Warsaw Requiem (Zion Covenant)

by Bodie Thoene

  The giant lantern on the top of the dome was easily seen from the Red Lion House, but Lori had not imagined that it could be so big or so high.

  “It weighs seven hundred tons,” explained Doc Grogan as he craned his neck back to look up into the misty heights of the cupola. “I do not speak of the weight of the dome itself,” he warned. “Only the lantern and the cross on the tip top. An amazing feat of engineering.”

  That was the last thing Doc Grogan said for quite a while. He paid one shilling per head for the privilege of climbing 616 steps of a nearly vertical staircase that twisted upward between the walls of the inner dome and the outer shell. The views might have been awe-inspiring, but in this case, the trek was also breathtaking in a literal sense.

  ***

  Allan Farrell stood staring out over the city of London from the vantage point of the Golden Gallery high atop St. Paul’s Cathedral. Down the Thames in the middle distance as the arch of the Tower Bridge. Part of the great fortress called the Tower of London was visible as well.

  Allan shook off the urge to take in the sights and forced his attention back to the slope of the roof that spread out its great bell-shaped curve just below where he stood. The lead-covered expanse fell away gently for the first few feet, then swooped abruptly downward. Anything sliding down that surface would shoot out into space with the acceleration of a meteor slamming to earth.

  Allan’s inspection turned upward toward the towering structure called the lantern that surmounted the dome. He looked up toward the cross on the very top, then over the railing again.

  The terrorist circled the base of the lantern, pausing every so often as if gauging something in his mind. When he reached the west side of the gallery, he attempted to see the spot where the Gunpowder Plot conspirators had been executed, but even from that great height it was not visible. The bulk of the west facade of St. Paul’s hid the exact location from view. “But I know it is there, just the same,” he murmured to himself.

  He was rounding the circuit of the Golden Gallery once more when he ran squarely into a line of children. A swirl of blonde and brunette heads bobbed around him. Small necks craned to see everywhere at once, and fingers pointed a hundred different directions.

  Allan waited impatiently for the children to move out of the way; then the adult who was apparently their guide puffed and wheezed slowly out of the stairwell. “Children,” he gasped, “stand aside and let this gentleman—”

  The man’s voice trailed off so abruptly that Allan looked to see what had caused the sudden change of tone. It was Grogan! Then these children must be . . . Allan ducked his head, then decided that his movement was suspicious, so he raised it again and found himself staring into Doc’s direct gaze.

  Grogan looked puzzled, then worried. He seemed about to speak, but Farrell roughly pushed through the knot of children and began a clattering descent of the stairs. Allan resisted the urge to run down the twisting iron corkscrew and forced himself to maintain a careful, deliberate pace.

  All the way down the steps and up the aisle of the cathedral to the west entrance, Allan thought about how this chance encounter could ruin things. Something would have to be done…and quickly.

  ***

  No one had ever heard Doc Grogan so silent. He was gasping for breath, of course. But he was speechless, unable to utter one coherent syllable until long after they leaned against the stone railing of the parapet and peered over the sloping lead roof of the dome that slid off into the tiny London streets far below.

  Lori snapped pictures of the shining ribbon of the Thames, of the boys crowded around the sweat-soaked, red-faced Doc; of the far distant landmarks of the Tower of London and the twisting lanes of the city.

  They unpacked their lunches on this perch that seemed almost too high even for the pigeons. The ten-foot hands of the clock struck one, and the tolling of the Great Bell began.

  30

  The Scent of Death

  It seemed as though the tolling of the bell of St. Paul’s struck a discordant note in Doc Grogan. He stared out over the stone parapet and then looked up at the golden ball of the great lantern atop the dome.

  Suddenly he barked, “That’s it.” In an angry-sounding voice, he ordered everyone down the stairs. He led the way, clattering down the iron steps almost at a run.

  Jamie and Mark teased him about how much easier it was to go down the steps than up. He did not respond to their jokes, but instead glanced up at the inner brick shell of the dome and then back up to where the iron braces linked the interior cone to the lead-covered exterior roof.

  Lori caught his sense of uneasiness. She felt a terrible sense of vertigo as she followed him down and down on the frail spiral of stairs. She wanted to shout for him to slow down. What if the little boys should slip? It was six hundred steps to the bottom, and as she peered over the railing, she could imagine falling straight to the stone floor below.

  Jamie and Mark, however, enjoyed the rapid pace. They thought Doc Grogan was simply paying them back for the fact that they had left him in the dust on the way up. Lori let them go by. She was angry at Doc for this game. She hung back with Charles and Louis.

  “Let them go,” she said. “We don’t have to hurry.”

  Grogan, Mark, and Jamie were already two twists of the spiral below them.

  Louis and Charles seemed grateful for the fact that she slowed her pace to match their careful descent.

  “Going up was easier,” said Charles as he clutched the rail. “’Cause we couldn’t see down.”

  It took them ten minutes longer to reach the floor of the cathedral than it had taken Doc and the older boys. When Lori emerged from the exit, Jamie and Mark were sitting on a bench just to the side of the opening. Doc was nowhere to be seen.

  They answered Lori’s question before she asked. “Doc said he had something really important to do. He told us we should all go back to Red Lion House and wait for him there.”

  ***

  Jacob paced the length of the small TENS office and back again. He was careful not to knock over the overflowing trash can or the stacks of military books beside Captain Orde’s desk.

  Werner sat on the windowsill, his head moving back and forth as he watched Jacob. Alfie thought Jacob’s face looked as if he had found something he had always wanted. Alfie knew what that something was, too.

  “All my life I have wanted to fight those arrogant, goose-stepping Nazis,” Jacob said in an excited voice. “And now I can do it! There were plenty of soldiers marching in the legion today who are no older than I am! If war is coming, I want to join the Polish Army!”

  The captain pressed his fingers together at the tips. Tap. Tap. Tap. Alfie could tell that Captain Orde did not like anything Jacob was saying. As a matter of fact, Alfie did not like it either. When the Nazi tanks came, they would kill Jacob in no time. Alfie frowned at the thought. He wanted to tell Jacob that, but it was better for the captain to talk about such things.

  “You have a wife to think of,” Orde said. He was not joking. Lori was a good thing to mention right now, because otherwise Jacob would run out the door and down to the recruiting office to enlist.

  Jacob stopped pacing. He ran his fingers through his hair. Had he forgotten Lori was waiting in London? “She would expect me to be brave, expect me to fight the men that killed my parents and are keeping her father in prison!”

  Alfie stuck out his lower lip. It was no wonder Jacob was ready to sign up with the Polish Army and go off to the border to wait until the shooting started! Jacob had not been thinking quite right since he found out about his father and mother. He had wanted to fight everyone since the captain had broken the terrible news. Mostly he wanted to take as many Germans with him as he could get hold of.

  “Joining the Polish Amy will not bring back your mother and father,” the captain said above the tap, tap, tap of his fingers. “It will simply make certain that you join them much sooner than you would like to.”

  “Defeatist!” Jaco
b spat.

  “Realist,” the captain replied calmly. “Or have you forgotten the German counterpart to what we witnessed today?” He studied the still-pacing Jacob. “Have you forgotten that the Poles are driving pigmy tanks compared to the big ones you saw rolling through the streets of Berlin?”

  “I saw them too,” Alfie volunteered. “Much bigger. Lots more noisy, too.”

  Jacob glared at him unpleasantly. “Stay out of this, Elisha!” he cried. “Aren’t you supposed to see angels all around? Fiery angels with drawn swords, protecting the righteous?”

  Alfie shook his head. “Not today,” he said slowly, trying to remember if he had missed something.

  Captain Orde interrupted in a very captain-like way. “If you want to fight the Nazis, I will help you. But not here. Not in Poland.” He raised his head and sniffed the air. “What do you smell, Jacob?”

  Jacob sniffed. “Polish sausages,” he said in a flat tone.

  Alfie knew that the captain was catching the scent of a dead dog out on the street. Alfie had just said how bad it smelled.

  The captain narrowed his eyes. Tap. Tap. Tap. “That is death, Jacob,” he said in a quiet voice. “Call it Polish sausages if you will, but I am telling you that unless there is a miracle, there will not be any place in Warsaw or all of Poland that does not stink like death.”

  “Then I will die bravely!”

  Captain Orde stood and faced off with Jacob. “Better to live bravely. And sensibly!” He picked up a long narrow strip of paper from the teletype machine. Werner jumped down; he thought this would be a good thing to play with. The captain held it up for Jacob to see.

  “I cannot read English,” Jacob said in a proud and angry voice.

  “Then I will translate.” Orde began to read. “Today after failures in talks between Moscow and Great Britain to sign a mutual nonaggression pact, Moscow has announced that high German officials are flying to the Kremlin to discuss matters of mutual national interest.” He stopped and eyed Jacob’s blank face.

  “So what?” Jacob snapped. “So Hitler is breaking every promise and finally climbing into bed with the Communists.”

  “You really do not know what this means, do you?” Captain Orde said.

  Alfie thought that he might know, but he did not say it out loud. Stalin and Hitler hated each other a lot. Did this mean they were now going to be friends?

  Captain Orde turned very pale. “The mutual bed on which Hitler and Stalin will lie is Poland.” He swept his hand toward the lovely old buildings of Warsaw just outside the window. “Take a last look, Jacob. Then inhale deeply and remember the smell. The child these two monsters conceive is called Death. This will be its playground. Here. Warsaw.”

  He sighed deeply and sat down on the squeaking desk chair. Then he addressed Alfie. “You understand, don’t you, Elisha? There are no angels around Warsaw. No chariots of fire. No flaming swords or —” He placed the tape in a jumbled pile on his desk. “I promised Helen Ibsen I would do my best to get you out of here, Jacob. I intend to do that.” He looked at Alfie, then back to Jacob. “Join the Zionist Youth organization. They train young men to travel to Palestine. To work there. To fight there if they must. The odds are not perfect, but much better than this. I have contacts. Several hundred men were brought in illegally to the Mandate. There may still be time—”

  “To run away,” Jacob said bitterly.

  “You have never seen running until you see what is about to happen here in Poland. They will run, and they will be massacred. On all sides, I have no doubt. The Nazi’s will come in from the north, south, and west. The Russians will come in from the east. Both sides have been waiting twenty years to divide up Poland like a beef carcass.”

  All the fire left Jacob’s eyes. He turned away and sat on the edge of a shipping crate that had not yet been unpacked since they arrived. Werner jumped up on his lap, and Jacob scratched the kitten behind his ears. This was a good thing, Alfie thought. Jacob had remembered that Captain Orde was an honest man, a soldier who knew things just by looking.

  “I want to fight them.” Jacob’s voice was sad more than angry.

  “You will have your chance,” Captain Orde said in a soldierly voice. “As a matter of fact, I have the hope that I might train you myself.”

  Jacob smiled a little. “You’re retired.”

  “Temporary insanity on the part of the British High Command, I assure you.” He squared his shoulders. “They will need me back soon enough. After what I saw today, I have no doubt of that.” He raised his eyebrows, and Alfie could tell that he was relieved. “Until then, you must promise me that you will not join the Polish Army.”

  A shrug. A nod from Jacob.

  Captain Orde tapped his fingers in a happy way. “Good. A good strong lad like you will do well under my command. But you must learn to obey orders first.” He looked over at the overflowing garbage can. “You will empty that, please. And then put the books on the shelf.”

  ***

  Alfie had been looking for Lucy Strasburg ever since they arrived in Warsaw. He had not been wandering around looking for her, but rather he had been expecting to see her around every corner.

  Today he swept the step and the broad sidewalk in front of the TENS office. Werner played tag with the broom, crouching and pouncing on the straw and then attacking wildly as Alfie pulled the broom across the pavement.

  Busy people hurried past with gas masks hung from straps around their shoulders. Faces were grim. Alfie noticed that the eyes of everyone darted up to look into the sky every time an airplane rumbled over.

  There were Polish uniforms everywhere. Long, shining sword scabbards dangled from wide belts and clattered noisily along the sidewalk. The swords made the sound of tin cans banging on the ground. The soldiers seemed not to notice the racket they made as they walked and talked to one another. But Alfie noticed. Along with the engines of automobiles and trams, Warsaw had become a very noisy place indeed.

  Like the Tin Man in the moving picture show that Captain Orde had taken them to last night, Warsaw rattled. Its old, rusty knees knocked together. Its jaw hinge groaned as it stood shaking in front of the great and terrible Oz of a Führer. Hitler’s voice boomed out in a most terrifying way. Alfie replayed the scene in his mind.

  “I AM THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE OZ!” This had been spoken in English with Polish subtitles and translated into German by Captain Orde.

  Alfie looked down at Werner, a small version of the cowardly lion. Werner’s ears went back when Alfie talked loud like the wizard.

  “You are supposed to try to run away, Werner,” explained Alfie. “And then Dorothy and the Scarecrow and the Tin Man grab your tail and pull you back.”

  Alfie looked at his broom. He forgot his place in the story. The bad witch rode on the broom, didn’t she? And then Dorothy threw water on her and she melted.

  ”Oh well,” Alfie said. There would be no happy ending for the Tin Man this time. Captain Orde had said that England was the Cowardly Lion. It seemed to fit. He said that the French were like the Scarecrow—no brains. It made the moving picture show much better because in the end everything worked out. But Alfie thought it could have just as easily gone the other way. The heroes do not always win just because they are nice, Alfie knew. If that was true, then his friends at the hospital would not have been killed. The Hitler-men would not have put Pastor Ibsen in prison and killed Jacob’s parents and burned down Jewish houses.

  Alfie thought about this very hard as he swept. Countries like France had to be stuffed with more than straw in their heads. And a strong nation like England had to have more than just big muscles. England should have been brave, should have growled loud a lot sooner than it was doing now. Cowardly Lion.

  One of the Polish Tin Men rattled past. He had a lot of bright medals on his chest. His boots were tall and shiny, and his uniform was just like one of Alfie’s tin soldiers. He greeted a pretty lady in front of Café de Paris, and they went in to eat lunch.

&nbs
p; Alfie scratched his head and looked at Werner, who was chewing on the broom head ferociously. Alfie felt bad that he had called Werner the Cowardly Lion. He bent down and scooped the kitten up. He kissed Werner’s nose and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Werner. You are brave to attack something so big and unfeeling as a broom. I didn’t mean you are a coward. I meant England.”

  Werner did not seem to mind. He purred when he smelled the tuna on Alfie’s breath. It was good to have a friend.

  The tram clanged by. There was a black hood over the headlight with a small slit in it. Only a tiny bit of light was allowed from trams and cars at night because everyone expected that the Nazis would soon bomb Warsaw.

  Alfie looked up with everyone else as an airplane hummed over. Just Polish. Alfie looked down, then over at the people getting off the tram. Then he saw Lucy Strasburg, crossing the street behind the tram. Alfie was not at all surprised. He was just very happy to see her.

  She looked much better than the day she gave the baby away. She was very thin, but her cheeks were not white like sheets. Her eyes were serious, but bright and alive. She was checking the slip of paper with an address and then checking numbers on the fronts of buildings.

  There was no sign yet for TENS, so Alfie raised up the broom like a flag on a stick and began to call her in his loudest voice. “Lucy! Lucy Strasss-burg! Hey, Lucy! Lucy! LUCY!”

  The effect was tremendous. Everyone looked at Alfie just the same way they looked at the planes. Worried.

  “It’s all right,” Alfie said to a woman who walked far around the swinging broom. “The baby’s mother—” He pointed the broom toward Lucy, who smiled wide at the very sight of Alfie. She was running now, dodging traffic to get to Alfie.

  Alfie decided that he would have to tell her that he had gotten a new name, and she would have to call him Elisha like everyone else. But first he wanted to know everything! He wanted to hear the whole story, because he was sure he had seen the bright ones follow her. Had she seen them too? He squinted hard, but they weren’t there. Well, they would be there when Lucy Strasburg needed them. He was sure of that.