“They led me into a thick part of the woods where they had constructed lean-tos out of pine boughs. I slept a few hours and awoke at sundown, refreshed and ready to start my journey back to Krasnik. One of the men warned me to stay away from certain areas and described a trail to get me to the farm lands. As I was leaving, a little girl handed me an apple and wished me Godspeed.”
Ben paused his story and faded out of the conversation. His eyes saw the girl and he smiled at her. His distraction lasted only a moment and he picked up his meatball sandwich. “By the way, Polish apples are very tasty.
“I followed the trail and reached the farmlands by morning. From there, I walked through the wheat fields and potato fields, staying clear of farmhouses and roads. Along the way I picked a few potatoes, some vegetables and even a few eggs from a hen house. It took me four more days to get back to Krasnik.
“I arrived at St. Mary’s late at night. The door to the church was locked and no one answered my knock. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I had the feeling that something was wrong. I ran around to the courtyard building and tried the door, but it was also locked. I was about to try a window when the side door opened and a woman bade me to be quiet. She had night clothes on but I took her to be a member of the order.
“‘I’m looking for the Solomons,’ I whispered. ‘They came here five days ago.’
“‘There are no such people here, this is a convent,’ she answered and started to close the door.
“I was shocked. I held my hand on the door. ‘What happened to them? Where is Father Janofski?’
“‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave or I will call the authorities.’
“‘Where is Father Janofski? Let me talk to him.’
“‘I’m afraid that is not possible. He is on sabbatical. Now you must leave or I will sound the alarm.’ With that she pulled the door shut.
“Now I was frantic. I ran to the side of the church, looking for an open door or window. I found a small, locked casement window at the rear of what would have been the north transept and cracked the upper pane with a rock. Once inside, I tried to find the priest’s apartments. The interior was pitch black and I lit a candle to find my way.
“The old complex used to be a monastery and there was a maze of hallways leading from the church. I turned to follow one such hallway when I heard a gruff voice order, ‘Put out that candle.’ I spun around to come face to face with Father Janofski. He’s the only man I’ve ever known to sleep in a nightcap and a nightgown, like the drawings for The Night Before Christmas.
“‘Where is my family?’ I demanded.
“‘Asleep. Where I was until a few minutes ago. Are you trying to raise the dead?’
“‘I just asked one of your nuns about my family and was told that no such people were here and that you were on sabbatical.’
“He chuckled and motioned for me to follow him down the hall. ‘You can’t be too careful. That was probably Sister Bonicja. She’s a tough cookie.’
“He interrogated me about where I left the car, how I got to Krasnik and who I might have talked to along the way. When he was satisfied that I hadn’t been followed he opened the door to a small bedroom.
“‘Get some sleep,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk in the morning. After you fix my window.’”
Chapter Thirty-three
Chicago, Illinois November 2004
Upon their return to the townhouse, Ben and Catherine were greeted by Liam.
“Out for a walk?” he asked.
“I was treated to lunch at Rocco’s,” Catherine said.
“Ah, the meatball capital of the world. Do you have an ample supply of antacids?”
“Cut it out,” Ben said. “We’re talking haute cuisine.”
“I confess, it was a pretty tasty sandwich,” Catherine said.
“I’ve got some information for you,” Liam said, pulling up a chair to the kitchen table and taking out a file folder. “Columbia Indemnity Corporation, the massive conglomerate Rosenzweig owns, was founded in 1984. The incorporators were Elliot Rosenzweig, Robert Hart and Carl Schaeffer. This gets complicated – I’m going to trace the history of Rosenzweig’s empire going backwards in time– so listen carefully. Columbia was formed for the sole purpose of acquiring the assets of two other existing insurance companies: Franklin Life and the Dorchester Companies. Franklin Life was owned by Rosenzweig, Hart and Schaeffer. Dorchester was in the reinsurance business in Philadelphia and as far as I can tell, it was owned by somebody else. Franklin Life was created in 1967 and was the result of a consolidation between American Mutual and Youngstown Life. American was owned by Rosenzweig and Youngstown was owned by Hart.”
“So Rosenzweig kept acquiring his own companies?”
“Well, he kept merging them. And buying others.”
“Where did you get all this information?” Catherine said.
“It’s all in the public records. Some came from the department of insurance, some from the secretary of state’s corporation division, some from the FTC. It’s all there, you just have to dig.
“Here’s the juicy part: American Mutual was founded in 1948. Its sole incorporator was Elliot Rosenzweig of 1450 Lake Shore Drive. At that time the state required a life insurance company to post an indemnity bond and a minimum requirement for cash reserves, both of which were met by Rosenzweig. He satisfied the reserve requirement with cash and a letter of credit from the Midwest Bank and Trust Company of Chicago.”
“How does a penniless camp survivor post a multimillion dollar cash reserve? And how does he get a letter of credit?” Catherine said.
“Exactly. He would’ve had to have security for the Midwest letter of credit.”
“What was his security?”
“Well, now that’s a problem. Midwest was bought out by National Union Bank in 1988. The files of the obsolete loans and letters of credit no longer exist.”
“So we don’t know who or what provided security for Rosenzweig’s letter of credit?” Catherine said.
“That’s right. But I’m still digging.”
Liam stood and slipped on his jacket. “I have a statement to record this afternoon, so I’ll see you later. What time do you want me on Thursday?”
“Dinner’s at 4. Come early for a cocktail. Ben’s coming, too.”
“Excellent. I can taste the turkey already.”
“Wait, Liam,” said Catherine. “We have news for you, too. Rosenzweig says he’s found the real Otto Piatek.”
“What?” Liam sat down. “Where is he?”
Catherine smiled. “That’s the rub. They believe they found his home and they’re staking it out, but the elusive Otto Piatek has yet to show his face.”
“You believe this?”
“I don’t know. On the basis of that representation, Jenkins asked that I stop working on Ben’s case.”
“Right,” said Liam. “I’m sure.” He shook his head. “What’s the address? I’ll check it out.”
“We don’t know.”
“Sounds like a cock and bull story to me. When you get an address, let me know.”
After Liam left, while sitting in the living room, a fire crackling in the brick fireplace, Ben said, “These financial transactions, showing that Rosenzweig formed his insurance empire right after he settled in Chicago, is that evidence we can use?”
“It’s a piece of the puzzle. It’s one brick in the construction of a trial. It certainly creates an inference, but it doesn’t prove that Rosenzweig used stolen property to form his business. There are all sorts of alternative explanations. He could have found a backer who helped him arrange for the loan or he could have had a business associate put up security. And it still doesn’t link Rosenzweig with Piatek.”
“When we file our lawsuit, when we’re before the court, don’t we have the right to demand that he produce all of his records? Can’t we ask him at a deposition how he got his money. And how he came to America?”
“Yes. That’s c
alled discovery and we have a right to subpoena documents and take depositions.”
“He’d have to answer all the questions, wouldn’t he?”
“He would.”
“Well, then, those pieces, those other bricks will come in time, Catherine. Just have faith.”
“Speaking of faith,” she said as she reached for her pen and pad, “what did the good Father Janofski have to say when you woke up?”
Krasnik, Poland 1942
“I went looking for him the next morning and found him outside, walking in the quadrangle, his hands clasped behind him, saying his morning prayers. He quickly shooed me back into the building where I waited for him in my chamber. Sometime later, he knocked on the door. ‘You must stay out of sight,’ he snapped. ‘Until we figure out what to do with you, your presence here is a danger to our entire operation.’
“‘What has become of my family?’ I asked.
“‘They are well. We’ll talk about them after you’ve fixed my window. Come with me.’
“He gave me glass, a cutter and putty and left me to figure out how to fix a broken window. Needless to say, it was a learning experience. After I finished, he invited me for breakfast.
“I followed him through the church into the vestry. Soon, plates of eggs, potatoes and meat were brought and laid on the desk by Sister Mary Magdalena, who bowed and softly closed the door as she left.
“‘Your father is a very talented man,’ Father Janofski said at long last. ‘His engraving skills are valuable assets.’
“‘I’d like to see my wife.’
“‘How much do you know about our operations?’
“‘Only what Lucyna had told us; that you assist people in leaving the country. Obtaining visas and travel papers. Not much more than that.’
“He took small forkfuls of food. He was a delicate eater. ‘We do what we can,’ he said. ‘It has become increasingly difficult to move people out of harm’s way. Germany now controls all of Europe from the English Channel to the Volga, from the Balkans to North Africa. All of the Mediterranean Sea is German water. With America in the war and the Russian armies massing that may change, but for the moment….’ He shrugged his shoulders and took another bite of meat.
“‘I’d like to see my wife,’ I repeated.
“Again he nodded, but did not answer me. ‘1943 will be a critical year for this war. Until sanity returns, we must do what we can to combat the ungodliness. We are called upon.’
“‘My wife,’ I repeated.
“‘She is with the sisters. Do you think this is a hotel?’ He patted his mouth with his napkin and walked to the vestry door, which he opened, peeked out into the church, and then locked. He walked directly to the large closet where the altar linen and clerical vestments were hanging. Sliding them aside, he pushed on the back wall which opened to reveal a passageway and we descended a staircase into a windowless basement area. There sat my father at a long oak table on which magnifying glasses, microscopes and documents were laid.
“Father Janofski held up two visas, examined them closely and smiled. ‘You can’t tell the original from the copy. Brilliant.’
“‘Father,’ I said, figuring that now, at last, I‘d get some answers, ‘where are Mother and Hannah?’
“‘It’s a long story.’
“‘I’m listening.’
“‘The first night we arrived and you left for Zamość, the girls were cared for by the sisters, and Father Janofski brought me down to this cellar. I was famished. He brought me bowl of soup and some bread and we talked through the night. He’s a remarkable man, Ben. Our original plans were to wait for you and then leave. St. Mary’s does not house refugees.’
“‘The church is under constant surveillance,’ added Father Janofski, ‘and the Gestapo barges in at unexpected times looking for fugitives. If any lay people were found hiding in the church, we’d all be arrested and the church destroyed.’
“‘Anyway,’ my father continued, ‘when I spoke of my background, my engraving, Father asked if I was able to copy travel documents. So here I sit. I have a little bedroom in the corner of the cellar and I’m doing my part to help people escape the death camps.’
“Father Janofski walked over to my father and put his hands on his shoulders. ‘Our last angel, I call them all angels because they are doing God’s work, was a calligrapher. A beautiful artist, she was. But she received news that her mother was ill, and she left for Gorlice. That was two months ago. We were unable to process any new travel documents until your father came along.’
“‘And Hannah?’ I asked again.
“‘Hannah, Lucyna and your mother are living in the convent,’ my father said. ‘When necessary, they put on the habits and pretend to be nuns. They’re doing their part too: sewing suits, uniforms, dresses and other articles of clothing needed by people traveling the resistance underground. We’re welcome to stay here as long as we wish. Father Janofski has been very generous.’
“‘What about me? What am I to do? I don’t think I’d look good in a habit.’
“‘I have need for a strong, young body,’ answered Father Janofski. ‘I think God is overly ambitious with these old bones. This noble church demands a lot of care. It would be acceptable to me if I never had to climb another ladder.’ He paused with a wry smile. ‘With the possible exception of Jacob’s.’ He chuckled at his joke. ‘There are also occasions when we need a courier and there are nights I must make contact with the resistance. If you are willing to take on these responsibilities and abide by our restrictions, you may stay in the cellar.’
“‘I would like to stay with my wife. We just got married.’
“‘Shall I reserve the honeymoon suite?’ Father Janofski said. ‘She’s in a convent. There are no men allowed. The doors are locked at night.’
“My father winked at me. ‘The nuns file into the chapel in the morning and for vespers. That’s when I talk to your mother.’
“I didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but the prospect of living separately from Hannah and seeing her only a few minutes a day was disheartening.
“‘Keep your conversations to a minimum,’ snipped Father Janofski. ‘And don’t talk to her when lay worshippers are present. We cannot control who walks into our church. Our services are open to all, including the Germans, and there’s always a Nazi or two on Sunday morning. I don’t know if they’re worshipping or watching, but we don’t take any chances.’”
“So you came to live at St. Mary’s?” Catherine said.
“Yes, I did, and a more generous, heartwarming group I have never met in my life, although it was agonizing to be so close to Hannah, yet so far, to see her dressed in a postulant veil, filing into church in the morning and the evening, trying to catch a moment alone.”
“As a Jew, did it trouble you to see Hannah dressed as a nun?”
“Hannah and Lucyna were dressed a postulants – they were young enough – my mother was dressed as a professed nun. And no, it didn’t trouble me at all; these people were saving our lives. I was concerned that the sisters would resent a non-Catholic wearing a holy habit: the veil, the white head-covering, the collar, the cord from the belt. These are all deeply religious symbols and it took great beneficence for these nuns not to consider the masquerade offensive. But, they were strongly supportive of Father Janofski and his work.”
Ben stood to stretch his legs. He walked to the fireplace, repositioned the logs and poked the embers. “During the day, I stayed in the cellar with my father, assisting him in whatever way I could, or I did odd jobs around the church. I longed for the masses and my brief moments with Hannah. Out of respect, Hannah would sit through the service, but during communion, when the other nuns were receiving the host, she’d slip into the corner of the transept, out of sight, where I’d kiss her a thousand times and tell her how much I loved her and how I wanted to be with her. She’d say, ‘Dance with me, Ben, like we did in Zamość,’ and for a few brief moments we’d waltz in the darkened recess
es of the old church. We had only moments, the length of the communion, before she’d hurry back to her pew and file back into the convent.”
“Father Janofski had mentioned that he needed you to make contact with the resistance,” Catherine said. “Were you given those assignments?”
“Not initially. The man who made deliveries of milk and eggs twice a week was really a messenger for the resistance. He would pass along the information about persons needing forged papers, who they were and what sort of clothing they needed. A few days later we would covertly pass the forged papers and suits of clothes to him and he’d hide them in his wagon. In January 1943, he was randomly interrogated by the Gestapo. Although nothing came of it, he felt threatened and would no longer serve as an intermediary. Father Janofski then asked if I would transport documents and clothing, and my service as a resistance courier began.”
“You look tired, Ben. Do you want to stop for the day?”
He took a deep breath and nodded. “I think so. It’s been a long day. Shall I come tomorrow?”
Catherine walked Ben to the door. “Not tomorrow or Wednesday. I’ll be shopping and cooking – turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie. I’ll see you Thanksgiving Day. Bring a big appetite.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Chicago, Illinois November 2004
Thanksgiving Day began with rain and wind. The temperature hung in the low forties and was forecast to drop throughout the afternoon with measurable snow toward evening. In contrast, Catherine’s home was warm and festive. Her china and crystal were set upon a lace tablecloth, embroidered in browns and oranges. A wicker centerpiece, shaped like a turkey, held cut flowers. A fire crackled and danced in the living room fireplace.
Catherine’s sister Deirdre and her husband Frank, Catherine’s Aunt Ethel, Ethel’s son Charles and his pregnant wife Jessica, Catherine’s brother Stephen and his second wife Jeanette, and Liam all mingled about in the living room enjoying cocktails and hors d’oeurves which were set about on Catherine’s antique rosewood chiffonier.
Once We Were Brothers Page 24
