She hurried forward and rushed along the wall, seeking any way in. She walked for kilometers but could find nothing. She finally reached an opening where the Germans were constructing a gate. There were soldiers with machine pistols guarding the opening. She put her head down and moved away, continuing to seek a way in. Hours later, exhausted, she reached her starting point. Except for a few closely guarded gates, the ghetto was closed to the world. She couldn’t get in, and Adam couldn’t get out. Five hundred thousand Jews were locked off from the rest of Warsaw. She sat on the curb and buried her head in her knees, sobbing. He was lost to her.
Chapter 10
A Problem of Calories
November 1940
Warsaw Ghetto, Poland
Peter drove Klaus through the swarming streets of the new ghetto. The top was down, and his breath steamed through the air. Everywhere people were jostling for room. There were already beggars, children mostly, although nobody approached them.
Klaus was angry. He pressed his emotions in, maintaining a stony visage. He could not believe the mess he was in now. The authorities had slopped this district together almost as an afterthought. He’d seen policy after policy related to the Jews, which were quickly started and just as rapidly abandoned. Apparently, someone at the top had decided to dump the problem on the Polish General Government. Eager leaders from all parts of Germany, France, the Netherlands, Czechoslovakia, and Austria were now shoving their Jewish populations onto trains and shipping them into Poland, where they were unceremoniously dumped at stations and left for Hans Frank and the SS leadership to deal with.
Frank had summoned Klaus to Kraków less than a week ago and given him a “promotion” to run the Jewish Quarter in Warsaw. He’d declined, but at the end of the day he was not given a choice. After sitting down to review the details of the operation, he was appalled by the lack of organization. He was presented the map, a plan for walling off the quarter, a woefully inadequate budget for security and food, and not much else. Since the appointment he’d worked twenty hours a day to implement the orders. He’d managed to wall off the ghetto on time, but the hasty requisition of supplies without proper bids had cost him dearly. Now he had five hundred thousand screaming Jews shoved into a teeming cauldron, and no idea how to deal with them.
One stroke of brilliance Klaus had come up with was to dump many of the problems on the Jews themselves. He formed a Jewish council called the Judenrat, placing a president in charge named Czerniaków, a former engineer and senator. The Judenrat was responsible for housing assignments, food distribution, medical assistance, sanitation, essentially all the elements of life inside the ghetto.
This left the problem of security and food to Klaus. After the cost of the wall, his budget was inadequate for what he needed to provide. He helped the security issue by forcing the Poles to provide policemen as auxiliaries to assist his German force. He also required the Judenrat to create a force of Jewish policeman. They weren’t given any weapons except batons, and their authority extended strictly to the Jewish population, but he was thus able to draw on a significant pool of manpower to police the interior of the ghetto.
This left the problem of food. Headquarters allocated six hundred calories per day, per person, to the ghetto. Klaus wondered why they bothered. A person could not live on six hundred calories a day. This was another botched decision at the administrative level. What was their goal for these Jews? If they wanted to keep them alive, for the purpose of providing a labor force, then they would need at least twice that many daily calories, three times if it was heavy labor. If they were trying to eliminate the population, well . . .
His issue was he wanted to expand his security detail of good German forces. While he was satisfied he had enough of the auxiliary forces, Polish and Jewish, they were, at the end of the day, enemies, not friends. He needed enough men he could truly rely on, and he didn’t have the money for them.
Peter stopped the car in front of the offices of the Judenrat on Grzybowska Street. They stepped out of the vehicle and marched into the building, Peter in the lead. The sidewalk on the outside and the building within were packed with people, but the crowd parted like the Red Sea before the two SS men in their crisp green uniforms.
They moved quickly to the president’s office. They strode past his secretary, who stood and protested. They ignored her, and Peter tore open the door without knocking. They stormed in and found Czerniaków at his desk, surrounded by a group of elderly gentlemen. The president looked up, anger registering on his face to be rapidly replaced by fear as he saw who had entered.
“Get out,” ordered Klaus to the assembled men.
“This is our council,” protested Czerniaków, rising from his desk. He started to introduce the other Judenrat members.
“I don’t care what their names are,” said Klaus. “I want them out.”
The men stood, with shock and confusion registering in their faces. One or two of them looked as if they were about to say something, but nobody did. Klaus waited. He wasn’t going to ask again. Eventually the council shuffled out of the office, avoiding his eyes. When the last one had left, Peter closed the door. Klaus moved to a chair in front of the desk and sat down. Czerniaków moved back behind his desk.
“You can stand,” said Klaus.
He saw the color in the president’s face but the man didn’t defy him. Good, he thought. Absolute authority over the Judenrat was essential.
“How goes the organization?” he asked.
“As well as can be expected, Herr Sturmbannführer,” he answered, using Klaus’s new rank. The heavier responsibility had come with a promotion from captain to major, the one positive of this disaster.
“The conditions in here are unacceptable,” said Klaus. “There are people crawling all over the sidewalks like ants in an anthill. I want order and I want it now.”
“But, sir. You can’t expect miracles. The walls were a surprise, and it just happened.”
“I expect that you will administer this district efficiently, or I will find somebody who will. There is a war on. Changes come rapidly. You should have anticipated the need for a wall. We want to protect the population, after all.”
“Yes, sir. We . . . appreciate the gesture. I’m not criticizing the change; I’m merely pointing out that we are still getting organized in here. Many people arrived in the past few days, and there is a backlog in housing assignments. To be frank, we are out of space. If we could just have a few more blocks.”
“You have more than enough room right now,” said Klaus. “The authorities already extended the quarter, adding all of the blocks south of Chłodna. You should be grateful.”
Czerniaków raised his arms to his chest, hands out toward Klaus. “I’m sorry, sir, if I’ve given you the wrong impression. Of course, we are grateful for the extra space, and for the protection of the wall.”
Klaus stood. “I will be back in two days. When I return, I expect to be greeted by order. I want guards at the door. I want people coming here with appointments only. I want the streets patrolled, no beggars, no milling about. If when I come back in two days this has not occurred, you will be replaced and taken into protective custody. Am I clear?”
Czerniaków’s face paled until it matched the color of Klaus’s snow-white shirt. “I . . . I understand, Herr Sturmbannführer.”
“I’m glad. I would hate to have to take measures into my own hands. I suspect your custody would not be pleasant. Although I assure you it would be brief.”
Klaus moved toward the door.
“Auf Wiedersehen,” Czerniaków called out. Klaus ignored him and followed Peter back to the car.
“You frightened the hell out of him,” observed his assistant, chuckling.
“I hope so,” said Klaus. “I need his cooperation, not his corpse. If I start killing off the leaders, nobody will want the job, and my duties here will be more difficult. I need him cowed, but I need him alive. For now.”
“I still don’t kno
w why you took this job on,” said Peter. “Things were busy enough before.”
“I had little choice. Besides,” he noted, glancing at Peter’s new uniform, “we both earned promotions.”
“Mine is thanks to you, sir, as always.”
“You’ve lost some weight,” said Klaus approvingly. “You followed my directions.”
Peter laughed. “I had little choice.”
“You’re a good young man. You have a future if you keep at it.”
“Everything I have, I owe to you.”
“You’re a big part of things, Peter. There will be a time, though, when you will have to pick one loyalty.”
“What do you mean, sir? I’ve never betrayed you.”
“You keep part of your life in your pants,” said Klaus. “Because of it, you’re sloppy and unclear in your purpose.”
Peter laughed. “You’re always pushing me about this.”
“I’m serious this time. You lack discipline. I worry about what might happen to you if you’re not careful.”
“It’s just a little bit of fun with the ladies.”
“It’s time to settle down, Peter.”
“Is that an order?”
“You know I can’t force you to make that decision, but I want you to think closely about what I’ve said. You have a duty as a German to settle down with a nice woman. A German woman. Start a family. Have some children. We have to have the next generation of strong young Aryans if we are going to be masters of Europe.”
“Do you believe all of that propaganda?” Peter asked. “About our superior race and our right to rule the world?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” said Klaus. “It’s the law. And if you don’t believe it, you had better learn to at least follow it. Your life may depend someday on being able to say no.”
* * *
They left the ghetto and headed back into Aryan Warsaw. They were quiet for a long time as they moved through the streets toward his home. “Stop at the Gogolewski cake shop,” Klaus ordered. Peter pulled over and Klaus stepped into the store. The shop was empty except for a Polish husband and wife who took one look at Klaus and retreated out the door. The shopkeeper’s face was pale, and he moved to the counter cautiously.
“May I help you, sir?”
“It’s my daughter’s birthday tonight. I need a cake for the party, and a selection of other pastries.”
The shopkeeper packaged up some drodówka and paczki, cutting little portions off with shaking hands for Klaus to sample. They picked out an enormous quantity of the pastries and a full-sized cake. Klaus ensured that the treats were meticulously packaged, insisting that several damaged pieces be removed. He looked over the contents, walking back and forth and inspecting each box for several minutes. When he was sure all was in order, he nodded to the owner.
The storekeeper assisted him in loading everything in the trunk, and Klaus paid with cash, leaving a generous tip as well. Soon he was back in the car and they were headed toward his home.
“What did you get Anna for her party?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know everything,” responded Klaus. “Briggita took care of much of the shopping. I did select a pony for her. It’s time she learned to ride.”
“How wonderful,” said Peter. “Every little girl should learn to ride a pony.”
“Every German girl, at least.”
They arrived at his home a few minutes later. Peter parked the car and they hurried inside while his servants scrambled out to unload the desserts. The house was already full of guests, almost a hundred people, including government officials, SS officers, and their families. The dining room table was piled with every conceivable dish. Briggita had hired extra servants and they navigated through the crowd, pouring champagne.
“Klaus, you’re here, thank Gott,” his wife shouted from across the room. She made her way through the throng and kissed him on both cheeks. “Save me from them,” she whispered.
He laughed, knowing she didn’t enjoy this sort of thing. “Remember, my dear, this is for Anna, not for us.”
“This is worse than a war,” she said. “I hope I survive it.”
He kissed her and together they spent the next several hours mingling with the crowd. Klaus fielded endless questions about the new ghetto, the conditions there, and most importantly, from the viewpoint of the questioners, what opportunities there might be to make money or advance their careers in the new arrangement. Klaus made no commitments this night, but he arranged appointments for several people to come see him. These connections could come in handy in the future.
He was enjoying himself. Unlike Briggita, he had no fear of social engagements. He was amused at how popular he’d suddenly become, how interesting his job was now that it had the potential to benefit others.
Finally, it was time for the cake and pastries, followed by the opening of presents. Anna sat on the floor near the fireplace in the front room, surrounded by other children and at least fifty gifts. She tore each open with delight. There were dresses, coats, dolls, silk scarves, and a rocking chair made of mahogany. When she opened the card telling her about her new pony, she squealed in delight and ran to Klaus, jumping in his arms.
The party drew to a close. Klaus and Briggita stood at the door, shaking hands and bidding the guests farewell. Several reminded him of their upcoming appointments, and how much they looked forward to working with him. Near midnight, the last guest departed, and they were left alone with their daughter and the sounds of servants cleaning up.
Klaus and Briggita sat down on the floor near their daughter, who was surrounded by a pile of presents.
“Did you have a nice birthday?” Briggita asked.
“The most wonderful ever,” she said.
“Do you like the pony?” Klaus asked.
“Yes, Vater! When will I see it?”
“Tomorrow perhaps,” said Klaus. “I could take the morning off and show you.”
Her face curled in a grimace.
“What’s wrong, my dear, don’t you want to go in the morning?”
“Yes, yes, it’s just that my stomach hurts,” she said, clutching at her middle.
“You ate too much cake,” her mother said reprovingly.
“It was so good.”
“Off to bed, now,” said Klaus. “You’re up way past your bedtime.”
With her mother’s help Anna rose and staggered up the stairs, clutching one of her new dolls. Klaus took a seat by the fire, contented and exhausted. He’d had a busy day. As the servants moved about, he lit his pipe, his one vice.
He couldn’t help but reflect on the stark difference between this birthday party and all the previous ones. They’d lived a modest, middle-class life. Their friends were police, clerks, mechanics. Now here they were in this luxurious home, fawned over by the elite of German society while his daughter received expensive gifts and a pony to ride. He couldn’t help but smile to himself.
Puffing away with pleasure, he realized he knew the solution to his ghetto problem. He thought it through for a few minutes and nodded in approval to himself. It was perfect.
Tomorrow he would contact headquarters at Kraków and inform them that he was setting the calories per person in the ghetto at three hundred per day. This would give him plenty of money for more German guards. The decision had an additional benefit. The population would decrease quickly, making his job that much easier. It was also humane to the population, who would not linger on for a year or more, suffering from gradual starvation. If headquarters wanted more calories, they could tell him and he would comply, but if they did, he would press for more money and staff. He hoped his decision might force them to reconsider their strategy as well. Did they want slaves or corpses?
He leaned back and closed his eyes, taking another deep puff on his pipe. His mind was at peace now, after days of working through what seemed an impossible solution. He thought of taking another piece of cake, but his stomach hurt a little as well. He’d alread
y eaten too much.
Chapter 11
Crossing the Rubicon
January 1941
Warsaw, Poland
Irena went through the motions of making breakfast before she left for the office. Her mother sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea and thumbing through the newspaper. Irena was slicing up cold cuts and some cheese. The rations were meager and barely kept them fed, but she was able to bring home a little from the wagons here and there, and they did much better than most of the population of Warsaw.
Of course, this only included the Aryan Poles. What about the Jews? What about Adam? She thought of him this morning as she’d thought of him daily these past two months. Every weekend she walked the perimeter of the wall, hoping there would be an open gate, some way to enter the ghetto freely. She also sometimes rode the trolley that bizarrely still ran through the middle of the Jewish district, but nobody was allowed to get on or get off. She’d kept a close look out in the crowd for Adam, but she’d never seen him. She was desperate for news, any word, about him. She also hoped her friends Ala and Ewa were alive and safe.
She’d pressed at work for a pass into the ghetto. A few Poles from the department were allowed in for various reasons, including medical inspections. However, her area of expertise was food distribution, and this was now in the hands of the Germans. She’d put in for a transfer to the medical department, but so far she’d heard nothing about whether it would be approved. She doubted it would be. What did she know about medicine? She had no education or work experience in the field.
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