“Darling, please,” Mama whispered, but they could infer enough as it was.
I blinked through tears as Tata placed a gentle hand over mine. “When they threatened to bring the rest of you in there, I gave them false information.”
My parents were silent. Mama kissed a tear from my cheek, then rushed to the door and stood with her back to us. Both hands ran through her hair and clutched it until her knuckles turned white. Her shoulders heaved, then she crossed the room and guided Zofia into her lap.
As I wiped a final stray tear, Tata placed something in my palm. It was a small piece of his bread ration mixed with a bit of mud, and shaped to resemble a tiny chess piece—a pawn, half the size of my smallest finger. I closed my hand around it, intertwined my arm with his, and gave him a grateful squeeze. I rested my head on his shoulder and surrendered to exhaustion, and I was almost asleep when his familiar whisper reached my ears.
“You are strong and brave, my Maria.”
Even though I was slipping deeper into slumber, I still heard the quiver in his voice.
Chapter 3
Warsaw, 28 May 1941
WHEN I WOKE, hushed voices greeted my ears. Mama and Tata were in the middle of a fervent conversation, so I did one of the things I did best—feigned slumber and eavesdropped.
“This cell is filthy, they hardly feed us, I snapped at poor Zofia, I taught Karol to curse, and Maria . . .” Mama fell silent before continuing. “We have to tell the Gestapo what we know.”
“We’re not going to be traitors, Natalia.”
“What choice do we have? How else can we protect our children?”
“If we admit the truth, they’ll realize Maria lied, and they’ll punish her. Either way, they won’t release us, but since she confessed, those bastards have no reason to question her again.”
“Question her.” She repeated the words in a sharp hiss. “They didn’t question her. Dear God, Aleksander, they tortured her.” A muffled sob followed her words, and I imagined Tata pulling her into his arms. I heard him kiss her, probably on the top of her head, because that’s where he always kissed her when she was upset. Their heavy breaths were all I heard until Mama spoke in a small, sad whisper.
“I want to kill them.”
“So do I, Nati.”
The nickname tended to calm her, but I thought Tata knew it wouldn’t work this time.
He told Mama they had only a couple of hours before the guards would come to wake us, so they should sleep while they could. After a while, their breaths grew rhythmic and steady. I sat up. My parents reclined against the far wall, and Karol and Zofia were nestled on the bed. I watched them until Zofia stirred. She glanced my way, as if she didn’t know what to make of me anymore, then she sat on the floor near the bed and twirled her hair around her finger.
Though it hurt to move, I crawled closer until I was next to her, but she focused on a hole in her pale blue dress. “Zofia, if you’d known I was working for the resistance—”
“I wouldn’t have told anyone.”
“I hated keeping it from you, but if you’d known and they’d found out . . .” My voice died, and the hostility in her eyes softened.
“They would have questioned me, too. And when they questioned you, something bad happened.”
I nodded, and she didn’t pry further. For so long, I’d wanted nothing more than to be honest with her, even though lying meant keeping her safe. Now I had the honesty I wanted, but suddenly I wished we could stay hidden behind the deception. When protected by a wall of lies, it was easier to pretend the truth wasn’t lurking on the other side. Now the wall was down and the truth exposed. I couldn’t protect my sister from it any longer.
I gave one of her curls a light tug, the gesture that usually made her giggle and slap my hand away. This time, Zofia intertwined her arm with mine and rested her head on my shoulder.
* * *
With nothing for us to do but sit in a cell, the day crawled by, leaving me copious amounts of time to think. I sat in my corner, terrified Ebner would realize I’d fabricated my confession.
Movement angered my bruises, so I tried not to shift. I wondered what Irena had done when I missed the errand I should’ve run with her yesterday. It wasn’t like me to be late, much less miss resistance work. She’d probably stopped by our apartment and discovered everyone gone. When an entire family went missing, the conclusion was clear.
Dammit, Maria.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Mama turning toward me, but I didn’t acknowledge her. I couldn’t bear to look at my parents. Tata’s hair was haphazard, his brown tweed suit disheveled, his chin stubbled. Mama’s high cheekbones had lost their rosy glow, her black shirtwaist dress was wrinkled, and small runs traveled down each nylon stocking and disappeared into low slingback heels. But it wasn’t their appearances that shattered me. It was their eyes. They reflected a sadness that had never been there before. It wasn’t hopelessness, not yet, but close. And in my parents, that scared me most of all.
Footsteps echoed down the silent hall, and I scrambled to my feet when our cell door swung open, revealing Ebner and four guards.
Oh, God, he knows I lied, and now he’ll torture my family to make me tell the truth.
I wrapped my arms around my midsection as if I were back in the interrogation room, stripped to almost nothing, his eyes all over me. The tobacco smoke drifted from his breath and enveloped me . . .
I blinked and noticed I’d gathered my sweater in my hands, as if my grip could keep it from leaving my body. I loosened my hold, then moved closer to Zofia and Karol. An empty promise rose in my throat, a promise that I’d keep my siblings safe. Maybe I should have voiced it, empty or not, but I couldn’t bear to lie anymore. Instead I stayed silent and wrapped my arms around them. It felt like less of a lie that way.
“Take the prisoners to transport,” Ebner said.
That’s not what the guards had said before taking me to interrogation, and for that reason alone I was relieved. We shuffled out of the cell. My parents tried to stand tall, but their shoulders slumped, depleted, and Tata leaned on Mama while she staggered beneath his weight. The guards didn’t help or provide him with a cane—not that I expected otherwise. I brought up the rear, and my siblings stayed between us. Outside, guards ushered prisoners into large trucks that roared with life, swallowed inmates whole, and belched hot, black smoke from their tailpipes.
We climbed into the belly of our designated beast, and I imagined five chess pieces being captured, one by one.
Benches ran along either side, similar to the vehicle that had taken me to Szucha. We found a few remaining seats while more prisoners filled the empty space in the center, then the truck began to move.
“Are we going home?” Karol asked from his perch on Mama’s lap.
She straightened his suspenders and kissed his cheek. “Not yet, my love.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
In silence, I listened to the truck rattle down the cobblestone streets. When it stopped, we’d reached the railway station, where a train waited. Mama and Tata gave each other the look, the one full of concern. This time, something else joined it.
Hopelessness.
I clutched Tata’s arm and held tight to the tiny pawn he’d made me. Pawiak prisoners surrounded us, so many that it was difficult to move, more difficult to breathe. Impatient soldiers herded us into empty railcars with boarded windows while prisoners elbowed me, stepped on my toes, and crushed me until I fought for air. Surely they didn’t intend to fit so many into one small space.
But they did. More Pawiak prisoners filed into the railcar and tramped across the lime-covered floor. After squeezing between my parents, I noticed two buckets in the corner. One was full of water, the other was empty. A waste bucket. At the sight, I cringed and resolved not to use it, no matter how long we were trapped. Even Pawiak was more civilized—we’d had designated times to relieve ourselves.
/> When the doors slammed, I wanted to throw myself against them and break free so I could stay in Warsaw, go back to our cozy apartment on Bałuckiego Street in the Mokotów district, and be a successful resistance member again. I would have chosen even Pawiak over boarding the train. But the train wailed and screeched in protest as it began hauling its monstrous form down the tracks, reminding me that I didn’t have a choice.
* * *
Three Months Earlier
Warsaw, 15 March 1941
Someday, someone other than Vera Menchik would win the Women’s World Chess Championship; if I were going to be the second female world champion, I had to practice. After dedicating my day to chess, I finished my final game in the evening, when my siblings were asleep; then a few raps on the door announced Irena’s arrival.
As Tata welcomed her into the living room, Mama brewed ersatz tea and set the teapot, cups, and saucers on the coffee table. The crisp white porcelain reflected the lamplight while the gold trim glinted beneath its warm glow. Tata was the only one who poured a cup.
Irena sat on the sofa, keeping distance between us. I ran my fingers over the intricate mahogany arms, fluffed a cobalt velvet cushion, and picked up a black knight from my chessboard, all in an effort to distract myself from the stifling tension. At last Tata set his untouched teacup down and cleared his throat.
“Irena, have you learned how to play chess yet?”
“No.”
More silence. I put the knight back and selected a white bishop.
He made a second attempt. “You’ve been doing this a long time, haven’t you, Irena? Do you have any good stories? A memorable errand, or a close call with a Nazi, perhaps?”
She considered the query. “Once, a soldier caught me during curfew, so I pretended he’d stopped me on my way home from work. I proved it with my fake permit and gave the bastard hell until he let me go.”
Tata fought to control an amused grin. “An impressive escape,” he said, then he turned to Mama. “Don’t you agree, Natalia?”
She sat with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded. When he prompted her, she closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose, and sighed.
After I spent a few more minutes fiddling with my chess pieces, the clock chimed eleven times. I peered out the window and watched as trucks equipped with loudspeakers rattled down the street, announcing that curfew was in effect. I’d never broken curfew before. Such blatant rebellion sent tingles across my skin, but Irena’s critical voice crept into my head. I silenced it. Distractions hindered me in chess, and they would hinder me within the resistance. When mistakes were made, that’s how the game was lost.
Irena got up and gave my parents a tight-lipped smile in farewell before letting herself out. By the time I followed, she was halfway down the stairs.
“Slow down,” I said as I jogged to catch up.
“Talk louder, why don’t you? The Germans in Hamburg only heard part of that.”
I refused to dignify the snide remark with a reply. Irena kept to the shadows, making it even more difficult to follow her. She darted down a side street, unnoticed by me until I’d walked five steps in the wrong direction. I altered my course.
“Are we dropping something off?” I asked when I reached her again.
“Do you realize how annoying you are?”
“I’m trying to learn.”
“Fine, if you want a damn lesson so much, here it is: You’re annoying.”
Without waiting for my reply, Irena made another turn. Every movement was stealthy and sharp, but she remained light on her feet, blending in with the night. She was concentrated and purposeful, and, if she weren’t so irritating, I’d almost have been impressed.
“For a teacher’s daughter, you’re not very good at teaching,” I said after a moment.
“Thank God. Teaching is Mama’s passion, not mine. I’m more like my father.”
“Did he curse as much as you do?” I stole a sly glance at her; instead of the eye roll I anticipated, Irena chuckled.
“Always, assuming Mama wasn’t around.”
A faraway look crossed her face as she adjusted the chain on her necklace. She’d spoken with some degree of civility. Clearly that was unintentional, because she put on another burst of speed and darted down the next street.
I dodged a patch of icy snow. “You know, I’m more likely to be spotted if you keep making me run after you, and you can’t look out for me if you’re ignoring me.” I gave her a triumphant grin. “Checkmate.”
“What did you say?”
“Checkmate. It’s how you end a chess game. The king is the most important piece, and when you place your opponent’s king in checkmate, the king is threatened with capture no matter which way he moves. Your opponent has no way to avoid the checkmate, so they lose. A check, on the other hand, means the king can avoid capture by—”
“I stopped listening two hours ago.”
With an exasperated sigh, I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Never mind. The point is, you have to let me keep up.” I darted in front of her, forcing her to halt. “I win.”
Irena scoffed. “Shut up, Helena. We have a long night ahead, and if you keep bitching, I’m going to leave you. Now, move your ass out of my way, or should I move it for you?”
I indicated the empty street with a flourish. “Lead the way, Marta.”
She pushed past me, moving as briskly as before.
It was strange, walking around Warsaw when the city was so quiet. Bright, colorful squares were empty, lush parks inhabited only by nighttime creatures, storefronts dark and unwelcoming. I was used to bustling crowds, rumbling traffic, the clatter of horse-drawn carriages, cries of street vendors—and soldiers’ barks and the thuds of their shiny boots. When the Poles who loved this city were confined to their homes, even the rustle of clothing sounded as loud as the roar of bombers flying low over the ground.
While my thoughts wandered, my pace slowed, but Irena’s hadn’t. As I scanned the dark street, a shadowy figure rounded the corner ahead. I pulled my coarse wool coat around myself to ward off a chilly breeze, then started jogging, treading lightly to silence the thud of my footfalls. Once I turned the corner where Irena had disappeared, I froze.
Down the block, an SS man detained her while another tossed items from her handbag.
At once, I pressed against the rough stucco building beside me and melted into the shadows, but a combination of curiosity and concern took over. I peered around the corner and listened as the empty street carried their voices to me.
“I told you, I’m going home from work. Get the hell off me and give me that.” Irena attempted to wrestle one arm free, but the man holding her twisted it further behind her back. She stifled a cry, spitting a curse through gritted teeth.
The seconds crawled by while the soldier rifled through her belongings. I waited for him to produce her falsified employment papers to reinforce her lie. To let her go.
But when he turned the handbag over and dumped out its remaining contents, he made one single, horrible announcement. “No work permit.”
Irena stiffened. “You’re wrong, it’s . . . I . . .” she stammered, voice weaker than before. She started again, this time faster and with more force. “I must have left it there. For the last time, let go of me!”
This was bad, really bad. Irena was giving them hell, as she put it, but it wasn’t working like it had in the story she’d told my parents. I had a terrible feeling no amount of struggling or swearing would work on these soldiers. Over the course of our time together, she had never made a mistake, but, if she had forgotten to carry her work permit, she didn’t have permission to be out this late.
The SS man dropped her handbag on the ground. “Last chance.”
Although Irena scowled, disdain failed to mask the fear lacing her words. “I’m going home.”
“Well, you can’t work without your lost permit. We’ll escort you to your place of employment so you can retrieve it, and your
employer can verify your story. But if you’d rather tell the truth and admit you’ve broken the law, I might tell the Gestapo to go easier on you.”
Irena’s feeble twitches ceased, then she strained against her captor while her chest heaved faster, faster. He kicked her behind the knees, suppressing her rebellion, and when her knees hit the ground the other soldier stepped closer. She flinched and turned aside before he captured her jaw and twisted her head up.
I retreated deeper into my hiding place. Home, I needed to go home. Irena told me to put the resistance work first, not the members, so I wasn’t obligated to intervene. I had to leave.
But I didn’t. I had a plan.
Gathering my courage, I stepped around the corner and let out a startled cry. “Marta?”
The soldier released Irena’s face and whirled toward the sound of my voice while I rushed down the street toward them. When he drew his gun, I skidded to a halt. For a fleeting moment, I regretted everything I’d just done, but, if I could focus, this could work. It had to work.
I’m just a child. A silly girl who has been wandering aimlessly, alone and scared. Not a resistance member acutely aware of the gun pointed at her.
I turned to the man holding Irena, who remained on her knees. “Please stop, that’s my cousin. I’m sorry, Marta, I didn’t mean to—”
“What are you doing out after curfew?” the soldier with the gun asked. The weapon remained steady in his hand, but his eyes flickered to it. The brief gesture led me to believe my age had taken him by surprise. He was pointing his gun at a girl.
“I didn’t mean to be out this long. I was visiting a friend, and I left her apartment before curfew, honest I did, but I got lost going home. When I didn’t come back on time, I knew my parents would ask my cousin to find me.” I indicated Irena with a nod, though she looked as if she’d shoot me herself if I didn’t shut up. “Please don’t hurt her. She was trying to help me.”
The Last Checkmate Page 4
