by Pam Jenoff
Elzbieta steps forward with the cake. “Are you surprised?” she asks.
“Yes,” I reply, blowing out the candles. It is one of the great understatements of my life.
“Happy birthday, Anna,” the Kommandant says, taking a half step toward me. I do not answer or meet his eyes. For a moment when I first saw him, I had felt a rush of warmth. Now I am reminded of his date with the baroness and his presence seems hypocritical. Of course he is here tonight, I think. Tomorrow, on my actual birthday, he will be with someone else.
Lukasz breaks the awkward silence. “Ca!” he says gleefully, stepping toward the cake with outstretched fingers.
“No, darling,” Krysia admonishes gently, catching his hands. “We need to eat our meal first.”
“Dinner is ready,” Elzbieta says. “Why don’t you go sit down?”
“Come, Lukasz.” The Kommandant holds out his hand. The child hesitates, looking up at the giant man in uniform. Then he places his tiny hand in the Kommandant’s. I shudder. It is all part of the plan, I know, having the Kommandant warm to Lukasz. It means that our disguises are working. Still, I cringe at the sight of the rabbi’s child holding the hand of a Nazi.
“I’m sorry,” Krysia whispers as we make our way to the dining room. “He found out that it was your birthday and contacted me. I had no choice but to invite him.”
I nod. She could not know why I was really upset. Why make the effort, pretend that he cares about me enough to celebrate my birthday? I wondered. This time tomorrow night he would be on a date with the baroness.
“Happy birthday, Anna,” the Kommandant says again once we are seated. I do not answer but turn slightly away. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the puzzled expression on his face. He does not know that I know about the baroness. I am silent through the meal, leaving Krysia to keep up most of the conversation.
After dinner, Elzbieta serves coffee and the birthday cake, which is a yellow cake with lemon icing. “It’s delicious,” I say, knowing that white flour and sugar cost dearly these days, even for Krysia. Krysia stands and returns to the table with two boxes wrapped in paper. “Thank you,” I say, touched. I had not expected anything. I unwrap the presents. One is a pale pink scarf that Krysia has secretly knitted for me. The other is something made from sticks that Lukasz has put together. “I love it!” I exclaim, circling the table to hug and kiss him. He giggles, squirming to get away.
“It’s late. I’d better get this youngster to bed,” Krysia says, standing up and picking up Lukasz. “Say good-night, darling.”
Lukasz raises his hand. “Salom,” he says.
“What’s that?” the Kommandant asks.
“Sabat salom,” Lukasz repeats. I freeze. Lukasz is trying to say shabbat shalom, the Hebrew greeting on the Sabbath.
The Kommandant turns to me. “What is he trying to say?”
“Nothing,” I reply quickly, shooting Krysia a warning look. “He is just babbling because he’s tired.” Krysia carries the child hurriedly from the room, leaving the Kommandant and I alone. Where did Lukasz learn that? I wonder frantically. I have never spoken Hebrew around him. It must have been something he recalled hearing from his parents as a young child. Surely the Kommandant would not have recognized the words…. I study his face, but he does not appear to have noticed anything suspicious. “I need some air,” I say, standing up. I step out onto the balcony off the parlor. The Kommandant follows me. The rain has cleared, leaving a gorgeous, crisp autumn evening sky freckled with a thousand stars.
“Anna.” The Kommandant comes to stand beside me. “This is for you.” He draws from his pocket a small wrapped box, the same size as the one he gave me the evening we went to the orchestra.
“I can’t accept it.” My voice is cold. The hurt expression returns to his face once more. “There is no need to give presents to a lowly member of your staff.”
“I don’t understand,” he says. “Are you angry that I am here?”
“It’s just that perhaps your time would be better spent with someone else. Someone more your equal.”
“Someone else?” he asks, puzzled. “What on earth are you talking about?”
I take a deep breath. “You should give that to Baroness Kwiatkowska,” I say, gesturing toward the box. “I am sure she would like it very much.” He stares at me, still not comprehending. I continue, “I know about your date tomorrow night.”
“The baroness!” he exclaims. “Is that what’s bothering you?” I wait for him to deny it but he does not. “Anna, listen to me. The baroness is a cousin of Governor Frank’s wife. He asked me to escort her to the gala as a personal favor to him. I would have told you about it, but I didn’t think it was important. I knew that I was seeing you tonight, and you never agree to see me more than once in a weekend, anyway.” I do not answer. The Kommandant’s explanation makes sense, but I still feel hurt. A date is a date.
“Thank you for coming,” I say firmly, signaling that it is time for him to go.
He places the box back in his pocket, defeated. “Good night, Anna. Happy birthday.” I do not look up as he reenters the house. I can hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs, the door closing below. As I hear Stanislaw starting the car engine, I shudder. I wonder if I have just allowed my ego to ruin my mission by ending things with the Kommandant.
CHAPTER 15
“I heard the Kommandant leave,” Krysia says, stepping out onto the balcony a few minutes later. “What happened?”
I take a deep breath. “I sent him away.”
“I don’t understand…”
“I refused to accept his present and he left.” Briefly I explain to Krysia how I found the baroness’s note at work that day, finishing with the Kommandant’s explanation when I confronted him just a few minutes earlier. “I know that I shouldn’t care if he is seeing someone else,” I finish in a low voice. “I mean, this isn’t real.”
“But you do care.”
I look away, staring out into the darkness. “Yes.”
“You feel that you are being disrespected somehow,” she offers.
“Exactly!” I reply quickly. It is much easier to accept her explanation than the only other one: that I am hurt because I have feelings for the Kommandant. “But now I may have made him so angry that he won’t want to see me again. I won’t be able to get into his apartment again to get the information for Alek.”
Krysia shakes her head, taking a step closer to me. “I doubt it.” She draws her shawl closer around her shoulders. “For whatever it is worth, darling, I believe Richwalder’s feelings for you are legitimate. I can tell from the way he watches you. I don’t think he will give up so easily.”
I shift uncomfortably. “I suppose that does help the mission, his legitimately having feelings for me.”
“I suppose,” Krysia replies evenly. “Well, I’m exhausted. I am going to turn in. I hope you had a nice evening.”
Suddenly I remember the dinner party. She had tried, really tried, to make my birthday special, despite the circumstances. “It was lovely,” I say, hugging her. “Thank you so much for everything.”
When Krysia has gone back inside the house, I look up at the black, star-filled sky. On our honeymoon, Jacob had taught me to locate some of the more basic constellations. Orion, I think now, searching the darkness above. Jacob used to say that when he felt lost, he would find the three contiguous stars that formed Orion’s belt to center himself. But I cannot find it. Perhaps it is the wrong time of year. Giving up, I remember how as a child I used to wish on the evening star. Staring up at the sky, I pray that Jacob is all right and that he is thinking of me, too.
I sleep dreamlessly that night, and the next morning I awake early. Memories crash down upon me quickly of the night before and the Kommandant’s hurried departure. What have I done? I wonder. I roll over, pulling the blanket high over my ears. At least it is Saturday and I do not have to face him at work. I will sleep awhile longer, I decide. But a few seconds after I have closed my eyes
again, I hear my door opening and low voices in the hallway. “Say happy birthday,” Krysia whispers.
“Birday!” Lukasz cries, running in and trying unsuccessfully to climb into my bed. I sit up and lift him into my lap.
“Thank you, sweetie.” I kiss his cheek, looking up at Krysia.
“Sorry to barge in, but he has been waiting to do that for an hour,” she says.
“I should get up, anyway. We need to get the laundry done and…”
Krysia holds up her hand. “This is your birthday. No work.” I know better than to argue with Krysia when she uses that tone of voice. Instead, after we’ve washed and dressed, the three of us pack a picnic basket and walk to the park. The ground is thick with freshly fallen leaves, and after we finish eating, I show Lukasz how to make a pile of leaves and then jump in it. By the time we return home, it is late afternoon and nearly dark. As I bathe Lukasz, my mood sinks again. The gala starts at seven o’clock. I imagine the baroness getting ready for her evening with the Kommandant, him picking her up. It should have been me on his arm tonight. I cannot help it, I realize. Right or wrong, I am jealous.
“Would you like to play a game of cards?” Krysia asks when I have put Lukasz to bed and come downstairs. She has set out two plates of reheated food left over from my birthday party.
I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry. And I’m not hungry, either. I’m going to go read upstairs.” I can see the concern register on Krysia’s face.
“Darling, I know you are upset. These are confusing times, and sometimes it’s hard to make sense of things….”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I interject. “I’m sorry.”
She smiles gently. “Good night. Sleep well.” I retreat upstairs. It is too early to sleep, so I take a bath and wash my hair, then climb into bed with a book. It is Pride and Prejudice, one of the first books Jacob gave me, though of course that copy is still back in the Baus’ apartment. I hold the book under my nose, breathing deeply. The musty scent reminds me of my days working at the library and of Jacob. It is my husband I miss, I tell myself. Only him. Being apart from him for so long is what has made me so irrationally upset about the Kommandant. I open the book and begin to read. Minutes later, my eyes grow heavy and I start to drift off.
Suddenly, I am jarred awake by a loud noise outside my window. I sit up, setting the book on the night table. How long have I been asleep? I wonder. The noise comes again. It is the sound of something hard hitting sharply against the glass doors. “What on earth…?” I mutter aloud, climbing from bed. I open the doors and, stepping out on the balcony, look down. The garden below is pitch black.
“Anna!” a voice calls in a loud stage whisper. “Anna!” It is the Kommandant, I realize in disbelief. “It’s me, Georg. Please come down.”
I hesitate. “One minute,” I reply. I step back inside and dress quickly, then make my way downstairs through the darkened house. I open the front door. “What are you doing here?”
“I told the baroness I wasn’t feeling well and took her home.”
“Oh…” I am still confused. “What time is it?”
“Ten-thirty,” he replies.
“It feels much later,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “I must have drifted off.”
“Anna.” He takes one of my hands in his. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I never wanted to be with anyone else.” I am too stunned to pull away. “Anna, come home with me. Stay with me tonight. Please.”
I am silent, a thousand thoughts running through my head. To dress and go home with him at this hour seems unladylike. But at the same time, part of me wants to go. And it will give me another chance to search for documents. “All right,” I say at last. “Let me get my coat.” I race silently back upstairs and leave a scribbled note for Krysia on the kitchen table, then grab my coat and return downstairs to the Kommandant. As I climb into the car, I think I see an amused smile on Stanislaw’s usually expressionless face.
At the Kommandant’s we are barely inside the door before he is upon me, and we are tearing each other’s clothes off. Our passion is reminiscent of our first night together, except that this time we do not initially make it as far as the bedroom, but find ourselves lying spent on the sofa. Later, when his breathing has subsided, the Kommandant carries me to his bed. This time, it is I who am upon him, my legs straddled wide on either side of his broad hips. It is the first time I have ever been with a man in this way, and at first I feel strange and exposed. As the rhythm grows familiar to me, I feel a sense of power, and in his surrender, I release some of the hurt and reclaim some of the pride I have lost over the past few days.
“Will you stay?” he asks later in a sleepy voice. He tries to wrap himself around me from behind, but I shift onto my back. That position reminds me too much of how Jacob held me. “Be here in the morning, I mean?” I hesitate. I have always left the Kommandant’s late at night or in the predawn hours before he is awake. But staying might give me more time to search for papers. I nod. “Mmm,” he murmurs before drifting off to sleep.
My eyelids grow heavy. At first I fight the urge to sleep, afraid that I won’t wake up until it is morning and too late to look for documents. I have to find something very soon, I know. I have been coming to the Kommandant’s for more than two months and in that time Nazi plans for the Jews are moving forward, plans about which I have been unable to learn. I picture the inside of his study, wondering what I am missing. There are no important papers lying about, no safe. Perhaps, I realize suddenly, there is some sort of hidden compartment in one of the drawers. Finally, when I can fight it no longer, I close my eyes and sleep restlessly. I dream that I am in the park with Lukasz and we are playing hide-and-seek. Lukasz runs behind a bush. Suddenly, a small man in a black coat and hat appears beside me. It is the rabbi. “Where is my son?” he asks. He is gone, I lie. Gone, gone, gone…my words echo through the trees.
My eyes snap open. Beside me, the Kommandant has turned away and is snoring. Though the room is dark behind the heavy curtains, I can make out that the clock on his nightstand reads five-fifteen. The Kommandant is an early riser. There is not much time. I climb out of bed and tiptoe across the living room. The study door creaks loudly as I open it. I freeze, listening for any sounds of movement coming from the bedroom. Hearing none, I slip into the study and close the door behind me. Inside, I pull back the curtains slightly to let a shaft of pale gray early morning light into the room. I quickly scan the top of the desk but see nothing of significance. Slowly, I open the top desk drawer. I slide my hand under the papers along the bottom, but the surface is smooth. I close the drawer and drop to my knees to open the middle one. On the bottom, under my right index finger I feel a break in the wood. I clear back the papers. The drawer has some sort of fake bottom. I press my fingernails into the break, trying to lift up the panel.
“Anna…” the Kommandant calls. I jump back, trying to close the drawer, but it sticks, refusing to budge. Frantically, I push again, harder this time. The drawer finally gives way with a loud banging sound. Cringing, I move quickly to the closed door of the study. I recall the sound of the Kommandant’s voice, trying to judge his location. Let him still be in bed, I pray. I crack the study door slightly, peer out into the dark living room, but I can see nothing. Taking a deep breath, I prepare to open the study door and return to bed. Suddenly, I hear a footstep in the living room. The Kommandant is just on the other side of the door.
I’ve got to get out of the study, I think frantically. I notice a door at the far side of the room. Hurriedly, I tiptoe across the study and open the door. As I suspected, it connects to the kitchen. I reach for a glass from the cupboard over the sink. “Anna,” the Kommandant calls again, his voice closer this time. My heart pounding, I step out of the kitchen into the living room, still holding the glass. The room is dark, illuminated only by a faint beam of early morning light coming through the far window. “Yes, Georg?” I manage to say, fighting to keep my voice even.
“Oh, there you are.”
The Kommandant’s voice is scratchy, his face heavy with sleep. “I thought maybe you’d gone home….”
He wasn’t checking up on me, I realize; he wanted to make sure I hadn’t left him. Part of me is almost touched by his concern. “No, of course not,” I reply gently. “I told you I would stay until morning. I was just getting a glass of water. Why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll bring you one, too?” He nods, almost childlike in his grogginess.
When he has turned and padded back to the bedroom, I look once more in the direction of the study. I need to get back in there, though of course doing so now is out of the question. It is too risky. It may be nothing, I remind myself, as I pour two glasses of water. The hidden compartment may be empty, or the papers may have nothing to do with the Jews. But still…my heart races as I remember the feel of the secret panel beneath my fingertips. Something tells me this might be what Alek and the others have been looking for. Forcing myself to calm down and breathe normally, I carry the water glasses back to bed with the Kommandant.
In the bedroom, the Kommandant is sprawled on his stomach, one arm flung across my pillow. “Mmm,” he mumbles, as I slide in beside him, rolling over and enfolding me in his arms. Trapped now in his warmth, I find myself studying his face. It is relaxed and peaceful, almost boyish. There is no sign of the intensity or the pain he wears like a mask in the daytime.
I drift back off to sleep then. Again, I fall into the dream where I am in the park with the rabbi. This time he is holding a baby. For a moment, I wonder if it is Lukasz when he was younger. “Where is my son?” the rabbi demands. I do not answer. The baby in his arms is not Lukasz, I realize, but the unborn child that died when his wife was shot. “Where is he?” Just then, a rustling sound comes from a nearby bush. Lukasz bursts forth, giggling. “Tata!” he cries, running to the rabbi. The rabbi picks up Lukasz with his free arm, embracing both of his children joyously. But when he spins toward me there is a look of recrimination on his face. Without speaking, he begins to walk away, carrying the children. A deep scream rises within me. “No, no,” I cry as they disappear into the fog.