“It doesn’t matter what you will do!” said Janina. “We are leaving tomorrow and that’s the end of it.”
Adam stared at Irena, his eyes clouded, a stunned expression frozen on his face. He shook his head. “I just don’t understand,” he whispered. “How do our own lives matter in the cause of the people?” He looked as if he was going to say more, but he turned and moved toward the door.
“Wait!” said Irena. “I haven’t made up my mind!”
“Yes, you have!” said Janina. “We are going!”
Irena turned on her mother, her anger flaring. “I will make my own decision, Mother! I need some time to think.” She turned to Adam. “Will you walk with me?”
He stared down at her, a hand absently reaching across his suit coat to scratch at his opposite elbow. “What is the point?”
“Please, Adam. I want to talk to you.”
“Irena,” her mother insisted. “We don’t have time for this.”
“I’m going,” she said. “I’ll be back soon.”
She retrieved her coat off the hook and moved to the door, Adam following her. They left the building and walked along together toward the Vistula. Crossing the river at the Kierbed Bridge, they walked through the Praga market square, and then found a garden. They strolled along the paths, looking at the trees and the dormant plants. For a long time neither of them spoke.
“So, you’re leaving,” he said finally, still walking.
She reached out and took his arm, pulling him to a stop. They faced each other. She watched him for long seconds, her eyes locked with his. “They’re going to kill me, Adam.”
“Do you know that?”
She shook her head. She told him the whole story. A half hour passed as they stood there, next to the path, and she outlined everything that had happened. He listened intently, interrupting only to ask a point of clarity here and there. When she was finished, he was thoughtful.
“I understand now,” he said. “I didn’t know what happened.”
“So you think I should go?” she asked.
“No. I don’t.”
“You think I’m a coward then?” She felt her anger rising, mixed with humiliation that he saw her that way.
“No. You’re very brave.” He turned, looking away, his face troubled. “I don’t want you to go for selfish reasons.”
“What do you mean?”
“I need you in Warsaw, Irena. I need your strength, your hope. You’re a bright light in the darkness. I feel my own courage fading.”
“We haven’t spoken in months.”
“I’ve thought about you often. It’s not your fault we haven’t spent any time together. It’s mine. When you told me you were working under the Germans, I was angry. You have to remember, I’d just returned from our humiliating fight with them. Worse than that, I was reeling from the Russians’ betrayal. I’m still trying to understand how they could have stabbed us in the back.”
“I am too,” she said. “Of all the things I could ever have imagined, I would never have believed our socialist brothers and sisters would sell us out to the fascists.”
He turned back to her, his face lit with intensity. “We have to build our own world, Irena, right here in Poland. I believed that Russia would come and help us one day, but now I realize they are corrupted, that they’ve lost their way. If we are going to create the future we want, we must do it right here, right now.”
“That’s what I want too,” she said, stepping closer to him. “But the Germans are here. They may never leave. What can we do?”
“Nothing lasts forever. We must fight them. Not with armies in the field, now is not the time. We must battle them by sabotaging their factories, by organizing the people, gathering arms, shielding the remaining intelligentsia, and,” he said, looking down at her, “by protecting the Jews.”
“I’ve done everything I can to help them.”
“Yes, you have, and you should be proud of that. But the question at this point, Irena, is not what you have done, it’s what you are willing to do from today forward. Not when it’s easy, not when the Germans are oblivious to you, but when everything is at stake.”
“I’ll stay,” she said, making her decision. “You’re right. I must keep going. There’s more than just my life at risk, it’s the future of our nation.”
He pulled her close, holding her. She escaped into his arms, her fears melting away. She was part of something bigger, something with Adam. She would take the risk with Klaus. After all, she had no proof that he was still even looking for her. That might be the end of their investigation. They must be spread thin, dealing with the whole city. If she left with her mother, there was every chance that the interest in her would increase, not subside, and that the Germans would track her down to Otwock, false identification or no. No, she was safer here, in control of her own destiny. Close to her friends.
She remembered those months at the university in the law program. He would argue with his professors on fine points of social justice. Adam was radical, even then. So different from Mietek. Her husband wanted everything to stay the same in Poland forever. Hard work, faith in God, a family and children. One path from cradle to grave. Not Adam. He wanted a Poland for all the people, not just the elite. Jews and Poles, worker and farmer. Everyone would have a place in the new order.
They’d spent time together, first in groups, then alone. Sometimes he angered her. He had little patience for contrary opinions. They would quarrel and might not speak for days, but she found herself drawn back to him.
She was not allowed to continue in the program. Women had no business studying law, the university officials told her. She transferred back to social work and their paths diverged. They kept in contact as they were able, an occasional social event, a chance meeting. They were never alone again. As time went by, she’d expected him to fade from her mind, at least for the image to blur. To her surprise, he never had. He’d burned brightly all these years and now he was here in front of her. She would stay now, no matter what.
* * *
“Tell me what you’ve been doing these past months,” she asked him, as they continued their walk through the gardens.
“There’s not much of a story,” he answered, looking away.
“But it’s been so long.”
“What’s there to do for a Jew?” he snapped, stepping ahead of her. She scrambled to keep up.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t do a thing. That’s what I mean! You’ve told me all about your work, the problems, the hours, the risks. Don’t you realize I’d trade everything, gamble everything, just for the privilege of something productive to do?” He stopped and turned to her. His cheeks were rimmed with scarlet and his breath came in short gasps. “You Poles complain about your difficult lives. What do you know about it? We Jews have no jobs, no money, no food. They’ve taken everything away from us. And for what? Because of religion? Hell, many of us gave that garbage up long ago. No, because of some foolish notion of our race. As if you can group all the Jews into one lump of a people.”
He turned and faced the Vistula as it rippled by in the distance. “What do I have in common with most of the Jews? The mass of them can’t even speak Polish. They sit in their little communities, rattling away in Yiddish, dirt poor, observing the old ways and keeping everyone else at arm’s length. The Poles hate them for it, but do they go after the poor? No! Your countrymen targeted the few Jews that have made something of themselves, the doctors and lawyers and business owners. As if there was some special quality to being a Jew that gives an unfair advantage!”
“I’ve never felt—”
“And if it wasn’t bad enough under your government, they failed utterly to protect us from the Germans. Now we have these bastards in charge. They hate us even more. They’ve taken everything away from me, Irena! What have I done these many months?” he shouted. “I’ve sat in my damned apartment, reading books, pacing, raving at the walls. I can’t practice law.
Hell, they wouldn’t even let me be a clerk or a police officer. I’m wasting away while you go to work each day, making decisions, changing lives, doing something.” He pointed a finger at her. “You’re worried about your skin because you’ve fed a few Jews. At least you can work, at least you can eat! Think about us!”
“But you’ve been better off than we have,” whispered Irena.
“How can you say that?”
“They’ve left you alone. They’ve been arresting and killing us. Many Poles in the last year have wished they were Jews. Look at your war service: When it was over, they sent you home. Poor Mietek—”
“Of course, I forgot about your husband,” he said bitterly. He started to turn away. “It’s time to head back.”
“Don’t do this,” Irena pleaded, taking his arm. He made to pull away, but she held on to him, pulling him closer again. “Why are you mad about Mietek? We are separated.”
“But the bond remains,” he said. “Truly, we should return.” He started to walk away from her, and she hurried to keep up. “Adam, please!”
“What do we have here?” asked a new voice. “A couple of Jewish lovebirds flying loose in the park?”
They both froze. The words were in German. Irena looked up and saw a group of Wehrmacht soldiers. There must have been a dozen of them. They didn’t have weapons with them, but they were in full uniform.
“I’m not a Jew,” said Irena.
“Come on now,” said the leader, a sergeant who appeared no more than twenty. “Look at your boyfriend there,” he said, pointing at Adam. “Hooked nose. Curly dark brown hair. He’s a Jew, all right.” The other men laughed. Irena moved close to Adam as the soldiers fanned out, surrounding them.
“We are going home,” Irena said.
“Not just yet you aren’t. Give me your papers,” the sergeant demanded.
Adam handed his over. Irena fumbled for her identification but realized in the emotional whirlwind at the apartment, she’d left her documents behind.
The sergeant examined Adam’s and then turned to her. “I don’t have mine,” she said.
“Out on the streets without papers? I could have you arrested right now,” the soldier stated. He turned to Adam. “I was right, you are a couple of Jews. You know you’re not allowed in the park, correct? What are you doing here?”
“The regulations do not ban us from the park,” Adam responded robotically. “We are banned from the benches. That is all.”
The sergeant rubbed his chin as if considering what Adam said. He turned to his friends. “Well, gents, what do you think? Should these Jews be wandering about in here?”
“Nein, nein,” came the responses amidst laughter.
“What shall we do with them?” the sergeant asked.
“You said they were lovebirds, but I don’t see any wings,” said one of the soldiers. “If they can’t fly, perhaps they can hop.”
“Excellent suggestion, Helmut.” The sergeant turned to Irena and Adam. “Squat down until your hands touch the pavement.”
Adam started to comply, but Irena interjected. “We’re not going to do that,” she said. “I’m not a Jew, and like Adam told you, it’s not illegal for him to be here.”
The sergeant stepped forward. “Please squat down,” he whispered. At the same moment he slapped her hard with the back of his hand. She flew backward, knocked to the ground. The world spun and a burning fire ripped through her face. She heard blows and Adam hit the pavement next to her.
“Now then,” the sergeant repeated. “If you’d be so kind as to assume a squatting position.”
Irena erupted with anger. She wanted to scream, to kick, to fight them. But she knew there was no point. There were a dozen of them. And Adam was here. Full of humiliation, she rolled over on her knees and then drew herself up with her feet under her, assuming the position the sergeant wanted. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Adam had done the same.
“Now, hop, hop, hop,” ordered the sergeant.
She hopped forward on her legs a few meters, then moved to stand but hands pushed her down. She repeated the movement again and again. The soldiers followed, surrounding them, hooting and shoving them. Her legs burned. Her eyes were on fire from salty tears, obscuring her view. The torture went on and on.
“That’s enough now!” ordered the sergeant. She struggled to rise but she couldn’t force her exhausted legs to function. She fell over on her side. Rough hands clutched her and ripped her to her feet.
“You are compliant little Jews,” said the sergeant. “Have you learned your lesson about polluting our parks?”
Irena refused to answer. The sergeant stepped close to her. She could smell his fetid breath, laced with the reek of alcohol. “I asked you if you’ve learned your lesson, or do you need some more training?”
“I’ve learned my lesson,” she whispered.
“Gut!” responded the sergeant. He bowed to her in mock respect, then waved the back of his hand at them dismissively. “Go away now, little Jews. But don’t come back here ever again.”
The soldiers turned, laughing, and marched back into the park, leaving Adam and Irena.
They stood for long moments without speaking. Irena was shaking in anger and humiliation. She felt violated, unclean.
“Do you still say it’s better to be a Jew?” Adam asked finally.
“How dare you say that right now!” she retorted. “I’m slapped and beaten, and the only thing you can ask me is if you’ve made your point? What’s become of you? You were righteous in your socialist beliefs, ready to take on the world, proud, strong, brilliant. Now all you can do is tell me how difficult your world is? That your life is harder than mine.”
“Isn’t it?” he retorted hotly. “You saw what just happened to us. I see that kind of thing every day. Do you? Do you have to hop to your office? The building where you get to work?”
“Please, Adam. Don’t. I’m trying to understand. I believe you that things have been difficult. But you’re not the only person who is suffering.”
He turned away from her. “Let’s go back.”
“Adam, talk to me!”
But he wouldn’t. He shuffled off ahead of her, strolling rapidly. She was a foot shorter than him and she labored on her stinging legs to keep up. She called to him several times, but he would not slow down. The minutes passed and they neared her building. There was nothing she could do for now.
As they reached her home, she noticed people standing in front of a poster tacked to the front of the structure near the downstairs entryway. They moved off and Adam paused to read it. He threw his hands up and turned to her. “There,” he said, pointing to the poster. “You Poles have had it tough, have you? Here’s what is happening to us.”
She stepped up to the poster and read it, shocked by the words. All Jews must relocate to a Jewish district within Warsaw immediately. Irena glanced at the area described; it was the poorest part of Warsaw, not far from her office. She knew it well. The area circumscribed was small, less than twenty blocks. Her mind reeled. There must be a half million Jews in Warsaw with all the forced transfers. They would never fit into the space. The Germans had spoken. There would be a ghetto.
Chapter 9
A World Away
November 1940
Warsaw, Poland
Irena knocked at the apartment door. There was no answer. She took a deep breath, swallowing her anxiety. She knocked again, louder this time. There was still no response. She considered leaving. A part of her wanted to flee, to avoid the conflict she was sure was coming. But she had to move forward. She rapped her knuckles harshly against the door, loudly banging.
“All right, all right,” came a voice. “Give me a moment.”
The door opened. Adam stood before her, his face unshaven, eyes splotchy, his hair greasy and disheveled. He looked like he hadn’t bathed or slept in days. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, turning away and stumbling back into the room. He didn’t invite her to join him, but he di
dn’t slam the door either. He seemed broken, as if he didn’t care anymore.
She entered the apartment and was shocked by what she saw there. Clothes were piled up in every corner and on the sofa. Plates of half-eaten food clogged the coffee table and the nearby kitchen. Books were stacked on the floor, others opened facedown and strewn throughout the apartment. The rank, stale smell of perspiration permeated the space.
“What’s happened in here?” she asked.
“What difference does it make to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t take any of this with me.” He motioned to the items inside the flat.
She stepped farther into the apartment, dragging objects out of her way to make a pathway. “Have you secured housing?”
“Why bother?”
“The best locations are already taken. If you don’t hurry, you’ll be left with—”
He scoffed. “With nothing? All the best is already scooped up? Yes, by my rich brothers and sisters. I’ve heard all about it. They took all the flats up and down Sienna Street, leaving the scraps for everyone else. The world never changes.”
“This is no time to play at politics, Adam. What about your parents? Your extended family?”
“What about my wife?” he retorted. “Oh, she’s been here just like you. She wants to make sure her family is taken care of along with mine. Everyone wants their little nest feathered. But why should we take the best locations while the people suffer? I won’t do it.”
“This isn’t a communist paradise, Adam. This is survival. I have contacts. I located a unit that’s available. It won’t last long, but it’s big enough for you, with space for your family nearby . . . for her family.”
He looked up with a wry expression. “You’re concerned about my wife now? How thoughtful of you.”
“What’s wrong with you, Adam? I’m trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help!” he shouted.
“What are you going to do then!” she screamed back at him.
“What can I do? They won’t let me take my books with me. I’ve already lost everything else in this world. Now I’m losing my home, my last identity! They’re shoving us into a sty like pigs. I’m telling you, Irena, it’s the last stop before the slaughterhouse!”
Irena's War Page 9
