Nocturne

by Diane Armstrong

  Elzunia knew it was the eve of the Passover festival, which commemorated the liberation of the Jews from slavery in Egypt, but, as Itzak had explained the previous evening, the significance of the Passover transcended the specific event that took place thousands of years before. It symbolised the struggle for liberation from bondage through the ages.

  ‘Our slavery will also end in liberation, even though, like the followers of Moses, we probably won’t live to see our promised land,’ he said.

  Listening to him, Elzunia had felt inspired, but, as she stood shivering in the chilly pre-dawn air, his words brought no comfort. Her chest was so tight that her breaths came in uneven gasps and her thoughts jumped around in her head. Were Mama and Gittel down in the bunker? What would happen when the fighting started? Would they be safe down there?

  As dawn broke and streaks of apricot and peach tinted the sky, small groups of Germans started slipping into the Ghetto. Elzunia’s hands grew sweaty, her knees shook, and she was certain that the pounding of her heart could be heard on the other side of the wall. Standing beside her, Jerzy could hardly keep still. ‘I can’t wait for this to start,’ he said. Elzunia wiped her moist hands on her cotton skirt and her fingers closed around the precious grenades in her pocket. Would she remember what she’d been taught, would she know when and how to throw them? They had so few weapons — what if she missed her targets and wasted them?

  The hours crept by. How much longer would this agonising wait last? A low-pitched hum broke the silence and they turned in the direction of the sound. As it grew louder, they recognised the distant rumble of armoured vehicles and tanks. Elzunia shot an anxious glance at Itzak but his face showed no emotion. How could they possibly fight against tanks?

  The convoy came to a halt, and they heard the brisk rhythmic thud of boots on the cobblestones. From their vantage points above the street, they watched the platoon of SS men marching in tight ranks with the arrogant stride of conquerors about to claim a swift victory.

  Unseen and unsuspected, in attics and rooftops above the street, the fighters were watching the soldiers as their fingers itched to hurl their Molotov cocktails and grenades. Some of the fighters were as young as thirteen, but they all burned with the desire to avenge the deaths of their loved ones. For once, the arrival of these hated officers with the death’s-head insignia on their caps struck no terror into their hearts. This time, they would unleash their own blitzkrieg.

  As soon as the Germans had spread out along Mila and Zamenhof Streets, the resistance leaders gave the signal the fighters had all been waiting for.

  Explosives sparked, flared and flashed, incendiary bottles shattered, burst and went up in flames, and gunfire stuttered from the rooftops. All along the street, SS men were falling, writhing, running, yelling and trying to see where the attack was coming from. Those who weren’t wounded scattered in disarray, confused and shocked by the ambush. Some turned back in panic or tried to shelter in doorways, but they couldn’t avoid the Molotov cocktails and grenades that rained down on them from all sides.

  It was all happening faster than Elzunia could take it in. Mesmerised by the scenes that flashed before her eyes, she felt disoriented by the explosions, yells and shots, as she tried to grasp the fact that, for the first time, the blood spilt on the Ghetto streets belonged to the Germans, not the Jews. She hadn’t thrown her grenades. The right moment hadn’t come. She didn’t want to consider the possibility that she’d become paralysed with fear.

  A threatening roar rose from the far end of Zamenhof Street. ‘They’ve brought in the tanks!’ Edek shouted as they watched them roll into view.

  He rushed forward and leaned over the edge of the parapet. ‘This one’s for my mother and little brother!’ he cried as he hurled a Molotov cocktail. It struck the side of the first tank near the gunner’s turret, exploded, and the tank burst into flames. Elzunia gripped one of her grenades, ready to throw it at the second tank when it advanced, but it stayed back to avoid the fate of the first. Ambulance sirens shrilled up and down the Ghetto streets to take away wounded German soldiers as the fighting raged in Muranowski Square and on the corner of Nalewki and Gesia Streets.

  By early afternoon, the sounds of battle had stopped and a wondrous calm had descended over the Ghetto. The Germans had retreated. For the first time, Jews could walk freely on these streets. It was a victory no one had dared to imagine. The fighters were incredulous.

  Edek was jumping up and down. ‘Did you see how I demolished that tank?’

  Elzunia nodded. ‘Now the Ghetto is ours!’

  ‘Listen to this!’ Jerzy said. ‘Someone told me that a group of AK fellows tried to break through the wall at Bonifraterska Street to help us but something went wrong with their explosives and they couldn’t get through. And over on Muranowski Square, some of our fighters put on German uniforms and fooled lots of SS men and captured their machine guns.’

  But the leaders were not as euphoric as the fighters.

  ‘Today was a great triumph,’ Itzak said, gathering his group around him. ‘Ours is the first organised battle against the Germans in occupied Poland, possibly even in the whole of Europe. We’ve shown what a handful of brave street fighters can do. With hardly any firearms, we’ve not only won a momentous victory without losing a single fighter, but, more importantly, we’ve shown the world that the master race is not invincible.’

  They all cheered and clapped but Itzak looked sombre as he held up his hand. ‘I’m proud of each one of you, prouder than I can say. Today we’ve written ourselves into the history books. But we don’t know what tomorrow will bring.’

  On the second day of the Uprising, the Germans, humiliated by their ignominious defeat at the hands of a rabble of Untermenschen, sent in huge reinforcements.

  ‘Want to know what I just heard?’ Edek asked Elzunia. Even his curls seemed to bristle with excitement. ‘The Germans have got rid of the colonel and replaced him with a general, as if they were fighting a proper army!’

  Within an hour, every building became a fortress fighting for its life. However hard they fought to repel the Germans, more kept rushing at them from all directions. On their rooftop, a movement to their right caught Elzunia’s eye and she saw Itzak motioning them to crouch down, out of sight. She squatted against the parapet and followed Itzak’s gaze. Three German soldiers had crept onto the adjoining roof and were setting up a machine gun behind the chimney. Her breath caught in her throat. The only way out was by the stairs but the exit was cut off by the gun that was being trained on them. They were trapped.

  Before she knew what was happening, Szmuel sprang from his corner like a panther and threw himself onto the machine gun. The Germans were caught off balance and, for a moment, the path to the stairs was clear. Swiftly and stealthily, they crawled towards them one at a time and ran down, throwing grenades at the Germans trying to get in.

  After the Germans had been pushed back from their building, the fighters stole back onto the roof. Elzunia stifled a scream. Szmuel lay sprawled in front of the chimney, his body perforated like a sieve. He had sacrificed himself to give them a chance to get away. But there was no time for tears or gratitude because the Germans intensified their attack, and machine-gun fire stuttered all around. A grenade came flying towards them. Without a moment’s hesitation, Elzunia caught it in mid-air and immediately tossed it back, like Jove hurling a thunderbolt.

  She ran down the stairs to a less exposed position where one of the older fighters stood near a small window, looking through the sights of a rifle he’d used in the previous war. On the street below, a German soldier was edging along the wall, heading for their building.

  ‘Come on, Grandpa; quick, shoot!’ Jerzy hissed from beside her, but the old soldier was in no hurry. Slowly and deliberately, he took aim, fired, and hit the intruder in the chest. But the Germans kept coming. They were almost out of grenades when Edek’s Molotov cocktail struck a helmet that sparked and went up in flames. But still Elzunia couldn’t bri
ng herself to throw hers.

  There was a brief lull and, when they looked down, they were amazed to see three unarmed German officers walking slowly in the centre of the street, with white ribbons pinned to their lapels. In polite voices, they asked to speak to the Jewish commander so that they could negotiate a truce to remove their dead and wounded. ‘Stop fighting and we promise all the residents will be resettled peacefully in work camps at Poniatów and Trawniki. They can take all their possessions with them,’ the German spokesman announced.

  For a moment, the fighters thought they were dreaming. The German general was petitioning them for a truce. A few seconds later, he got his reply. A salvo of gunfire.

  That afternoon, the Germans pulled out of the Ghetto once again and, despite their sorrow at the loss of some of their comrades, who had become closer to them than their brothers and sisters, the fighters were jubilant. They had not only held off the enemy for two days, but had forced them to sue for peace and retreat. They’d cheated Hitler of his birthday present.

  Twenty-Eight

  Elzunia was inside her bunker, desperate to know what had become of her mother, Gittel and Stefan during the past two days, when Jerzy rushed in.

  ‘Come and see the flags flying from the chimneytop at 17 Muranowska Street!’ He was so excited that saliva sprayed from his mouth as he spoke. ‘There’s our blue-and-white flag with the Star of David, and the red-and-white Polish flag with the eagle.’

  ‘How did they get there?’ Elzunia asked as she ran beside him. He told her that a Polish boy had crawled into the Ghetto from the Aryan side with the Polish flag and, together with some of the fighters, he’d scrambled to the top of the building and hoisted the flags on the lightning pole on the chimney for all of Warsaw to see.

  By the time they reached the building, a large crowd of fighters and non-combatants had gathered to marvel at the two flags fluttering side by side. Elzunia pushed her way through the crowd and heard Edek telling them that he and his Catholic friend on the other side of the wall had hatched the plan. ‘We wanted all Warsaw to see these flags flying side by side to show them that we’re fighting for our honour and for theirs. Maybe now they’ll realise they should be fighting shoulder to shoulder with us.’ Standing beside him was someone she hadn’t expected to see inside the Ghetto.

  ‘Lech!’ She flung her arms around him. ‘You’re crazy to come here with all this going on. It’s too dangerous.’

  He gave her a devil-may-care grin. ‘Who do you think brought the Polish flag?’

  He wanted to say that he couldn’t bear to stand by knowing she was in such danger, that every time he heard an explosion, a crash or the rattle of gunfire, his heart stopped beating. The only way to end the torment was to get to the other side of the wall. When Edek had sent him a message to say that the fighters wanted to hoist a Polish flag next to the Jewish one, he was jubilant. Now he had an excuse to cross over to their side of the wall, be part of their fight and perhaps even win Elzunia’s love. And from the way she had reacted when she saw him, he thought that she must care about him.

  He blushed when she praised his courage in coming into the Ghetto, but, while he was figuring out what to say, she said a hurried goodbye and ran back to her bunker.

  That night Elzunia dreamed that the building was on fire and there was smoke all around. The dream was so real that she woke up coughing. But it wasn’t a dream; something was burning. The others were trying to figure out where the smoke was coming from when Lech burst in and looked around for Elzunia.

  ‘Get out, quick!’ he panted. ‘I’ve just been outside. The Germans are using flame-throwers to set the houses on fire to flush people out, and they’re lined up outside with machine guns waiting to shoot them as they leave.’

  Panic-stricken, Elzunia and her group bolted into the passageway that connected their building with the adjacent one but the smoke there was even thicker and more pungent. It stung their eyes and choked their throats. Elzunia clutched Lech’s sleeve in terror as they heard the crackle of flames all around.

  They ran from building to building, through cellars and attics, but wherever they went the smoke was there before them. Unable to defeat them in battle, the Germans had resorted to setting fire to their houses.

  With the glow of burning buildings and thick smoke blackening the air, the light was so murky that they could hardly see one another.

  ‘They haven’t got into the central part of the Ghetto yet, so we’ll try to break through there, otherwise we’ll be burnt alive or machine-gunned in here,’ Itzak rasped in between paroxysms of coughing and choking.

  As they crept from the burning building, they found themselves standing in the centre of an ocean of flames, surrounded by Germans and Ukrainians waiting to shoot. To stay where they were meant death by fire, but the prospect of going through the flames paralysed Elzunia. They hardly dared to breathe, unable to stand still but too terrified to move. When Elzunia finally forced herself to inch forward, the burning asphalt melted under her feet and she felt herself sinking into a soft mass that stuck to her shoes and seemed to be sucking her in. She looked down and saw that the soles of her shoes were on fire.

  A little ahead of her, Lech urged her on. He jumped from foot to foot on the burning ground and grabbed her hand. ‘Come on, we’ll run together.’ She looked at the wall of flames in front of them and shook her head. ‘Save yourself,’ she mouthed. There was no air to breathe. The heat sucked all the saliva from her mouth and all the moisture from her body, and she had become a brittle shell about to crumble into a thousand fragments.

  ‘I can’t do it, I can’t do it,’ she heard herself sobbing. A thousand hammers pounded in her skull as Lech grabbed her arm and pulled her down into a cellar where some of the group were sheltering. Their faces were blackened with soot and cinders, their hair was singed, and they were almost unrecognisable. There was a crash, and she jumped away just in time to avoid a burning beam that collapsed, missing her by centimetres. Someone bent forward to push aside a chunk of broken sink placed there to conceal the entrance to an interconnecting passageway.

  One by one they lowered themselves into it and didn’t stop running until they reached the other end. Perhaps now they would be safe. But as soon as they peered out through the chink in the wall, they drew back. Soldiers were wandering all over the place. Two were coming towards them. Any moment they’d be discovered. Elzunia closed her eyes. This is it, she thought. Suddenly Lech motioned for them to stand back and, to her horror, he squeezed into the narrow opening in full view of the Germans. She wanted to cry out, tell him to get away from there, but the words died in her throat. She heard the crack of rifle fire. Inside the passageway, they flattened themselves against the walls and held their breath, waiting for the soldiers to burst in, but Lech’s body was so firmly wedged into the opening that the soldiers couldn’t pull him out and, after a few kicks and loud curses, they strode off.

  Elzunia was numb. She knelt beside Lech and saw that his eyes were open and he was looking at her. ‘Oh, thank God,’ she whispered. ‘Thank God. I thought you were …’

  His lips moved but a bubbling sound came from his throat and a trickle of blood oozed from his mouth. She bent forward to try and catch what he was struggling to say.

  ‘Now will you be my girl?’ he rasped.

  She clasped his hand and nodded.

  A faint smile flitted across his face and the light went out of his eyes.

  Wrapping rags around their shoes to deaden the sound, they crept out of the passageway towards the central part of the Ghetto. Bullets were flying everywhere. Several times Elzunia thought she must have been hit and was astonished to find she wasn’t dead. They were tip-toeing through the smoke and fire when the Germans shone a powerful reflector on them. Elzunia raised her arm and hurled one of her grenades at the reflector. It shattered, allowing her and the others to disappear into the smoke.

  But when they reached the central area, they discovered that fires were raging ther
e as well, and flames enveloped entire buildings. Wherever she looked, wooden beams were cracking and collapsing, red-hot walls and staircases were crumbling, and balconies were crashing to the ground. Such searing heat emanated from the buildings and the ground that it seemed as though the jaws of hell had opened up.

  The suffocating smoke was tinged with a strange, sweetish stench. Elzunia sniffed as she tried to identify the peculiar smell. Then her stomach turned over. It was the smell of burnt flesh. On balconies, in window frames, on bits of broken stairs, lay the blackened corpses of those forced from their hiding places by the flames. Dazed, panic-stricken people wandered around aimlessly, not knowing where to go.

  Elzunia scanned the faces anxiously for her mother and Gittel. What had happened to them? Surely someone had seen them. But most people either stared at her with dull, uncomprehending expressions or shook their heads and turned away. She looked up and froze. People were leaping from the burning buildings like living torches. Up on the third floor, a couple were standing by the open window. The man kissed his wife, took her hand and they jumped together. A moment later, their bodies hit the ground with a sickening thud. Elzunia wanted to scream or cry, but no sound came as she stared at these apocalyptic visions.

  ‘They remained free to the end,’ Edek whispered. ‘They chose when and how to die.’

  As the days turned into weeks, the weary insurgents fought on, their small cache of arms augmented by captured German weapons. Furious at the Ghetto’s continued resistance, and their inability to destroy it, the Germans brought in sniffer dogs to detect the bunkers and flushed out the occupants with flame-throwers. And after each attack, Elzunia waited and held her breath until she checked that the bunker where her mother and Gittel were sheltering hadn’t been destroyed. One morning, five weeks after the start of the Uprising, she was in the bunker with the remnants of her group when their building vibrated from an explosion in a nearby building. ‘They’re throwing grenades into the bunkers now,’ Edek said. ‘I wonder how long we’ll be able to hold out.’