Karolina's Twins

by Ronald H. Balson

  “She shrugged her shoulders. ‘My mother’s brooch.’

  “I felt bad. ‘I’m sorry. You should have hung onto it until the end of the war.’

  “She smiled. ‘I never liked it anyway. I thought it was ugly. I was able to trade it for food, and let’s face it, the food is a lot prettier than the brooch.’

  “We both laughed. It was true.

  “‘Let’s picnic,’ Karolina said with a lilt. It was a warm night and the sun would not set for another two hours. There was a small triangular park at the corner of the ghetto, and even a park bench to sit on.

  “‘I have to check on Yossi first. Can I give him a little piece of duck with his dinner?’

  “‘Sure. There’s plenty here for the three of us,’ Karolina said. ‘We can certainly share with Yossi. Maybe he would like to picnic with us.’

  “We stopped in front of the building and I ran down the stairs only to find Yossi curled up on his mattress, his hands on his bible. I stopped short when I saw that he had soiled himself. I bent down to wake him and quickly realized that he had passed. I sat on the floor, unable to do anything, paralyzed by despair. Yossi was a kind man who had never harmed a soul, who’d brought hope and promise into my life. It was just too damn overwhelming.

  “A few minutes later, Karolina came down the stairs. ‘Are you two slowpokes going to stay here all night?’ Then she comprehended what had happened. ‘We have to notify the Judenrat.’

  “‘I have to clean him up, Karolina. I can’t let people see him like this.’

  “‘They’ll prepare him for burial. They do it every day.’

  “‘I can’t. He shouldn’t look like this. He was a learned man. A good man. I need to clean him.’

  “Karolina nodded. ‘You’re right, of course. I’ll fetch the water.’

  “We bathed and dressed Yossi, laid him back on the mat and crossed his hands on his chest over his bible. Then we went to see Mr. Kapinski at his apartment. He gave me a hug and thanked me for taking care of Yossi. ‘I’m sure his last days were pleasant because of you, he often told me so. I’ll send a group to pick up Yossi.’

  “‘Would you go to the synagogue with me and say Kaddish?’ I said softly.

  “Kapinski paused. ‘Aren’t you the girl who said prayers were a waste of time and energy? Didn’t you mock the minyan and say, ‘Who is listening?’

  “‘It’s not for me,’ I said. ‘It’s for Yossi.’

  “He raised his eyebrows and smiled. ‘Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn’t.’

  “He assembled a group at the synagogue, men on the main floor and women on the balcony, and we sanctified the name of God for Yossi.”

  Lena stopped and looked at Catherine. “Don’t you find that curious? That the first thing that came to my mind was my privilege to say Kaddish for Yossi?”

  “Who am I to judge?”

  “I mean, joining with other maltreated victims in prayers that praised God in such a godless setting—so flagrantly paradoxical—but it just seemed to me that Yossi would have insisted that I do so. He would have led me by the arm and directed me to say Kaddish. So I did.

  “After the funeral, there was no reason that Karolina and I couldn’t live together. Karolina’s apartment, the one she’d shared with her mother, was small and located in a grossly overcrowded building. So many families had moved into her building and encroached upon her little corner, that her living space was insufficient for the two of us. There were so many people forced to live in such a small area, not just Jews from Chrzanów, but refugees and transferees from other towns in Upper Silesia. Karolina’s floor was packed with families, many of them with young children. So we decided to look for another room. Clearly, Yossi’s furnace room was too small and unhealthy. We decided to go to Mr. Kapinski, as the Judenrat was often the agency that found rooms for people.

  “‘There are no vacant apartments, and if I had one, I’d give it to a family with children,’ Mr. Kapinski told us. ‘But we have just cleaned out the old ironworks on Bozena Plaza. It’s a large brick one-story warehouse with a vast open room. It’ll accommodate up to fifty in little blocked-off areas. Take it quickly,’ he warned. ‘There are more than ten thousand people currently squeezed into our ghetto’s few square blocks.’”

  “Fifty people in one open room? It doesn’t sound much better than the one Karolina already had,” Catherine said.

  “It wasn’t a lot better, but Karolina’s living space was too small for two. Even though the warehouse was a single room, people through their ingenuity could carve out separate living spaces. Boxes could be converted into dressers and tables. Used and abandoned furniture could be found. David smuggled out a few pieces of wool fabric for us to use as bedding. Before they were forced to abandon their home, Karolina and her mother were given sufficient time to pack their belongings. They brought bedding, dishes and a chest of drawers. Remember, all I had was what I’d stuffed into my duffel.

  “The warehouse, which everyone called the ‘dormitory,’ had windows, high ceilings, a few bare bulbs in the hallways and a concrete floor. Unfortunately, no toilets or running water. It had a coal furnace but no coal, no kitchen, and brick walls with no insulation. Yet, by the creativity of the residents, areas were segregated and partitioned into virtual rooms. Sheets or blankets hung from the ceiling as faux walls. Pieces of furniture and boxes, strategically stacked, formed aisles. To our collective credit, virtual privacy walls were created by the respect of one family for another. Even though your neighbor was inches away, we chose not to listen or see.

  “Karolina and I cordoned off a corner area of the dormitory for our sleeping and living quarters. Karolina’s old chest of drawers and a wooden box that we converted into a table provided a little wall to make a border for our space. I would say that we probably had an eight-by-ten area with a window. The window was a blessing that September, but a big mistake come winter.

  “During the summer, there was enough daylight for us to accomplish quite a bit before curfew. We could rise with the early sunshine and stand in the ration lines. After work we could wash our clothes. We could even take a walk, though not outside the ghetto. But by fall the hours of productivity were dwindling.

  “Food was becoming scarcer. Many stores ran out of provisions by ten A.M. Nazi edicts prohibited the sale of any dairy goods or eggs to Jews. No milk, cheese or butter. This was especially hard on families with young children. Babies need milk, and a starving mother can’t always provide enough. A black market developed, and prohibited products could be purchased from non-Jews, but it was dangerous and money was scarce. If one was lucky enough to buy some milk in town from a Gentile, it was usually given to the Judenrat, stored and distributed to the children. It was very risky to buy forbidden products. The Nazis would summarily shoot anyone found engaging in black market commerce.

  “To further enfeeble us and prevent us from buying food on the black market, the Nazis confiscated our valuables—silver, jewelry, paintings, even nice furniture. We were required to turn in all of our jewelry at the start of the occupation, but many saved a precious piece or two. The Germans periodically searched our living quarters or our belongings and if they found cash or valuables, you were due for a beating or worse. Thus Karolina’s exchange of jewelry for food was a dangerous transaction.

  “At the Shop, the routine never changed. Each morning Karolina and I returned to our machines just as another woman was leaving. Three shifts operated around the clock. One right after another. Measured pieces of large, heavy black wool would periodically be laid at my station. No sooner did I finish one overcoat than Ilsa would bring another. Sometimes needles would break, I’d raise my hand, Ilsa would come and I’d catch hell for breaking a needle. Finally, after an eight-hour shift, the bell rang, and I walked back to the dormitory with Karolina.

  “That was our life through the balance of 1941. Work. Eat. Sleep. We endured and, like the others, we settled into a penurious lifestyle. As long as it didn’t get any worse
, we felt we could outlast the occupation. Of course, we really didn’t know what the Nazis or the winter had in store for us.

  “Each night, as winter approached, I would curl up under my blanket, trying to keep warm in the unheated sleeping quarters. As always, I slept with Milosz’s shoe in my arms, hugging it tightly like it was a teddy bear. I missed him dearly, but I had stopped crying.

  “Back at the Shop, things took a turn for the better in late fall. Siegfried, a twentysomething German enlistee, became the overseer in Karolina’s section. Karolina told me that he had started hanging around her station to chat with her while she worked. He was young and lonesome, and he’d obviously taken a liking to Karolina. As I told you, she was very pretty. She had thick, black curly hair, alluring eyes, soft facial features and a knockout body. And she knew how to flirt.

  “Karolina was also a deft conversationalist. No matter what you wanted to talk about, she could hold up her end of the conversation. And she was a great listener. With her sparkling eyes and seductive smile, she’d had many a boy hanging around her in high school. And now, Siegfried was interested.

  “Siegfried’s attention was a great boon to us. He became Karolina’s protector. She was never hassled by any of the other overseers. She worked on fewer garments, but her reported production numbers never fell. Each day Siegfried would bring small portions of food wrapped in newsprint and bashfully tell Karolina that they were extras and that he would like her to have them. Cheese, meat and the most coveted of all, a piece of fruit. When no one was looking, he’d put the package into Karolina’s coat pocket. Slipping a piece of fruit into Karolina’s pocket and giving her a wink of his eye was a shy boy’s opportunity to get close to a beautiful girl. To understand how passionate he was about Karolina, you’d have to appreciate the seriousness of his acts. Giving food to Jews was strictly prohibited.

  “It was generally known to the Shop girls that getting a little friendly with a young overseer might get you an extra ration at lunch, not to mention kinder treatment in the Shop. Some of the more attractive girls secretly engaged in encounters, moonlight trysts with their overseers. Some of those developed into more serious relationships. The girls worked fewer hours, enjoyed special treatment and were generally free from abuse.

  “The Nazi hierarchy disapproved of such relationships, of course, for several reasons. Time spent flirting was time taken away from sewing. Girls who worked fewer hours finished fewer coats. Not to mention the fact that Germans were forbidden from having relations with Jews. Nevertheless, the hierarchy closed their eyes and the practice continued.”

  “I remember Ben telling me that his sister was captured and taken to a brothel to be used by Nazi officers,” Catherine said. “The Nazi elite certainly didn’t seem to mind raping and abusing young Jewish women.”

  “You’re right. Throughout Poland, young women were seized off the streets, taken from work details, pulled out of shops and out of their homes and forced to be prostitutes or sex slaves—call it what you will. Brothels sprung up to service Nazi officers and elite Germans, like the one in Rabka, where Ben’s sister was sent. But I have to tell you, little care was given to whether the abused girl was Jewish or Catholic. Brothels are now considered a substantial component of the forty-two thousand five hundred recognized Nazi persecution sites.

  “At some point, most of the girls of the Shop were propositioned. ‘Proposition’ is probably too euphemistic a term. Many were strong-armed. Many held out, but abhorrent conditions and abject fear compelled increasing numbers to yield. Especially in the cold of winter.

  “The winters in Chrzanów were cruel. The frigid temperatures penetrated the unheated buildings and thin blankets afforded little insulation. Most of us curled up as small as we could on our bedding, doubling the blanket, and even then without much relief from the bitter cold. But if a German soldier with a heated apartment showed interest in a Shop girl, she might get to spend the night in his heated bedroom. Shame is preferable to freezing to death. None of the girls passed judgment on such indiscretions.”

  Catherine held up her hand. “It’s not necessary. You don’t have to go there. And you and Karolina certainly have nothing to apologize for.”

  “I’m not about to apologize for anything. But you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Not everyone was so quick to climb into bed with a Nazi. Karolina was no fool. Relationships end as quickly as they begin. A long courtship was far more profitable than a burned-out flame. Siegfried was shy and Karolina was gorgeous. She kept him at a delicate distance. Sexual innuendos, but timely dismissals, kept Karolina’s relationship with Siegfried in balance—on a delightfully flirtatious level.

  “The winter of 1941 to 1942 was historically bitter and it began early. The December temperatures dropped well below zero. We would dress in layers—a blouse, a sweater and a coat. If you were lucky, you had a very warm coat. If you were really lucky, you had two sweaters. You have to realize, back then women did not wear pants or slacks. We wore skirts, most of them mid-calf. And if you were fortunate, you had a pair of boots that would cover your shins. A thin cotton scarf, a babushka, was all we had to cover our heads.

  “Inside the Shop it was warm. Outside on the way home, it was frigid. And even when we got home, there was very little relief. The unheated apartment buildings were only a few degrees warmer than outside. Even double blankets didn’t help much. Sleep was nearly impossible. There was just no way to get warm. The wind would whip through the rattling windows, even though we stuffed the seams with newsprint.

  “When December settled in, and the north winds blew, it chilled me to the bone. I froze every night. I’d slide into every piece of clothing and blanket I had, and if I were lucky I’d cry myself to sleep, but an hour later I’d wake up with violent shivers. Psychologically and physically, I was losing the battle. Each day I dreaded going home. I couldn’t handle anticipating another frigid eight hours. On top of that, I wasn’t feeling well. I was run-down, dehydrated and malnourished. We didn’t get enough vitamins or proteins to fight the cold. The meager amounts of food we had did not provide sustenance and our resistance was down. I felt like every bit of energy was sapped from my body. I began to seriously wonder if I was going to make it through another night.

  “Finally, on an exceptionally bitter night in late December, as I lay curled up, doubled in my blanket, cardboard over me, shaking so hard my teeth rattled, I knew I had come to the end of my rope. I was ready to give up. I really didn’t care whether I lived or died. Just take me out of this misery. And if it weren’t for Karolina, right then and there, I would not have made it to the morning.

  “I was lying there, shaking so badly and crying so hard, when suddenly I felt a hand tap me on my back. Karolina had come over to my bed with her blanket and her mat. ‘Move over,’ she said, ‘You’ve got company.’ She got under the covers and wrapped herself around me. “Don’t,’ I said to her, ‘I think I’m getting sick and I don’t want you to catch it.’ ‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘Just move over.’

  “The two of us, wrapped up in each other’s arms, lay on the two mats underneath two blankets. I was out of gas, ready to succumb to the nightmare. But Karolina had strength where I had none. She was determined that I should live. She brought me back from the edge. The heat of our two bodies mingled and warmed us through the night.”

  Lena stopped. Tears rolled down her face, her lips quivered and she took short convulsive breaths. Catherine produced a box of tissues and put her arm around Lena’s shoulders to comfort her as best she could. “Do you want to stop here?” Catherine asked.

  Lena shook her head. “We survived. Each ice-cold night we would curl up together, my arms around her beautiful body, our legs entwined, and we survived. Do you understand? In the cold of the Polish night, many did not. We would wake up in the morning, but some did not. Sometimes we would find little children frozen to death, their tiny bodies curled up for all eternity.

  “Frostbite was common and the consequences were horrib
le. The ghetto clinic, with a ridiculous paucity of medical supplies, tried to treat the winter’s victims, sometimes with amputation, sometimes with a bundle of bandages, but many did not survive at all. Some survived with purple fingers. But, because of the strength and willpower of Karolina, I made it.”

  “She kept you warm.”

  “It was much more than that. I told you I thought I was coming down with something. I wasn’t well. Despite everything Karolina did to keep me warm, I got sick. I had a fever. I couldn’t shake it. I alternated between chills and sweats. Finally it got so bad I couldn’t go to work. David covered for me at the Shop. That night, Karolina came back from work with a cup of hot soup.

  “‘Where did you get this?’ I asked. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘Just get better.’ Of course, I knew she’d gotten the soup from Siegfried and that distressed me. Each night, she’d bring me a cup of soup, some cheese and meat. During her lunch break she’d bring me hot tea, toast with jam, even a piece of fruit. I knew where it was all coming from and I begged her not to make promises to Siegfried. I begged her not to compromise herself.

  “‘Shut up,’ she’d say. ‘Karolina can take care of herself.’

  “Still, despite the food and care I was receiving, I couldn’t shake the fever. I was having trouble breathing. I had a racking cough. My eyes were red. And during the day, when Karolina was at work and I had to lie in the bed alone, I shivered convulsively.

  “Karolina knew I was failing. Finally, she went to the ghetto clinic, collared a doctor and brought him to see me. I was sweating badly as he examined me. When he was finished he stood, pressed his lips together and shook his head at Karolina. ‘It’s pneumonia,’ he said in a whisper, but I heard him. ‘We have no antibiotics, I’m sorry.’

  “The next night Karolina didn’t come home at all. She returned in the morning, stood over my bed straightening my covers and tried to sit me up. I was half-delirious.

  “‘Karolina, where were you?’