by Pam Jenoff
“Feeling better?” I ask Krysia, studying her face. Some of the color seems to have returned to her cheeks.
“Yes. I’m sorry about that,” she replies. “Sometimes I just get some…some tightness in my chest when things are tense.”
A wave of panic rises within me. “Krysia, that could be your heart. You need to see a doctor.”
She shakes her head. “What would a doctor do for me, even if we could find one? No, I’ll be fine.”
I start to argue but know that it is futile. “Well, at least that’s over with.”
“For now, anyway,” she replies tersely. “I have a feeling that they’ll be back.”
“We were lucky that they got called back to headquarters.”
Krysia looks at me, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “What makes you think that luck had anything to do with it?”
I realize then that Krysia had not just been stalling upstairs. I remember a radio that I saw once, tucked in the back corner of her closet. “What did you…? How did you…?”
“Let’s just say that the men were likely to find the call back to headquarters had been some sort of misunderstanding.”
My mind reels. I cannot imagine the connections Krysia must have to be able to fabricate such a call. I want to ask more, but the less I know, the better. “Were you worried that Jacob might be hiding in the shed?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. Jacob, I knew, was long since gone. But there are things…well, let’s just say that I need to get ahold of the resistance right away. That shed needs to be empty when the Gestapo returns.”
“You seem certain that they will.”
“Definitely. I think I had Hoffman fooled—”
I interrupt, “Yes, you flirted very convincingly.”
She manages a laugh. “I thought I might have gotten rusty, but I suppose it’s one of those things you never forget. Anyway, Hoffman may have been distracted, but Braun was still suspicious. And he’s tenacious, like a pit bull.” I nod, knowing the type. “At least Lukasz stayed upstairs quietly.” At the sound of his name, the child looks up and smiles. “We may not be so lucky next time.”
I slump backward, the full reality of what has happened crashing down upon me. The Gestapo has been here looking for Jacob. We are lucky not to be in a prison right now. Stay calm, I tell myself. It is your turn to be strong for Krysia. I take a small sip of the vodka, trying not to grimace. “I considered telling them I worked for the Kommandant so they would leave us alone.”
“It’s better that you did not,” Krysia agrees. “We don’t want them drawing to the Kommandant’s attention any connection between you and Jacob, even if it is just that you are both somehow related to me.”
“I thought the same thing.”
She pauses and takes a large sip of vodka. “I’m not sure what we should do about the child.”
“Do?” I ask, alarmed. “What do you mean?”
“If the Gestapo comes back and sees Lukasz, they are going to have questions.”
“But we were able to keep him quiet tonight….”
“Anna, it’s not that simple. Do you think it was a coincidence that the Gestapo came here asking about Jacob just moments after he left? No,” she says, answering her own question. “I think someone told them that he was here.”
I gasp. “An informant?”
“Yes. Perhaps one of my neighbors with Nazi sympathies who saw him arrive, perhaps a traitor within the resistance. I’ve been worried about this ever since we heard about the earlier leaks. There may be someone who knows, or suspects, that you and Lukasz are not who you appear to be. It may not be safe for him to stay with us much longer.”
“No!” I cry, picking up the child. “He’s only just gotten used to us. We can’t uproot him again.”
“We may have no choice, Anna. Our first priority has got to be his safety, keeping him alive.”
I stand up, still holding Lukasz. “But…”
“I know you’ve gotten attached to him. We both have. But he’s not our child. He may not be with us forever. You understand that, don’t you?” I do not answer, but bury my head in Lukasz’s curls.
“Where would he go?” I ask at last.
Krysia pauses. “I don’t know,” she concedes. “I can’t imagine there is anywhere safer for him right now. So I will hold off on saying anything to the resistance about it. But you need to accept that it may happen.”
“Maybe I could…” I start to suggest that I could speak to the Kommandant, get him to ask the Gestapo to leave us alone. Then I stop. He is not our friend in this. Asking his help would only draw his attention to the fact that Krysia has ties to the resistance. “Never mind.”
“Here.” Krysia sets down her glass of vodka and stands unsteadily. I can tell that she has not fully recovered from our runin with the Gestapo. She holds out her arms. “I’ll put him to bed.”
“No.” I turn away from her, not wanting to let go. Even though I know it is irrational, I am afraid that if I let go, she will take him away and I will not see him again.
“Anna, please.” She tries to pull him gently from my arms, but I pull back, holding on. As I do, Krysia’s foot hits the cup of milk that is still sitting on the ground. The liquid shoots in all directions. I see Krysia fall backward, as if in slow motion. “Oh!” she cries, landing on her backside on the hardwood floor with a yelp.
I rush to her side, still holding the child. “Krysia, are you okay?”
She does not answer and I can tell that she is shaken. “I’m fine,” she says, though I know that her pride, at least, has been wounded. I hold out my hand to help her up, but she ignores it, slowly standing on her own.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, embarrassed. Krysia has been our protector and I am treating her as if she is the enemy.
“It’s this war,” she says, taking Lukasz from me. “No one is herself anymore.”
Suddenly I remember my conversation with Jacob, my sense that he had come because something terrible was about to happen. Something that might hurt Jacob, keep him from ever coming back to me again. My stomach tightens. “I need to see Alek.” I am surprised by the cold, forceful voice that comes from within me.
Krysia stares at me, surprised. “That may be impossible. You know the resistance has gone dark.”
“I know that there are ways,” I reply insistently. “I’ll go out and find him myself if I have to.”
She hesitates. “Fine. I’ll try to send word that you need to see him this Tuesday.”
I start to say that this is not soon enough, that I needed to see him now. Then I stop; there are even limits to what Krysia can do. “Thank you. Only Alek,” I add. “It must be him personally.”
“Anna, I know you are worried,” Krysia says. “But you can’t stop the resistance. They will do what they need to do.” I do not answer her. Krysia is like Marta in the way that they both treat the resistance leadership with so much deference. A year earlier I might have, too. But I have seen too much these past few months to stand by and watch. Attacking the Nazis is suicide. I have to try to stop them.
Time seems to crawl for the next few days. Tuesday after work, I race to the market square and enter the café where I have met Alek and the others previously. Inside, it is nearly deserted, except for a lone couple smoking at a table in the corner. Alek is not there and I wonder if I am just early or if he is not going to show. Trying to remain calm, I sit down at an unoccupied table and order a glass of tea.
Several minutes later, Alek appears. His cheeks are icy from the cold as he kisses me hello. “It’s been a long time,” he says, gesturing to the waitress for coffee. He sits down.
“Yes. Did you receive what I gave to Marek?”
He nods. “It was tremendously helpful. Exactly what we were looking for.” He does not speak until after the waitress has brought his coffee and left again. “You have something else for me?” he asks eagerly, turning to me.
I hesitate. I knew that the
urgency of my message would mislead Alek into thinking I had obtained some additional information for him. I hated tricking him, but it was the only way. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”
Alek looks puzzled. “Then why did you summon me? Is something wrong? Did someone find out about you?”
I shake my head. “No one has found out. But there is something wrong…Alek, this is madness!”
A look of understanding crosses his face. He slams his hand down on the table so hard the dishes rattle. The couple at the table across the room looks over at us. “I knew I never should have let Jacob go to see you,” he whispers harshly. I am stunned. I have never seen Alek angry before.
“He didn’t tell me anything. I guessed.”
“You guessed what?” he demands.
I falter. “Th-that you are about to do something dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Emma, this whole war has been dangerous. Sending you to work for the Kommandant was dangerous. Hiding Lukasz is dangerous. Sending our fighters into the forests is dangerous. And for all of these dangers, these risks, our people continue to suffer and die.” His eyes burn with anger, not at me, but at the evil the resistance is fighting. I recognize it as the same expression I saw in Jacob’s eyes three days earlier. They are united in their determination to go through with whatever it is they have planned.
“But…” I start to protest.
Alek raises his hand. “This is none of your concern.”
“None of my concern?” Now it is my voice that rises. The woman at the other table looks over again, raising her eyebrows in our direction. “None of my concern?” I repeat, lowering my voice. “Alek, I have risked my life for this movement. I have abandoned my parents, shamed my marriage. It is more than my business.” I meet his eyes squarely. “It is my right.”
We glare at each other without speaking for several moments. “You have gained great strength these last few months,” he says at last, his face softening. I detect a note of surprise in his voice. “Very well, what do you want to know?”
“Why now?”
He lowers his voice. “There is great danger afoot for our people, Emma.”
“The ghetto…”
“I am not talking about the ghetto. I’m talking about the camps!” I blink, not comprehending. “You’ve heard about Auschwitz, haven’t you?”
“Yes, it’s a labor camp.” My stomach turns. I can still picture the haunted look in the Kommandant’s eyes the night after he visited Auschwitz with the delegation.
“That is what the Nazis have told the people, what they would like the people to believe. It’s a death camp, Emma. The Nazis have begun gassing our people to death, and burning their bodies in ovens. Thousands of Jews every day. Soon there will be no ghetto, no labor camps. Only Auschwitz, and Belzec and the other death camps. The Nazis will not stop until every Jew has gone up the pipes in smoke!”
“No…” I turn away, sickened. Surely it cannot be true. Yet I trust Alek, and the sincerity of his words makes them impossible to ignore. I did not realize until this very moment that the Nazis mean not merely to enslave us, but to exterminate every single Jew.
“We believe this is a critical time,” he continues. “The Germans are entering their second winter in Poland. The war is not going well for them. They are getting desperate. The information you provided to us demonstrates that they are planning to liquidate the Kraków ghetto and send the Jews to the death camps very soon. So you see why it is essential that we act now.”
“Yes,” I reply weakly. Alek is right. Despite my love for Jacob and all of my concern, there is nothing more that I can say.
“Good. Emma, there is one other thing.” I look at him quizzically. “It’s about Richwalder. I know you have wondered about his past, his wife.” I nod; Krysia must have told him this. “I have long thought the less you knew, the easier it would be to work for him. But now…” Alek pauses. “Well, I don’t know for how much longer our meetings will be able to continue. It is essential that you know everything.
“Richwalder’s wife was named Margot,” he begins.
“I know that,” I reply.
“But what you do not know is that her maiden name was Rosenthal. You see, Emma, her father was a Jew.” My jaw drops. Alek continues, “When the war first broke out, Richwalder thought that his wife’s heritage, the fact that she was half-Jewish, might be kept a secret. But shortly after Richwalder was appointed to a senior position in the Ministry of Defense, Margot’s father, who had been a prominent political activist in the Communist Party, was arrested and sent to a camp, Bergen-Belsen. Margot pleaded for her husband to intervene to save her father, but Richwalder knew that to do so would only expose his wife’s ancestry. To protect her, or perhaps to protect his precious career, he refused. Friedrich Rosenthal was executed before a firing squad. The next day, Richwalder came home to find his wife dead—she had shot herself in their bed with his own revolver.”
My stomach twists. “Oh, no…”
“She was six months pregnant when she died,” he adds. I can barely hear him over the pounding in my ears. “You can see now why we felt it best you not know the truth. But, Emma, no matter what you think and no matter what happens, you must go on pretending with Richwalder. Many lives depend upon it.”
I am frozen, unable to move or speak. “I’m sorry, but I really have to go,” Alek says. He stands and throws a few coins down on the table.
I look up. “How, I mean when, will I see any of you again?”
He places a hand on my shoulder. “Have faith, Emma. As the great American President Lincoln once said, ‘And this, too, shall pass away.’ I look forward to one day sitting openly in an outdoor café with you and our friends, having a beer and looking back and remembering.”
I look up at him. His words are brave, but I know from the troubled look behind his eyes that he suspects in his heart such a day will never come to pass. At the same time, there is a clarity to his eyes that tells me he is unafraid of whatever will come. I stare up at him, awed by his bravery. “God bless you, Alek,” I whisper, squeezing his hand. “And thank you.” He turns without speaking and is gone.
CHAPTER 20
“Good night,” I say to Stanislaw as I step out of the car in front of the Kommandant’s apartment onto the snow-covered pavement. As he drives away, I pause to look around. It is late December, and the snow has just stopped falling. Though it is six o’clock in the evening and the sun has set, the sky seems illuminated. The ground is covered in unbroken white, making it impossible to distinguish between sidewalk and street. I pause and scoop up a handful of snow, touching the coldness to my cheek, breathing the wetness in deeply. The city feels empty and silent.
It has been nearly three weeks since my conversation with Alek. At first I thought it would be impossible to continue with my charade, knowing about the Kommandant’s past, the Nazis’ plans for the Jews and the fact that the resistance was about to do something very dangerous. I remember how once, as a young girl, I had read a book in which the protagonist was able to see the future. I had remarked to my father how wonderful a gift that would be, but he had only shaken his head. “Unpredictability is the best part of life,” he had said. “The surprise of who or what might be around the corner, it’s what keeps us going. It is hope. Such foresight of the future, without the ability to change anything…” He shook his head ruefully. “What a curse.”
What a curse is right, I think now, as I let the snow fall from my gloves and start toward the entranceway of the Kommandant’s apartment. Despite all I’ve learned, I have somehow managed to lift my chin and continue working for the Kommandant—there is no other choice. I look at him differently now, though. My head is no longer buried in the sand about who he is and what he is doing. I have managed to hide my conflicted feelings about him in the office, and fortunately, I have not had to see him in the evenings because he has been so preoccupied with work.
Until now. Earlier today, as I was taking dictation from the Komman
dant, he stopped speaking midsentence and reached over and took the stenographic pad from my hands.
I looked up in surprise. “Yes, Herr Kommandant?”
“Anna, is something wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
Yes, I want to say. You ran a prison camp for Jews. You keep my parents locked in the ghetto. You let your wife’s father be killed and would kill Jacob, too, if given the chance. Your wretched Gestapo came to our house, and now Lukasz might have to leave us. Let me count the ways. Of course I did not dare to say any of this. “No, Herr Kommandant,” I replied, managing to keep my voice even. “Everything is fine.”
He reached out and placed his hand over mine. “You seem distracted and it isn’t like you.” As I looked down at his hand and thought about all of the harm it had done, I had to fight the urge to pull away.
“It’s nothing. Everything is fine,” I repeated quickly.
“Are you sure?” he pressed. He stared at me deeply, searching for an answer.
“Yes.” I paused, searching for an explanation. “It must be the nearness of the holiday.”
“Of course,” he replied, not sounding entirely satisfied with my explanation. His hand lingered on mine a moment longer, then retracted. “Well, that will be all for now.” I stood, relieved to escape from his penetrating gaze. But as I turned to leave, he caught my arm. “May I see you tonight?” he asked.
His question caught me by surprise. He has been so busy with work, I assumed an evening with me would be the furthest thing from his mind. I studied his face. The affection is his eyes was genuine and I felt a momentary surge of warmth toward him. In that moment, I wished desperately that we were not who we were. This would have been so simple in another time and place. If I were not married and he were not a Nazi, we might actually have had a chance together. But, as my mother used to say, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. This was exactly who we were.
I hesitated. Spending a night with the Kommandant was the last thing I wanted to do tonight. It has been hard enough pretending all day in the office setting without having to then mask my distaste when we are alone, just the two of us. But even as I wrestled with his invitation, I knew that I had no choice. Another visit to the apartment meant another chance to find something else useful for the resistance, perhaps even some information that might convince Alek to cancel whatever dangerous mission he was planning. “Yes, that would be lovely,” I said at last to the Kommandant, who was still looking at me expectantly.