Warsaw Requiem

by Bodie Thoene

  Alfie smiled. Now that they did not have to sleep all crammed into the little room where Lori had slept, he did not mind so much that they were not all together in the same room.

  “They . . . won’t have as much fun . . . as us,” Alfie said confidently, biting into a cherry covered with light chocolate. He offered Werner-kitten a bite, but Werner was not interested. He hopped off the back of the satin sofa and ran to climb the pale yellow draperies.

  “It has been a very good day,” Jamie said with a contented sigh. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and watched with admiration as Werner nearly made it to the top of the draperies before sliding down.

  “We should fill the ice bucket with sand from the beach,” Mark said. “Then Werner will have a toilet.”

  “Good idea,” Alfie said. Then he called to Werner, “Plumbing inside, Werner!”

  The cat meowed, much quieter than he had when he had been inside the despised hiding place in the valise. Lori had been right about nobody noticing the noise. Almost nobody had noticed, except for the bell captain, who sent men everywhere looking for the cat that had slipped into the lobby to hide somewhere. It had been fun to watch them on their knees, poking their heads into corners behind potted palms. They never imagined there was a kitten stashed in the luggage.

  “It’s a good thing your mother sent us money from England,” Mark said. “We could stay here a whole week if we weren’t leaving on the ship.”

  “And there would still be enough for Jacob to get to Warsaw.” Jamie tossed a pillow at Werner, who jumped straight up and scampered across the mantel on the fireplace. “If I was him, I’d stay awhile after we leave. Who wants to go to Warsaw when you could stay in the Kurhaus Hotel and eat all the chocolates you want?”

  “It wouldn’t work,” Mark interjected. “He told the man at the front desk that his papers were still in the luggage at the depot. So he didn’t have to give our real names. But the clerk will want to see them, all right. He’s got to be gone before then.”

  “Too bad.” Alfie mumbled through a full mouth. “Sopot is . . .” He wanted to say that in his entire life he had never been anyplace as wonderful as Sopot and this hotel. This room had more space than three flats like theirs. The lights were bright and clean. The tub was big enough for him to play boats in—except that he had not owned any toy boats since Mama died. It did not matter. Soon he would be on a real boat. A big boat. And now that Jacob and Lori were really married, maybe Jacob could get on a boat to England much sooner.

  “Probably it is better that Jacob has two relatives in England,” Mark said. “A brother and a wife. I think so. Two of us will be able to make more of a fuss than one.”

  Jamie raised his head and looked all around the room. “My papa stayed here once, you know. He told us about it.”

  “My papa too,” Mark added, not to be outdone.

  “Maybe they stayed in this very room.” Jamie smiled at the thought. “Papa will like it that Lori and Jacob had their honeymoon here, I think. Maybe it will make the rest all right. You think so?”

  Alfie patted the sofa, and Werner jumped up beside him. “They . . . they won’t have as much fun . . . as our room.” He scratched Werner’s head and thought about filling the ice bucket with sand.

  Mark and Jamie exchanged the look. Alfie wished he knew whatever secret they knew.

  ***

  Lucy’s mother and father stood in the barnyard. The door to the barn was open. It was dark inside, but Lucy could see someone moving from stall to stall. Lucy’s father smiled and tapped out the tobacco of his pipe. Then he reached his arms out to take the baby from her.

  “What will we call him, Mother?” he asked of his wife.

  Lucy’s mother pulled the blanket back from the baby’s face to study the serious blue eyes of the quiet infant.”He looks like Wolf, don’t you think, Papa?” She smiled at Lucy. “Would you like to name him after his father, Lucy dear? He looks so much like Wolf. No mistaking he is the son of Wolfgang von Fritschauer.”

  In her sleep, those words were pleasing to Lucy. In her dream she could not remember everything that had gone on between Vienna and this arrival at her childhood home.

  Lucy opened her mouth to speak, to agree that her son should be called Wolfgang, but the words would not come. She tried to say the name again and again. The word formed clearly in her mind. She could see the letters, suddenly inscribed in black on the red blanket in which the tiny form of innocence was wrapped: W-O-L-F.

  “What is wrong, Lucy dear? You can’t speak?” her mother asked her sympathetically. “Shall we call your son Wolf? Shall I say it for you?”

  Lucy raised her hand to touch the head of the baby, but suddenly he was pulled away from her. The image of her mother’s face faded and that of another woman took her place. The woman standing in front of her was the same one Lucy had seen among Wolf’s photographs. Here was the wife of Wolfgang von Fritschauer! Her cold eyes glinted with pride as she took the baby from Lucy’s father and cried, “Yes! Just like Wolf!”

  At the same instant, Lucy’s father stepped back, his face pale.”I have to tend to what is mine!” he shouted angrily as he hurried away into the barn. Lucy tried to follow, but she could not move. She tried to call out for her father to come back, but she could not speak.

  Her hands hung heavily at her sides. She could not lift them to fight against the woman who smiled over the baby. As Lucy watched, the shadow from the barn stepped into the light. It was Wolf, tall and handsome in his black uniform. He looked at Lucy and smiled cruelly, as she had seen him do a thousand times before. Suddenly she remembered everything! Scenes from their life together replayed in a flash. She remembered the terror of her escape from him; the threat he had made to take her baby rang out clearly in her mind.

  She looked at the blanket where her child lay. It was red, but a darker red than it had been before. The fabric seemed to dissolve and melt until it covered the arms of the woman with blood. The black letters of Wolf’s name spun like pinwheels and moved together to form the shape of the Nazi swastika. Lucy tried to shout a warning to the woman, to tell her she must guard the baby, but still she made no sound.

  Could they not see the blood that would drown the child? Why did they not take him out of the blanket before it suffocated him?

  Lucy found the strength to step forward; she opened her mouth and willed herself to shout the warning. They did not hear her.

  “What shall we name the Führer’s child?” asked the woman.

  “He looks like me.” Wolf was pleased. “Just like all the rest. We will call him Wolf.” Blood had pooled in the baby’s eyes. Lucy could see her son open his little mouth and gasp for breath. She ran toward him, to wrench him from the unseeing woman, but as Lucy reached out, they floated just beyond her straining fingers.

  In the barn Lucy could hear the rattle of milk filling metal pails. She could hear the cowbells banging against the stanchions where her father milked the cows. If she could reach her father, maybe he would help her! But the barn door, like the couple, swung lazily beyond her reach.

  She tried to call out for her father, but he did not hear her. The clank of the milk pails grew louder, the baby coughed and cried and . . .

  “I am dreaming.”

  Lucy opened her eyes as the slow drumming of rainwater in the pots on the floor reminded her of where she was. The rain had stopped. The world was silent except for the few stray drops that had not yet found their way off the eaves. Lucy gathered her baby to her and stroked his face gently with her fingers. No blood. He was fine, breathing sweetly and evenly. Thank God!

  She sighed and lay back down in the blackness with a shudder of relief. It had been so pleasant, at first—her dream, her sleep. And then what had happened?

  Closing her eyes she tried to recapture the feeling of peace she had felt before the dream had changed so horribly. A name. A name for the baby. Not Wolf.

  “What will I call you, little one?” she whispered, cradling the tiny fing
ers in her hand. “What name for my son?” Her own voice was drowsy and pleasant in the stillness of the night.

  At that moment a match flared behind her. The room was suddenly luminated with orange light.

  Lucy cried out as she sat up on the bed. Wolf glared at her from the glow of his match. He was smiling—the cruel smile she knew so well. His raincoat was draped over the chair. His boots were still wet.

  He stepped forward as though he might toss the match onto the bed. Instead he touched the flame to the wick of the gas lamp.

  “His name is Wolf,” he said with amusement. “Or have you forgotten whose child he is, Lucy dear?”

  ***

  Morning had come, terrible and swift, to the Kurhaus Hotel at Sopot.

  Lori had not slept at all, even though Jacob had slept and then awakened a dozen times throughout the night to her loving touch.

  Only one night together, but it was enough to knit their hearts forever. Lori felt as if she had never been a child, never belonged to anyone but to Jacob.

  She reached out and touched his muscled back. There was the scar he had gotten when he fell from his bicycle in fourth grade. She remembered that. He was brave even then; he had not cried even though his shoulder had been torn open. Any other boy in their class would have cried. Lori thought now that she had loved Jacob Kalner even then—and long before that day as well. He had tied her braids together in second grade, and she had been so angry. In first grade, he had told her to take a sniff of a jar with a rotten bird’s egg, and she had run home crying. His mother had made him bring her flowers as an apology. He had doffed his hat and bowed and made her smile from behind the screen door. There were other memories—birthday cakes shared in Sunday school; family outings on the Spree when she publicly hated him and secretly loved him. And now all of that had come down to one night, the consummation of everything she had ever longed for. Jacob, her friend. Jacob, her hero. Jacob, her lover. Jacob, her husband.

  They were not children any longer. After this one night of discovery and joy they were to be separated. For the first time in their lives, really, they would not be able to talk to each other or ignore each other; to tease or listen; to make wishes. Or to embrace again. For how long, Lord?

  Lori moved closer to him, pressing herself against him and kissing the back of his neck. She did not want him to wake up. When he awoke he would turn and tell her it really was morning. Don’t wake up. Let me listen to your heart while you sleep. She laid her cheek against his back and listened to the deep and steady beat of his heart. It was much slower than her own heartbeat. Strong and honest. He had loved her far more than she had loved herself. He had forced her to wait for this perfect night until it was right. How she adored him for that, for demanding only the best for her soul! Today at the docks he would demand that for her safety’s sake as well.

  Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go. I will go.

  How could she let him go? How could she keep her promise not to beg him to let her stay at his side?

  ***

  Hess had propped open the bedroom window to hear the cabaret accordion. One sip of schnapps had led to another until at last he had emptied the flask and dozed fitfully on the bed.

  The first gray light of dawn illuminated the room. Hess opened his eyes as the memory of last night returned.

  They had never come back to the flat! He sat straight up, sending the flask clattering to the floor. Had they been warned? He threw back the curtain and stared out on the still-sleeping street as though he might see them below. He groped toward the closet door and threw it open. Empty! Wooden hangers lay in a pile on the closet floor, one lone sock in the corner.

  Hess cursed and then rushed to pull open the drawers of the chest. Each one empty! In his rage he threw the vase of flowers against the wall and overturned the night table, shattering the lamp.

  Only then did it occur to him that perhaps his quarry had never ever been here! Had he been tricked? Seventy-five marks had yielded him nothing but a night’s lodging in a vacant apartment.

  Drawing his knife, he held the blade up to the just-breaking daylight. The landlady would spend twice as much as he had paid her in the repair of his flat. Plunging the knife into the mattress, he tugged the knife from the head of the bed to the foot.

  Within five minutes, dishes were broken into shards, draperies and upholstery alike were shredded.

  ***

  The thin, reedy voice of the newborn’s cry covered the sound of blows as Wolfgang von Fritschauer unleashed the rage he had felt against Lucy for months.

  She was too weak to resist when he grabbed her by the hair and slapped her again and again. Blood from her nose splattered across the clean white sheets, dotting the skin of the baby like a fulfillment of her worst nightmare. Wolf kicked the table over. He threw the basin against the wall.

  “Beg me!” he hissed through clenched teeth as he threw her back on the bed. “I want to hear you beg me!”

  “No, Wolf!” she cried.”Please, no more! The child. Please—” She held the sheet up to her face and tried to stop the bleeding. The sheet was soaked with red. “I am begging . . .” She wept and held a hand up to restrain him as he unbuckled his belt and stepped toward her. Hooking his thumbs in his trouser pockets, he rocked upon his toes and glared down at her.

  And the infant wailed on. The child’s fair skin grew red with terror and outrage as his quiet world became a hell of confusion.

  “You think I have forgotten you, eh?” He sneered. Then in a sarcastic voice he mimicked her. “Oh please, Wolf! Don’t make me go to the Lebensborn yet! We have such fun together still!” He let his eyes linger on her gown where her milk dampened the fabric. He smiled cruelly, a smile she knew all too well.

  She shook her head. “Please. The baby was only born last night. Oh, Wolf! Not even you could—” Her face was a mask of terror.

  “That’s right.” He towered over her. “Beg me.”

  “I can make everything like it used to be,” she pleaded. “I was just frightened! I did not want you to take my baby!”

  “So all your efforts have come to this, eh?” Again he mocked, “Oh Wolf, you must keep me pregnant!” The muscles in his cheek twitched. “Why not start now?”

  “Wolf!” She sobbed and pressed herself back against the iron bars of the bed where she was captive. “Don’t do this thing!”

  He threw his shirt across the room, then grabbed her gown at the neck and tore it from her. He laughed when he looked at her. “So this is what becomes of beauty . . . Not quite what you had before, Lucy. But it’s been a long time—I do not mind.”

  She tried to scream, tried to fight him, but he clamped his hand over her mouth and pushed her beneath him.

  Lucy’s cries of pain were muffled and lost beneath the frantic wails of the baby born into a world gone terribly wrong.

  ***

  Cocking back the hammer of his pistol, Hess placed the barrel into the ear of the still-sleeping landlady. She awoke with a start and opened her mouth to scream as Hess clamped his hand down hard to silence her.

  “Do not scream, dear Frau,” he said quietly.

  Her terrified eyes rolled wildly as if she would black out. He smiled down at her patronizingly. “So sorry to awaken you so early in the morning, but you see, you have something I want. Something I need.”

  From beneath his hand she begged him not to harm her.

  “I do not like being made the butt of a joke,” Hess explained as though he were telling a waitress his coffee was too cold. “You understand?”

  She shook her head. She did not understand at all.

  “Your tenants are quite sloppy,” he continued in a whining voice. “What a terrible mess they made of the flat before they left. Did you know?”

  Again the head moved slowly. No. She did not know.

  “If I remove my hand, you promise not to scream?”

  She nodded, closing her eyes as if to pray. The hand was lifted slowly
from her mouth. The gun remained at her ear.

  “Please,” she breathed. “Do not kill—”

  “Kill you?” Hess jabbed the gun into her neck to make his point. “Only if you scream. Or lie. You will tell me everything, will you not?”

  “Yes, only please . . .”

  “I ask the questions and you answer. Right?”

  “Yes. Anything.” Tears streamed down her fat cheeks.

  Hess gave her another jab. “Shut up and listen. Your tenants in 2-C did not come back last night. Where are they?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” she stammered. “I am not their mother.”

  “Yes. Did you know the closet is empty? And their chest of drawers as well?”

  “No! I swear! They were there! I saw them last . . . two days ago. They paid in advance until the end of the month. Still more than a week yet on their rent!”

  “They are gone,” Hess said. “And they left the flat—your lovely flat—a wreck, I’m afraid.” He stepped back as the woman’s face clouded with anger. At him and also the children.

  “They did not check out. Gave me no notice. Did not collect their cleaning deposit.”

  “Good. No doubt you will need it after what they have done.” He waved the pistol in her face. “You do not know . . . have no idea . . . where they have gone?”

  She lay very still on her back, staring past the gun toward the ceiling. “They had mentioned England. But I thought I would have noticed. I did not think they would just leave.”

  “England,” Hess whispered. “How were they to travel?”

  “How should I know?” the woman barked.

  Once again he pressed the gun to her ear. A small cry escaped her lips. “Landladies know everything about their tenants.”

  “They said . . . by steamship . . . but if they left with their luggage, I would have seen them,” she protested meekly. “Please. I have told you all I know.”