She shook her head, driving the despair down. There was nothing she could do about it. She was fighting her little war, one family at a time. She packed her files into a worn leather satchel along with a canister containing her lunch, a little barszcz left over from the night before, and set out into the early morning streets.
She arrived at her office a half hour later. The late October morning already contained a hint of chill. She dreaded the coming winter. Coal and wood supplies were low last year, and the Germans would likely cut back even further this fall. She entered her office building gratefully, thinking of the coming months. As a government structure, so far, they had sufficient heat. She moved through the busy corridors of the first floor, nodding to a few acquaintances as she went. She bounded up the stairs and stepped into her own office.
She was startled to see two men sitting across her desk, both dressed in suits. She blinked in surprise, taking a step back, trying to understand what was going on.
“Guten Morgen, Frau Sendler,” said the middle-aged gentleman. They were Germans. She realized she recognized the man who had greeted her, and she struggled to come up with the name. Klaus Rein. He’d worn a uniform last time she’d seen him, an SS captain. Now he wore civilian clothes. The large man with the boyish face next to him was his assistant. Peter, that was the name. He loomed half a head taller than his commander, but Klaus was the one that emanated power.
“What can I help you with?” she asked, trying to assume a nonchalant air. She hoped he did not detect the tremor in her voice.
“Sit down, please,” Klaus commanded, gesturing to her desk chair. She stepped into the office and took the offered seat, moving her satchel down next to her on the floor. She kept her hands in her lap. She did not trust them on the table. She battled to stop the trembling in her fingers, squeezing them together as hard as she could. The pain drove her panic down a little.
“What can I help you with?” she repeated, as cheerfully as she could muster.
Klaus watched her with the dead eyes of a snake. His face was serene, his mouth set in the fraction of a smirk. She felt her own forced smile fade under his stare.
“We’ve had reports of acts of treason among the social workers in this department,” Klaus announced, leaning his elbows on the desk. “Tell me who is breaking the rules, please.”
Irena laughed. “What would I know about that? I’m a lowly food distributor.” Her entire body buzzed with electric fear.
Klaus reached down to his right and fumbled with something, retrieving a file. He opened the folder and scanned the contents. “According to my sources, there are medical supplies going missing.”
“That’s not my department,” responded Irena, relieved. “I don’t believe it could be true for a second, but I wouldn’t know for sure.”
He watched her closely, pausing for long seconds. “What about the food going to the Jews. That is your department.” He said each of these last words distinctly, pausing between syllables.
“That’s not possible,” she asserted, shaking her head. “We keep careful records on each family. After the new laws came down, we removed all the Jews from the distribution list. So, I’m sorry, sir, but you must be incorrect.” She heard shouting down the hallway, and a scuffle. “What is that?” she asked, her heart beginning to pound.
“That . . . is the sound of the medical workers who will be joining us at headquarters.” He looked at her again, the smile growing on his face. “Now, Frau Sendler, you do not want to come with them, is that correct?”
She was frozen, terrified. She couldn’t answer, but she managed to nod her head.
“I asked you to work for us because I believed you were ambitious. I admired your efforts to bring food into the city, even as our armies closed in on Warsaw. Since then you’ve done admirably, extracting supplies out of those selfish Poles after we’d already picked them to the bone.” He reached out a gloved hand and placed it on her wrist. “Oh yes, Irena, I’ve been watching.”
“I—”
“You’ve done well, better than I’d even hoped. But then these disturbing reports began to filter in. It’s one thing to squeeze the farmers, it’s quite another to feed the Jews.”
“I haven’t fed any Jews,” she responded, keeping her eyes on his. She hoped her face was calm and stony as she tried to imagine it. She forced herself to take calm, measured breaths. Her life depended on this.
Finally, he shrugged, smiling again. “Excellent, Frau Sendler, you pass the test.”
“Test?”
“I don’t really have information about you. But I can’t afford to be wrong.” He rose to his feet, as did Peter. He put his hand out, reaching for hers. She gave it to him, and he pressed her hand, holding it, not letting go. “Keep up the good work, Irena.”
“I will, sir.” She smiled, feeling the relief wash over her. Klaus turned and walked toward the door. He stopped at the threshold. “Oh, one more thing.”
“What is that?” she asked, the piercing fear returning.
“We have to conduct random checks. Part of the job, you understand. Could you give your satchel to Peter, please?”
“My what?”
“Your bag, the thing you brought in this morning. The object you set at your feet instead of on the desk. See, it’s a funny thing, but I’ve learned in the past year that when people are breaking the rules, they tend to bring their dirty laundry home with them. I’m confident we won’t find anything,” he said, his voice soft as silk, “but I’ll feel better if we see what Irena likes to take from work. I have to attend to that other matter down the hall.” He turned to Peter. “If you’d be so kind as to search her satchel. Bring anything of interest with you.” He nodded to Irena and left.
“Don’t worry about him,” said Peter, dropping heavily back into a seat. “He’s not so bad. He likes you; you know?”
“But he just said—”
“He’s a police officer, his whole life. He’s suspicious of everyone.” Peter yawned, his girth spilling over the back of the chair as he stretched. “You don’t have any tea, do you?”
She was confused. Tea? Her life was on the edge of a knife and this slob wanted tea. “I’m sorry, I don’t. How long have you known Captain Rein?” She wanted to keep him talking. As she did so she leaned slightly to the left, trying to ease her hand down toward her bag.
“Ages. He hired me right out of school. My dad didn’t want me in the army. Too big a target, he said. He’s probably right. I wanted to be a pilot, or a tank commander, but I don’t think I’d fit.” Peter laughed to himself, stretching his arms again. “I’m so tired today. Are you sure you don’t have any tea? How about coffee?”
“I’m . . . I’m sorry, I could make you some in a few minutes. We have tea in our cafeteria.”
He shook his head. “I wish I had time for that, but Klaus is always on the run. I’m surprised he’s not back here right now, yelling at me to hurry.”
She was almost there. Her hand was on the bag now. She was fumbling for the zipper. She found it and started to pull but the bag moved with her, sliding across the floor. She needed both hands!
“I guess I’d better take a look at that bag.”
She froze. She was so close! She just needed another minute or two. “Of course,” she said. “Let me get it for you.” She turned and quickly unzipped the bag, trying to keep the sound as quiet as possible. She turned back to him. “Do you have a girlfriend here?”
He smiled, blushing slightly. “I’ve had a few. Polish women are so different from Germans. They are appreciative of the little things, cigarettes, champagne.” He smiled. “I love all women.”
She reached her hand into the bag, fumbling with the contents, trying to remove the file. She touched her lunch, some makeup, finally she felt it, a sharp corner. The files!
“I bet they love you too, a strapping young man,” she said, trying awkwardly to flirt with this giant. She’d never been very good at it, but her words seemed to have the d
esired effect. He beamed at her.
“Some of them do,” he said.
She tugged at the folder, pulling on it. Halfway out it stuck, caught on something. She reached down a little to get a better grip.
“I better get that satchel,” he said, half rising. “Do you have it there, please?”
“Tell me about your current girlfriend.”
“I’m sorry. The satchel.”
She could scream in frustration. She’d had the damned thing! If it hadn’t stuck. If this dolt would have answered one more question, she would be saved. She reached over with both hands and pulled the bag up onto the desk, shoving the folder down in again as she did so.
“Here we are,” Peter said, taking the bag in both hands. He reached in with his fat fingers and began pulling out the contents, placing each item on the desk. He removed the makeup first, looking the individual pieces over curiously as if he was a child. “I’ve never really seen this stuff up close,” he said, turning a lipstick container over and over in his hand. “You women are so mysterious. Why would you bother with all this work? Not that I mind.”
He pulled out the file, opening the contents and reading the first page. “What’s this?” he asked, his face suddenly serious.
“Those are applications for relief,” she said as dismissively as she could muster. “From Polish families who are in need.”
“I probably need to show this to Klaus,” said Peter. “I don’t understand this stuff, but he likes to look at paperwork, that’s for sure.” He set the file down on the desk and reached in again, drawing out her lunch. He unscrewed the tin and gave the contents a sniff. “Soup?” he asked.
She nodded, feeling wretched again. Klaus would surely investigate the families listed in her folder. A visit to any of these very real addresses would reveal that whoever lived there had names different from her list. That would be true for each and every file. She might have been able to explain one mistake, but twelve? That was impossible.
“I’m starved,” he said. “We left early this morning. I didn’t have time for Frühstück.”
“Do you want some?” she asked. She reached into her drawer and extracted a spoon. She could see his eyes widen.
“That would be lovely, Frau Sendler.”
She handed the silverware to him and he started in immediately, slurping contentedly. “Mmmmmm,” he said, sitting back again, his eyes closed. “I don’t know if it’s only because I’m so hungry, but it tastes the best I’ve had.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” she said. She reached into a drawer and grabbed a stack of forms. Without hesitating she opened the file, removed the counterfeit documents, replacing them deftly with a stack of other biographical forms. Authentic ones.
“What are you doing?” he asked, noticing the stack of documents in her hand as he opened his eyes for another bit.
“Oh, I . . .” Her mind scrambled for an answer. “I thought you might like a few more for review.”
He smiled at this and reached for another spoonful. “That’s kind of you, but this should be plenty. I cannot believe how wonderful this tastes. You must be a magician in the kitchen.” He stared at her for a moment, eyes brimming. “Does your magic extend to other parts of the house, I wonder?”
She smiled back, revolted by this fat overgrown child, but terrified to make any mistake. “That’s a topic for a later time.”
He laughed and took another spoonful, then patted his wide stomach. “Well, that does it for me, Frau Sendler, I must be on my way.” He picked up the folders and started to leave.
“Do you want the rest?” she asked, picking up the container.
“You’re too kind,” he responded, taking the tin like an eager child at Christmas. “Thank you again and I hope to see you soon.”
“Of course,” she said, forcing another smile.
He turned and left, bowing his way out of the office. She sat there for long moments before the shaking returned. She waited another half hour, afraid to move, then she rose and darted from the office, fleeing for her home.
* * *
Klaus and Peter returned to her office the next day. She hadn’t expected that. A fresh set of forms rested in a new bag she’d brought. Klaus didn’t leave this time. He demanded the satchel, his eyes never leaving her. She handed it over and he searched the contents, quickly removing her file. He opened the folder, his eyes brimming with excitement, then he turned to her again. He knew. He already knew.
She gasped, her eyes opening. She was in total darkness, lying in bed.
“What is it?” her mother asked groggily. “Another dream?”
Irena turned on a lamp. She rolled out of bed and opened the curtains. It was already light out. She looked at the clock. She was supposed to start work an hour ago. She shook her head. Not today. I’ll go tomorrow.
“Are you all right?” her mother asked, pulling herself up. “Let me get you something to eat, you’ve hardly had a bite in three days.”
Three days. It seemed a year. She hadn’t moved from her bed except to go to the bathroom in all this time. Her mother rose, heading into the kitchen. Irena’s incapacity seemed to drive her mother back to a semblance of health. She’d made all her meals, serving her tea and toast, which Irena refused. She rolled over, turning away, letting her thoughts wander.
She’d been a moment from death. If Peter had opened his eyes and seen her change out those forms, he would have arrested her in an instant. Nobody came back from the Gestapo. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but few did, and those sorry souls were forever broken in body and soul.
She’d known she was taking risks. She’d been so proud of herself. She wasn’t working for the Nazis, she was defying them! She was rubbing their nose in it by taking care of their greatest ideological enemies. The system was so simple. Nobody checked on these names or the addresses. After all, the families collected the food at her distribution centers. So long as they had the proper paperwork, they could take their portion. She’d been so careful not to tell anyone. Only Ewa and Ala knew, and they were Jews themselves. That wasn’t quite true, she thought. She’d had Ewa tell Adam as well. But he was Jewish also, and he hated the fascists more than anyone.
She’d enjoyed the game, but this was too far. It was one thing to feel the excitement, the danger. It was another to face death a split second away. She was in too deep, she realized, and she wasn’t sure she could get out of it. The forms she’d given to Peter were legitimate, but would that satisfy Klaus? She remembered those dead eyes, how closely he’d watched her. No, he would check on her, dig deeper, she would be caught. It might be too late already.
Her mother brought her some tea and toast on a tray. “Here you are, my dear.”
“No, thank you.”
“You have to eat. You’ve hardly touched anything for days.”
She rolled over and sat up, propping a pillow behind her back. Accepting the tray, she took a nibble off the toast before setting it down. Her stomach turned and she feared she would throw up. She took a deep breath and drank a sip of tea, hoping it would settle her stomach.
“Have you thought about what I said?” her mother asked.
“I have.”
“Well?”
“You want me to give all of this up? Flee with you to the unknown?”
“Otwock isn’t the unknown, Irena. We know more people there than here. We have friends there.”
She thought of the spa town twenty kilometers southeast of Warsaw. She’d been raised there on the banks of the Vistula. Her father had died in the little town. The memories of her youth had been pleasant, until the center of her life was taken away from her. When they’d moved she’d sworn she’d never return.
“What difference would it make?” Irena asked, trying to set aside the pain of the past. “If they track down what I’ve done, they’ll find me, here or there.”
“You’re right, my dear. It’s correct to worry about that. But there are other ways to hide. We have co
nnections in Otwock who could help us. We might be able to obtain false papers and hide with one of the families.”
“Mother, you’re talking about Jewish families, aren’t you? What good would that do us?”
“Plenty of good. Look at the last year. They’ve stripped the Jews of a few rights, but they’ve largely left them alone. The real victims have been us, the Poles. It’s far safer if we are mistaken for Jews.”
She felt the battle burning within her. She didn’t want to leave her position, her passion, helping people. She’d accomplished so much, even without her little act of defiance. But she felt the net closing in. She knew what would happen if she was caught. It would be the end of her, the end of everything.
“Perhaps you’re right, Mother.”
Janina’s face brightened. “Of course, I’m right,” she said. “I knew you would come around. Let’s not wait another day. We could be packed and on the road by noon. If we leave by then, we could reach Otwock today.”
Irena laughed. “Now who is being unrealistic? You can’t walk to the bathroom on most days. Now you want to march twenty kilometers at one go? If we are going to accomplish this, Mother, we’ll need a wagon.”
Her mother sat down, holding her hand, fire in her eyes. “But you have connections, don’t you, my dear. You have all those drivers who bring produce from the countryside. One of them will take us, won’t they?”
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “Yes, I’m sure I could arrange it. But not today.”
“Tomorrow then,” her mother pressed.
Irena hesitated, unsure what she wanted to do.
Irena's War Page 7