me and I can stand lying there no longer. Carefully so as not to wake the Kommandant, I slide out from under his weighty limb, dress hurriedly and run from the apartment.

  At the door to the building, I hesitate, worrying that Stanislaw has waited for me with the car. I cannot bear to face anyone. But of course he is gone. Hours have passed since my arrival, and I can tell from the position of the moon that it is nearly midnight. The streets are deserted, residents terrified of what will happen if they are found breaking curfew. Normally I would be, too, but I am too preoccupied with getting home and away from all that has happened. I begin to walk in the direction of the road that will lead me to Krysia’s house. My mind races. I never expected this to happen so soon. I thought there would be days, even weeks, of build-up. But in no more than an instant, we were upon each other…Stop, I command myself once more. Do not think about it. I begin walking faster, taking deeps breaths with each long stride. You did it. The hardest part is over. You survived. A strange sense of calmness overcomes me.