Irena's War

by Shipman, James D.

  “I haven’t,” she insisted, grabbing his hand again. “Every day I fought to get back in here. It took me this long to obtain a pass. You know I would have come on the first day if I could.”

  He hesitated and then nodded. “I know that. But you must understand, when you are here, in the heart of despair, it’s easy to blame everyone, even those you know care about you. Anyone who isn’t in the same crucible as yourself.”

  “I’m here now.”

  “Yes, but you have a pass. You can come and go.”

  “Don’t say that. I’m doing everything I can.”

  “I know you are. I’m just so bitter.” He closed his eyes. “Perhaps I’m angriest at myself.”

  “But why?”

  “Look at your friend Ala. At Ewa. They are fighting, working, helping our people. All I’ve done is brood and weep. I’ve sat in my apartment letting other people do the fighting for me.”

  “You didn’t have a choice. Look how weak you are.”

  The door opened. “Irena, your time is up.”

  She felt her frustration overwhelm her. “Just another minute,” she pleaded.

  Ala looked at her with understanding. “Just one more then.” The door closed.

  “Tell me you are not angry with me.”

  “I’m not. Just with myself.”

  “Stop talking like that. You must concentrate on getting well, then we will get through this together.”

  “You’ll keep coming back?”

  “Every day. I can come and go now as I please.”

  He took her hand again. “I’d like that. When you are near, the darkness seems to fade away a little.”

  “I have to go. Ala is just outside the door, I’m sure, counting the seconds.”

  “You have a good friend there,” said Adam. “She’s a savior in the ghetto. Ewa too.”

  “You wait. When you’re better, you’ll do the same.”

  He closed his eyes again. “Perhaps.”

  She reached down and touched her lips to his cheek. He was warm again and the touch of his skin sent a chill down her spine. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Get some rest.”

  She let herself out as quietly as possible. Sure enough, Ala was waiting just outside the doorway.

  “Will he be okay?” Irena asked.

  “It appears so. For now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He needs more than water. The crisis has passed but he needs food, Irena, a steady supply.”

  “Won’t his family take care of him?”

  “You don’t understand how critical the situation is here. They may be doing about the same as him, or even worse. People are dying every day, Irena, by the hundreds.”

  “But they were wealthy. Can’t they buy food?”

  “For a time, perhaps. Who knows? The black-market items are sold at exorbitant prices. A single loaf of bread might cost a month of pre-war wages. Even the wealthy are running out of money.”

  “But you said people are still thriving.”

  “The smugglers themselves, and the collaborators with the Germans. Some people in the Judenrat. The peddlers. Everyone else is dying—slow or quick.”

  “You seem to be doing okay,” observed Irena. She regretted the words as soon as she said them.

  A flash of anger passed Ala’s eyes. “Gifts from friends and families for my work. All of it obtained honestly. Ewa is in the same boat. There is enough food at the orphanage to keep the workers alive and relatively healthy. We are the lucky ones.”

  “Of course. I didn’t think otherwise for a moment. Please forgive my hasty words. It’s been an unbelievable day.”

  Ala placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not angry and I understand. The ghetto is a shock for anyone not used to it.”

  “What can I do to help him?”

  “You can bring him food.”

  “How could I manage that?”

  “You are inspecting every day, correct? You have a pass? You can smuggle some bread in.”

  “Smuggle? But what if they search me?”

  Ala looked at her grimly. “It’s hard to say. They might simply take it. They might arrest you. Or—”

  “Or they might shoot me then and there.”

  Ala nodded. “It’s a risk. I’m not telling you that you should do it. But you’re asking how you could help him.”

  “Can’t I just bring in zlotys?”

  “You don’t have enough money to begin to buy food in here. Out in Aryan Poland, bread is still relatively cheap, is it not?”

  Irena nodded.

  “Then you must buy the food on the outside and bring it in.”

  When they rejoined Ewa she was horrified at Ala’s proposal.

  “You’re signing her up for a death sentence,” Ewa protested.

  “Do you have another solution? Can you spare food from the orphanage for him?” asked Ala.

  Ewa shook her head. “Not unless he worked there.”

  “It’s the same at the hospital. We might give him a little, but we can’t bring him enough to keep him healthy over time. If you want to save Adam, you’re going to have to bring him food yourself. Once he’s back to normal health, we might be able to find him work. But for the next month or so, he needs your help.”

  Ewa seemed to think it over and finally nodded. “I don’t like it, but she’s right. You’re his best chance to survive.”

  Irena didn’t hesitate. “I’ll do it. I’ll bring him what he needs, whatever the risk.”

  “Do you care about him so much?” asked Ewa.

  “Don’t ask her that,” said Ala. “In these times, everyone has a right to decide what they are willing to risk their life for.”

  * * *

  The next morning Irena rose early. In the darkness, she made a sandwich for her mother and left it on a plate near the bed. Sneaking out into the early morning, she made her way through the streets of Aryan Poland. She saw everything around her with new eyes. She felt ashamed. She’d felt sorry for herself for so long. She’d sulked because Poland was under German occupation. She couldn’t buy new clothes or enjoy all the food and drinks she might want to have. She resented the German soldiers, the arrogant searches, the lack of coal and warmth.

  Now she realized she was living in paradise. Aryan Warsaw was a heaven on earth compared to the ghetto. Nobody was dying out here—well, not many. Certainly, thousands had perished during the purges, but the Germans had forgotten the Poles in their newfound focus on the Jews. Food was adequate if not abundant here. The streets were empty, with room to stroll and breathe. She chastised herself for her moping and her attitude. She promised she would never complain again. She would live for her Jewish friends, for Adam. She would sacrifice for them, risk her life for them.

  She stopped by a bakery and slid some zlotys over the counter. She’d pulled these notes from their emergency savings. There wasn’t much left. She realized if she was going to keep Adam alive, she would have to come up with some kind of solution for money. Perhaps the resistance could help? She felt her frustration rise again. Why hadn’t they given her a way to contact them? What was the point of her helping if they wouldn’t assist her in return?

  She shook these thoughts from her head. She had enough to worry about today. She ordered three loaves of bread and a little cheese. The baker wrapped the food up and she tucked the paper sack into the bottom of an oversized purse she’d brought. She placed her scarf and some papers over the top. The baker was watching her closely, his eyebrows raised. She turned and fled the store, not wanting to answer any questions. She would need to pack her bag somewhere else from now on, she realized. Best to pick another baker as well. This one seemed far too curious about what she was doing.

  She walked along the street again, her heart in her throat. She was getting near the Twarda Street gate of the ghetto. She checked her purse to make sure her pass and papers were on top. The last thing she could afford was for some helpful policeman to start digging through her possessions
, looking for her documents.

  She reached the gate and joined the line to enter. There were a few people in front of her. The gate consisted of a narrow-arched entryway constructed into the wall. There were larger gates, some capable of allowing a car or wagon to enter, but she hoped that a smaller one might have fewer guards and attract less attention.

  The entrance was guarded by two German soldiers. One stood slightly behind with his rifle in his hands, resting at his waist. The other perched at the entrance, barking questions and reviewing papers. There was also a Polish policeman, a “blue” who was standing slightly behind, a black baton in his hands. The German waved the first person in line through, then another. Despite the cold she was stifling in her clothing. She was sure she looked guilty and would be arrested on the spot. She tried to make her face as calm as possible but how could one tell what one really looked like to others?

  Another person made it through, then another. Finally, she was standing before the guard. He was young, perhaps no more than twenty. He eyed her up and down, his face a set mask. “Where are your papers?” he demanded.

  She fumbled for her bag and drew out her identification documents and the pass. He looked at the contents for a few moments and looked up at her, eyeing her suspiciously.

  “What’s in the bag?” he demanded.

  Oh no. This is what she was afraid of. “Nothing,” she stammered. “Just some notebooks and an extra scarf. I’m supposed to be taking notes on the number and type of diseases in the ghetto.”

  The guard took a step back. “You’re exposed to diseases all day?”

  “Yes,” she responded.

  The other guard laughed. “You should check her bag. Maybe you’ll find some typhus inside.”

  The first soldier stared at her for another moment, as if considering what to do. He jerked his thumb, waving her past, looking beyond her at the next person.

  Irena stumbled rapidly into the ghetto. She tried to remain calm, but her entire body erupted in excitement. She’d made it! She’d survived! She was defying the Germans, beating them at the game of life and death!

  Once she was immersed into the crowd, she hurried along toward the hospital. She swam upstream through the throng, pushing her way through as she’d seen Ala do. Gone was the hesitancy, the gawking of yesterday that had pointed her out to everyone in the ghetto as a newcomer, a sucker, a target. Today she moved with purpose, confident, knowing she had beat the Germans and that she would defy hunger and save Adam. She arrived at the hospital a half hour later, found Ala, and made her way toward Adam’s room.

  “How’s he doing today?” she asked.

  “Much better. He seems greatly revived by the IV, and by seeing you.”

  Irena blushed. “I know he’s married and so am I, but—”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I meant what I said yesterday. Besides, you and Mietek haven’t lived as husband and wife in years.”

  Irena stopped at the door, grabbing Ala’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Thank you for understanding. Although, frankly, there isn’t anything going on between us.”

  Ala raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond to that last statement. “Think nothing of it. Now let’s go get Adam healthy.” She turned the handle and entered the room. Adam was there and as Ala had said, he looked greatly recovered today. His skin had lost its pallor and he looked this way and that, his eyes attentive and his movements firm. He smiled when he saw Irena.

  She went to him and bent down, holding him for a moment. His hands were warm on her back. She didn’t want to let go but Ala was there, and she pulled away, turning to busy herself with her bag as she fought down the buzzing thrill coursing through her mind. She pulled out the package and unwrapped the contents. Adam took one of the loafs and greedily stuffed the bread into his mouth.

  “Not too fast!” Ala ordered. “A little at a time.” She picked up the other two loaves and all the cheese. “He can have one loaf for now but that’s it.”

  “But he’s starving,” Irena protested.

  “It’s the same as the water,” said Ala, chewing on a curl of her hair. “When the body reaches this point, it has to be introduced to food again slowly, otherwise his whole system will shut down, he’ll end up with dysentery, and he’ll be worse off than he was before.”

  Irena nodded, not understanding. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Of course. He can eat this over the next few days.”

  “That might be just as well.”

  Ala looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “You were right about the cost. Food is not too much on the Aryan side. Still, I don’t have any real savings. A few more days and I’ll be out.”

  Ala thought about that for a moment and then she handed Irena one loaf and half the cheese.

  “What do you want me to do with this?”

  “Sell it.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere. Keep an eye out for the Germans, but if you pull this out on the street, you’ll have fifty offers before you can get a word out.”

  Irena felt a hot flush in her cheeks. “I’m not good at selling.”

  Ala laughed. “You won’t have to say a word, my dear. Just listen to the offers and take the highest one. But make sure it’s cash to you right then and there. Don’t let them walk off to get the money, and don’t go anywhere with anyone. You make them count out the money to you right then, before you hand over the food. Then you turn and walk right out of the ghetto. Don’t linger for a moment. Others will be watching for you.”

  “Don’t tell me they would attack—”

  “You remember what happened yesterday? Trust nobody.”

  “But these people are Jews, your people.”

  “They are people. That’s just it. They are starving and desperate. If you’re going to survive, Irena, you must forget your former life. Forget Poland before the war, even Poland before the ghetto. Remember that money and food are everything. It may save your life.”

  Irena nodded. “I’ll go after a while.”

  Ala smiled with understanding. “Of course, but not too long. Same as yesterday, he needs his rest.”

  Irena spent an hour with Adam and then stepped out into the street. She felt nervous, almost worse than entering the gate. She laughed at herself. She’d always been terrified of selling. She was a social worker and had no experience in such things. I’d rather risk my life with the Germans than offer bread to a starving crowd. If it wasn’t for Adam, she would have refused. But she didn’t have the money for the food he would need in the long run. There was no choice in the matter.

  She moved a few hundred meters away from the hospital, keeping an eye out for Germans. If anything went wrong, she didn’t want to be associated with Ala, or with Adam. She watched for a time and when she was satisfied there were no Nazis around, she reached into her purse, pulling the loaf and the cheese out. Instantly she was hemmed in from all directions. Children and mothers stared in awe at the food, as if she’d conjured them from magic. She heard the pleas from all around her, but she forced herself to ignore them, to shove her compassion and sorrow down and to focus on the other voices, the ones calling out numbers. She was stunned at the offers: five hundred zlotys, a thousand, two thousand. She turned to the man who made the last offer, a middle-aged person in a business suit and hat.

  “Sold,” she said.

  He shoved his way forward, reaching his hand out.

  “Your money first,” she said, remembering Ala’s advice.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. Irena had never seen so many zlotys in one place before. He counted out the notes and handed them to her, his hands high in the air above grasping fingers. She took the currency and a thought struck her. “For the loaf only.”

  “No, for the cheese and the bread.”

  Everything inside her screamed to agree but she held back, feeling brave and determined. “No. Only the bread.”

  “Another thousand
for the cheese,” he said finally.

  “Agreed.” She took the extra zlotys and handed him the food. She stuffed the money into her pocket and retreated as quickly as she could, away from the exchange. She expected to hear a whistle, the sound of the police closing in, but there was nothing. She strode away, her heart pounding, knowing she might be followed by Jews willing to rob or even kill her. She weaved through the masses and eventually reached one of the gates. She passed through, showing the contents of her bag without even being asked, the zlotys safe in her pocket. Another few minutes and she was free. She rushed out into the empty streets of Aryan Warsaw, her veins coursing with elation. She had made it! She’d survived. She’d brought Adam food and what was more, she’d sold on the black market and had more money in her hands now than she’d ever had in her entire life.

  Over the coming weeks she repeated this miracle day after day. She purchased bread and cheese along with cakes and pastries, stuffing all the items into her bag. She made her way through the same gate. The guard barely talked to her now, keeping his distance because of her association with disease. She brought food to Adam and sold some for more money, repeating the cycle. She was making more zlotys than she’d ever dreamed of. She used some of it to improve her life at home. She bought better food on the black market. Her mother’s health improved along with Adam’s. But the majority she brought back into the ghetto, donating heavily to the orphanage and the hospital. Each day she also brought extra food, giving some to the starving children on the street, to the desperate mothers, seeking some miracle to keep their family alive for another day; or to Rubinstein the clown, an elderly beggar who made his money pulling faces at the Germans, at risk of his life.

  Over time, she became another institution in the ghetto, like Ala, a person known to the population. Another little savior helping them hold hell and death away for at least another day.

  “Hold a moment, please.” The voice caught her by surprise. She’d grown so used to seeing the same German each day at the gate that she’d hurried through. She looked up. A German officer was there. Older, perhaps thirty. He towered over her, pale blue eyes glaring at her. “Your papers, please.”