The Good Doctor of Warsaw

by Elisabeth Gifford

  The boardwalks are filled with people in wide sailor-style trousers, elegant chiffon dresses, white summer caps. Couples are dancing to a band with a clarinet and accordion playing the latest jaunty tango. It’s Misha’s day off so they stay out late, eating dumplings at a café on Szucha Street. They come out into the moonlit streets and Misha walks Sophia home to Grzybowski Square in the mild night. The blackout feels like some romantic ruse for the sake of lovers, the war very far away. They linger in the courtyard archway, embracing, reluctant to part and give the night up to the next day.

  Misha walks through the almost total blackness back to his narrow room in the orphanage, hoping that Sophia is right. But he can’t escape a fear that follows behind, something about to break.

  In the early hours as it gets light, Korczak sits up in bed, woken by loud booms. He’s not dreaming. He really can hear a series of muffled explosions going off in the distance.

  Abrasha appears at the door. ‘Pan Doctor, they’re bombing the industrial areas in Praga.’

  ‘It will be more troop manoeuvres.’

  ‘But the radio says it’s begun. Hitler’s coming.’

  Stefa appears in his doorway, her face drawn.

  ‘Is it true?’ Korczak asks her.

  ‘Yes, Germany’s attacked us. No formal declaration of war, it seems. They’ve crossed the border in the north and sent planes to bomb the oil refineries just outside Warsaw. What should we do?’

  ‘Carry on as normal. Hitler will steal Danzig, perhaps, but he’d never do more than that or he’ll have our allies, France and Britain, declaring war on Germany. I’ll be down in a moment. Abrasha, go with Pani Stefa and tell the other children not to worry. I’ll be with you in the shake of a dog’s tail.’

  Korczak rattles through his few coat hangers and pulls his military officer’s uniform from the back of the attic cupboard.

  The braid is a little worn but this is an officer’s jacket that has been through the Great War. It’s seen the Germans retreat from Warsaw after they lingered on in Poland following the armistice in 1919. And then two years later, the war of Polish independence. If you include the Russian war on Japan while he was still a medical student, then this will be Korczak’s fourth war.

  And what has he learned? That it’s always the children who suffer first in a war.

  He pulls on the trousers, a tug to fasten them around the small paunch he has acquired of late. The jacket hangs emptily over his skinny chest.

  ‘Well, what did you expect?’ he tells his reflection in the little shaving mirror.

  An old soldier looks back at him defiantly, a white beard, fierce violet-blue eyes in bursts of kind crinkles. He fastens the silver buttons up to his chin and pats them.

  ‘At least we begin to fight back against this Hitler madness as one now, Poles and Jews together.’

  He’s too old to go back to his post as an army medical officer, Major Korczak, but he takes out his bag and checks through its contents, adding some bandages and a case of morphine vials. He clatters down to the hall in his old officer’s boots.

  Another series of booming explosions somewhere in the distance. The children look up from their milk and bread in alarm.

  ‘Well, well, so Hitler’s got up in a bad mood,’ Korczak tells them, striding through the dining hall, giving out hugs and smiles to the children who run up to him to be reassured. Now that the Doctor’s here, things surely can’t be so bad.

  ‘Pan Doctor, isn’t it true that the Germans’ planes are made of cardboard?’ asks Chaya.

  ‘And their clothes are made of paper,’ shouts Szymonek.

  ‘Absolutely,’ replies Korczak, ‘even their underpants!’

  Erwin calls from the doorway. ‘Pan Doctor, you’re wanted on the telephone. It’s the manager of Radio Poland for you.’

  In the office, Korczak answers briskly. He well remembers the last conversation with the radio manager, a bruising and embarrassing affair when he had gone in to propose his new idea for a programme only to be told his weekly talk had been terminated.

  ‘I was wondering, would you have time to come in today and do a broadcast to the people of Warsaw, Dr Korczak? People are panicking and there’s nothing like the voice of the old Doctor to calm people down. You’ve always had a way of speaking to the heart.’

  For a moment Korczak’s silent. The manager rushes in with an apology. ‘Of course, I would have defended you. It was all pure revenge for your criticism of some of the politicians, you know. Ridiculous that some people feel a Jewish citizen should not comment on affairs. But one’s hands are tied, you see.’

  Korczak’s voice is thick with emotion. ‘Of course. Only too happy.’

  Korczak sits behind the microphone. ‘Today we stand together, united against a great madness. Today every man, woman and child in Poland has a part to play to overcome the darkness together.’

  In the lobby outside the studio, the radio manager grips Korczak’s hand.

  ‘I should have been firmer, stood up to them when they sacked you. If only I’d—’

  Korczak stops him, grasping both his arms. ‘All that’s in the past, my friend. It’s the future we have to look to now. And have any fresh reports come in on how our army’s doing?’

  ‘We’re not allowed to broadcast all the bad news that’s coming in, but I can tell you that the German army are travelling at remarkable speed, wreaking havoc as they go. The Polish army is more or less in retreat.’

  ‘You’re sure of this? We were told Poland was ready to repel any attack. But things will be very different, when Britain and France come into the war. No news of a declaration?’

  ‘Nothing yet, I’m afraid.’

  All through the next day, Misha, Korczak and the other teachers keep returning to the office to listen to the radio bulletins. When the announcement finally comes, Britain has declared war on Germany, Korczak leaps from his chair. ‘I knew it. I knew our allies wouldn’t let us down. We must go to the embassy to show our thanks.’

  Korczak and Misha join the crowds thronging the narrow street leading to the British Embassy. France has also declared war on Germany and the French and British ambassadors both stand on the balcony of the embassy. With one deep voice, the crowd begins to sing the Polish national anthem. When the crowd then takes up the Jewish national anthem, Korczak lets the tears flow, one arm around Misha and the other around the Polish man standing next to him.

  Sophia looks down on the street below from the window in Rosa’s apartment. For the last couple of days, Warsaw has been going about its business as if the war can be swatted away quickly, shops open, people dressed as elegantly as ever. But today the shutters are closed, people hurrying away in the direction of the bridge looking as if they’ve dressed in a panic or as if they’re leaving for a hiking trip with boots and carrying backpacks. And as many people are heading into Warsaw, refugees from the rural areas to the west and north. No one knows what to do.

  All the news is of defeat after Polish defeat as the Germans advance and the Allies do nothing to stop them.

  Could the Germans really make it as far as Warsaw?

  It’s meant to be a celebration meal for Misha and Sophia’s engagement but now the dishes have been moved to one side and a map is spread out on the table. Around it, Sophia and her family, Misha and his sisters watch with anxious faces as Rosa’s husband, Lolek, traces a route across the Bug River into eastern Poland.

  ‘When do you think you will leave?’ Misha asks Rosa.

  ‘In the next few days. Before it’s too late to get out. If Poland falls, we’ll have to live with the kind of restrictions you see in Germany.’ She looks across at Lolek. ‘The young men taken away for labour with no warning.’

  ‘If Poland falls. What kind of talk is that?’ says Mr Rozental.

  Mrs Rozental looks at her girls poring over the map. Sabina is dark-eyed and too thin, holding her baby; there’s no question of her travelling. Krystyna is too young to go. But if Misha goes with Soph
ia, looks after her, then should they let her go?

  Niura pulls Misha to one side.

  ‘I’m going to take Ryfka and go with Rosa, head back to Pinsk and Father. I know it’s a risk but you could come with us, please, Misha?’

  He can’t reply. Should he and Sophia leave too? But how can he? He can’t leave the children. He feels torn in half.

  Outside, the speakers hung on the lamp posts buzz and crackle into life. A strident mechanical wail cuts the air.

  ‘It will only be a drill,’ says Rosa’s mother firmly.

  Moments late, the room vibrates and lurches palpably. An explosion out in the street.

  By the time they are down in the cellars, the scores of planes fill the air across Warsaw.

  Day after day, the carpet bombardment continues.

  Erwin looks up at the sky through the branches of the tree in the middle of the yard as he helps usher the younger children towards the doors to the basement once again. At the last summer camp Erwin, Sammy, Abrasha and the other boys played Poland against Germans. Sometimes the Germans won, sometimes the Poles. But they are not playing any more. Day after day Hitler has sent his planes to bomb Warsaw. As soon as the siren sounds they help Szymonek, Sarah and the other smaller children down into the basement. Korczak watches proudly as the children calmly file down again and again. More sensible than many of the adults he’s seen around Warsaw.

  And every day, Korczak takes his medical bag and threads through the smoke and fire of Warsaw, past the broken buildings and the horses lying on the road, giving first aid, picking up children stranded in the smoke. On Marszalkowska Avenue he finds a boy with no shoes standing on a pavement covered in broken glass.

  To Hitler’s fury, in spite of the terrible bombing onslaught, Warsaw refuses to surrender. The city is determined to fight on. The Allies will come to Warsaw’s aid any time now. All they have to do is stand firm, and sooner or later the Germans will retreat.

  Then Zalewski comes into the dining hall, his face white.

  ‘Is it true, Pan Doctor? Do you think it can be true?’

  The Germans have reached the suburbs. The Polish government, however, are no longer there to defy them. They have fled the city, promising to reconvene in Krakow. ‘And the army too. The Polish army have pulled out of Warsaw. How can they desert us?’

  They switch the wireless on and the teachers gather round. Korczak grips the chair. He shakes his head slowly in disbelief. It’s only a matter of time now before the Germans reach the very heart of the city and swarm along Krochmalna. Stefa looks at Korczak’s major’s uniform.

  ‘My dear, shouldn’t you take that off now? If the Germans arrive?’

  He stares over the top of his glasses. ‘Are we not at war?’

  ‘Why do I ask?’ says Stefa. ‘You’ll wear it. You’ll wear it until they leave. Of course you will.’

  Misha stands with fists clenched in frustration. What is he doing here? He should be with the Polish army, fighting, helping repel the invaders from the edges of Warsaw.

  A new message comes over the airwaves. He moves closer to the wireless, listening intently as it’s repeated over and over again. All able-bodied men are to reconvene in the east on the other side of the river. The teachers look at each other. Is it genuine? Is the army really reconfiguring in the east? Is this a call to join up? Or is it a trap?

  Misha stands up. He knows what he must do.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WARSAW, SEPTEMBER 1939

  It takes Misha a moment to work out where he is. He’s so bone tired he can barely remember his name. He can feel Sophia’s warm weight along his side and hear her breathing, regular and soft. He presses his chin against his chest and looks down so he can see if she’s really there.

  So they’ve slept together all night? Then he feels the bars of the delivery cart pressing into his back and remembers. It’s no dream. They’ve been on the road with thousands of other refugees for two days now. This open-sided wooden cart has become their home, their world.

  And yet he’s content, happy. He passes his hand tenderly over her fair hair, not quite touching it but feeling the compact warmth of her head, and she sighs and moves her forehead against his chest, her breath warm through his shirt.

  If he has Sophia, then he has everything.

  He doesn’t want to wake her. Let her sleep a little longer before she has to face what the day will bring. How many times did they have to run for the cornfields yesterday, the crowds spilling out like ants either side of the road? First the scream of the engines, then the Stuka planes appeared out of nowhere, suddenly swooping low and sowing death and mayhem along the route. An old man with a military bearing stood shaking his fist as the planes rose into the blue sky, vanishing once again. ‘This is no way to wage a war. On children. Women. Not how a gentleman wages war. Preposterous.’

  Later, Misha had come across him lying among the stubble in the field, neat holes in the fabric of his coat, red stains blooming around them, his family trying to gather him up.

  How long before a bullet finds Sophia, or his sisters? They are lying asleep near to Sophia, curled up together in the way they used to when they were little girls after Mama died.

  When Niura asked him to help them leave Warsaw and head for Pinsk and the safety of their father, he had had no idea that the Germans might machine-gun the civilians as they fled Warsaw.

  At the far end of the cart, Rosa and her husband are also still sleeping, dressed in their expensive hiking gear. It was Rosa’s father who got hold of the cart.

  All around he can hear muffled coughing, children crying, the first argument as the hundreds of people camped among the trees begin to wake to the chill of early morning. The air is thick with the tobacco smell of leaf mould. He rolls his head, his neck aching, his clothes damp from the forest air.

  He needs to pee, but he doesn’t want to move.

  Two days since they left Warsaw, two days on the road in a long procession of thousands moving at walking speed. Six days now since the strange message came over the Warsaw’s airwaves calling for every able-bodied man to go east. It wasn’t spelled out in the message, but everyone had understood that the Polish army must be regrouping somewhere beyond the Vistula. They were calling for recruits, reinforcements. It was all the call-up papers Misha had needed. But leaving Warsaw, the children, that would be like tearing himself out by the roots.

  After he’d listened to the wireless announcement again, straining for more clues, he had gone down to the courtyard to speak to Korczak. He’d found a group of young men clustered around him. He wasn’t the only one planning to go east to find the army. Sammy Gogol and Jakubek Dodiuk, boys he used to care for when he first came to the home, were now young men of eighteen. They had run back to Krochmalna Street to say their goodbyes before setting off.

  ‘All my fledglings are flying the nest,’ Korczak had said as he kissed the head of each of the young men.

  He’d turned to Misha, saw his grave expression.

  ‘And you too. So you’re leaving me too.’

  ‘I heard the message. But if you want me to stay . . .’

  ‘I can’t tell you what you should do. But in the last two wars it was me who had to go to war and leave Stefa to manage here. So now it’s my turn to stay while others go. It’s not the first time we’ve lived through a German occupation here – and seen the end of it. So from an old soldier to a young one, I salute you.’ Korczak had stood to attention in his old major’s uniform, then held out his arms and embraced Misha. ‘Ah, but it’s always hard to see one’s sons go.’

  Erwin had come running across the courtyard at full pelt.

  ‘They say you’re leaving, Pan Misha?’ His blue, birdlike eyes were bewildered in his round face. ‘When will you come back?’

  ‘Soon. It won’t be for long.’

  At the gatehouse Zalewski, the Polish janitor, had come out to shake Misha’s hand. Like Korczak, he’d also fought in the Great War and then the War of Ind
ependence.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Pan Misha, me and Mrs Zalewski here, we’ll be taking care of the children and the Doctor for you.’

  Sara and Halinka, Abrasha and Sammy, and little Szymonek and so many of the children that Misha had cared for over the past seven years had crowded around the gate, calling out goodbye, arms waving through the railings.

  He’d waved back, giving one last look up at the large building that had been his home for the last four years and set out for Grzybowski Square to tell Sophia he was heading east to join up. He was going to fight for Poland, but he felt like a deserter.

  Of course, Sophia had already heard the message too, already knew that he would decide to try and join up.

  ‘If you’re going east, then we go together,’ she’d announced the minute she opened the apartment door. The wireless was on in the kitchen. He could hear the same message being repeated.

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘I don’t mean I’m going to join up. I’m going to finish my degree in Lvov. Hitler will never get that far east. If the Germans get here, then you know life will be over for us. We won’t be able to do anything. If I can get to Lvov, then I can graduate and by the time this is sorted out I’ll be able to get on with life. If Hitler stops us doing what we need to, so we can make the world a better place one day, then he really will have won.’ She’d held his gaze steadily. She hadn’t said, and we won’t be able to marry, but it was there in her defiant look.

  Her mother had objected at first, but during the night the apartment block had been hit. The family escaped but lost almost everything. They could just about squeeze into Sabina and Lutek’s place.

  Suddenly Sophia’s idea of going with Rosa to free Poland in the east began to look like a sensible idea. So Misha would go with Sophia as far as Lvov where she could stay with friends. By then he’d have found out how to enlist, help make the war a short one. They would travel with Rosa and her husband – a stroke of luck that they hadn’t yet left – as her father had come up with transport and supplies. He knew a deliveryman travelling back to his village on the River Bug. There would be room for Misha’s sisters in the cart too.