Irena's War

by Shipman, James D.

  She fumbled for her documents. Fortunately, they were right on top in her bag. She handed them to the lieutenant. “I inspect facilities to look for disease,” she explained.

  He examined the documents, reading them carefully. She relaxed. Everything was in order.

  “What’s in the bag?” The question caught her off guard.

  “Just . . . ah, my notebooks,” she stammered.

  The officer stared at her bulging bag, full of bread and foodstuffs.

  “That doesn’t look like only some notebooks. Open your bag for me.”

  “But, sir, the diseases.”

  “I don’t care about that right now. Open up your bag.”

  She hesitated. She looked over and saw a familiar face. It was the other guard. He was at his post just behind the gate, as usual. She saw recognition in his eyes and something else. Was it sympathy? She prayed for a miracle, that he might step forward and help her, but he was a private, a nobody.

  “Open the bag!” the officer shouted.

  She pulled the two ends of the satchel apart and showed him the contents; her papers and her shawl were on top.

  He stared into the bag for a moment and then he reached out, pulling it from her. “Let go,” he demanded. She still held on, petrified by fear. “Let go this instant or I’ll have you shot!” he snapped.

  She relented. She felt dizzy. She hung her head, staring at the ground. Hoping for anything, anyone, to save her. She heard the officer sifting through the contents, and he gave out a loud murmur of triumph. “Look at this,” he said, talking to the other guard. “Notebooks indeed. There are ten loaves of bread in here, and sausages. This Jew-loving bitch eats better than we do.”

  She turned to leave, hoping against hope he would let her go, but she felt his hands on her in an instant. “Not so fast. You will have to answer for these.”

  She turned to look at the young guard again, but his face was set in a frown now. There was nothing he could do. He raised his rifle, covering her while the officer ran his hands up and down her body. In any moment he would find the zlotys. She would be arrested, or worse—he might shoot her on the spot. The world was closing in on her.

  Chapter 13

  Kaji

  January 1941

  Warsaw Ghetto, Poland

  The officer pulled Irena through the gate, shouting at the guard to secure the entrance and close the gate to anyone else. She tried to resist but his hands held her in an iron vise. Tears stung her vision. Her sight was a blur, her mind a fog. She closed her eyes, waiting for the bullet.

  “Lieutenant, what do you have there?” She heard a woman’s voice, a vaguely familiar one.

  “Stay away,” ordered the lieutenant. “This is none of your business.”

  “Everything in the ghetto is my business,” the woman said, laughing. “Including you.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Don’t you recognize me, Lieutenant? I’ve seen you at your table, up front, every night for the past month.”

  “Wiera Gran?” the lieutenant asked. Irena was stunned. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and strained them, the scene before her slowly coming into focus. The lieutenant still had her by the arm, but he was facing away from her now and toward a beautiful woman a few feet away. The young guard was looking at her as well, clearly transfixed.

  “That’s right,” she confirmed.

  “It’s nice to see you,” the lieutenant confirmed. “But I have business right now.”

  “What kind of business is that?”

  “This woman is a smuggler.”

  Wiera glanced at the bread. “A smuggler, over that? It looks like a picnic to me. Why don’t you let her go and talk to me instead?”

  The lieutenant stammered. “I have a job to do.”

  Wiera laughed. “We all have jobs to do. Look, I know this woman. I asked her to bring me some loaves for the café. We’re a little short. You wouldn’t want to starve tonight, would you?”

  The lieutenant looked back at Irena. “Is that true?”

  Irena was confused, but she played along. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t give me a chance to respond.”

  “You said you had notebooks in there.”

  “I do, but I also had this food for the café.”

  “Why should we worry about that?” Wiera said, stepping up to hook her arm through the lieutenant’s. “Why don’t you let her take her things and we can have a little walk. I know you like Mozart. I’ve seen you request it. But you’ve never told me why.”

  The officer hesitated, his face filling with color. He looked back and forth at the two women. Finally, he handed Irena’s bag back to her. “Get going,” he ordered. “And next time tell me up front what you have.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, turning to hurry off. When she made it to the safety of the crowd, she turned around. The officer was not watching her. He was several hundred meters down the wall, walking arm in arm with Wiera, as if they were taking a stroll through the park.

  Irena hurried to the hospital. When she arrived, she did not go to see Adam immediately, as was her habit. Instead she sought out Ala. She was still shaking when she found her friend.

  “What is it?” Ala asked, recognizing immediately that something was wrong. Irena told her what had happened.

  “It’s a miracle you survived,” Ala said finally. She shook her head. “I don’t understand it. Wiera risked her life for you.” She stared at the floor for a few moments. “Perhaps I’ve misjudged her.”

  “It’s hard to recognize friend from foe in these times.”

  “True enough, although I trust you entirely.”

  Irena managed a weak laugh. “You do now. Remember, it wasn’t so long ago you thought I was a German collaborator.”

  “I never thought you would betray us to the Germans. I just thought you shouldn’t work for them. I was a fool, and that’s long in the past.”

  Irena still felt the fear coursing through her. She’d stood a hair’s breadth from arrest or worse. “I can’t keep doing this, Ala.”

  Her friend smiled and took her hand. “I don’t think you have to. Adam is almost back to full health. I have even better news on that front. Ewa has found him work in the orphanage. He’s going to be hired as a teacher.”

  “That’s the perfect job for him—well, a professor would be the best of all, but anything to use his mind. He has so much in that head of his.” Irena looked at her watch. “I’d better go see our convalescent.”

  “You won’t find him here.”

  “What?”

  “He was discharged this morning. He said he was going to go home and rest today. He’s starting with Dr. Korczak tomorrow.”

  Irena kissed Ala on the cheek. “Thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

  “No, thank you, Irena. You’re the one who saved him. In the ghetto, it’s one life at a time.”

  A half hour later, Irena stood at the open door of Adam’s apartment. She was amazed at the change in him. He had gained some weight and he looked young and strong in his shirt and tie. The old fire danced in his eyes as he brought her into his room. The apartment itself was transformed. When she’d been here last there was garbage everywhere, but now the interior was clean, with books and papers stacked neatly and a warm fire at a simple hearth.

  “All this in just one day?” she asked.

  “I knew someone might be stopping by, so I had preparations to make.”

  She blushed. “Have you seen your family?”

  “Not yet. But I will. They visited me in the hospital a few times.”

  “And your wife?” She felt a surge of jealousy as she muttered the question.

  He looked away. “Once.”

  “Everything looks in order,” she said stiffly. “I’m glad you’ve recovered.” She turned to leave but a hand on her wrist stopped her.

  “Don’t go,” he said. “Sit and have some t
ea.”

  She acquiesced and stepped farther into the apartment, taking a seat on his sofa in the middle of the room. She sat there for a few minutes, battling her emotions while he busied himself at the counter, boiling water and preparing the tea.

  She knew she wasn’t being fair. He was married and his wife had a right to see him. Irena was married too. Besides, they were separated just like Mietek and her. But he’d brought his wife near him in the ghetto, along with his wife’s family and his. Didn’t that show something more? She tried to imagine if the roles were reversed. What if she was in the ghetto and Mietek was nearby? What if his family was in need? She would have done the same, she realized. No matter what their marital situation was, she would move the world to save his life.

  “Here you go,” he said, stepping around a low table and taking a seat next to her. He set down a small platter with a teapot and two cups. “I’m afraid we will have to miss the sandwiches. I don’t have any provisions.”

  “I do,” she remembered. She reached into her bag and retrieved the loaves of bread, the sausages and cheese. “We should enjoy these. They nearly cost me everything today.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, concern carving deep creases in his forehead.

  She told him about the gate, the near arrest, and Wiera’s intervention.

  “I told Ala that Wiera was a good person,” he said finally. “I don’t know why she dislikes her so much. I’ve wondered if it’s the attention she gets.”

  “Ala’s not like that.”

  Adam nodded. “Who knows what gets Ala upset? Still, Wiera has done nothing to create mistrust.”

  “Well, she does sing at that café, with the informers and Gestapo agents.”

  “Anyone with money goes to the Café Sztuka,” responded Adam dismissively. “That doesn’t make them all traitors. Besides, she’s not a patron, she’s an employee. If a singer wishes to eat, they must go to the audience. The paying crowd. They don’t get to choose the content.”

  She watched him as he tore up the bread and crafted crude sandwiches with his hands. He was so much like the old Adam: witty and alive. She took a plate with a little food and a cup of the tea. She didn’t feel hungry, but she played along, sipping the hot liquid and munching away at the meal. Her eyes never left him as he told her about the new job and what it would entail. He would be teaching the classics to the children. Book by book they would explore the world—the real one, not this hell crafted by the Germans to deny these same children a future.

  “I’ll prepare them for the after. For the time when these bastards are defeated and gone. We’ll have a whole new generation of Irenas and Adams.”

  “What about socialism and Marxism? Will you teach them that too? Not everyone in the orphanage might approve of that,” she teased.

  He laughed. “Perhaps a little crumb here and there. We can’t raise another generation of right-wing fascists, that’s for certain. That’s one thing the Germans have done well. They’ve cured our people of their yearning for nationalism.”

  “At least for a generation,” said Irena. “But people soon forget.”

  He set his tea down and took her hand, turning toward her. She felt the excitement coursing through her. He watched her for long moments, his eyes taking in every part of her face as his thumb traced designs on the back of her hand.

  “I haven’t thanked you. You saved my life, Irena.”

  She blushed. “Ala saved your life. I just brought you a little to eat.”

  “Nonsense. You risked your own life to save mine. I was at the end of things, I will tell you. I’d given up in mind and body. You brought me back. Not just the food, but the risks you took for me. You inspired me to come back to this life and to not just exist, but to fight for others.”

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips against her cheek. She felt his warm touch and she leaned against him. He held her there for long minutes. She closed her eyes, feeling his heat, his nearness. Enjoying every part of him. There was a loud knock at the door. She didn’t want to let go but he pulled away, standing and making his way to the door. He opened it to find his mother there. Gray straggly hair raining down her shoulders. Her eyes scanning the room until they rested on Irena.

  “Mother, so nice to see you. Do you remember Irena Sendler?”

  Her mother stared at her for a moment and then nodded dismissively. “When did you get back?” she asked, returning her eyes to Adam.

  “Just this morning.”

  “And you didn’t even bother to come see your momma?”

  “I wanted to get things straightened up here.”

  His mother glanced at Irena again. “I see that.”

  “Now now, none of that.”

  “I just don’t understand you, Adam,” she protested. “The whole family’s been worried sick. Your wife has been fraught with concern. Then when you’re finally well, you don’t even bother to come see us.”

  “I was on my way.”

  “Ten minutes,” she commanded. “I’ll start a meal. We must have a celebration. Not that we have any food to rejoice with.”

  “I do,” said Irena, reaching into her bag. “Look. I have bread, cheese, a little sausage.”

  “No, thank you,” his mother responded, refusing to look at her. “We will manage just fine on our own.”

  “Momma, don’t be like that.”

  “Ten minutes,” she repeated. “I’ll let your wife know you are on your way.” She turned without looking at Irena again and marched off.

  Adam shuffled back to Irena, starting to sit down, but she rose, stepping away from him. “Don’t,” he whispered.

  “You have your family to attend to. And your wife.”

  He stepped toward her, arms out. “Please, Irena. She’s just happy I’m home.”

  “I understand,” she responded, laboring to push down the boiling emotions. “I’m so happy you are recovered. She’s right. You should be with family right now.”

  He dropped his arms, his eyes still searching hers. “Will you come tomorrow? Visit me at the orphanage?”

  “I don’t know. I have my own duties.”

  “Please come by, I need encouragement on my first day of work!”

  “Very well.” She reached down, removing the food from her bag and placing it on the table.

  “You should keep that,” he said.

  She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. Besides, you’ll need it. Take it to your celebration feast. Your mother won’t protest once I’m gone.”

  “Irena. Don’t be angry with her. She’s never accepted that Regina and I do not live as husband and wife.”

  Irena thought of her own mother. Would she have acted any differently? “You’re right,” she said at last. “Mothers cling to their own dreams for their children.” She stepped forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Tomorrow then,” she said.

  “Tomorrow.”

  She left the apartment and stepped out into the frozen, desperate streets of the ghetto. The bitter air stung the tears in her eyes as she battled through the throng, trying to ignore the desperate pleas for help as she made her way to the nearest gate and out of the Jewish Quarter.

  Her emotions were in tattered rags. She was happy for Adam and proud of herself for her part in saving him. But she’d almost lost everything in the effort. She was amazed that this emotion didn’t dominate, however. Her deepest feelings were anger at his mother and jealousy of his wife. She knew intellectually that they were separated, but there was the irony. His wife, who he claimed he didn’t care about, was just a building away, with a mother nearby pushing him to reconcile. At the same time she and Adam were separated by a wall.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet voice begging her for food. It took her a moment to realize she was already outside the wall. She looked over and saw a young girl about four years old, standing at the entrance to an alley. Big brown eyes stared out beneath raven hair. She was Jewish. No doubt about it. Irena looked around, g
etting her bearings. She was in Chłodna Street, just across from the ghetto wall. She took a couple of steps toward the little girl, who cringed backward into the alley, but did not run away. For some reason, she looked vaguely familiar to her.

  “Who are you?” Irena asked.

  The girl didn’t answer but raised her hands, her heart in her eyes.

  Irena took a step farther. “Are you from the ghetto?” she asked, pointing with her head toward the wall. She couldn’t help thinking there was something familiar about her.

  The little girl hesitated, then nodded.

  “What is your name?”

  “Kaji,” she said.

  “Where are your mother and father?”

  Kaji didn’t answer and Irena saw tears welling in her eyes.

  “Are they gone?” Irena asked.

  She nodded. “My brother too.”

  That was it! She had met this little girl in the food distribution line this past year. She remembered her family. They were all dead now. She felt her heart sink. “How did you get out of the ghetto?” she asked.

  “There’s a hole near the bottom of the wall,” she said. “It’s very small but I can crawl through.”

  “What are you doing out here?” But Irena already knew the answer. There was no point standing in the ghetto, trying to beg from the beggars. In Aryan Warsaw there was at least a chance of getting some food or money from a passing Pole. Irena reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of banknotes. There were several hundred zlotys. A small fortune in prewar days. She handed them to Kaji.

  The little girl took the money, bursting into tears, but she didn’t let go of Irena. “Take me with you,” she begged. “Please. Take me away.”

  “I can’t,” said Irena. “There are Germans everywhere. You have no papers. No records. They would arrest you and take you to a terrible place.”

  “No place is worse than here.”

  Irena was at a loss for what to do. She’d walked past thousands of children like this in the ghetto. The girl was not her problem, any more than all these children were her concern. There was nothing she could do for this child. She would do more harm than good if she took her.