Clara's War

by Clara Kramer

  She pulled open the closet door. I had heard that closet creak open and shut I don’t know how many times a day, but today it was louder than any bomb. We heard Julia pushing aside her clothes and then the tumble of boxes on the floor right above our head.

  Julia was near hysterics. ‘I had some silver candlesticks. From my dowry. I kept them hidden in the closet for safe keeping.’ The other trainman was now in the room and we heard him tumble to the floor and heard the sarcasm in his voice: ‘Of course thieves. But there’s no one under the bed.’ I could tell from his footsteps that Julia hadn’t put the rug back to cover the hatch. I could hear him right above me. His body had to be covering the hatch as he looked right under the bed!

  The first trainman must still have been pointing to the spot right above the hatch where he saw Patrontasch. ‘I swear I saw him! Standing right there. He was short. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Wearing just an undershirt.’

  I looked at Patrontasch. We all did. The trainman was describing him exactly. I heard the men move to the closet and then out of the room, searching everywhere. I heard doors being opened and closed. And cabinets being opened and closed. Julia and Ala followed them around as they asked if anything else had been stolen. We also followed their progress with our eyes on the ceiling above us. Zygush woke up and started to say something, but the look in my eyes quietened him right down. He saw we were all frightened to death. He was stoic as usual. Zosia woke up now, but was quiet.

  Julia had changed tactics. ‘Maybe it was a partisan.’

  The trainman replied, ‘Whoever was here he’s not here now.’

  Julia was doing her very best. ‘The window was open. He probably saw you and jumped out the window.’

  All I could think was: Fifteen months in this hole. To die now with the Russians in Tarnopol!

  Ala, dear clever Ala, laughed: ‘Mama, I’m sure if we’re really nice to Papa, he might buy us another pair of silver candlesticks. He knows how much you loved them. Mama’s a little crazy about those candlesticks. She doesn’t ever use them.’

  The two trainmen laughed at her joke but one of them still went out to fetch the police. We waited and waited. In silence. I wanted to say goodbye to Mama and Papa. I knew this might be the last time I might say anything to them or tell them how much I loved them. I wanted to tell the children we would all be with Uchka soon. I couldn’t say goodbyes to anyone. When the trainman came back it was with several other policemen, all of whom knew the Becks. Ever since the trainmen heard Lucynski voice his suspicions about Jews being in the house to Beck several weeks ago, I felt they suspected something, despite that not one thing was changed in their behaviour or conversation. I wasn’t able to control the fear that tore through my mind, sending every thought to the desperate conclusions that only permanent terror can bring. As they looked through the house, I thanked God they were talking about thieves and not Jews, and then the conversation turned to something innocuous. I heard one of the trainmen laughing. ‘Even if I had a gun, I wouldn’t have shot the thief, even if he was a Jew.’ And though I wasn’t able to join them, for a moment I was grateful at the apparent decency of this one man whose face I had never seen. All the policemen laughed. Ala asked them to stay for tea, but after a few minutes they left.

  And we were left, alive, one more time. Again, Beck was right. His friendship with the German police was paying dividends in the days and weeks and months added to our lives. The trainmen went out and we were able to cook our potatoes and empty the buckets. I even had a chance to help the children with their lessons. When Beck came home later, the trainmen were still out and he knocked on the hatch. Instead of panicking and worrying about his own survival, he said, ‘You shouldn’t worry about those two. They’re all right.’ And instead of reproaching Patrontasch for forgetting to close the bedroom door, he promised: ‘You know I’ll never leave you. I’ll die with you. Your fate is my fate. And let me tell you what Ala did.’ His eyes grew bright when he talked about her. ‘She called Hans from work–you know, the policeman who is besotted with her–and told him about the robbery and how the trainmen suspected Jews were in the house. Can you believe it? How smart she is. And you know what Hans said? This is the best!’ We waited for the punchline. ‘“Jews in your house?” he told Ala. “Those trainmen are out of their minds. Jews at the Becks! I live with you practically. Acch! Some people see Jews everywhere.”’

  This was Hans, who bragged about how many Jews he had killed. I didn’t know how Ala and Beck did it. In almost 15 months, they didn’t lose their heads with the Germans. Not once.

  Then he said to us, ‘You know you shouldn’t worry. Beck is lucky. Beck is always lucky.’ He whistled a few bars of ‘All’s Well That Ends Well’ to prove it.

  Perhaps Beck was right. Perhaps ‘All’s Well That Ends Well’. Because the next thing he came down to tell us was that the Russians were 80 kilometres away from Lvov. Two hours in a car, that’s all! We were jubilant, hugging, embracing each other; the end was near. His piercing blue eyes had always betrayed his feelings even before he had said a word. Either they had the warmth of a summer sky or they were cold like ice, looking inwards. Today I could see that the commitment he had made to us was ripping him apart. He admitted that Ala had been transferred to Krakow and Julia wanted to go with her.

  Papa and Mr Patrontasch did everything they could to convince him that it was going to be okay. They even told him that all of us would give our lives for him and his family in a heartbeat. It was true. I knew I would. Beck didn’t say anything for a long time. That he didn’t laugh in our faces was just one more example of his decency. He just looked around the bunker at his sorry excuse for an army. ‘You think you could fight the Russians? To hell with the Russians. Even the Ukrainian bastards would rip you apart.’ Of course he was right. It was a crazy idea. I didn’t have a gun. I had a spoon, a fork and an enamel plate. I couldn’t have weighed more than 40 kilograms. The last time I had been upstairs cleaning, I had caught sight of myself in the mirror. Although I didn’t look as bad as some of the others, I knew I shared equals odds as a rabbit against a bloodthirsty Ukrainian.

  Papa said, ‘You could hide down here with us.’

  Beck simply shook his head and went upstairs to talk it over with Julia. He came down a few minutes later and told us that it was final. Julia was still frightened and would leave with Ala on Monday. I was counting the hours to Monday. With Julia and Ala gone, even if Beck remained behind, how long could he stay with us? Surely he would have to follow them sooner rather than later. Maybe he would even leave with them on Monday, or a couple of days later. He’d leave us with food for a few days and join his family. Every time he came back from town, he’d tell us about one family or another who had already fled. It felt like he was preparing us for the possibility that he would also leave. Again and again he would assure us that he’d never abandon us, but his promises weren’t enough. I was afraid he would have no choice. I understood, but I dreaded his leaving more than anything else. Everything about his presence was reassuring, from his voice to his familiar footfall and whistle above us. One day he would simply walk out of the door and disappear. There would be nothing we could do.

  We all waited in terror for Monday. I was awakened by the sound of Ala weeping. She must have been saying goodbye to her father. I hoped she would come down to say goodbye. I wanted to thank her for everything she had done for us. We wouldn’t be alive were it not for her. There was a knock on the trapdoor. It groaned and squeaked as Patrontasch opened it. It was well made, but with the warm air above and the dank humid air in the bunker, the wood had swelled almost overnight. There would be no more sneaking buckets when the trainmen were at home. I expected Ala, but it was Beck. I could hear Ala was still weeping.

  ‘The trains aren’t coming. They can’t leave. The trainmen aren’t here, but we don’t have much time.’

  I didn’t know what he meant. It was only when I saw Julia handing down bread and potatoes that I understood that Julia and A
la were going to hide down here with us if they needed to. Beck brought down 18 loaves of bread, 60 kilograms of potatoes and a bag of salt. Salt! It was more precious than gold. I hadn’t seen so much food in over three years. Beck didn’t tell us where he had got it all. I couldn’t imagine, first, all the money it cost, and then where to buy so much even if he had the money. He went back upstairs and a few minutes later handed Julia’s sewing machine to Papa and Mr Melman. They put it in the back bunker on the other side of the ‘park’. It was Julia’s most valuable possession. For a moment I thought the food would be just for Julia and Ala, but Beck quickly told us it was for everyone.

  Beck had no sooner gone up through the trapdoor when I heard him mutter something about the sister-in-law, at which Julia let out a scream as if scalding water had been thrown in her face. ‘In my house? In my house? You and your whore can go to hell!’

  ‘How can we say no! She’s blood!’

  ‘Not mine! And not yours! Are you crazy? She’s seeing a Blue Coat. A Ukrainian. A policeman! And you trust her to keep her mouth shut? Mine and your daughter’s lives in the hands of your whore? You care more for her than your own daughter? I know how much you care about me, but your own daughter, for crying out loud!’

  Beck was calm. He simply asked, ‘You’d rather see her dead?’

  ‘Let the Blue Coat take care of her! She’s descended from Polish aristocracy! He probably believes her. The liar.’

  ‘She was married to my brother!’

  ‘She might as well have been married to you! I’ve had enough! ENOUGH! You hear me!’

  Julia ran to Ala’s room and slammed the door shut. How could Beck have thought Julia would agree to letting the sister-in-law stay in the bunker? Julia, Klara and the sister-in-law in the same bunker. With Beck as well? There wasn’t a bunker big enough for the four of them. I had never read any novel with situations like the ones we faced day in and day out.

  Beck stuck his head in the bunker and said to Mr Patrontasch, ‘Help me. You have to convince her. You’re the only one she’ll listen to.’ Mr Patrontasch knew he couldn’t argue with Beck.

  ‘Come up here. Talk to her; I’ll watch out for the trainmen.’

  Patrontasch’s wife leaned in to ask, ‘What are you going to say to her? What are you going to do?’

  ‘Beg. Beg and then beg some more.’

  He climbed up the hatch after Beck.

  With the trainmen still out, we had to take advantage of the time to cook some potatoes and empty the pails. So we went about our tasks while our ambassador went off to negotiate a peace treaty. Zygush took out his little penknife and threw it again and again into the dirt of the bunker. I knew it annoyed everyone, but it was the only toy he had and nobody had the heart to ask him to stop. He knew when it was safe to play with the knife. And the other children knew not to ask to play with it.

  The potatoes had been boiled and eaten and still Mr Patrontasch hadn’t come back. When Beck was upset, he paced back and forth. He hadn’t stopped since Patrontasch had gone to speak with Julia. The floor creaked in the exact same place every time. It was like a waltz. One two creak. One two creak. One two creak. Between Beck walking back and forth and Zygush throwing the knife in the ground, I thought the bunker would explode. Patrontasch didn’t come down until an hour later.

  He had been successful and Beck showed his gratitude with vodka. When Lola asked how he had convinced Julia, Mr Patrontasch said that he had at first tried to be reasonable, saying that it would be safer for everyone if the sister-in-law were in the bunker with them. He had argued that Beck’s sister-in-law might become angry if they didn’t let her in, in which case there would be a greater chance of her saying something to her policeman lover. He said Julia hadn’t seemed to care what happened to her, to Beck, to us, to anybody. But then Patrontasch told her, ‘We’ve had our lives. But think of the children.’ He told us that he didn’t think Julia could take much more. Up until now she had been our well that never ran dry. There weren’t enough words to describe her goodness. I loved Beck; he was our saint. But he wasn’t a saint for his wife. What she endured from Beck, nobody ever went through.

  I didn’t know if Julia’s argument with Beck had any effect on Klara. Or if it made Julia feel differently about Klara. All I knew was that a miracle happened. Klara had been standing up through the trapdoor asking Beck for something. Julia must have seen them and asked if she could speak to her. Her voice was calm and pleasant. Usually the sight of the two of them in conversation would send her off into a rage. Beck didn’t know what to do. He just left the women together and walked out of the room. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. But I had never seen so many eyes and so many ears trained at the floor above us. Even if the SS had been upstairs, nobody could have been more still.

  I knew our survival hinged on the relationship between these women. We never knew which way the door would slam. But I had to admit that really I just wanted to know what the two women were saying to each other. I was nosy. We all were. The affair had carried on, it had lasted for over 14 months by now. We never could talk about it openly. All I had got on the subject was a few words from Lola over a year ago: ‘Thank God he didn’t choose me.’ And that was it. We had chopped, boiled, eaten and digested every metre of ground taken or lost in the war. But the war between these two women had been fought in silence. Not a word had been said by the two former best friends. Before the war, a sin of this magnitude would have meant shunning and banishment. Now the final battle was taking place upstairs. I didn’t know what to expect. Julia’s fury had been directed for the most part at Beck. But I think she felt more injured by Klara. Beck’s infidelity was expected by Julia, if not tolerated. It was like the arthritis that had deformed her hands. It was inevitable and had to be endured. But Klara had been a friend. As close as a sister. There was supposed to be a code between sisters. Something that went far beyond ‘for better or for worse’. Far beyond the mysterious yearnings of men and women that I did not understand. This was the code my grandfather talked about when he admonished Josek not to ‘send a girl up the chimney’. Julia’s life, I had learned, was built on a foundation of faith and loyalty. In all the times Julia was kind enough to invite me up to her kitchen table, she had never once spoken with me about her religion. She never said one word about her faith or told me she was saving us because she wanted to be a good Catholic. Such a thought, no matter how sincere, would never have occurred to Julia in a million years. The deepest precepts of her faith, kindness, charity, sacrifice, were so ingrained in her character that even the fears and anxieties which turned friends into enemies and neighbors into traitors couldn’t turn Julia against us. Every day I could feel the anxiety coming off her like sweat, and yet she never wavered. She would have sacrificed her life for Klara and the rest of us. She had demonstrated that every day for the last 15 months.

  Klara’s legs dropped through the hatch. Her brother was there to help her down. She wiped tears from her face. Although none of us could be called radiant, for those first few moments her face looked like that of a young girl’s. Free of worry. She moved to her spot and sat with her legs lined out in front of her and her back against the wall. She didn’t say a word about what she and Julia had talked about. And not one of us asked her. Everything we needed to know was written in her face.

  Later, Mr Beck put his head down into the bunker and called Zosia to come up. She looked at Mama and me for help. I had heard the sister-in-law come in and I wondered what Beck was up to. But we both nodded for her to go up. Beck had always been like the uncle that spoiled her, calling her pet names, stroking her blond curls with his rough hands, always an extra piece of candy for her. Zosia had learned two lessons in the bunker: the virtue of silence and the virtue of Beck. Mr Beck picked her up from Patrontasch. ‘C’mon, Zoskia, I have somebody for you to meet.’

  We could hear Beck say, ‘Zoskia, this is my sister-in-law. Her name is Mania and she might come and stay with you downstairs for a while.’
We had never known what her name was. That she shared the same name as my sister seemed unfair. I refused to think of her as a Mania. In deference to Julia, I promised only to call her the sister-in-law. Beck went on, ‘Out of all of you downstairs, I thought she would like to meet you the most.’

  The sister-in-law’s voice, which I had come to think of as brassy, suddenly went soft. ‘It’s so nice to meet you. What a pretty girl you are.’

  Beck quietly said, ‘Zoskia, can you tell Mania how you came to live downstairs?’

  When I heard the question, everything stopped. Zygush’s brown eyes were focused on the spot underneath his feet. He had vowed to protect his little sister and I knew he wanted to be upstairs with her. I was frightened for Zosia and angry at Beck. How could he make her remember? She was quiet for a while. I had heard some of the story from Zygush. And Beck had pieced together the remaining sequence of the last days of the ghetto, Uchka’s death and the little ones’ odyssey. But never had I heard any of it from Zosia’s voice.

  Beck’s voice was even softer. ‘It’s all right, dear, go ahead.’ She had barely said anything in the last year and the little she did say was hardly more than a syllable. More often than not, she simply nodded her head, yes or no. I had forgotten how melodious her voice was. Hearing it again called me back in time to the days when she had been just learning to talk. I’d walk into her house without knocking and little Zosia would call my name over and over in delight: ‘Clarutchka, Clarutchka.’ Then she’d jump in my arms.

  She started, ‘Mama was crying and smiling and she picked me up. She said we were going to stay somewhere else for a while. She carried me next door and up the stairs to the attic. She told us it would be better and safer for us. She gave me a piece of bread. Then she said she’d come back soon. She kissed me all over and told Zygush that he was the man now and to take care of me. She said she’d be back soon and kissed me all over again. Then she went away. But she didn’t come back like she promised. I cried. I cried so much…’