Twelve
Lusia stared at the child clinging to Elzunia’s neck like a frightened kitten. ‘Who’s this?’ she said with a frown.
Elzunia took a deep breath. ‘Her mother died today and she’s all alone in the world.’ Gittel’s skinny arms tightened around her. ‘I couldn’t leave her there.’ She put her head to one side in a pleading gesture. ‘She’s so tiny she won’t take up much room.’
‘How can you just take a child from the street? She’s not a sack of potatoes you can pick up and take home,’ Lusia protested. ‘And how are we supposed to feed her? It’s hard enough to feed ourselves.’
Elzunia plunged her hand into her pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. ‘Look at this, Mama!’ she said. ‘I’ve got enough for us, and for Gittel and for Edek’s mother as well.’
Lusia stared at the money. ‘How did you get all this?’
As Elzunia described the scene in the café, Lusia looked at her daughter with a mixture of disbelief and admiration.
‘I don’t know that I approve of you making scenes in nightclubs and collecting money,’ she said slowly. Then she smiled. ‘I’d have loved to see their faces when you told them off! And we certainly need the money, with the price of food going up all the time. You’re always having a go at Stefan but if not for him, I don’t know how we’d manage.’
Elzunia nodded. Although she had made fun of Stefan’s decision to join the Jewish police, she had to admit he helped them to survive. Sometimes he brought home a bag of dried beans or a few potatoes, and once he’d even brought two oranges and a chicken at which they’d stared in speechless wonder. But whenever they asked how he’d come by such delicacies, he shrugged and mumbled that it came with the job.
They didn’t ask any questions. They knew that although the Polish and Jewish policemen were supposed to catch those who smuggled food into the Ghetto, in fact they often collaborated with the smugglers whose bribes exceeded their police earnings. By now, more children had joined Edek’s gang and every morning they crawled through the hole in the wall and waited. As soon as the Number 10 tram swung around the curve near Mila Street, as usual, the conductor clanged the bell. This was the signal for them to run into the street and keep an eye out for the Polish boys who stood on the running board ready to toss sacks of potatoes, onions, beans or flour from the tram. Edek and the others rushed forward, grabbed the illicit cargo, sorted it, and delivered it to the entrepreneur in the Ghetto who had financed and organised the deal.
‘I hope you never get involved in risky shenanigans like that,’ Lusia had told Elzunia when she had described the smuggling process in an effort to cheer her mother up.
Gittel peeped at Lusia through her fingers, then playfully burrowed her face in Elzunia’s neck. A moment later, she peeped out again and gave a mischievous smile. Lusia’s tone softened, ‘She’s like a krasnoludek, isn’t she? A cute little elf.’ She gave the child an appraising look. ‘I suppose I’d better mend her dress.’
In the weeks that followed, Elzunia was relieved to see that her mother was becoming attached to the child. The longing to confide in her mother what the caretaker’s wife had said about her father welled up from time to time, but she always managed to stifle it. She didn’t want to rock her mother’s precarious equilibrium, but questions that had no answers constantly roiled around in her mind. It couldn’t possibly be true that her father had abandoned them and was running around with some girl. He couldn’t have abandoned and betrayed them like that. But the doubts, suspicions and uncertainties consumed her.
In an effort to find a distraction, she hurried to Edek’s place. His high spirits usually helped to dispel the turmoil.
There were eight boys and three girls sitting on the floor at Edek’s place when Elzunia arrived. The Germans were keeping a closer eye on the trams that passed by the Ghetto, so it was necessary for them all to get together and think up new ways of smuggling food.
Edek jumped up and slapped Elzunia’s shoulder as soon as she came in. ‘Just the person I wanted to see. There’s going to be a huge delivery on the corner of Leszno and Zelazna Streets tomorrow, and they’ll need lots of people to unload. Want to help? The smugglers are expecting a couple of wagons!’
‘Wagons? Coming in here? You’re kidding!’
He shook his head in mock amazement. ‘Oh boy, I can’t believe you don’t know what’s going on. Listen. They’ve bribed the Polish policemen and our boys to look the other way until after the delivery. Sometimes they even bribe the German guards. So, are you coming?’
She couldn’t help smiling. With his mop of curls and long lashes over his dark eyes, he looked like the innocent hero of a children’s movie, not a streetwise schemer organising a dangerous smuggling operation.
Next morning, Elzunia stood beside Edek and his group as they waited for the delivery. She was still dubious until she heard the sound of hooves and wagon wheels rumbling along the road towards the guard post. Her mouth went dry. What if a German guard turned up just at that moment? She glanced at Edek but he was looking towards the gate as excitedly as though St Nicolas himself was about to enter, laden with gifts.
It would soon be Christmas and thinking about it saddened her. Jewish children didn’t believe in Christ or St Nicolas. They celebrated Hanukkah, but it wasn’t the same. The smell of the pine tree in the lounge room, the fun of decorating it with shiny baubles and silver tinsel, and waiting for St Nicolas to arrive on the sixth of December had always been the most exciting time of the year. And the excitement hadn’t palled, even when she knew that it was her parents who placed the brightly wrapped parcels under the tree.
As the wagon approached, one of the Jewish sweepers employed at the guard post raised a broom high in the air.
‘Those sweepers are smart guys,’ Edek whispered. ‘They’re the ones that fix the bribes and arrange the deals.’ She looked at him in astonishment. She had always thought the men who busied themselves sweeping and cleaning around the guard posts were unfit for anything else. How did he know all this?
‘What if the guards take the bribe and then turn up and shoot us all anyway?’ she whispered. Thinking of the guards who had double-crossed her and her mother when they’d taken Lusia’s gold chain during the horrible night of the disinfection, she started to worry.
Edek shook his head. ‘Stop worrying. Nothing will go wrong, as long as we move fast. We’ve got about half an hour.’
She wanted to ask how they could possibly unload two large wagons in such a short time, but stopped herself. He’d only make fun of her for being a worrywart. She looked at the sweeper again. He was a nuggetty man with short arms and broad shoulders.
Edek followed her gaze. ‘He used to be one of Warsaw’s top wrestlers,’ he said.
The sweeper was still holding the broom up. It was obviously a signal that the coast was clear because as soon as the driver saw it he whistled to the horses and flicked the reins against their flanks to speed them up. A moment later the wagon clattered through the gate and the sweeper ran alongside it, guiding it into the wide entrance to the yard.
Even before the wagon had stopped, dozens of eager hands reached for the contraband as they feverishly began unloading, dragging out sacks of potatoes, boxes of butter, and crates of chickens and eggs. The children tossed them from one to another so fast that their hands hardly seemed to touch them, while the driver, a thin pale man in a crumpled jacket, kept swearing under his breath, urging them to hurry. The second the wagon was emptied, he jiggled the reins and sped out of the Ghetto, as if the devil were on his heels.
As the second wagon moved towards the gate, Elzunia noticed that the horses had become restive. One pricked his ears forward as though ready to bolt, while the other whinnied and pawed the ground. The driver looked around nervously, waiting for the sweeper’s signal.
‘Ano, co tam?’ he shouted, anxious to get inside and get it over with. He took off his battered hat and wiped the sweat from his brow, even though the air was cool. But
before the sweeper signalled to proceed, the driver lost his nerve, jumped off his seat and fled, leaving the wagon piled high with forbidden food behind two agitated horses.
Time was running out. Any minute now the guards would return with the Germans. The precious cargo would be confiscated and they’d all be shot for smuggling. Elzunia tore at the skin around her thumbnail. Every cell inside her screamed Run! but pride glued her feet to the ground. She’d never be able to face Edek and the other kids if she ran like a coward.
As they stood still, uncertain what to do, a lad suddenly ran forward, leapt onto the wagon, and grabbed the reins. He stood on the driver’s seat with his legs wide apart, leaning back to control the horses, his lips partly open and his eyes shining with excitement. He looked like a Roman charioteer, Elzunia thought. He lashed the horses so that they galloped into the Ghetto. As he passed her, she realised it was the boy who lived on the other side of the wall, the one who was always looking at her from his window.
As soon as he jumped off the wagon, they all rushed towards it and turned it on its side to hasten the unloading. Without saying a word, their rescuer rolled up his sleeves and helped them pull down the cartons and boxes, which were whisked away as soon as they were placed in the doorway. He ran back and forth, carrying boxes of carrots, onions and beetroot, and his fair hair seemed charged with energy.
Elzunia was staggering under a crate of butter when he rushed over and took it from her hands. ‘You’re the girl in the house across the wall. You poked your tongue out at me a couple of months ago, didn’t you? I’m Lech. I’ve been watching you. You brought a little girl home a few weeks ago.’
She bristled. ‘You seem to spend a lot of time spying on me.’
He grinned. ‘Not spying, just looking. If I like the look of something, I keep looking. Don’t you?’
She blushed and pushed her hair back behind her ears. As if she’d be interested in a country bumpkin, even a brave one like him. Her hero was the taciturn airman who had saved her life. The more frightening her existence became, the more she daydreamed about him.
Lech was still grinning at her. Pointing to the wagon, which had only a few cartons left on it, Elzunia said awkwardly, ‘That was a really brave thing to do.’
He started to speak, stopped and looked down at his feet. He revelled in her praise and would have liked to take credit for being brave but knew that courage didn’t have anything to do with it.
As he stood there, shuffling his shoes in the slush, he had a sudden vision of the person he wanted to be. Then he remembered what he really was, and hoped she’d never find out.
It was his cousin Bolek who had started him along that shameful path. ‘Come on, Lech, it’s dead simple,’ he’d said with that devilish glint in his eyes that Lech had never been able to resist.
‘It’s easy money. Nothing to it.’
That first time, they’d hung around Gdansk Station, waiting for a train to come in, and he’d looked over his shoulder a hundred times to make sure they weren’t being watched.
Bolek had laughed at him. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. The Germans won’t go after you ’cause you’ll be doing them a favour!’
He told Lech to watch people’s faces as they got off the train. ‘If they look scared or don’t seem to know where to go, we’ll follow them till there’s no one around. Like that one!’ he whispered, indicating an olive-skinned man with a worried expression whose dark eyes darted in all directions as he headed for the exit. Before crossing the road, he stood on the kerb, hesitating, trying to decide which way to go, and strolled back and forth uncertainly before asking someone about the tram for Nowy Swiat.
‘He’s one for sure!’ Bolek had hissed. ‘Keep close to me and don’t say a word.’
The man looked around again, spotted them, and hastened his step, but Bolek had caught up with him. ‘Prosze pana,’ he said very politely, ‘can you tell me the time?’
As the man glanced at the Doxa with its wide silver band, Bolek said in an insinuating tone, ‘That’s a very fine watch.’
‘It’s all I have,’ the man had protested. His eyes darted around for a way to escape but Bolek had planted himself in front of him.
‘That’s a pity because there’s a gendarme around the corner looking for people like you,’ he drawled.
‘You’ve made a mistake,’ the man protested. ‘I’m as Catholic as you are.’
But Bolek just laughed. ‘Oh really? Let’s go to the Gestapo so they can check you out.’
Without another word, the man peeled off the watch, handed it over and melted away into the crowd.
‘See, I told you. It’s that easy,’ Bolek said to Lech, pocketing the watch.
With Bolek’s coaching, Lech soon became confident enough to work on his own, thrilled with the money he was making and proud of his new power. His victims beseeched, pleaded and begged. They actually feared him. No one had ever taken much notice of him, not even his parents except to belt him, and now he had all this power over people and they knew it. He had never realised that fear could be exploited so profitably. These people were so scared of being turned over to the Gestapo that they would give you all they had.
Sometimes Bolek would milk his victim and then turn him over to the Gestapo to claim his cigarettes and vodka as a reward, and then Bolek and Lech would spend the night smoking and drinking and bragging about their success. Lech’s father, who was still trying to eke out a living growing potatoes, beetroot and corn on his farm, had always told him that he was a hopeless good-for-nothing. It gave Lech a malicious sense of triumph to know that, at the age of seventeen, he earned more money in a week than his father saw in a year. Now we know who’s the hopeless one, he thought, smiling to himself.
Lech had never done well at school, had left at age twelve, and had already forgotten the few things he’d learnt, but one thing he remembered was his teacher saying that knowledge was power. It hadn’t made any sense to him at the time but now he discovered it was true. In the beginning, he’d thought that all Jews had dark hair and big noses but now he knew that some of them had fair hair, light eyes and noses no larger than his own. But their cocks looked different and they were terrified of the Germans checking them out down there. The other thing he learned was to look at their eyes. The Jews had a different expression, a sad, faraway look, as though their pet dog had just died, and he was proud of his skill at picking them out. It was surer than picking winners at the races.
When that wall had gone up and cut through his courtyard, it improved his business because the Jews still living outside the wall were now more frightened than ever of being caught and were easier to blackmail. From time to time he picked up one of the Underground newspapers that couriers distributed around the city and read that collaborating with the Germans was treason, but he never thought of himself as a collaborator. He was just earning a bit of money that the war had thrown his way. The morality of it didn’t concern him. He hadn’t started the war and it wasn’t his fault that the Germans were after the Jews. Anyway, everyone knew that Jews were loaded.
The girl who moved into the building on the other side of the wall wasn’t really his type. The ones he usually went for would show you their boobs and let you do whatever you wanted if you sweet-talked them, while this one looked stuck-up and had hardly any boobs. She wasn’t even pretty but there was something about her that made him want to keep looking. He liked her eyes, the way she flicked her hair back, and the expression on her face that said she’d never give in about anything.
He hadn’t thought about her being Jewish before, but supposed she must be or she wouldn’t be in there. He felt sick at the thought that he might have stopped her or a relative of hers in the street and demanded money or jewellery. He watched her coming in and out. In the mornings, she squeezed through that opening in the wall. He used to follow her to her secret classroom until the Gestapo found out about it. He almost had a fight with Bolek when he found out his cousin had reported the kompl
ety to the Germans.
He knew Elzunia still worked at the clinic, and he fantasised about being run over by a car and waking up in there while she was bandaging his head.
Now he took more interest in what was happening on her side of the wall. How did they breathe in there? There were no trees or flowers, just masses of people. It was more crowded than Czestochowa on the day when Catholics from all over Poland came on a pilgrimage to pray at the shrine of the Black Madonna. Most of the people in the Ghetto were so thin that their bones showed, and their clothes were falling apart. And all those skinny children having to beg in the streets made him mad. He had two little sisters back in the village and would have hated to see them begging for a scrap of food.
Once he watched a German guard lining up three small children who had just squeezed through the hole in the wall, pockets bulging with food. With one shot he killed all three, and with a contented expression took out his handkerchief, wiped his pistol, replaced it in its holster and walked away, munching an apple.
It was then that Lech decided that whatever side these Nazi devils were on, he had to be on the other, even if it meant being on the side of the Jews. Bolek would never understand, so he said nothing but promised himself that somehow he would make up for what he’d done, and he’d start by helping the people inside that wall. And that way he’d also help that girl across the way, whose name he still didn’t know.
When he’d looked out of his window that morning and seen the wagons approaching the Ghetto, he followed them to see what was going on. He hadn’t expected fate to throw him such a golden opportunity of redeeming himself. For the first time in his life, he had done something worthwhile for someone else.
But he couldn’t tell Elzunia any of this and, anyway, he didn’t have the words. So he kept looking down and shuffling his feet in the slush.
‘I’ve done nothing special,’ he mumbled. ‘Tata used to let me drive the horse cart to market on Wednesdays, so I know how, that’s all. When we lived in the village, I mean.’ He knew how inarticulate he sounded and his ears flamed.
Nocturne Page 11
