The German officer stared at the poor fellow as if he belonged in an asylum. “My dear sir,” he said, dripping with sarcasm, “from a missing cow’s collar you have constructed a theory, perhaps one as great as Hitler’s view of the master race. But yours explains a murder and a desertion. Brilliant, simply brilliant!”
“I was merely trying to explain why or how the two events might be connected. If you catch him, do I get the reward?”
The German officer, Franz Kupner, said nothing.
That night, Captain Kupner wired Antip in Rzeszów, assuring him that he would cooperate in every way possible.
Following country lanes and footpaths, Pavel and Pelagia led the cow toward the Rumanian border.
* * *
Stalin looked out his office window at a marvelous October morning slipping from the wet rooftops into the Kremlin grounds. November, with its long nights, was nearing. The Vozhd sighed and returned to his desk to complete the list of military leaders and defectors who were to be summarily shot. Under the letter “L” was the name Lipnoskii, a name that the Supreme Leader knew all too well. Antip Skoropodski had urged that a certain deserter be found and executed, Pavel Lipnoskii.
* * *
With the jewels that Pavel had taken for his share of the booty and the cow in tow, he and Pelagia felt confident that they could bribe their way across the Rumanian border and continue to Budapest. But although the eastern divide between Germany and Russia was porous, the Germans, trying to prevent Jews from fleeing south, had fortified the border with Rumania. Lacking German transit papers and visas, the couple approached the border guards cautiously. It was late afternoon, and the weather had turned brittle. Pelagia struck up a conversation with the German corporal in charge of the crossing. Although her command of the language was imperfect, she could make herself understood.
“We have lost our papers. We need to cross into Rumania.”
The man, whose face had been scarred badly by smallpox, politely but firmly resisted. “Whose cow is that you have on a tether?” he asked. “All farm animals now belong to the Third Reich.”
“She is a pet cow,” responded Pelagia. “Where we go, she goes.”
A young boy, obviously blind, was sitting in the small passport control hut. The son of the corporal, he asked if he could touch the side of the cow. Pelagia led him outside, guided his hand, and answered his question about the cow’s name, Krasula. The father was clearly touched by Pelagia’s compassionate treatment of his son.
“The boy likes to sit with me after school,” said the corporal. “His name is Anselm. He has been blind since birth. The other children tease him. Have they no feelings?”
This question emboldened Pelagia to tell the corporal the truth: Pavel was wanted by the Russian authorities, and they had to escape into Rumania. Two other men, both German border guards, entered the hut. They inquired about the presence of the cow. The corporal assured them that he had the situation under control. He then led Pelagia outside the hut.
“They are dedicated Nazis. You must turn back now. The cow will only attract attention and slow you down.”
Pavel nodded, and Pelagia said, “Take the cow for your son.”
The corporal whispered, “Go to Kraków Glowny Station. You might just slip by in the crowd.”
A massive relic of the Hapsburg Empire, the railroad station roiled with activity. Thanks to her beauty, Pelagia gained access to the stationmaster, Alfons Dudek, who, like many collaborators, tried to impress his overlords with his zealotry in detaining illegals. “We were robbed and lost our papers,” she said, “as well as our tickets for Bucharest.” She reached for her purse, hoping to pay in zlotys and not zircons. “How much will tickets cost us?”
“If you paid once, you ought to know,” said the stationmaster truculently, suspicious of anyone wishing to leave the country and keen for the reward money that accompanied the arrest of a felon.
An unperturbed Pelagia smiled. “What with inflation, we gathered that the price of a ticket must fluctuate. Right?”
Dudek mumbled something about women. He then turned to Pavel and said, “Cat got your tongue?”
Always enterprising, Pelagia replied, “My brother is deaf and speaks with his hands.”
She wiggled her fingers at Pavel and moved her hands up and down. Although they had not agreed beforehand to this plan, he behaved similarly, understanding at once that she was trying to keep him from having to speak.
“Too bad about your brother,” said Dudek. “A muscular fellow like him would make a fine soldier.”
Frightened that the stationmaster might report Pavel as a prospective laborer for a concentration camp, Pelagia blurted, “He’s an expert horseshoe pitcher, and we’re on our way to a contest.”
Alfons Dudek ran a hand over his mouth. “I’ll be back in a moment—with your tickets.” He disappeared inside his office and rustled through some recent fliers. Sure enough, he had remembered correctly. There was Pavel’s face on a yellow flier and a note that said he was accomplished at horseshoes. The stationmaster quickly telephoned the German lieutenant in charge of trains for his sector. But Dudek’s prolonged absence had made Pavel and Pelagia suspicious. When the lieutenant pulled up, with two armed men at his side, Pavel and Pelagia had fled. Alfons Dudek defensively said, “They must have guessed that I support the Germans.”
The lieutenant sniffed at Dudek’s self-serving reply and ordered that the neighborhood and train yards be searched. Although the couple seemed to have vanished, they had in fact taken refuge in a half-empty freight car, where they hid behind crates of cheap glassware destined for Warsaw.
Pavel recommended that they remain in the car until it began to move. But the next morning, several men returned to load additional freight and discovered the couple lodged in a corner. Soldiers materialized almost immediately. The Wehrmacht, having been put on alert for fleeing Jews, Gypsies, defectors, Communist spies, and criminals, arrested the couple and quickly identified Pavel Lipnoskii, wanted by the Russians. As Pavel was led off, he knew he had a choice: either proclaim allegiance to the German cause, like so many Ukrainians and Belorussians, and thereby run the risk of being inducted into the Wehrmacht, or acquiesce in his return to the Russian sector. Pelagia was taken aside and questioned separately for having consorted with a Russian defector. Her captors felt confident that she was a Bolshevik or, even worse, a Polish nationalist.
When Pavel was brought before Bruno Kirk, the lieutenant in charge of Kraków’s rail sector, the German held the flier describing Pavel and his horseshoe-pitching skills. He smiled knowing that the German civilian governor of the generalgouvernement, Hans Frank, loved a sporting match. Bruno telephoned headquarters to announce his prize catch. He then ordered his adjutant to bring them tea and biscuits. Bruno and Pavel spoke in Russian.
“Your reputation for pitching precedes you,” said the lieutenant. “Hans Frank will be pleased to hear that you are at our disposal. Although chess is his passion, he has generously agreed to sponsor numerous athletic tournaments now that he has been made governor-general for the occupied Polish territories. In fact, he has personally sponsored Ernst Bauer, the Wehrmacht’s horseshoe-pitching champion, and I’m sure he’ll want to arrange a match for the benefit of the soldiers. His wife, Brigitte, also loves such events. I am certain she will want to be present in her role as ‘queen of Poland.’”
Pavel puzzled over the phrase “at our disposal,” which could have several meanings, like imprisoning him, putting him to use in some capacity, returning him to the Soviet sector, or killing him. But the lieutenant treated him and Pelagia with great courtesy, lodging them together in a Wehrmacht guesthouse. Although they were placed under house arrest, neither their persons nor their bags were searched. The first time they were alone, Pavel gave Pelagia the jewels that he had claimed for her share. But fearful that the Germans would eventually discover and appropriate them, she carefully wrapped the gems in an old woolen sweater, which she put in a box,
and asked the guesthouse cook, Bianka, a proud Polish woman who resented serving the Germans, to mail the box to the main Budapest post office, addressed to Pelagia Petukhova, care of poste restante.
For two weeks, the couple lived comfortably in the guesthouse, until a match could be arranged between Pavel and the German champion. At Ernst Bauer’s insistence, the courts had to conform precisely to tournament lengths and widths, and the pits filled with clay. Pavel, allowed to practice in the backyard of the guesthouse, where a court was hastily constructed on hard-packed dirt, was presented with regulation two-pound, eight-ounce horseshoes. Each day, irrespective of the weather, he practiced; and each day, Pelagia watched him, either from a garden chair or, in inclement weather, from the house. Even when unseen she seemed to make herself palpable. But tomorrow she’d be present at the match.
A crisp November day greeted the contestants and onlookers. Sunlight splashed the court like an egg yolk. Padded chairs were provided for the dignitaries, with Hans and Brigitte Frank seated front and center. An imperious woman, she was said to have launched his legal career and assuaged his fears about defending Nazis in court. Overdressed and pickled in perfume, she loved nothing more than a public event where she could strut and strike poses. Hans too fancied uniforms, titles, and public attention, but he was especially proud of his courtroom oratory on behalf of the National Socialist Party. He had famously proclaimed, “[The judge’s] role is to safeguard the concrete order of the racial community, to eliminate dangerous elements, to prosecute all acts harmful to the community, and to arbitrate in disagreements between members of the community. The National Socialist ideology, especially as expressed in the party program in the speeches of our leader, is the basis for interpreting legal sources.” Hans’s newly conferred SS rank, obergruppenfűhrer, had transmogrified his modesty into arrogance. He sat like a peacock in his freshly starched uniform, an iron cross hanging from his neck. Out of uniform and not dressed in medals, he looked common, with his bulbous cheeks, large forehead, doleful eyes, and slicked-down hair, except for a thin crest running down the middle of his balding head. Hitler’s personal legal advisor, he had been rewarded with the governorship of Poland owing to his loyalty and his investigation proving that Hitler had no Jewish ancestry, as some had charged.
Like Stalin’s functionaries, Frank had mastered the fine art of ingratiation. Even his sponsorship of this match had its roots in his wish to please the Fűhrer, who wanted his governors to maintain the morale of the troops. When the two champions entered, Hans Frank stood and greeted them both, though he hugged only Ernst, a signal for the Wehrmacht, who initially composed most of the crowd, to voice an ear-shattering cheer, which they reproduced every time Ernst threw a ringer. A few claps sounded for Pavel along with a cry of joy from Pelagia, who left her hosts agape as she rushed into the arms of Pavel Lipnoskii and murmured, “I love you.”
The players were evenly matched, though Ernst Bauer’s ringer percentage was 72 percent and Pavel’s only 64. But on any given day, a player can rise to the occasion and perform well above his average or succumb to an attack of nerves. What happened this day became part of Poland’s history.
Word had spread through Kraków that a condemned Russian, with a Polish girlfriend, was to play a German from the Wehrmacht. Although German soldiers occupied the first ten rows of seating around the court, twice that many Poles stood in rows behind. They had waited for the match to begin—ten o’clock was the starting time—and then slowly gravitated to the campgrounds in the romantic belief that the arrest of the lovers meant that Pavel hated the Bolsheviks and Nazis equally and loved the Poles. Bauer was leading thirty-one to twenty-six by the time the Polish fans counted in the hundreds.
At either end of the court stood a judge, empowered to record the score and settle any disputes. Each judge was equipped with a stopwatch to make sure that the players, once they stepped onto the platform, delivered both shoes within thirty seconds. In championship matches, the first player to reach twenty-one points wins, but the contestants had agreed to a 150-point match. Neither pitcher spoke to the other, a courtesy that serious players always observed. Pavel stood behind Ernst and silently watched Bauer’s deft and delicate wrist motion. The German’s release, free of any jerks or hitches of the arm and wrist, displayed a precise throwing technique, one honed through years of practice. To reach 150 points would take countless throws. His economy of movement translated into a preservation of energy. After releasing the shoe, Ernst’s hand followed through above his head gracefully. His shoes unfailingly rose to about eight feet, arced, made a three-quarter turn and, just before they crossed the foul line of the pitcher’s box, opened and, like a pair of welcoming women’s legs, received the stake.
Pavel thought of Pelagia and the coital embrace that they had yet to initiate. He looked at his hands and wished he could stroke her body tenderly. Bauer, too, had a sportsman’s hands, with finely tuned fingers. In his youth, Ernst had played the violin and cello. But unlike Pavel’s hands, the German’s had not been steeled by a fiery forge. For Pavel to get back in the game, he would have to relax his grip. From the strain on his hand and wrist, he knew that he had been gripping the shoe too tightly. He was tense owing to the importance of the match, the setting, and the possible consequences. Once he told himself that his opponent was not Ernst Bauer but himself, he began to throw with more confidence. Although behind in the score, he knew that matches were won incrementally, a point at a time. He would have to cancel Ernst’s ringers with his own, and to do so would take immense mental discipline. Pavel decided that besides loosening his grip, if he focused on his footwork, his consistency would improve. And so it did. He began to match Bauer ringer for ringer, winning points on shoes in counts, namely, those shoes that were not ringers but that fell within six inches of the stake. Bauer’s motion became “hitchy,” and when the men were tied at 140 apiece, the German’s anxiety was visible. He sweated profusely, pulled at his collar, examined his horseshoes, took longer to mount the throwing board, lost the elasticity in his legs, and kept glancing at Hans Frank. Pavel read all the signs and grew increasingly confident.
Having won the previous point, Pavel started the next inning. His first shoe was a ringer, and the second spun off the stake, stopping two inches away. Bauer threw a ringer with his first shoe but missed with his second, which bounced off Pavel’s shoe in count. Bauer mumbled to himself in annoyance. The great advantage to pitching first, of course, was that your opponent’s shoe often caromed off yours. With the score now 141 to 140, both men had a hot streak. They each threw ten ringers in a row. But the effort seemed to exhaust Bauer, physically and mentally. His next two shoes were in count but not ringers. Pavel barely missed with his first shoe, which ran out of bounds, but collared the stake with his second. The score now stood 144 to 140. Bauer rallied—for the last time. He threw a ringer and a shoe in count. Although Pavel threw two shoes in count, both closer to the stake than Bauer’s, the ringer eclipsed them. Score: 144 to 143.
In the next inning, the match came to a resounding and sudden end when Pavel threw two ringers for six points, and Bauer missed with both of his shoes. Final score: 150 to 143. The Poles cheered so loudly that the Germans ordered them from the field. A loss was one thing, humiliation another. Hans Frank shook Pavel’s hand and gave Ernst Bauer a perfunctory click of his heels. The governor-general’s displeasure was evident to all. Aryan athletes were expected to win. Jesse Owens had been an unfortunate exception. The German sports authorities had apologized for underestimating Jesse. It was a mistake not to be repeated. Bauer left quickly, and the crowd silently opened to let him pass. A minute later, he entered the backseat of a Mercedes and was driven off. Forcing a smile, Frank, through an interpreter, asked Pavel what he would regard as a suitable prize. Pelagia, standing at his side, prayed that he would say what he did.
“Two train tickets to Budapest.”
“You do know,” said Frank, “that Budapest will shortly come under Nazi occupa
tion? Are you therefore sure,” he added sarcastically, “that you want to take your Polish Pelagia there?”
“I’m sure,” he said, smiling at her.
Tauntingly, Frank asked, “Not London or Paris or Washington?”
“Budapest.”
“And you, my dear?” Frank said, gently touching Pelagia’s arm.
“The same.”
“Then Budapest it shall be. I will have someone drive you back to the guesthouse. You can pack tonight and leave tomorrow. A car will collect you in the morning. I will send my own driver. It’s the least I can do for a Russian champion and his . . . mistress.”
Pelagia’s cheeks burned with shame, but she said nothing. To show her contempt for the governor-general, she embraced a sweating Pavel, thanked Lieutenant Bruno Kirk—“your hospitality has been much appreciated”—and merely nodded at Mr. and Mrs. Frank. She then joined Pavel in the official car that returned them to their Kraków guesthouse. Bianka had prepared a special meal in honor of Pavel’s victory, and had somehow secured a bottle of good wine. She joined the couple at table and, having been unable to attend the match, listened to Pelagia’s recital of it. When Pelagia told Bianka that she and Pavel would be leaving by train the next morning, courtesy of Hans Frank, the cook’s expression radically changed. Her smiles fled, and a darkness came into her face.
“Which train?” Bianka asked.
“For Budapest,” answered Pelagia.
Bianka said nothing further about the matter, but Pelagia could see that she intended, for some reason, to look into it. After clearing and washing the dishes, she quickly disappeared. The couple both had the same thought: When would they next have the chance to be alone? Retreating to the couch, they hugged and kissed, while a log burned in the fireplace.
Pavel whispered, “I am thirty-eight, sixteen years older than you. The age difference . . .”
She put a finger to his lips. “Shh. Age is no obstacle when two people love one another.”
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