“What is it?”
She pulled some clothing out, a dress, and showed them to him. “Whose things are these?”
Klaus was perturbed but not for the reasons she supposed. “It must be the last owner’s. I instructed Peter to make sure everything is out.”
She looked at him inquiringly for a moment, as if she didn’t believe him.
“Come on, dear. We arrived in Warsaw yesterday morning. I’ve been up since then, no sleep, running all over the city taking care of issues. I’ve only walked through this place briefly before you came here. Do you really think I had time for any nonsense? And even if I had, do you truly believe me capable of such a thing?”
She looked at him for a few seconds longer and then laughed. “Of course not, dearest.” She ran into his arms, kissing him and holding him tight. “Still” she said, looking down at the skirt still in her hands. “Who do you suppose owned this?”
“Who knows?” he said, shrugging as he lied to her. “They must have fled to the east. Probably communists. They went to join their friends in Russia.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “You will have these removed, won’t you? I’d hate to be reminded of this again.”
“Certainly, I will. I’ll have Peter arrange for everything.” He did know who had lived here before, but she didn’t need to worry herself about such things. It would only upset her and what was the point? This was their home now.
“I’ll let you explore it then.”
She looked up, a crease of concern on her forehead. “Surely you don’t have to leave us already? We just got here.”
“I have a little work tonight and then I’ll be back. Don’t worry, my love, I won’t be gone too long. Tomorrow I’ll take the morning off and we can go for a stroll in the park.”
She smiled. “That would be lovely. Are you going to see Anna before you go?”
He shook his head. “Kiss her for me. I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
Peter and Klaus sat in his car in the darkness. They’d shut the motor down and cracked the windows to prevent the windshield from fogging over. The interior was growing chilly in the fall evening air. They were parked on a side street about fifty meters from a T intersection. They could see a large apartment building at the end of the street. This structure was the focus of their attention tonight.
Peter was gnawing on a sandwich, his fingers fumbling through the wrapper as he searched for crumbs. Klaus tried to ignore the racket as he examined a long ledger with his penlight. Finally, he’d had enough.
“Peter!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stop that. I can’t concentrate.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“You can eat the sandwich, but you don’t need to consume the wrapper as well.”
Peter chuckled and set the package down, making yet more noise as he did so. He held the bread in both hands now and munched away happily, the smacking sounds still making a racket in the enclosed space.
“Peter!”
“I’m sorry. I’m almost done.”
Klaus returned to the list, reviewing the long ledger of names. He came across a surprise about three quarters of the way down.
“Irena Sendler.”
“What?”
“Why is Irena Sendler’s name on this list?”
“Who is that?” asked Peter.
“That social worker. You remember the one from the cellar.”
Peter shrugged. “Why do we care? She’s a nobody, isn’t she?”
“She’s a somebody to me, Peter. I told you this morning to strike her name for now, and we would wait and see until she responds.”
Peter glanced at the list, sucking on a finger. “It must have slipped my mind.”
“Like removing all the clothing from the townhouse?”
“I did remove everything.”
“Funny, someone must have put new things in my wife’s dresser drawers then, because she found some this evening. For a moment, she accused me of having some sort of lady friend. As if I have time for that.”
Klaus shined the penlight in Peter’s face. Even in the darkness he could see how pale his assistant’s features had become.
“I’m sorry, sir, I—”
“I don’t want sorry, Peter. I want you to follow my orders. Now the next time I ask you to strike a name, you will strike a name, and the next time I ask you to remove all the clothing from a house, you will do so. You will do what I ask and do it perfectly. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry, I was just—”
“Let me guess, you were just chasing some Polish skirt.”
His assistant scoffed in protest. “We just got here yesterday.”
Klaus turned to his assistant, leaning in. “Don’t give me that. I know you. I might not have time for that silliness, but you always manage to. You would have been looking around the moment we arrived. What is her name?”
“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Her name, Peter.”
Now the face was flushed with color. “Myrka. You should see her. She’s barely eighteen, jet-black hair, a real beauty.”
“Not a Jew, I hope.”
Peter shook his head. “Of course not, sir.”
“Don’t of course not me. Remember the rules: You can chase all the skirt you want, on your time, mind you, but no Jews, and only after your duties are completed to my satisfaction. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I don’t want to have this conversation again. We’ve been together a long time, Peter. I am tolerant of your weaknesses, but this is war. What was allowed in peacetime cannot be permitted now.”
“I will be perfect from now on, sir, I only had the one . . .”
“Shhhh,” said Klaus. “They’re here.” Klaus could see forms in the distance, lining up outside the apartment building. There were a dozen or so. He strained his eyes to see what was going on. Another soldier walked up to the group, pulling out a pistol and pointing to the door. The men moved out, running toward the entrance.
“Let’s go,” commanded Klaus. They exited the vehicle and hurried out into the night. Klaus greeted the officer who still stood on the street in front of the building. “Guten Abend.”
“Guten Abend, Herr Hauptmann. Was machen Sie?”
“What’s the situation?” asked Klaus.
“The men just entered the building a few moments ago. They are collecting the suspects now.” The officer checked his watch. “I anticipate they will be back on the street in the next ten minutes at the most.”
“I ordered minimum fuss,” said Klaus. “Were your men instructed to conduct the raid as efficiently as possible?”
“Jawohl.”
Klaus nodded his head in approval. Even as they watched, the first soldiers reappeared, escorting a middle-aged gentleman out onto the street. The man still wore his pajamas and was in his bare feet. His eyes were wide, and he was shaking, obviously stunned by the sudden appearance of Germans at his doorstep in the middle of the night.
“He’s had a bit of a shake-up,” joked Peter. Klaus ignored him. As additional men arrived on the scene, he watched them closely, keeping a mental count. Soon there were twelve men and two women standing on the sidewalk under guard. Fourteen. Klaus pulled out his ledger and flicked on his penlight. That was the right number for this location. He then went down the list, calling out each name and verifying that the people lined up here were in fact the same as the names on his ledger. Everything seemed to be in order. He was pleased.
The first Pole who had come out started to cough. Klaus wasn’t sure if it was the cold, or some other condition, but his hacking increased until he was doubled over, gasping and barking, holding on to his knees with his hands. One of the soldiers stepped up to him and ordered him to stand up. When he did not respond, the soldier brought his rifle butt down on the man’s back. The Pole gave out a great groan of pain and crumpled to the ground.
&n
bsp; “What are you doing there?” asked Klaus, stepping forward. The soldier turned to him.
“Just helping him along.”
“Stand at attention when I speak to you!” ordered Klaus.
“Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann.”
“What is your name?”
“Obersoldat Hans Klein.”
“You were ordered to treat these men properly, is that not correct?”
“Ja, but he wasn’t listening to—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. You will follow your orders to the letter, do you understand!”
“Jawohl. I’m sorry, sir.”
Klaus turned to the private’s officer. “This man is to be reported. He disobeyed my orders, and yours.”
The officer looked like he was going to argue, but apparently thought better of it. He nodded his head without speaking.
“Help that man back to his feet.”
Several soldiers sprang forward and pulled the Pole back to a standing position.
“Thank you so much, Hauptmann,” the Pole said.
“Think nothing of it. The men are under orders, and orders are to be followed.”
“Why are we out here?” asked the Pole.
“What is your name?” asked Klaus.
“Bronislaw Dziadosz.”
Klaus consulted his ledger. “You are out here because your name is on this list. See, just here.” He showed the Pole the name on the ledger.
“Why is my name on that paper?”
Klaus shrugged. “I don’t know that, Herr Dziadosz. I don’t make the lists, I just deal with the names on them.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” asked Dziadosz.
Klaus ignored him, stepping back and returning to the officer. “Everything is in order,” he said. “The list is correct.”
“Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann.”
Klaus yawned. “It’s late. I’ve got to get some sleep.” He turned to his assistant. “Peter, are you ready to go?”
“What is to be done with these Poles?” the officer asked.
“Shoot them,” said Klaus.
“What? Did you say shoot them?” The officer stammered the words.
“Ja.”
“Where?”
“Here, now.”
“But sir—”
“Those are the orders,” said Klaus. “Shoot them now.”
“Herr Hauptmann, what are you saying?” asked Dziadosz.
“Let’s go, Peter.” They moved off.
“Herr Hauptmann!”
The tear of rifle fire ripped through the night and then all was silent.
Chapter 5
Irena Rising
January 1940
Warsaw, Poland
Months passed for Irena, and the news from everywhere was dire. The Germans had quickly wrapped up the war with Poland, consolidating their power. In October 1939, Hitler decreed that large portions of western Poland would be annexed directly into a Greater Germany. A rump portion of the nation, not annexed and not part of the Russian conquest, was administered as a Polish General Government by a Nazi named Hans Frank, who set up his headquarters not in Warsaw, but in a medieval castle in Kraków to the south.
The English and French were still at war with the Germans, but according to the news that they did receive, there was no real fighting going on. Their saviors, the nations who were supposed to protect Poland, were apparently content to sit in their trenches on the Western Front and do nothing. In the meantime, Poland suffered.
Irena had gone ahead with her program of food relief for the poor. She had convinced Ewa to work with her, along with many others. Unfortunately, Ewa was forced to quit her job, as a German decree barred all Jews from government positions, as well as jobs such as doctors, lawyers, and actors.
Despite this setback, Irena re-established the soup kitchens all over Warsaw. The Germans cooperated at least to the extent of allowing her to bring food in from the countryside, although there was never enough to truly keep the population healthy. She had bread and a trickle of vegetables, but meat, milk, and fresh eggs were difficult to obtain.
Even the wealthier citizens of Poland were suffering. Grocery stores were bare, and rationing was strictly enforced. A thriving black market assured the availability of goods to those willing to take the risk, but the Germans imposed terrible penalties on those who were caught, including in some cases, execution.
Irena thought of all this as she stood at the distribution kitchen, monitoring the handing out of provisions. They had set up one of their locations at a former Jewish store bordering Krasiski Square. From the front windows Irena could see across the square to Krasiski Palace with its arched windows and giant triangle abutments adorned with statues.
The store was packed with families. Each carried a document from the welfare department, entitling them to a certain amount of food. Irena walked up and down the line, talking with some of the people and inspecting random documents. She spent a day each week inspecting her food distribution sites.
She stopped in front of a young family queued up in the line. The father and mother were dressed in coarse workers’ garb. The mother held a sleeping infant in her arms. A little girl, three or four, held the father’s hand.
“Good morning,” Irena said to them.
The father nodded in response.
“Can I see your paperwork?” Irena asked.
The man turned the documents over to Irena and she checked them. They were legitimate. The father had worked in a factory as a metal machinist but the Germans had closed the operation down. Another family in desperate need of social services. The number grew every day.
“Everything is in order here,” Irena said, smiling.
“Thank you so much for what you’re doing here,” the mother said. “I don’t know what we would do without you.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Irena. She kneeled down. “And who do we have here?” The little girl looked up at her and then blushed, turning away and wrapping her arms around her father’s leg.
“This is Kaji,” the father responded.
“Hello, Kaji.” Irena patted her head. “I have something special for brave girls who come here with their parents.” She fumbled around in her pockets and pulled out a piece of candy. “Just for you,” she said, handing the treat to the girl.
Kaji’s face brightened and she reached out, taking the treat and then looking up at her dad.
“Go ahead,” he said, nodding.
She popped the candy in her mouth and Irena stood back up. She was moved. This family, and thousands of others, were what she had joined the social field for in the first place. The war just made the work more difficult, and more rewarding.
The mother took her hand. “Thank you again,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
“You have nothing to thank us for,” said Irena. “The state should look after its people.”
A few hours later Irena thought of this family as she pored through reports detailing available foodstuffs, wagons, employees, and lists of families applying to receive government aid. She sighed, examining the new applications. There were dozens of new ones every day. If she only had to deal with the needy at the pre-war level, she would have enough food to go around. The number of families had doubled in the past months, making her job nearly impossible. She squared her shoulders. She would never surrender.
Irena removed some stationery from her desk and began to write. She spent hours each day drafting letters to government officials, some Polish, some German, imploring them for workers, resources, anything that might help. Each afternoon she called these people. Twice a week she physically visited their offices, waiting sometimes half a day to obtain an appointment. In many instances, she was rejected or ignored. Undaunted, she would start over, writing, calling, visiting. She would badger them until she got what she wanted.
She had a new list today. She’d discovered another overlapping branch of authority in the German government. There were so ma
ny. The Nazis were efficient and organized, too organized in some instances. The army conducted work that the police should be doing, the civilian government overlapped with the military, and the SS seemed to have a shadow branch of everything—a state within a state. This was the new source she’d discovered. She had compiled a list of SS officials and was intending to start in on them right away.
There was a knock at her door. “Come in,” said Irena absently, not looking up.
“What are you working on?” said Jan. She hadn’t seen much of her supervisor over the past few months. After he’d received orders from the Germans about Irena’s role, he’d left her alone for the most part. This had come at a price. Never close, he seemed to take afront at her new authority, and was distant and cold.
“Trying to find more contacts. I can’t handle the influx of new families. I need more food, more transportation, more locations for distribution.”
“There may be a solution to the problem, but you’re not going to like it.”
She looked up now, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”
He handed her a document he was holding in his hand. “Read this. Please understand, this is not coming from me.”
She took the paper from him and scanned the contents. A fire burned through her and she boiled over. “Who is responsible for this?”
“Who knows,” he said, shrugging, “but the orders didn’t come from the Polish government. This came direct from the Germans.”
She read the letter again. As of January 15, 1940, all Jewish families were to be stricken from the social welfare rolls. They would not be eligible for government food distribution, medical help, or any other welfare.
“How can they do this?” she asked.
Jan shrugged. “Who will stop them? Besides, we Poles have our own problems.”
Irena knew well what Jan was saying. For months now, the Germans had persecuted the Polish population, primarily the educated. Doctors, lawyers, professors, businessmen and -women were arrested by the thousands. Sometimes the Germans didn’t even bother carting them away and simply shot them where they stood. Irena had lost friends, teachers, and colleagues to these purges. She thought back to her meeting with Klaus and what might have happened to her if she’d refused to work with the new government. She was certain she too would have disappeared.
Irena's War Page 5