Anca's Story--a novel of the Holocaust

by Mark Williams

  As they left the carriage I grabbed Elone, hugging her to my breast, unable to hide my delight and amazement at her performance.

  “Elone, you were quite wonderful! I cannot believe you spoke Polish so well! And your acting... Where did you learn to conduct yourself so? You should be on a stage! When you threatened to have him sent to the Russian front it was all I could do not to laugh aloud.”

  Elone basked briefly in my appreciation, but her face quickly became serious again.

  “Anca, why do people hate us so? Why is it so wrong to be a Jew?”

  I clutched her tightly to me. “I do not know, Elone, honestly I do not know.”

  Before Elone could ask further imponderables the train began to slow for a station and I calculated we were but one stop from Krakow.

  I said, “Elone, I think it would be for the best if we get off here. Krakow is the next stop, but if we wait longer the guard may return. I think it would be tempting fate to try to deceive them a second time.”

  The station was barely attended, few people disembarking, and we stood by the door waiting until the very last minute before alighting, for fear of being seen by the guard and arousing suspicion.

  In this we were to be proven well-judged, for as we dismounted the carriage and the train began to move away I glanced back and saw the guard staring at us before turning to the SS officer and pointing us out.

  His incredulous, ruddy face appeared at the window. Anger shone in his eyes and I was mesmerized, watching him run the length of the moving carriage to an unfixed window. I willed the train to hurry, realising our deception had been discovered, fearing the worst.

  But as I watched him struggle with the window latch the train gathered speed and was already half way out of the station. The window came down and his angry face appeared through the opening, but by now the locomotive was in full flow, dragging the carriages in its wake and though I could see him shout still his words were inaudible above the scream of the train’s whistle and seconds later the whole procession of carriages rounded a bend and were gone.

  For perhaps a minute I stood watching, fearing the train would suddenly stop, reverse and bring the Nazi back to us, but as the cloud of steam continued to fade into the distance, colour returned to my cheeks and my pulse began to ease.

  Elone too watched, aware how close we had come to being caught, and I clutched her hand tightly, saying, “It is okay, Elone. We are safe now.”

  Nicolae’s hand crept into mine and his voice piped up, “Anca, I’m hungry.”

  I had all but forgotten my little brother in our moment of crisis, and bent down to pick him up, kissing him on the cheek.

  “Oh, little one, I do not know what I should do without you. Of course you are hungry. Come, we will find somewhere to buy food. Then, Nicolae, I am afraid we have a long walk before us.”

  I put my brother down and gathered both children to my side. “The sooner we get going, little ones, the sooner we will be at Henryk’s.”

  Nicolae asked quietly, “Will Mama be there?”

  I desperately wanted to reassure him, but could not bring myself to lie.

  “No, little one. We have a little way further to go before we will see Mama again.”

  46.

  We selected from a war-ravaged stock of seasonal esculents at a nearby emporium, courtesy of the money Wojciech had bequeathed us, savouring the impromptu picnic.

  That night we slept uneventfully in a disused barn, and though it was soon after dawn when we left the farmstead still it was late afternoon when we arrived in Krakow itself. We found Pomorska Street as evening was drawing in, having first located Krakow central railway station, then following the directions Wojciech had left us.

  Outside Henryk’s house I fussed the children to straighten their clothes and brush the remnants of the hay bed from their hair. We waited patiently for the door to open, Elone at my side, Nicolae coyly hanging behind. The door unlatched and a man stood framed in the entrance, looking down on us with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

  “Henryk? Henryk Brzezinski?”

  It seemed only polite to enquire, though I was quite certain it was he, for if many years younger than Wojciech the resemblance was striking.

  “And if I am, child? What business is it of yours?”

  This was not easy. “I... We... We were sent here by your brother, Wojciech.”

  Henryk cast his eyes up and down the street warily. “Wojciech? He sent you here? Why would he do that, child?”

  “He... That is...” My limited proficiency in his language suddenly deserted me and I lamely proffered the letter in lieu of explanation.

  Henryk took the envelope cautiously, studying the hand-writing, then turning his gaze upon us again. “This is from Wojciech?”

  “He sends his regards, as does Izabella. I am sorry, but we speak only a little Polish. If you read his letter all will be clear.”

  Still Henryk stared at us, occasionally diverting his gaze to study the envelope, turning it in his hand as if to determine its content without committing himself to the uncertain fate it would surely reveal.

  “You know Izabella too?”

  “We stayed as their guests in the forest some six months.”

  He looked at the envelope a final time then, casting a glance up and down the street, stood aside and ushered us through the door. “Quickly, come in. I confess I do not understand any of this, but it is for the best you are not seen outside, whatever the true nature of your visit.”

  He led us through to a small room at the back of the house where an aromatic broth simmered gently in a copper marmite upon a small stove.

  We savoured the tempting bouquet as we stood there, shuffling awkwardly, uncertain how we should conduct ourselves. Nicolae slipped his hand into mine, still shyly clinging to my side. Elone wandered across to the stove, sniffing longingly at the wholesome broth.

  My attention focused on our host, who now ripped the envelope open and extracted the contents. With occasional pauses to study us, as if reading off some description that would confirm our identity, he perused the missive, then, folding it slowly and confining it to the safety of his pocket, he turned to us, a smile for the first time on his lips.

  “You must be Anca,” he said. “And by default this must be Nicolae, and this Elone. From Romania, no less! Well, well! I cannot pretend to understand what lies behind all this, but if Wojciech believes you are worthy of assistance then, young lady, I am at your service. Are you hungry?”

  He glanced at Elone hanging by the stove. “But of course you are. That is plain enough from the way you savour the air. Take off your coats, children, and make yourself comfortable at that table. Let us attend your immediate needs first, after which you can explain precisely how it is you believe I can assist you.”

  If we had known hunger far worse than that brought on by barely a day without food, still we consumed our broth ravenously, eagerly partaking of second helpings and wiping our bowls clean with a half loaf of salty rye-bread generously supplied.

  While we ate Henryk made no enquiry as to the circumstances which brought us to him, intent solely on meeting our pressing needs, occasionally asking after Wojciech and Izabella.

  At length he said, “Whatever your purpose here, clearly it is too late to do anything tonight. The young ones are exhausted, Anca. There is a spare bed in the next room which will easily accommodate all three of you. When you have eaten I suggest you put the little ones to sleep, after which you can explain your mission here in your own time.”

  Elone protested immediately this arrangement, intent on being party to our debate, but within the hour both Nicolae and she were sleeping soundly in the comfort of a large bed.

  Once certain they were secure I rejoined Henryk in the adjacent room, accompanied only by a simmering samovar and a dusty gramophone. Henryk prepared us both a tall glass of steaming tea. A scratched record played Strauss quietly in the background, helping to fill the long pauses as we explored o
ne another’s acquaintance, but at length the discussion turned to how we had come to be in the forest, heading for Krakow.

  Henryk listened with patience and sympathy as I struggled to make sense of events.

  As I relived the horror of the train crash and related how the Nazis had fired on the survivors he left his task of rewinding the gramophone and moved across to take my hand, his eyes glistening in the candlelight.

  “You poor child. How many in all survived this incident, do you know?”

  “Not many, I fear. Nicolae, Elone and myself, obviously, and perhaps a few dozen more...”

  “And the girl’s parents? Chaim and Golda? You are uncertain if they were even on this train?”

  “I cannot know for sure, but Golda was just behind us, with Elone. There were several wagons still to load. I cannot conceive she was not forced aboard with her daughter... And if so...”

  I could not bring myself to state the logic of my observation, for I knew I could not face Elone believing her parents had perished. Better to clutch at the faint hope that they were both still alive, however unrealistic that might be.

  Henryk asked quietly, “And your own mother, Anca? What of her?”

  I struggled to keep my composure. “We were separated from the Jews at Bucharest. It was only Nicolae’s brave defence of his friend that found he and I on the same train with them. The Jews were all being forced onto the one train, you understand. Another locomotive waited a short way off. I cannot be sure, but it seemed we would otherwise have been loaded onto the second train, once the first had been filled.”

  “But you were all bound for the same destination, you say? How can you be so sure?”

  I explained how Chaim had first introduced himself to us, on the journey from Medgidia to Bucharest. How he had translated our travel documents while Nicolae and Elone befriended one another.

  Henryk leant forward in earnest. “Anca, this is important. Do you remember the name of the camp you were intended for?”

  I shook my head. “No, only that it was the same place as Chaim, Golda and dear Elone. That it was in Poland, and that we were first bound for Krakow.”

  I paused, searching for the words. “Why should they transport people such distances, Henryk? And in such conditions? Why bring Romanians to Poland? It makes no sense to me.”

  “Do not trouble your pretty head with such matters,” Henryk cautioned quickly. “Suffice it to say there are many, many labour camps in this country, my child. Some are as exactly as they claim to be, but others...” He paused, looking into my eyes, then, “Would you like more tea, Anca?”

  I declined politely.

  “You should, my child. It has brought colour to your cheeks. They are quite incarnadine, though pale just a short while ago.”

  “These labour camps, Henryk,” I persisted. “My mother is at one of them, of this I am convinced. Perhaps, just perhaps, Chaim and Golda too. It is imperative we go there.”

  Henryk took a deep breath and gripped my hand, struggling with his own words. I wondered what it was he could not bring himself to say.

  “Anca,” he began hesitantly. “Anca, there are so many camps in these parts, fed by the Krakow rail network. It would be quite impossible to identify which one your mother is in. Quite impossible. I am sorry to take your hope away, but it is a fact.”

  “But I must know, Henryk. I must find her. If you cannot tell me which camp she might occupy then I shall go to each one myself and ask if she is there.”

  “It is not that simple, my child. If only it were. Do you know anything at all about these camps, Anca? Have you any idea what is happening here in Poland?”

  I shrugged indifferently. What did it matter, so long as Mama, Nicolae and I were reunited? We had lost everything in Medgidia. Could a labour camp in Poland be any worse?

  I said, “My mother was a seamstress at one time. A skilled worker. I believe it was a factor in our being sent away. That we, that she, might help the Nazi war effort somehow.”

  I added quickly, “Please understand, Henryk, it was not something she wanted, especially after what they did to Papa... But without work how could she possibly support Nicolae and I?”

  “Anca, there is no need to try justify anything. I too work for the Nazis, though it pains me to admit it. It is not through choice, but of necessity. Our country is under German occupation. Everyone here works for the Nazis. Either that or...”

  He paused again. “Or they enjoy the same fate as the Jews.”

  He looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

  “My child, I am a driver by trade. A truck driver. God help me, but I daily deliver and collect goods from these camps. These... These labour camps. Anca, what I am trying to say is...” His words trailed.

  “Henryk, please, what is it?”

  He shook his head, gulping tea from the tall glass. “I think we have discussed enough for tonight, child. You should rest now.”

  “But Henryk, you make no sense. What is it you are not telling me?”

  He got up slowly, his voice firm. “I have to be up very early, Anca, to begin deliveries. That is my truck you saw across the road. The hour is late and I must rise early. I suggest we continue this conversation tomorrow evening.”

  I stood up angrily. “No, Henryk, now. Tell me now, what is it that bothers you so? I have a right to know.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder. “My child, remember your place here, please. You are my guest and you will do as you are asked, for it would be ill-mannered not to. Now you will rest the night, for you surely need it. You can stay here tomorrow and tomorrow night. We will talk again when I return, and discuss how we might resolve your dilemma. After that you must be on your way, for questions will surely be asked if you stay longer.”

  I opened my mouth to protest but he placed a gentle finger on my lips.

  “No dissent, Anca. We will talk again tomorrow evening. Make yourself at home here during the day. I regret my larder is pauce for I was not expecting visitors and I tend to eat on the road, but help yourselves to whatever you may find there. Make sure you all eat well to keep up your strength.”

  “You are very kind, Henryk.”

  “Anca, I must insist you remain in the house during the day. There is nothing outside that can be of value to you beyond fresh air, and that is best foregone in the circumstances. It would be most unhelpful, Anca, most unhelpful, if it became common knowledge that three children were here. Awkward questions would be asked and I think you understand well enough that we all could do without that. So please, Anca, please, stay indoors and keep the curtains closed.”

  “I understand, Henryk. Rest assured we will not venture out without your permission.”

  “Should you by chance be discovered here, if by an unexpected caller perhaps, then say simply that you are my nephew and nieces, kin of my brother Wojciech and his wife Izabella. Of course they are far too old to have children your age, but no-one else will know that fact.”

  I nodded my complicity.

  “Finally, Anca, I’m sure you do not need to be told, but I cannot stress this strongly enough. On no account let it be known, even if you need lie to preserve the fact, that Elone is a Jew. Not here. Not in Krakow.”

  I could not quite fathom the importance of this command, for while I knew Jews were held in low esteem by the Nazis the emphasis Henryk placed on Elone’s persuasion remaining secret seemed unduly severe. Obviously we would not wish the SS to be aware of her heritage, but was it so important to anyone else?

  I made plain my query and Henryk took my hand with both of his, clasping my wrist.

  “Anca, please try to understand. There are no Jews left in Krakow.”

  47.

  The roar of Henryk’s truck outside the window announced dawn’s arrival.

  As the rhythm of the throbbing engine faded into the distance I knew we had the house to ourselves. I washed and then prepared a light breakfast for the three of us, laying the table before calling the little ones to o
rder.

  Nicolae was much refreshed from his long sleep and consumed his meal with relish, but Elone picked over her breakfast disinterestedly.

  I asked, “Elone, are you not well? Have you lost your appetite?”

  Without looking up, she said, “What did Henryk mean, Anca? Why are there no Jews left in Krakow?”

  My own appetite was gone in an instant and I went to her side. “Elone, I had no idea you heard us. I am so very sorry.”

  “I did not mean to listen, only I could not sleep, the walls are thin and the night still. But I do not understand, Anca. How can there be no Jews left? This is such a big city. What did he mean?”

  I was unable to offer explanation, only solace. By now I had my suspicions, but they were nascent ideas not yet fleshed out by tangible fact and I would not, I was determined, frighten the child with my inchoate understanding of events.

  I said simply, “We cannot know for sure, Elone, we cannot know. But perhaps he meant they have all been transferred to the many labour camps he spoke of.” That much seemed certain, but I added less confidently, “For their own good. To give them hope, work, until the war is over.”

  “Elone, why are you crying?” The question was asked by Nicolae, who had the advantage over me in facing the girl, whereas I now stood just behind her, my arms draped around her shoulders.

  I leant round and wiped her tears away with a napkin. “Do not cry, dear Elone.” I added in a whisper inaudible to my brother, “Please, Elone, do not cry in front of Nicolae, for he looks up to you so.”

  At this Elone stifled her tears and put on a brave smile, but she could not help but tender a final question. Wrapping her fingers gently around mine she asked quietly, “Anca, will I ever see my Mama and Papa again?”

  What possible answer could I give? There was only one.

  “I do not know, Elone. I honestly do not know.”

  I felt her fingers tightly clutch mine and I prepared myself for her distress, but once again the child foiled my expectations. Releasing my hand, she turned to my brother saying, “Let’s play in the back room, Nicolae, while Anca tidies the kitchen, otherwise we will only be in the way.”