It had taken Elzunia several days to get on to a train because the carriages were jammed with desperate evacuees, displaced people and former Nazis who had hurriedly stripped off all signs of their service to the Third Reich in an attempt to pass for innocent civilians. She had trudged the last few kilometres on foot, her knapsack on her back, with the children lagging behind, complaining and squabbling.
‘Where are we going? When will we get there?’ Zbyszek kept asking.
‘Make him wait for me,’ Gittel said in a querulous tone as Zbyszek ran past her. She flopped down on the ground. ‘I can’t walk any more. I’m tired.’
Elzunia knelt beside them and took out the thermos from her rucksack. ‘Have a drink and then we’ll keep going. We’re nearly there. See that building ahead of us? That’s the hospital.’
Her knees shook when she was ushered into Matron’s office, and she sank gratefully into a chair and looked around. On the bookshelf above Matron’s desk lay a worn volume. Its title, Notes on a Hospital, didn’t mean anything to her, but the author’s name leapt out at her. It was Florence Nightingale, whose story had inspired her to become a nurse, and whose portrait hung on the wall of the nursing school in the Ghetto. She felt the matron’s eyes resting gently on her and knew she had come to the right place.
‘That lady has orange hair,’ Gittel said.
Embarrassed, Elzunia hushed her, relieved that the matron couldn’t speak Polish, although from the amused gleam in her eyes it looked as if she had sensed that the child had made a comment about her.
‘You need nurse, yes?’ Elzunia said. She hoped she remembered enough of her English lessons at school to make herself understood.
Judith looked at her with interest. ‘You’re a nurse, are you?’
‘I good nurse. Long time. Polish.’
‘And these children,’ Judith asked, ‘are they yours?’
Elzunia shook her head and held the children closer. ‘Not mine but stay with me always.’
There was something about the girl’s resolute manner and devotion to the children that touched Judith. And she needed nurses with experience.
After showing Elzunia to the room that she would share with five other nurses, Judith looked at the children.
‘We can put two beds in here for them. During the day they can go to the kindergarten in the grounds,’ she said.
Elzunia’s response was sharp and swift. ‘Children with me, always,’ she said. ‘If kindergarten, I go.’
Taken aback by the girl’s ferocity, Judith decided to drop the subject for the time being. ‘You must be very tired,’ she said. ‘Have something to eat, unpack, and then I’ll show you around and explain your duties.’
‘I don’t know what’s going to become of these people when they’re well enough to leave,’ Judith said with a sigh an hour later as they walked around a ward where over a hundred beds were jammed, one next to the other. ‘The Jews don’t want to go back to the countries where they were persecuted and the British won’t let them into Palestine. The Poles refuse to live under a communist government, the Estonians, Latvians and Lithuanians are afraid of reprisals if they go back, and there’s a civil war raging in Greece. The world’s in a bloody mess.’
Elzunia didn’t say anything. Although she understood the gist of what Matron had said, her spoken English was poor, and, in any case, she preferred to keep her thoughts to herself. Hospitals evoked bad memories. Hard work didn’t frighten her but she needed all her energy to suppress the ghosts of the past. As she followed the matron around the hospital, she was impressed by what this woman had achieved in such a short time.
Without saying any more about the kindergarten, Judith took Elzunia around the hospital grounds. They ended the tour at the kindergarten that she had equipped with toys and books sent by her friends in Australia.
Gittel and Zbyszek looked around. Gittel’s eyes were shining as she picked up some bright wooden blocks and held them out to Zbyszek, who was examining a red truck. ‘Look at all these toys!’ she shouted.
A few minutes later, they crept forward and sat on the floor beside the other children, who were gazing at a picture book the young teacher held up.
As Elzunia watched them, she realised that probably for the first time in their lives, Gittel and Zbyszek were able to play like normal children.
‘Kindergarten good,’ she said. ‘Children stay.’
Judith was impressed with the efficiency and dedication of her new nurse but she was puzzled by her selective understanding of English. Elzunia carried out all her instructions but whenever she asked where she had studied or which hospitals she had worked in, the girl looked blank and clammed up.
Judith knew that it was essential to tread delicately. Dealing with the bruised personalities of these people was like treading across a minefield where even the lightest step could cause an explosion.
Elzunia knew that she should answer Matron’s questions but although this was the first hospital she had ever worked in that wasn’t under fire, she couldn’t bring herself to talk about her other nursing experiences. She kept reminding herself that no bombs or rockets would fall on them here, and no SS officers would burst into her ward, but she still caught herself listening out for the thumping of boots and the bellowing of mortars.
She was on her way to see Matron early one morning when the sound of dishes crashing in the kitchen made her jump. She was still trembling when she entered the office, but saw that Matron was also in a nervous state, pacing up and down, not like her usual cheerful self.
‘There’s no power today,’ Judith said. ‘I was thinking of using wood to fire the bath heaters, but without electricity we can’t pump the water. The buggers have cut the power off without any warning, so we didn’t even get time to fill the tanks or tubs. I don’t know how we’re going to manage to wash the patients and cook the food. To say nothing of the dance this evening.’
She spoke more rapidly than usual, and Elzunia could only make out one word in ten, but she understood that it was about the blackout and the dance. She knew from Dr Silbermann that Matron had organised a dance that evening to boost the patients’ spirits, but it looked as if she had picked the wrong night.
Judith was still talking. ‘One of these days I’ll have to write a manual about how to run a three-thousand-bed hospital without water, power or disinfectant. It’s bound to be a bestseller!’
Although the power was not restored in time, Judith resolved that nothing would stand in her way. If there was no electricity, the dance would take place by candlelight.
The flickering candles cast long shadows on the walls and transformed the bare hall into a romantic ballroom. One of the patients, an old man whose hunched back and pointy ears reminded Elzunia of a gnome, rushed to the piano with surprising alacrity, and proceeded to play a Strauss waltz. As soon as he pressed one key, four others sounded simultaneously, but neither the jangling music nor the bizarre surroundings dampened the enthusiasm of the patients who had decked themselves out in whatever clothes they could lay their hands on.
The more sprightly among them grabbed a partner and shuffled around with euphoric expressions while the rest looked on, humming the tunes, tapping their feet or clapping to the music. Judith noticed that Anna Silbermann was standing on the edge of the dance floor with her back to the dancers. One of the men hobbled up to her, bowed, and said something. She shook her head and turned away but he persisted and with obvious reluctance she followed him on to the dance floor. Her movements, unenthusiastic at first, gradually loosened up, and soon she was twirling to the infectious rhythm of a Hungarian czardas. Watching them, Judith felt her throat close up. It wasn’t just the hall that had been transformed. The music had released a flow of energy and emotion that had been bottled up for so long. From the flirtatious smiles of some of the women, and the gallant gestures of the men, it was clear that the juices of life were flowing again.
But she felt that her own juices had dried up. The relentless effort o
f establishing and running this hospital had taken up all her waking thoughts, and when she fell into bed each night she sank into a dreamless sleep. But as she watched the patients bouncing around the wooden floor or swaying in time to the music, she felt such a surge of longing for Adam and the warmth of his embrace that she had to close her eyes to conceal her emotion.
She saw the new Polish nurse standing quietly beside her, thin and pale as a wafer. ‘What about you?’ she said. ‘Why don’t you take a partner and kick up your heels? It would do you the world of good.’
Elzunia started. Her eyes were pools of sadness and Judith wondered whether she, too, was thinking of someone she loved.
Sixty-One
A murky twilight had descended over the hospital as Judith quickened her step on the way to her office. At last she’d be able to sit down and read the letter from London.
Nancy’s exuberance leapt off the page. Stewart had been released from the POW camp and they were making plans for the future. ‘Your brother keeps on about Australia and how much better life would be there for our children. He’s jumping the gun as usual but you know how impetuous he is,’ she wrote. ‘Anyway he’s managed to talk me round, so as soon as I finish up here we’ll be off. Who knows, maybe one day we’ll be neighbours as well as sisters-in-law. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?’
Judith put the letter down and sighed. Apart from her work, she had nothing. She felt a pang of guilt that, instead of being happy for Nancy and her brother, she was envious and upset. She forced herself to keep reading. On the reverse side, the handwriting changed.
‘Hi Sis,’ Stewart had written. ‘Nancy’s given you all the gen so I’ll just add a few words. I couldn’t let you know from the POW camp that our Lanc was shot down, so we all had to bail out. Whew! Wouldn’t want to do that again in a hurry. The Jerries were waiting for us of course, and we ended up in the camp, except for Adam. I don’t know where he ended up but keep your chin up — the moody Pole is bound to turn up.’
He ended with a postscript. ‘You should have been in Trafalgar Square the day Churchill announced the war was over. Lights were blazing, firecrackers were exploding like on New Year’s Eve. Everyone was jammed into the square waving flags, singing Rule Britannia and God Save the King, and kissing and hugging — even total strangers. The only people who weren’t falling over themselves with joy were the Polish airmen. They reckon Poland has lost more territory than Germany. The way they put it, they won the war but lost the peace. You know what an intense lot they are.’
Judith sighed again. She could imagine how bitter Adam would be to know that people were dancing in London and Paris while Warsaw was dark and silent.
What had become of him? The war was over, so how come he hadn’t written to her or contacted Stewart? There was one alternative that her brother hadn’t mentioned, one that she had resolutely ignored, but the letter made her jittery.
The walls of her small office were crowding in on her. She picked up a lantern from her desk and headed for the kitchen. A cup of tea would settle her nerves.
The power was switched off at night, and the kitchen was in darkness. As she held up the lantern, she saw that someone was already in there. A small figure was sitting at the table, her head in her hands.
Judith slipped into the chair beside Elzunia.
‘Are you ill?’ she asked. ‘Do you need anything?’
Elzunia shook her head.
Judith boiled water on the primus stove, filled the teapot, poured two cups and slid one in front of the young nurse.
‘We Aussies have great faith in the restorative power of tea,’ she said. ‘Try it. You’ll feel better.’
Elzunia gave a wan smile. It would take more than tea to boost her spirits and she didn’t like milk in her tea anyway, but Matron was being kind and she didn’t want to offend her.
The steam rose from the tea cups and wisped towards the ceiling as they sipped the tea by the weak light of the lantern, filling the silence with their own thoughts.
Matron was studying her with a kind expression and Elzunia suddenly felt an urge to talk. It would be a relief to talk about the grief that was suffocating her.
‘I’m speak bad English,’ she said.
Judith leaned over. ‘Don’t let that stop you. I’ve become quite good at figuring out what people are trying to say. Fire away.’
She tried to speak but the softness of Matron’s gaze brought tears to her eyes. She finished the milky tea and wondered where to begin.
‘I can tell you’ve had a terrible time,’ Matron murmured. ‘But you’ve still got Gittel and Zbyszek.’
At the mention of the children, Elzunia looked up. Perhaps she’d tell her how she found them. But that would mean talking about the Ghetto. That story was too complicated and too painful. Maybe she could tell her about her nursing experience instead. But if she did, she’d have to talk about the hospitals in the Ghetto and the ones during the Uprising and that would bring her to Andrzej and that was the one subject she couldn’t bear to talk about. The memory of their last night together was still so vivid in her mind that every night before she went to sleep she replayed every detail in her mind, and heard his voice murmuring endearments as he gazed at her. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could still feel his lips and his hands, and could hear him saying, ‘Life is a brief gift.’
Happiness was even briefer, she thought bitterly. Every night before falling asleep, she cried for him, and every morning she kept her eyes closed as long as possible to keep his image in her mind and wished that the dream were real, and the reality was the nightmare.
But that she would never share with Matron, even if she had the words for it. While she wondered where to start, the ticking of the large wall clock punctuated the silence in the dark kitchen. It reminded her of the grandfather clock in Andrzej’s empty apartment that night, and tears were running down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away.
Judith waited, still and silent. Perhaps the comforting darkness of the kitchen would help the girl elicit memories she found so painful to confront. Focused on the Polish nurse in front of her, she had forgotten about her own grief that had propelled her into the kitchen.
Elzunia brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, blew her nose, and started to speak, haltingly at first, conscious of her inadequate English, but gathering momentum until the words flowed rapidly, regardless of grammar and limited vocabulary.
Judith was transfixed. Although she couldn’t understand everything the girl said, she didn’t ask her to repeat anything. She sensed that it was more important for Elzunia to tell her story without interruptions than for her to understand every single word. At times the sheer force of Elzunia’s intensity communicated the meaning of her words. It was like watching a tragedy enacted in mime. As she listened, Elzunia’s life seemed to embody the chaos of war. Adam had once said that the history of Warsaw had been written in the blood of past generations, and as she listened to Elzunia she saw the story of the world encapsulated in the fate of a single city.
Elzunia cried as she described the doomed Ghetto Uprising and the death of her mother and her friends. She talked about the heroic airman who had saved her life just after the war began, and who reappeared miraculously when she was interned inside the Ghetto. Touched by her tragic experiences, Judith felt tears spring to her eyes.
‘I never forget this man,’ Elzunia concluded. ‘I think about him every day.’
Judith sighed. She knew only too well how unexpectedly war threw people together and how brutally it tore them apart. She looked at Elzunia’s sad face and took her hand.
‘Don’t give up hope,’ she said. ‘Life is full of surprising twists and turns. Perhaps fate will throw you both together again.’
As she walked back to her office, she wished she could believe that fate would produce a miracle for her as well.
Sixty-Two
Judith sat in her office, blowing on her hands. She could cope with the other shortages in the hospi
tal but the lack of coal made her miserable. She was drawing up a nurses’ training program for dealing with displaced people, but, as she reread the program, she wondered whether UNRRA would supply the psychologists she had recommended. Probably not. She would have to include a psychological component in her program to give nurses an insight into the problems of survivors and suggest strategies for preparing them for life outside the hospital.
Now that a small contingent of nurses had finally arrived from England, the hospital was filled with the cheery descant of English voices. It was a relief to know that she could entrust the care of the patients to well-trained women, some of whom she had taught herself. The number of acute cases had decreased and although there were still far too many cases of gastroenteritis and pulmonary tuberculosis, she had more time now to talk to the patients.
During her ward rounds, Judith sensed their restlessness as attempts to find a country that would accept them ended in one rejection after another. Affluent Western countries didn’t want to admit displaced and dispossessed people who had lost everyone and everything. It was a bloody disgrace. Where was the humanity? The governments were willing to go to war but not to pick up the pieces afterwards.
As she hurried out of the hospital for her daily stroll, she passed Elzunia spooning soup into the mouth of an old woman whose hands shook so violently that she couldn’t feed herself. Ever since the girl had talked about her life, Judith’s admiration for her had grown. If anyone deserved to find happiness, it was Elzunia.
This was her favourite time of day, just before sunset, when she set off for her daily stroll to the woods. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled under her feet as she walked along the rough track. The day was coming to an end and only the twittering and whistling of birds as they flitted back to their nests broke the silence. The trees almost obscured the sky and the forest seemed to be alive and watching her.
As soon as Judith came to the small clearing, she felt her mind unwinding like a skein of wool loosened from a tight spindle. The bluebells had withered but new plants had sprung up. Under their leaves she found small blue-black berries that stained her fingers like ink, but tasted gritty, sharp and sweet.
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