Warsaw Requiem

by Bodie Thoene

  “Wattenbarger took cyanide in his cell,” Hess persisted. “Who provided it to him?”

  “Would I arrest him only to kill him before he gave us names?” Wolf mocked everything in the dossier. “Someone else in the department made it easy for Otto—not me. And the woman we are both after betrayed me, just as she betrayed you and the Fatherland. Your own failure in this matter has made you suspicious of someone who might help you!” He whirled around to face Hess and stared into the clouded eye. Wolf was close enough to snatch the gun, but he did not. “You are looking for the Ibsen children? And for Lucy? I will tell you where they will be.” Wolf could clearly see that he had gotten through to Hess at last. “Today is the last children’s refugee transport to England. Or have you forgotten such a minor point as that?”

  ***

  “I’ll take care of Werner,” Jacob said, thumping Alfie on the back. “Don’t worry about that, Alfie.”

  Alfie was not worried. He was only sad. He cradled the kitten in his arms and stroked its head with his big finger. Werner breathed in and let every breath out with a low, unhappy growl. He looked very sick, even though Jacob said it was just the Goldwasser that had done this to him. Werner looked as sick as a cat could look, Alfie thought. He wished the kitten had stayed asleep in his hiding place.

  Alfie looked at all the mothers kissing their children good-bye. It made his heart squeeze and his chest ache. He remembered how he had cried when Mama told him the Bible story about the mother of Moses putting her baby in a little boat and sending him away from the sword of the bad king. And now here were all these mothers, all these children. Their voices mixed together in one low groan. So many. So many. And certainly these mothers who were sending their children away felt even worse than Alfie, because they had their babies a lot longer than Alfie had Werner. And Werner was a kitten. Not a human baby. Alfie felt terrible. It was hard to imagine how much worse these mothers and fathers felt seeing their babies walk up onto the ship.

  Alfie had learned about good-byes. There was nothing good about them.

  Little faces peeked over the rail of the ship. Tearful eyes searched for familiar faces. Handkerchiefs fluttered at the tips of tiny hands. The air echoed with calls of Mama! Mother! Mama! Mama! And every woman there answered to that one name, as if no one had any other name but Mama, and all the hearts became one huge broken heart. Hands raised up and hands reached down; love and sorrow bridged the gap between the children at the rail and the women on the dock.

  But Alfie did not cry, even though he felt like it—for himself and for everyone else that day. He remembered how brave Jacob and Lori were, and he did not cry.

  Alfie turned to Jacob.” “ill you write and tell me how Werner is?”

  Jacob was touched by Alfie’s question. “Sure. And you write me too.”

  “I don’t write so good.” Alfie frowned.

  “I’ll help you,” Lori said.

  “I don’t know where to write.” Alfie noticed everyone else had addresses to write to.

  “We will send our letters to TENS in Warsaw.” Lori stroked Alfie’s arm as tenderly as Alfie was stroking Werner’s little head. “And Jacob will read your letters to Werner.”

  Well. That was something, anyway. Letters. But letters could not hug a kitten or a child.

  He could not stand watching it anymore, so he turned and faced the other way. He looked at the giant loading cranes, at the crates and warehouses all along the waterfront. He looked at the dockworkers, who were also standing with their arms crossed and watching the scene at the docks.

  This was the last boat for children, Alfie knew. There would be no more after today. He thought of all the mothers who would like to put their children on such a ship and cry and wave farewell because they knew it would save their children. He remembered the long lines of mothers and children at the Jewish church in Berlin who had hoped they could get their little ones onto a ship like this. Not all of them made it, he knew. That was a different kind of sad.

  And then he saw her.

  Alfie recognized the woman right away, the same woman he had seen running through the fish market when he had taken Werner to eat at Herr Frankenmuth’s Fresh Fish Daily. She had the same frightened look on her face then as she did now! On that day she had a baby in her stomach. But today, the lady held the baby in her arms.

  She was standing in front of three people. One was the nurse from the ship, Alfie knew. The other two were men, both dressed like the other Englishman who helped organize the children. The faces of the three were hopeless, wearing the kind of expressions that said they were sorry, but they could not . . .

  The woman held out the little bundle to the three. She begged them. Her face—such a sad and pretty face—seemed to have caught all the hurt from every heart on the dock that day. She looked over her shoulder. Was someone still chasing her, like that day in the fish market? Alfie remembered that she had been on the same train out of Germany. Maybe she was being chased even on that night.

  Alfie looked where her eyes looked. He could not see anyone walking toward her. He could not find who was chasing her. Yet, like the mama of the baby named Moses, she was holding the brand-new baby out to three people who shook their heads and crossed their arms and would not take the baby, no matter how she pleaded.

  “Why don’t they hold that baby?” Alfie asked out loud.

  Lori asked Alfie is he had said something.

  Alfie nodded. “Yes. Jacob,” he asked politely, “would you hold Werner for a minute?”

  Jacob took the kitten.

  “Thanks,” Alfie said. “I’ll be right back.”

  They let him walk away. The toilets were just around the corner, and so no one thought anything about Alfie leaving just for a minute. He was glad no one followed.

  He walked toward the woman and her baby and the three people with their arms crossed. Alfie stopped and watched and listened from the corner of the Hamburg-Amerika Line office.

  “He is so small.” The woman was crying. “You see? So small and helpless. Oh, please! He won’t take up much room. And someone will want a baby. You see? Look how sweet, how beautiful . . . I have no place else to go. I am begging.”

  The nurse looked very sad. But she spoke first. “I have other things to attend to. You will handle this?” And then she left, hurrying back to her own table at the base of the gangway.

  The two men looked at each other. Which one should do the talking? The short one shrugged and shook his head. “There is nothing we can do, madam.” His German accent was very bad. “You see, we are packed to the gills.”

  “But he is so tiny—”

  “No room. One thousand children from the Continent. We have spent weeks choosing which children, documenting their need.”

  “But you see, this baby . . .” She lowered her voice until Alfie could barely hear her. “Nazis . . . take him . . . take my baby . . . raise him to be . . .”

  The men glanced uneasily at each other and backed up a step. They put their hands out, as though she were trying to hurt them instead of give them the bundle. Still she begged. They backed up farther, shaking their heads. It was settled. No. They would not hold her baby, would not take the little one to safety.

  Alfie frowned. Did they not know the story of Moses and the bad king and all the little ones who were killed by the soldiers? Could they not see that no mama made up such a thing? That only a very desperate mama wanted to give her baby away?

  The men turned and walked away, each in a different direction, leaving the woman in the middle. She closed her eyes and held the baby close to her as she shook her head. Her lips still moved, but now she was not speaking to anyone. Except maybe to God, Alfie thought as he walked toward her. Her skin was very pale, like the delicate porcelain statues that Mama had kept on a special shelf so they would not get broken. This woman looked as if she might fall, as if she might break into pieces if she fell.

  Alfie put out his hands to catch her. He did not think as he put hi
s hands beneath her arms. She did not look at him as he guided her back through the crowds and the noise and helped her sit on a wooden crate.

  Then he took the baby from her arms and sat down beside her. Did she notice? Her eyes were shut. Her hands were open on her lap.

  Alfie looked at the baby that the others would not take. The baby, unlike its mother, was awake—wide awake, looking right up into Alfie’s face and sucking on a little fist. Alfie’s heard felt glad and sad at the same time when he smiled down at this very new human kitten. Such perfect hands. Fingers no bigger than . . . than what? Alfie had never seen such tiny little fingers before. The baby was squinting because the sun was so bright. Alfie held up his arms to shade it.

  The woman still did not move. Alfie could see her face was bruised. Someone had hit her. He knew this because his own face had been bruised just the same way when the orderlies at the hospital had hit him. Alfie did not know if he should speak, because she seemed to be resting even though she was sitting up. But time was short. He looked at the baby. He put his finger out, and the tiny hand curled around it.

  The ship’s whistle blew. Fifteen minutes and everyone would have to be on board.

  “You have a very nice baby, lady,” Alfie said softly, as if he were waking someone up.

  She opened her eyes, and tears spilled out over the bruised place on her cheek. She looked at Alfie. Her eyes told him thank you, but she did not say anything. Maybe she could not talk anymore. Alfie knew about people who could not talk, because some of his best friends in the hospital could only talk with their eyes. But Alfie could see plainly what their souls were saying to him. Then he did most of the conversation, and they agreed.

  “I saw you on the train to Danzig,” Alfie said gently. “You were running from the Hitler-men.”

  She nodded. Only once. Her eyes lingered on the face of her child. Such love. Alfie saw it. He knew about that too, even though people thought he did not.

  “We ran away too. We lived here in Danzig. And now they are letting us go to England.”

  She bit her lip and swallowed hard. Alfie could see that the woman wanted nothing in the world so much as for her baby to go to England.

  “I saw you in the fish market when you were running,” Alfie continued. “The Hitler-men are still chasing you?”

  The nod said yes. The eyes said that they were very close behind her now, that they would hurt her and take the baby away. Alfie knew all of this in his heart, even though she did not speak it.

  “They are not interested in me anymore, even though I am a Dummkopf. I am not in their country no more. So I do not think they will bother me.”

  At this, the woman looked surprised. Her face told Alfie that she did not think he was a Dummkopf, but a very kind gentleman to help her sit down and to take her baby in his arms until she could find the strength to hold him again.

  And then her mouth opened, and a voice croaked out, “What . . . is . . . your name.”

  “Alfie Halder.”

  “Thank you, Alfie Halder. For helping.” She was talking about helping her just for these few minutes because she knew there was no help beyond that very instant. It was all coming to an end for her, for this perfect little baby in Alfie’s arms. There was no room on the ship. No room anywhere. She could not put this baby in his basket like the mother of Moses had done. The basket would not float. There was no one left to lift it from the water. The swords of the soldiers were drawn, and the order had been given.

  “What is the name of your baby?” he asked.

  For just a moment he saw a twinge of something—embarrassment? Ah well, he understood. When someone has just had a baby and then had to run away, maybe there was not time to think about names. That was understandable. Names were things that needed lots of thinking.

  “He hasn’t a name yet,” she whispered as she looked at the baby’s hand wrapped around Alfie’s finger.”My name is Lucy.”

  “Lucy is a pretty name. Do you want to hold him again? The ship is leaving soon.” He passed the baby back to her, although he hated giving up the feel of that little hand on his finger. His own fingers were so big and clumsy. He began to work on the tag that was tied around his button. Lori had knotted it so he would not lose it because, she explained, this was his ticket to get on the ship and get into England. It had his name on it and the official stamp saying that he was one of the specially chosen ones who got to leave this place and get away.

  Alfie explained this to Lucy as he worked on the stubborn knot. Finally he jerked the button of his shirt off and held up the precious tag.

  Lucy looked at him as if she did not know what he was up to. He held the tag for her to see clearly. “You see? There is my name. And I can spell it too. A-L-F-R-E-D H-A-L-D-E-R. Except my friends call me Alfie. I am glad you like the name.” He smiled big. He felt very glad inside for what he was doing.

  The baby had a pretty blue gown on with little buttons down the front—very small buttons. Alfie chose the third button and began to tie the tag onto the baby’s gown. What clumsy fingers!

  “What are you doing?” Lucy asked in a frightened voice.

  “There is not a lot of time to explain,” Alfie answered. “Except I am going to stay behind with Jacob and Werner, who they won’t let go to England.”

  “But . . . your ticket . . . how—”

  “There is no time to argue.” Alfie had often heard Jacob say that when someone was wasting time. “We will call your baby Alfie. Lori will carry him on the ship to England like you want, and he will be saved.”

  Then Alfie remembered a very important thing. Writing! Every mother needed letters written to her. “Do you . . . have a place . . . an address? So Lori can write to you for the baby, and you will know?”

  Lucy was crying now. Crying very quietly, but also quite a lot. She gave the baby back to Alfie and stumbled toward a wicker hamper that she had left out in the middle of the concrete. Sitting down beside Alfie, she began to search through the basket. Her hands were shaking terribly. Tears drummed down on the things in the basket. She pulled out a little green book and opened it; then she took out a slip of paper with writing on it. She copied down the writing in her book and gave the address to Alfie. “Here,” she said. “If I make it, I will be at this place in Warsaw.”

  “We are going there too. We will work in a news office called TENS.” He frowned toward the place where he knew everyone would be waiting and worried about him. “Now you should go so Lori won’t want to give the baby back.”

  She gathered up a few little things from the basket. “Take this. Diapers. Canned milk . . . bottles. It is his.” And then her face filled with the pain, like the face of every other woman on the dock. Lucy took the baby back and held him for a moment. “Oh, God! Dear God! Help me let him go! Take care of him for me!” She laid her cheek against his forehead, her hand over his heart. One final kiss. Desperation laid the baby back in the arms of big Alfie Hadler.

  He stood in front of her with the baby in his arms and the basket in his hand. “We will see you in Warsaw,” he said. He was certain of this because he had seen her three times already. Three important times. And God did not make such things happen for no reason. He knew that in his deepest heart. “Now,” he said in a grown-up voice, “if they are looking for you, go back to my friend in the fish market. Herr Frankenmuth. He said he would help. And he does not like Hitler. He puts fish guts on Hitler’s face in the newspaper. He will help you, Lucy. Tell him Alfie and Werner said so.”

  She nodded, reached up, and touched the baby one last time. Then Alfie turned from her and hurried away. Good-byes were never good, and she had to go away quickly. He was sure of that.

  25

  The Loving Heart of Jesus

  From the high platform of a cargo crane, Samuel Orde had a clear view of the entire Danzig wharf. He scanned the face of the children who had already boarded the ship and then traced back the slowly moving line to the gangplank in search of Lori Ibsen and the boys.
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  His search was rewarded as he spotted the young people standing together in a worried little knot. They too seemed to be looking for someone.

  The queue was growing shorter. Perhaps Lori would not board the ship until she had seen Jacob and Orde standing together. He started to climb down from his perch, when he noticed three men on the far end of the crowd. At first glance they were not there to see anyone off.

  For a few seconds he traced their rough progress through the crush of people. At the point was a tall, aristocrat-looking man in a summer suit. His face was grim; his eyes never stopped moving. Behind him was a shorter, older man, who pushed men and women from his path with a walking stick. The three fingers of his right hand were stiff beneath his gloves. Gestapo. Orde knew at once what he was seeing. The third man was young, probably not much older than Jacob Kalner. His brutish muscular body seemed to enjoy shoving past those who were even remotely near him.

  These three headed directly toward the line that shuffled toward the passenger gangway. They were moving toward the office where Jacob Kalner leaned down to gently kiss the lips of Lori Ibsen!

  Orde clambered down the stairs and into the mob on the wharf. He had no illusions about whom the Gestapo agents were after.

  ***

  The mother of baby Moses placed his basket into the water and then turned away, leaving her daughter to follow through the reeds to learn the fate of her son. But Lucy Strasburg could not turn away. She could not leave, as Alfie had warned her!

  Lucy had to know! She had to see for herself what happened when Alfie presented the baby to his friends and told them what he had done. So Lucy followed along after him. She crouched behind crates and peered through spaces between the cartons. She spotted a small group of young people who hailed Alfie and pointed to the last of the line moving up the gangway.

  Lucy gritted her teeth as the grief of this distant parting tore through her. There was the girl called Lori! Pretty. Fine-boned and delicate. A very young face. Seventeen, maybe eighteen years old. Lori leveled her gaze on Alfie and scolded him with a look for being late and making them worry.