There was affection mingled with resentment in his voice. As a child, she had always envied what she saw as his privileged status in the family. He was a boy, and older, so he was treated more indulgently by their mother, whose favourite he was. Now it occurred to her that perhaps he had envied her as well.
She was overjoyed to see him, to know that he was still alive, that she wasn’t alone any more. The resentment and anger she had felt towards him for the past few years evaporated in the thrill of having him with her, and her mind was flooded with nostalgic memories of their childhood, when he was her adored older brother whose approval and affection she had sought but never received.
Promising to come back and see him as soon as she had finished her work, Elzunia returned to the operating theatre with a lighter step but for once Dr Zawadzki didn’t make any quips, and the look he gave her was decidedly cool. While scrubbing up for the next patient, he said, ‘I don’t approve of what you did.’
She stopped pulling on her gloves and looked up at him, startled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Bringing your brother in to see me ahead of people who were more seriously injured was unprofessional.’
‘But he’s my brother, I thought he was dead —’ she stammered, but he cut her short.
‘I understand your reasons but I don’t approve of your action. Did you know that when the Uprising began, the Commander-in-Chief’s wife was seven months’ pregnant? He could have warned her and sent her to their country estate but he didn’t. You know why? Because he felt it wasn’t fair to all the other pregnant women who couldn’t be warned in time.’
Elzunia’s eyes blazed. ‘Well I don’t approve of his action.’ She could feel the blood rushing to her head, and the words burst from her mouth before she could stop them.
‘There’s nothing admirable in putting ideas ahead of people. That’s what fanatics do, the ones who add an “ism” to elevate their ideas and spread their beliefs. And here’s something else for you to disapprove of!’
She peeled off her rubber gloves and flung them to the ground, sobbing. ‘I can’t stand this place. I’m sick of the blood and pain and screams. I’ve had enough of this war. I wish I could get away from here and never come back!’
She expected another rebuke but his voice was full of concern. ‘You’ve been working too hard. I’m sorry. I should have realised. It’s just that you seemed so calm and competent —’
‘Well now you can see I’m not competent. I’m unprofessional, remember?’ She glared at him like a defiant child, pushing the limits of his patience, challenging him to a duel of words. Until that moment, she hadn’t realised how much his opinion mattered, or how stung she was by his criticism.
He folded his long arms around her, held her without speaking, like an understanding uncle, and she felt his warm breath on her head.
Suddenly she was telling him about the Ghetto Uprising and about her mother and Gittel. When she pulled away, the lapels of his white coat were wet with her tears.
That evening, she looked up at the pale moon and thought it looked cold and hostile. She heard footsteps and turned.
‘Lovely maid in the moonlight,’ Dr Zawadzki said and started humming a slow, sweet melody in a deep voice.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘It’s an aria from La Bohème. Rodolfo has just seen Mimi for the first time and he’s smitten.’
‘How does it end?’
‘Tragically. But for a time they find love.’
She stole a glance at him. In the pallid light of the moon, with his face in shadow and his tall, lean body in silhouette, she could imagine Rodolfo serenading his beloved Mimi.
‘It’s my name day tomorrow,’ she said suddenly.
‘That’s a very special day,’ he said. ‘I’m going to prepare a feast for you.’
She chuckled. ‘Spitting soup?’ Then she stopped smiling. Name day or not, tomorrow she would have to go to the warehouse for more barley. When the Uprising had begun, the civilians had carried the sacks but now that the area was under fire, several men had been wounded on the way, and they stopped volunteering. No amount of pleading or cajoling could persuade them to change their minds, so now it was left to the AK nurses and fighters.
There were wisps of lollipop pink in the dawn sky when Elzunia set out for the warehouse with three first-aid workers and an insurgent soldier as their guide. Every few seconds, as artillery fire crackled around them, they crouched down until they were lying still on the broken pavements, and then inched along, praying they wouldn’t be hit.
After several hours, she sniffed the sharp, burnt smell of roasting grain. They were almost there. A row of people sat outside the storehouse, waiting their turn. As the flash of artillery fire lit up their faces, Elzunia froze. They were all dead.
Her heart in her mouth, she clambered up the ladders that rested against the storehouse wall and slid down a ramp into an Aladdin’s cave filled with mountains of golden grain that shimmered in the light slanting through the windows. In a querulous voice, the old storeman told them to hold their sacks wide open as he filled them with a river of barley.
On the way back, the sacks grew heavier with each step. Elzunia felt as if her arms were dropping off, and carrying the sack alternately on her back, by the corners, or against her chest gave only momentary relief. She longed to leave the accursed sack and lie down but forced herself to keep going. So many people were depending on it. That barley was more important than her tiredness, even more important than her life.
Almost numb with exhaustion, she tripped and sprawled on the ground, clutching the sack to make sure the precious barley didn’t spill. As she waited to catch her breath, she noticed a spindly stick poking out of the ground and was astonished to see that it was the offshoot of a lilac bush, most of which had been ripped away. Part of its root still clung to the soil of the devastated street, determined to bloom again.
Dr Zawadzki was standing at the door when she staggered in, his face taut with anxiety.
‘I hope you’re hungry, because I’ve made you a celebration dinner.’
She longed to fall onto her mattress and sleep but she was touched that he’d remembered her name day, and didn’t want to disappoint him. He led her to the table and, with a mysterious smile, placed something in front of her. She breathed in an unfamiliar smell and closed her eyes.
Meat! It was years since she’d tasted meat. She tried to chew slowly to make it last but ended up devouring it, licking every morsel and sucking the marrow from the bones. It didn’t matter that it was tough. It was meat.
He watched like an indulgent parent as she ate. After she had licked her plate clean, with a flourish he produced a pear. She cupped it in both hands and stared at it in wonder. The innocent greenness of the small leaf attached to the short woody stalk brought tears to her eyes.
‘It almost seems sacrilege to eat it,’ she whispered. She turned to him with shining eyes. ‘Where on earth did you get hold of a pear?’
‘A patient from Zoliborz gave it to me.’
It seemed incredible that pear trees still grew in Warsaw. Zoliborz was only a few miles north of the Old Town but it seemed as though it must be in another country.
‘And the rabbit?’ she asked. ‘Did she give you that too?’
He shook his head, relieved that she hadn’t asked what kind of animal they were eating.
‘I never imagined I could have such a wonderful name day in this place,’ she said. Without realising it, she had devoured the whole pear and he had watched her without saying a word. She flushed with shame at her greed.
‘This has been a fantastic evening,’ she said.
He raised her from her chair, put his hands on her waist and looked straight into her eyes. ‘I can think of an even better way to end it.’
Confused by the intensity of his words and the intimacy of his tone, she pulled away and lowered her eyes. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be interested in her as more than a colleague and she did
n’t know what to say.
‘It’s perfect just as it is,’ she said lightly, avoiding the unspoken subject.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked gently. ‘Life is such a brief gift. I believe in seizing happiness with both hands. Especially now.’
Her heart was beating faster as the scene in the deserted building flashed before her eyes. What was it that Pola had said? Why save it when you could be dead tomorrow? She could have been killed that afternoon hauling the sack of barley. Tomorrow she could be dead. This could be her last chance to be initiated into the mystery that she’d thought about for so long.
She stole a glance at Dr Zawadzki. Without his tram-driver’s cap, his thick fair hair fell across his forehead, accentuating the intense gaze of his grey eyes. She had seen the admiring looks some of the nurses and first-aid workers had given him and she’d heard them whispering about him. None of them would hesitate if given the chance. But the gap between her heart and her mind was too great.
‘Quite sure,’ she said trying to steady her voice.
He kissed her cheek lightly and went inside, humming Rodolfo’s aria.
She felt a stab of regret. But it was the airman, not the doctor, she wanted to hear serenading her in the moonlight.
Forty-Seven
August was drawing to a close, but, apart from the stifling heat, there was nothing to remind them of the last luscious month of summer.
‘Will we ever see a golden August again?’ Elzunia sighed. She cast a dispirited glance at the ward, which was a jumble of beds, stretchers and mattresses on which some patients were mumbling in feverish voices while others screamed for something to take away the pain.
‘Instead of corn stalks, sunflowers and the scent of new-mown hay, we’ve got war, hunger and the stink of death,’ she said to Dr Zawadzki, who was amputating a fighter’s shattered arm.
Ever since her birthday, when she had rebuffed his advances, she’d found it awkward to work so close to him. Whenever she brushed against his white coat or touched his arm, she shrank back in case he thought it was intentional. At the same time, she felt put out that he gave no indication that anything of a personal nature had ever passed between them. Although she had rejected him, she would have liked to see desire and disappointment in his eyes, but his glances never lingered on her, and his voice, whenever he asked her to pass a scalpel, syringe or bandage, was politely impersonal.
It irritated her that Krystyna, one of the first-aid workers, a pretty girl who reminded her of a porcelain doll, had been finding too many excuses lately to come and talk to Dr Zawadzki. Even more annoying was the admiring expression that appeared on his face whenever his eyes rested on Krystyna.
I didn’t want him, so why should I care? she reasoned with herself, but it riled her that he’d switched his affections so quickly to someone else.
Now that Stefan’s shoulder had almost healed, he was keen to return to his unit. ‘They thought the Uprising would only last a few days, but we’ve already held out for almost a month,’ he told her proudly.
‘Almost as long as the Ghetto,’ she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Krystyna sidling in to see Dr Zawadzki again.
‘If only the Allies would drop more supplies,’ Stefan said. ‘We spend most of the day looking up at the sky, hoping to see them. With more weapons, we’d stand a chance.’
He paused and frowned. ‘That story you told me about Father. I still can’t make any sense of it.’
Ever since Elzunia had told him about their father’s betrayal and his affair with Marta, he had been mulling over it. He had never been close to their father who, he felt, had always been too hard on him, while, in his eyes, Elzunia could do no wrong. But he found it difficult to believe her version of events.
‘How do you know they were having an affair?’ he asked for the third time. ‘You said they were both in the AK. Maybe it was quite innocent. Maybe they met to talk about their work. You were always his golden girl, so I’m amazed you could jump to that conclusion.’
While Stefan was speaking, Elzunia realised that he had probably envied her closeness with their father just as she had envied the fact that he was their mother’s favourite.
‘People in the AK don’t meet in their lodgings to discuss their work, especially when one of them is quite junior. Anyway, he always came at night. I used to hear them murmuring.’ She blushed. ‘It sounded very intimate.’
Stefan wasn’t convinced.
‘That doesn’t prove anything. The man who came at night might have been someone else. And, even if it was him, they could have pretended to be having an affair to put people off the scent.’
Elzunia tried to stay calm. ‘I told you what the caretaker’s wife said. It all adds up. We have to face facts. He met this attractive girl, got involved with her, and abandoned us. That’s why he didn’t get in touch or try to get us out of the Ghetto — just left us there to rot.’
‘I still think there must be some other explanation,’ Stefan persisted. ‘I can’t imagine Father doing that.’
She shrugged, irritated. ‘War changes people. You don’t know what anyone’s capable of until they’re tested.’ Her eyes rested on him for an accusing instant, then looked away.
As the fighting in the narrow streets of the Old Town intensified, more and more patients flooded into the hospital, which had spread from the underground shelter to the basement apartments and to the landings as well. Armed with lanterns, Dr Zawadzki and Elzunia, together with three of the first-aid workers, including Krystyna, made their way to an adjoining cellar to see if it could be used to accommodate patients.
Dr Zawadzki swept his flashlight around and shook his head. The cellar was used for storing coal and wasn’t suitable. They bent over to squeeze through the low entrance when Elzunia felt the floor shift under her feet. There was the deafening crash of a bomb exploding nearby, and the walls shook. The bombardment had raised so much coal dust, that, as they breathed it in, they were seized by violent paroxysms of coughing. Elzunia felt as though the next cough would rip her lungs out.
‘Quick, pee into your handkerchiefs,’ Dr Zawadzki said.
Doubled up with coughing fits, the girls stared at him, then at each other.
‘For heaven’s sake, this is no time to be coy,’ he said. ‘I won’t look.’
But whether from anxiety or embarrassment, none of them could do it. As they continued to gasp and cough, he grabbed their handkerchiefs and turned away. Several moments later, he handed them wet handkerchiefs to place over their noses and mouths.
‘That was disgusting,’ one of the girls said when they’d returned to the hospital, their faces and hands streaked with black. She shuddered. ‘I feel sick. I’ll never be able to stop spitting and rinsing my mouth out.’
‘He saved us from choking to death,’ Krystyna said, loudly enough for Dr Zawadzki to hear. ‘I think he’s wonderful.’
Elzunia glared at her.
Suddenly they could hear a commotion near the entrance. Someone was running down the stairs and shouting for help in a panic. ‘There are people trapped down the road. Hurry!’
Elzunia and the other girls rushed out with their first-aid kits, but, as soon as they stepped outside, they saw the bombers still circling above.
‘Jesus Maria!’ Krystyna’s hand flew to the cross around her neck. Her voice was teetering on the edge of hysteria. ‘I’m going back! They’re going to bomb us! We’ll all get killed!’
Elzunia laid a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Imagine you’re with Dr Zawadzki,’ she whispered. ‘Would you want him to see you running for cover?’
Her words had an immediate effect. Elzunia took her hand and together they made a dash for the bombed house.
The rescue squad had already arrived and the men were carefully removing the rubble with their spades, but the front of the building had collapsed and the entrances were blocked, making access to the cellars impossible. A distraught woman was wringing her hands and sobbing as she spoke to th
e emergency workers. ‘Can’t you dig faster? Most of them were sheltering down there. They’ll suffocate before you get to them at the rate you’re going.’
One of the men flung down his spade and held up his blistered hands in her face. ‘You try it!’ he yelled at her. ‘See how fast you can go!’
Elzunia raced to the back of the building where people were wandering around in shock. As the nurses and first-aid workers feverishly cleaned wounds, applied compresses, gave injections and placed the seriously injured victims onto stretchers, more planes flew past.
Elzunia’s grip on the stretcher tightened and she and Krystyna exchanged grim looks but they kept working until they’d taken care of the people above ground. ‘We may as well go and have a rest until they break through to the cellar.’
It seemed that she had just lain down on her camp bed when Krystyna was shaking her arm.
‘Wake up, we’ve got to go,’ she was saying. Elzunia rubbed her eyes. It was still dark. She staggered to her feet, slung her knapsack over her shoulders and picked up her torch. They had knocked out an opening in the wall and rescue workers were digging people out by the faint light of a torch someone had suspended overhead.
Those at the back of the cellar were clamouring for help, demanding to be taken out before they were all buried alive. In a panic, some of them surged towards the opening, pushing others out of the way.
Suddenly Elzunia heard herself shouting above the melee. ‘Hold it! We’re doing our best to get you out but you’ll leave one by one, in an orderly way, not in a stampede. Stay where you are and I’ll tell you when it’s your turn.’
It was four o’clock in the morning when she crawled back to the hospital. Dr Zawadzki, who was already in the operating theatre, removing a crushed spleen, looked up as she came in.
‘I heard that you frightened the life out of those people in the cellar,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘You should have been a sergeant-major.’
Too exhausted to reply, she walked on. She had reached the end of the corridor when he called out, ‘Great news! I heard on Radio Blyskawica that Paris was liberated today!’
Nocturne Page 36
