by Emma Fraser
If you find Aleksy, please give him the letter I enclose with this one. My only regret is that I could not see you both, even one more time.
May God bless and protect you, my sister.
Your loving friend,
Madzia
Irena’s fingers were shaking as she opened the note. She cried out as she read the words.
I am sorry to have to tell you that your friend passed away shortly after writing these letters. She seemed peaceful at the end. I told her I would try to get them to you and I have done my best.
The letter wasn’t signed.
She cried for a long time. She cried until she could cry no longer. It was too much. Magdalena was dead and in all likelihood Aleksy and Piotr were too. Her father was in prison and might never be released. She’d survived being fired upon, she’d survived the bombing of Warsaw, she’d done her best to be strong, but this was too much.
This bloody, bloody war. Damn the Russians. Damn the Germans.
Chapter 14
Irena was in her apartment thumbing through a medical textbook when there was a knock on the door. She and Krystiana, who’d reappeared one day, murmuring something about being ill, looked at each other in horror. Frequently in the night they were woken by the sound of hob-nail boots running up the stairs, followed by gruff commands and cries as people were forced from their homes at gunpoint. But if it were the Nazis, they’d be pounding on the door, shouting at them to get out.
Her heart beating so fast she was having difficulty breathing, she opened the door to find her father standing there. When he saw her he sagged against the door jamb. ‘Irena, my dear. I didn’t know if you’d be here. I couldn’t be sure.’
‘Tata! Thank God! I’ve been so worried. Hurry, come inside.’ She did her best to hide her shock. Gone was the upright, well-groomed father she’d always known. In his place stood an old man, the gold metal of his glasses held together at the bridge by a piece of tape, one of the lenses cracked. He’d lost so much weight that his collarbones jutted out and his shirt looked as if it had been made for someone much larger.
Krystiana hurried over and they each took one of his arms and led him over to a chair. ‘I will fetch coffee and something to eat,’ Krystiana said and left them.
‘Tata – what did they do to you?’
He patted her hand. ‘I’m all right. I’m alive. And now I know you are too, I am even better.’
Krystiana returned with some bread and a pot of what passed for coffee these days and Irena poured her father a cup, folding her hands over his to stop them from shaking. She waited until he’d drunk a little. ‘Take some bread, Tata,’ she said. ‘I’ll warm up some beetroot soup to have with it. I wish I had something else to give you.’
‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘My stomach has become unaccustomed to food.’
‘You must try to eat something, Tata. You’re so thin.’
‘Perhaps later.’
‘Did you escape?’ she asked.
His mouth twisted. ‘Escape? There was never any chance of that. No, my child, they let some of us go. The older ones.’
‘Tell me everything. Start at the beginning.’
He stared at the floor, his hands hanging between his knees. ‘They called us to a meeting,’ he said. ‘We thought they were going to confirm that we could reopen the university. But instead SS Sturmbannführer Bruno Muller read out a speech. He said we had tried to resume our research and organise exams without permission and that was an act of malice and hostility towards the third Reich. Yes, those were the words. An act of malice and hostility. Can you believe it?’
She could believe anything the Nazis did.
‘We were told we were under arrest and would be taken to a prisoner-of-war camp. Imagine! One hundred and eighty-three of us. Some weren’t even employed by the university. They just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. A student, a hot head, protested and they put a bullet in him.’
He covered his face with his hands. Irena had never seen her father look so defeated and it frightened her. All her life he’d been this strong man she’d looked up to, her immutable rock.
‘Don’t talk any more, Tata. It can wait. You should rest.’
He took a shuddering breath and raised his head. ‘I have had enough time for rest. I need to tell you what happened. We have to find a way of telling the world what is going on here. I heard that the outside world put pressure on the Nazis to release us, and in the end – but only after they’d almost killed us – they agreed to let some of us go. Those of us over forty.’ A smile flitted across his face. ‘They must believe we are too old to be a threat to the new fascist world they envisage.’ He grasped her hand. ‘It is the young they want to get rid of most. It is why you must protect yourself.’
‘Tata —’
‘Remember when I said that the Germans were decent people. That we shouldn’t worry? I was wrong. This isn’t the same army as in the last war. These aren’t the same people.’ He leaned forward, his blue eyes blazing. ‘I must tell you what they did if only to make you understand why you must leave.’ His lips were taking on a blue tinge and Irena felt for his pulse with her fingertips. It was rapid and weak.
‘Tata, it can wait. You need to rest, to get your strength back.’
He pushed her hand away. ‘There’s no time, Irena. You have to listen.
‘They took us to the prison on Montelupich Street. After a few days we were transferred to the old barracks of the Polish twentieth Infantry regiment. They have a sense of humour at least. Then we were moved again. Our new prison was Schutzhaftlager Sachsenhausen near Berlin – at least that was the sign we read on the gate. We were ordered into a barrack and told to take off our clothes. Our heads were shaved and then we were made to shower – all together. Can you imagine the indignity of it? To them we were no better than simple criminals – Häftlinge.’ He closed his eyes and paused for so long that Irena thought he’d fallen asleep. As she gently laid a blanket over him he began to speak again.
‘It was a hell. Our accommodation was in long rows of barracks arranged around a large central yard. This was where we had to stand for roll call, for hours at a time, three times a day. It was so cold and all we had to wear were thin prison clothes. The only ones who had caps were the “functionary prisoners”, he almost spat the words, ‘criminals who had the privilege of beating the other prisoners whenever the whim took them. The camp was run by SS men, with the army manning the watchtowers. There were others: young, shady-looking men in long black coats with what looked like pieces of shin bones on their lapels. We heard that they were SS men sent to Schutzstaffel to do penance or for special training. They were referred to as the fallen angels. Fallen Angels! It was a good description of the devils. We were more frightened of them than of anyone else.
‘The routine was the same every day: we rose at six, washed, had a drink of some brown stuff they had the nerve to call coffee, before the first roll call – one of many. Often they lasted longer than an hour. They took this opportunity to torture us. If we stopped standing to attention they would beat and kick us. It’s almost impossible to stand still when you are freezing. Sometimes they would punish us as a group. Several times we were made to kneel in the mud on one knee and hold our hands in the air. Like so.’
He dropped to his knees and demonstrated. The sight of him like that was impossible to bear. ‘Tata, please, don’t!’ She scrambled to her feet and helped him up and back into his chair. She didn’t want to hear any more, but she knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d finished his story.
‘After Christmas it became even colder and we began to despair of our survival. Influenza and pneumonia began to spread but we had nothing to treat it with. Many died. It was the worst time.
‘A week or two later there was a longer roll call, almost three hours. It was the coldest day so far. Many, many people froze to death and we had to leave them where they fell.
The younger men were selected for work in the rock
quarry at Mauthausen. At least they got a little more to eat. All the rest of us were given was watery vegetable stew and a small lump of hard bread once a day, and once a week, a little margarine or fruit pulp, perhaps fish paste or a piece of black pudding. It wasn’t long before we began to look like walking skeletons. Then, suddenly – we didn’t know why – they called the names of a hundred of us, the older ones. We thought we were going to be driven to a forest and shot, but instead they gave us back our clothes and put us on a train. Every moment we expected they would stop the train and pull us off again but they didn’t. They just let us go. I came to you soon as I could. But, Renia, they still have the younger professors and there is talk that they won’t rest until the intelligentsia of Poland has been wiped out. I’m afraid that could mean the students next – people like you.’
‘What can they possibly hope to gain by their actions? What are they scared of? That we will kill them with words?’
‘This is a different type of world to the one that existed when you were born. They want to destroy us so that they have nothing to fear from us in the future. That is why you must look out for yourself.’
‘It’s bad here, too.’ She wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them to her, trying to instil some warmth into her body. ‘It doesn’t seem to matter who you are or what you do. Only last week they executed hundreds of innocent people, because one German policeman was killed by our underground army. Others just disappear.’
‘I’ve heard the Russians are no better. There are rumours of arrests and executions there too. And the camps there are as bad as here,’ he murmured, his voice raspy from talking. Telling his story had clearly taken its toll.
Sweet Mary, the Russians and their camps! He didn’t know about Magdalena. How could he bear it?
When she shivered again her father reached out and patted her hand. ‘I am not telling you this to frighten you, but to convince you to go.’
‘Tata, I have something to tell you. It is more bad news, I’m afraid.’
He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. She noticed they were trembling. ‘You have had word of Aleksy?’ he said finally.
She crouched in front of him and took his cold hands in hers. ‘No. It is Magdalena and her mother. I’m sorry to have to tell you, they are both dead. In a camp in the east.’
What little colour he still had in his face drained away. ‘Are you sure? There is so much confusion.’
She nodded, rubbing his hands to try to bring some heat into them. ‘I’m afraid so, Tata. Magdalena wrote to me and Aleksy. Her mama had already died and Magdalena knew she didn’t have long. A nurse posted the letters after Magdalena passed away.’
A tear dribbled down his cheek. ‘That poor girl. And her mother. Oh, my poor boy. If he is still alive this news will break his heart.’
They sat in silence, the clock ticking away the minutes. ‘You see why you must go,’ her father said finally. ‘If you won’t leave Poland, you must at least leave Warsaw. There is nothing here for you now. No reason for you to stay. I have to go back to Krakow to help with the underground university but I have a friend, a doctor who trained under me, who is working in Rozwadow in the south. It is a just a village, so not important to the Germans, and I think you would be safer there. You can continue to work as a medical student on the wards. Dr Palka – Henryk – is in charge there. He will be a good teacher.’
‘If it’s safer there you should come with me.’
‘They need me in Krakow.’
‘I need you. What if they arrest you again?’ He would never survive if they did.
‘It is a chance I must take.’
‘I’m begging you, Tata. Don’t go back. Please! It’s too dangerous.’
He frowned. ‘My child, don’t you see? It is my way of fighting. It is more important than ever that we train the young people so they are ready when Poland is liberated.’
She had to make him see sense. He had to stay alive, if not for his sake, then for hers. ‘And when will that be?’ she asked bitterly. ‘I see no sign of it.’
‘This war won’t last forever. It will end one day. Whether it is the Nazis who are the victors or the Allies, one day this nightmare will stop.’
‘If you won’t stay here, I’ll come with you to Krakow.’
He shook his head. ‘It is too dangerous. They’ll be watching me and if they are watching me they will be watching you, too.’ He pressed her fingers. ‘I’m old, Irena. I don’t mind dying, but you and people like you are the future of Poland. You must do whatever it takes to stay away from the attention of the Nazis.’
‘Please, Tata. Don’t ask me to do this. If anything’s happened to Aleksy and Piotr, you are all I have left.’
‘And you, my darling, are all I have. That is why I need you to survive. When the war is over, we will need people to rebuild this country,’ her father continued. ‘We will need doctors, lawyers, teachers, engineers. The very people the Nazis want to crush. If you stay here you could be caught in one of their round-ups. You could be shot. Then where would I be? Or, if God has spared him, Aleksy? Or Piotr? What would we have to live for if you are not in this world?’
Irena looked at his dear face. Although she couldn’t bear to leave him, she knew he was right. Hadn’t she promised Piotr she would do everything she could to live? She could just as easily help in a hospital in a village as here in Warsaw, and at least there, she would be closer to Krakow and her father. ‘Very well, Tata. If you insist, I will go to Rozwadow when you are better. It is not far from Krakow. You could come to see me – or I can come and see you.’
He sighed with relief. ‘I have something for you.’ He dipped into his pocket and brought out a necklace. On the end of a thin gold chain was a tear-shaped ruby, surrounded by small diamonds. ‘It belonged to your mother. Keep it safe. If you need to sell it, then do so, but make sure you get the best price you can for it. The money I have in the bank is worth a fraction of what it was before the Germans devalued the zloty.’
Irena wrapped her fingers around the necklace. This had belonged to her mother and she would die rather than part with it. ‘I’ll look after it until we can be together again, Tata.’
Krystiana was waiting for her in the sitting room when she returned from seeing her father to bed.
‘Bastards!’ Krystiana spat. ‘How could they treat a man like your father like that? My God, they deserve everything our men will do to them.’
‘Our men have done their best, Krystiana. They can do no more,’ Irena said wearily.
‘That’s where you’re wrong.’
Krystiana turned away but Irena grabbed her arm and pulled her around until she was facing her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I didn’t want to tell you before – I thought it would be too dangerous for you – but our men are fighting back. It’s not just a few people shooting soldiers and putting up posters, there are thousands. They didn’t capture everyone. Many of our soldiers refused to surrender and escaped into the hills and they’re re-forming an army. Here in Warsaw, Krakow, too. Everywhere. There are many such groups but the biggest is the Armia Krajowa – the Home Army. We will be ready when the Allies come to rid Poland of the Nazi bastards.’
‘How do you know all this?’
Krystiana smiled. ‘My son. He is a commander. Remember near the beginning when I didn’t come in for a few days? I was hiding him.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? Didn’t you trust me?’
Krystiana touched her cheek with a gnarled finger. ‘I didn’t tell you because you didn’t need to know. It was safer for you. I wouldn’t have told you now, but I overheard what they did to your father. He’s right, little one. You must leave this place. They will be watching you. And if ever they capture my son, God forbid,’ she murmured a few words and kissed the cross she wore around her neck, ‘they will take me. Then they might come for you, too. It is good you are going away. It will be safer for us all.’
Despite wh
at her father had just told her, Irena felt lighter than she had since the invasion. Piotr could be with this secret army. Poland wasn’t defeated yet. She kissed the older woman. ‘Thank you for telling me. Thank you for giving me hope. May God protect you and your son.’
Chapter 15
Over the spring and summer, the round-ups and arbitrary executions continued. The underground army became increasingly active and every day another poster would go up on a wall with the names of those who had been shot – either for aiding a Jew or in retaliation for the death of a German. No one knew who’d be next, so everyone kept their heads down and their eyes averted, in a desperate hope not to attract attention. The Jews, however, couldn’t avoid being noticed.
