Nocturne

by Diane Armstrong

  Her girlfriends — how could she have forgotten Gosia and Lydia; surely they’d persuade their parents to take her in. Then she remembered. Her friends had no idea she was Jewish, and she doubted whether they would help her when they found out.

  The acrid smell of smoke mingled with the cloying stench of burning bodies wafted over the street, and as she looked up and saw the smoke billowing above the city she thought about her mother down in the bunker and blinked away the tears. And Gittel. What had become of her? She hadn’t seen any trace of her in the bombed-out bunker. Was she wandering around, scared and hungry, in the burnt-out streets of the Ghetto? At the thought of the child being frightened and alone, Elzunia choked back a sob. She should have stayed in the Ghetto and died with all the rest. Unable to walk any further, she sank into a doorway. Let them arrest and shoot her. She was too exhausted to care.

  Elzunia fell into a slumber as deep and dark as a well. She heard someone demanding to see her papers, calling her a thief and a murderer. I’m only waiting for my father, she kept saying. He said he’d come, he’ll be here any minute now. But the voice grew louder and more insistent and a hand was shaking her shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered open.

  Someone was leaning over her. She sat up. Her father had come! But the dream faded as she saw an old crone with a hunched back and quick dark eyes leaning on a walking stick. Elzunia shrank back in fear. With her sunken mouth and jutting chin, she reminded Elzunia of Baba Yaga, the witch who kidnapped and ate children in fairy tales.

  The old woman was peering into her face. ‘What’s the matter, dearie? You were tossing around and moaning. Are you ill?’

  Elzunia shook her head, still dazed by her dream and repelled by the Baba Yaga in front of her who was clucking her tongue.

  ‘You’re as skinny as a fieldmouse. How long since you’ve had something to eat? Come upstairs and I’ll give you a bowl of hot soup.’

  Elzunia’s eyes darted around for a way to escape but the old crone seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Don’t look so worried. I only want to help you. You’ll get picked up if you stay out here.’

  Elzunia hesitated but the light was fading and soon the curfew would start. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten something, and the prospect of hot soup and a place to sleep was too strong to resist.

  ‘I’m Granny Koszykowa. You can call me Granny. Everybody does,’ the old woman panted as they climbed the dusty staircase. Finally they were on the top floor and Elzunia almost fell inside with exhaustion as soon as Granny turned the key in the door.

  She caught sight of herself in the small pitted mirror on the wall and screamed. Looking back at her was a blackened face streaked with tears and covered with blisters, and singed, matted hair that stuck out in clumps all over her head. Granny’s appearance had scared her, but she looked even more frightening. It wouldn’t have been necessary for anyone to inspect her Kennkarte; one glance would have told them who she was and where she’d come from.

  Granny placed a steaming bowl of soup on the table but Elzunia was so exhausted that without touching the soup she crumpled onto the bedding that the old woman had made up on the floor, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  When Elzunia opened her eyes, she felt the sun shining on her face. The window was open and shafts of light were streaming in between little pots of scarlet geraniums lined up on the sill. She looked around the room. Every surface was covered with ornaments: flowered dishes with scalloped edges, wooden statues of priests and peasants, jugs with fancy handles, pottery elves with red hoods, and porcelain dogs with pink tongues lolling out. There were snow-storms from Zakopane, gilt-edged saucers from Sopot, and watercolours from Gdansk. One shelf was filled with dolls. Polish china dolls with braids, red boots and head-dresses trailing ribbons; Dutch dolls in clogs and aprons; and Japanese dolls in kimonos and obis. It seemed that Granny never discarded anything. The effect was so cheerful and homely that Elzunia’s spirits rose.

  The old woman had gone out, but she’d left a plate of buckwheat kasza on the worn oak table. As Elzunia started spooning it greedily into her mouth, suddenly such sadness overwhelmed her that tears rolled down her cheeks and salted the kasza, which stuck in her throat. Unable to eat, she walked over to the window. Birds were twittering in the plane tree as they hopped around among the large leaves that had begun to unfurl. In a nest, wedged into the fork of two thick branches facing the window, three fledglings opened their beaks as their parents flew back and forth, dropping insects into their waiting throats. As Elzunia watched, she felt something quicken inside. She hadn’t struggled so hard and endured so much to give up now. Facing the smoke that was still billowing from the Ghetto, she made a vow. ‘Gittel, wherever you are, I promise I’ll never stop looking for you, as long as I live,’ she whispered, fighting back the tears.

  As she stared out of the window, she thought she heard a skittering sound in the ceiling and looked up. The noise stopped but a few moments later it started again, and this time it sounded like scurrying feet. Perhaps a cat with kittens. She strained to listen but the noise had stopped and she returned to the view out the window. A strong breeze shook the branches and with a sharp flap of their wings the birds flew away.

  The key turned in the lock and Granny hobbled in, puffing. After looping her cane over the back of a chair, she took a heavy metal pannikin from her string bag and placed it on top of the tiled stove.

  ‘So you’re awake at last, dearie,’ she said. ‘Did you know you slept for two whole days? I was getting worried but I suppose after what you’ve been through, you needed rest more than food.’

  While Granny bustled about, chattering as she put away her parcels, Elzunia felt her stomach twisting. Soon she’d have to leave this safe haven, but where would she go and how would she live?

  Granny was standing by the window, looking in the direction of the Ghetto, shaking her head until her jowly chin wobbled. ‘There’s nothing left of it now but rubble and ashes. Those poor souls. But one day God will punish the evildoers, you’ll see.’

  Her wrinkled mouth was working as though she were whispering to herself. After a pause, she asked, ‘Do you have anyone you can go to, child?’

  Elzunia shook her head.

  Granny lapsed into a thoughtful silence again. ‘I could do with a bit of help around the house,’ she said. ‘If you can do a bit of dusting and washing, you can stay with me.’

  Elzunia threw her arms around the old woman’s neck and promised to do whatever she asked, although she couldn’t understand why someone living alone in one small room would need help with the housework.

  ‘There are lots of busybodies in this building so keep yourself to yourself,’ Granny cautioned her. ‘But if anyone asks, you’re my great-niece from Bialystok. You ran away from home to stay with me because your stepfather was a drunkard and used to belt you.’ She gave Elzunia a searching glance. ‘Anyway, until those blisters heal, and your hair grows back, you’d better stay out of sight.’

  That night, while she lay on her bed on the floor, she heard faint noises again and glued her eyes to the ceiling. How did cats get in there, and how would they get out?

  It was still dark when she woke up and saw a shadow moving across the room. Without making a sound, she propped herself up on her elbows. The old woman was tip-toeing to the bathroom. Elzunia lay down again but heard two distinct taps. She sat up. A few moments later she heard the skittering sound again, before drifting off to sleep.

  ‘I’ve heard some funny noises up in the ceiling,’ she said the next morning while she was sweeping the wooden floor.

  The old woman nodded. ‘Mice, probably. Or rats. These old buildings are infested with them but with everything else that’s going on these days, who’s going to bother about rodents?’ She picked up her worn handbag. ‘I’m off,’ she said. ‘Can you cut these vegetables up while I’m out?’

  As Elzunia peeled a few soil-encrusted potatoes and turnips and cut up the cabbage, she wondered what had become of yes
terday’s barley soup. Granny certainly had a hearty appetite.

  Thirty-Four

  Elzunia looped the eiderdowns and pillows over the railing at the back and was bashing them with a bamboo carpet beater, raising fine puffs of dust with each blow when she heard voices in the yard and looked down. Two women with scarves over their hair and black rubber boots halfway up their calves were gossiping as they leaned over large metal basins while they scrubbed their sheets. One of them straightened up, arched her back and waved a soapy arm towards the landing where Elzunia stood.

  ‘You have to be careful these days. You never know who your neighbours are,’ she said. ‘They’re all over the place now. They change their names and learn to recite the Lord’s Prayer, but I can tell them a mile off.’

  Elzunia stopped beating the bedding and flattened herself against the wall.

  The other woman placed her hands on her wide hips. ‘Franek says it’s good riddance; we’ll be much better off without them. He and his pals keep going on about their houses, and the gold and silver and stuff that we’ll end up with. I won’t say no if any of it comes my way, but I can’t help thinking that God might punish us for gloating over them.’

  The other woman waved a dismissive hand, sending a stream of iridescent bubbles floating over the yard. ‘If you ask me, God meant it to happen. Anyway, the Germans will let us have it if they catch any of them in here, so we’d better keep a lookout.’ Her gaze swept around the yard and lingered for a moment on the back stairs, where Elzunia had been standing a minute before.

  Back inside, Elzunia heard the door of the adjacent room open and close. High heels clicked down the stairs. Curious, she peered through the window in time to see a tall brunette in a loose navy coat, a beret set at a jaunty angle on her smooth hair, and a small basket over her arm. She had just turned the corner when two men in trenchcoats banged on the door downstairs. Gestapo. Elzunia’s heart pounded. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. Were they looking for someone in particular or hunting for Jews? Any minute now, they’d bash the door down and find her. If they asked tricky questions about her supposed family in Bialystok, she’d be lost. She heard a key turning in the lock and jumped.

  ‘Quick,’ Granny whispered. ‘They’ll be here in a minute. Lie down on the sofa and don’t move. I’ll throw the eiderdown on top of you. Thank God you’re skinny.’

  Several moments later, there was banging on the door. Feigning an exasperated sigh, Granny opened it, looking older and more stooped than ever. ‘What on earth are you people looking for in a poor old woman’s home?’ she complained as they pushed past her.

  ‘We know there are Jews hiding in the building,’ one of them snapped, his eyes hard as hammers.

  ‘Jews? Do you think I’d risk my life hiding Jews?’ Granny scoffed, and sat down heavily on the sofa. ‘If I thought any of the vermin were hiding here, I’d be the first to let you know.’

  Groaning, she stretched out on the sofa. ‘I’m that worn out. The doctor says, if I don’t rest, I’ll cark it. With all the hours I spend in queues trying to buy a bit of food, my poor old legs can hardly hold me up.’

  On and on she grumbled while Elzunia hardly dared to breathe, terrified that at any moment they’d notice the bulge under the eiderdown. They stomped around the little room, looked in the bathroom, peered over the balcony and then stomped out, slamming the door so hard it almost fell off its hinges.

  Elzunia didn’t budge for a long time. When she finally emerged from under the eiderdown, she was still shaking.

  ‘That was quite an act you put on, Granny,’ she said. ‘But you’re risking your life having me here. I think I should go.’

  Granny took her hand. ‘If we can’t help each other, what’s life all about?’

  That night, on her bed on the floor, Elzunia thought about the conversation of the two women in the yard and wondered whether one of them had contacted the Gestapo. But how could they have known she was there when she’d never stepped out of the building?

  When Granny returned the following afternoon, her whole body seemed to sag and her chin looked more prominent than ever. And for once she hadn’t brought any bags. Although she didn’t say what was on her mind, it was obvious that something was worrying her. Elzunia wondered where she went every day and why she was so upset.

  When Elzunia peered into the mirror a week later, she was relieved to see that her blisters had healed. Finally she would be able to stretch her legs and feel the late spring sun on her face. Granny had thrown out Elzunia’s torn and charred clothes, and had altered one of her old dresses to fit her. Looking at her reflection, Elzunia felt confident that she could merge with the crowd without attracting attention.

  Intrigued by Granny’s mysterious comings and goings, she decided to follow her the next morning. As soon as the old woman had closed the door behind her, and Elzunia heard her limping down the stairs, she ran to the back door to check that the women were too busy beating their rugs and eiderdowns over the back railings to notice her, and slipped out of the house.

  Once outside, she realised how debilitated she’d become and how often she had to stop to catch her breath. Luckily Granny hobbled along, and stopped to rest from time to time too, leaning on her cane. The journey seemed interminable, and the further away from the house Elzunia walked, the more apprehensive she became.

  Eventually she saw Granny’s bent figure turn into Nowy Swiat Street, near the Four Seasons Café. Long ago, back in the long-distant days when life was happy and predictable, her parents would sometimes take her there for tall glasses of iced coffee heaped with scoops of luscious vanilla ice-cream, but now the sign in the window said Nur für Deutsche.

  A tram was clanging along the road, and she was wondering why Granny hadn’t boarded it instead of walking so far when she noticed the sign on the front. Germans Only. Nowy Swiat was a good name for this area, she thought bitterly. It certainly was a new world, where trams, shops, cafés, cinemas and restaurants were reserved exclusively for German use.

  Granny hobbled on until she came to the Square of the Three Crosses, a large tree-lined plaza with its familiar landmark, the baroque dome of St Aleksander’s Church. As soon as she saw the church, Elzunia’s throat constricted. It was here that her mother had undergone her conversion, and, to their misfortune, it was here that Madame Françoise’s cousin had been the parish clerk. Three elderly women in headscarves were entering the colonnaded portico, and Elzunia wondered whether this was where Granny was heading.

  But the old woman walked past the terminus where the tram drivers were calling out to each other and cursing while they shunted the carriages and hooked up the cables. Elzunia felt uneasy. She had strayed into the heart of the German district, the forbidden zone of the city that no longer felt like Warsaw.

  The sound of hob-nailed boots reverberated through the square. Elzunia flattened herself against a recessed gate as a detachment of SS men emerged from their barracks and marched towards Ujadzdowskie Aleje. They passed the German soldiers’ home, where a Beethoven symphony was blaring from the upstairs windows, and disappeared from view.

  Now that the parade was over, Elzunia ventured into the square again and saw some street urchins hanging around outside the soldiers’ home. Some proffered loose cigarettes from their grimy hands, and others held up entire packets, while here and there the young hawkers swaggered around with an assortment of packs displayed on trays suspended around their necks. A German official emerged from the building and was immediately beset by the youngsters vying for his attention as they waved their merchandise in his face and shouted its praises.

  ‘Egyptians, Klubs, Mewas, roll-your-owns, best prices!’ they shouted.

  Elzunia noticed that they weren’t frightened to approach the soldiers, or to argue with them about the price.

  ‘Those others are crap; that’s why they’re so cheap,’ she heard one girl say in a shrill voice as she sidled up to one of the Germans. ‘If you want quality, you have to pay
for it.’

  Elzunia looked around for Granny and spotted her in the corner of the square that led to Jerozolimskie Aleje. She was surrounded by some of the cigarette sellers who were all talking at once. In the centre stood a small boy, shuffling in his broken wooden clogs, and from the way he hung his head as the others pointed in the direction of Konopnicka Street, where the SS barracks were located, she guessed he was the subject of their discussion.

  Every few moments, he hitched up his trousers, which were fastened with a big safety pin, or adjusted the piece of mangy fur that was wrapped around his thin shoulders with a piece of string. From the way Granny was bending over the boy, it looked as though she was trying to talk him into something. She didn’t smoke so what possible business could she have with these young cigarette sellers, Elzunia wondered. But a few moments later, the old woman walked away from the youngsters and, to Elzunia’s astonishment, entered the soldiers’ home.

  Intrigued by the boys and their business dealings, Elzunia edged a little closer. Their clothes looked as if they hadn’t been taken off in months. From their torn and stained jackets and trousers, she could see they were homeless. The tallest boy’s trousers were frayed and reached halfway down his calves, as though he’d outgrown them several years before. Standing next to him was a smaller boy with fair hair and light-coloured eyes. Despite his colouring, something about his features and worried expression reminded her of a kid she’d seen around the Ghetto. Could he and some of the others possibly be Jewish? But a moment later she dismissed the idea as preposterous. It was absurd to imagine that Jewish children would risk plying their trade under the noses of the Germans.

  The boys noticed her watching them, nudged each other, whispered something, and moved to the other side of the square. Common sense urged her to move on, but she had to find out whether her hunch was correct. Perhaps they, too, had escaped from the Ghetto. It was a long shot, but perhaps they had come across Gittel or Stefan.