Warsaw Requiem

  “You’re right,” Jacob mumbled. “Now shut up.”

  Jamie lifted his chin in an arrogant fashion.”If Papa were here, he’d say that God is telling you not to get married.”

  Jacob scowled. “If your papa were here, we’d have parental permission and then God would be saying yes!”

  Lori added, “If Papa were here, he’d perform the ceremony himself.” She cocked a superior eyebrow at Jamie.

  Alfie leaned against a tree behind the bench. Werner jumped off his shoulder and perched on a branch. There was a sign warning that pets should be on a leash and that it was VERBOTEN to step on the grass, but Alfie was too hot to care. He decided not to read the sign even though it had words he knew, because then he could stand on the grass without knowing he broke the rules. It made sense in a roundabout way, Lori reasoned when she asked him to read the rules about standing on the grass.

  Alfie sighed. “Does this mean I don’t get to be the . . . best . . . best . . . uh . . .”

  “Man,” Jacob snapped. “Not yet. There is a church on nearly every corner in Danzig; we will find one somewhere willing to do a proper job of this.”

  “I think we should go back to Sopot and go swimming,” Mark said sullenly.

  “Yeah. It’s too hot for us to get married today,” Jamie agreed.

  “I want to be . . . uh . . . best man.” Alfie wiped his brow on the sleeve of his once-ironed shirt. “And Lori . . . can sleep in our room if her and Jacob is uh . . .”

  At this, looks were exchanged all around. There would be no explaining this to Alfie.

  Jamie tried. “Married people sleep in the same room.”

  “Uh-huh. I said that.” Alfie nodded.

  “Alone,” Mark added.

  “Why?” Alfie asked.

  It was very warm. Jacob stood and tugged his collar open a bit more. “Maybe we should try the English Mariner’s Church on the waterfront,” he suggested.

  “You don’t speak English,” Jamie chided. “That’s what got you into this mess.”

  All heads swiveled to pierce him through with black looks. Jamie shrugged and looked at the tram. Now he really wanted to go back to the beach!

  “The English church then,” Lori said. “I will translate.”

  “Just tell me when we’re really married, will you?” Jacob tossed his jacket over his shoulder and struck out across the park. He did not care that Alfie had to climb the tree to fetch Werner and so almost got lost. Alfie told him it would have been an unlucky thing if the best cat was left in a tree somewhere.

  ***

  The pastor of the English Mariner’s Church was a burly Scot from Edinburgh. He had spent most of his life in the Merchant Marines, denting the walls of bars and assorted unholy places until his ship was torpedoed by Germans in the Great War in 1918. Four days drifting on scraps of lumber had been enough for Seaman Cecil Douglass to see the error of his ways. After several years in seminary he had taken up what he called a frontline position between the wharf and the brothels of the waterfront district.

  The church building itself stood in the shadow of the half-timbered warehouse along the waterfront. It looked like any other little church from the English countryside. This fact pleased Pastor Douglass, who felt it stood as a beacon of hope, a reminder of home and family. These were matters of great importance to the pastor, and he preached often on the folly of unfaithful seafaring husbands who took no thought of the commandment against adultery.

  All these things Jacob had heard from the fellows who worked with him on the docks. Pastor Douglass had taken his four days on a raft in the Mediterranean quite seriously, it seemed.

  From this bit of personal insight, Jacob and Lori formulated a strategy by which licenses and parental permission might be circumvented.

  It was cool inside the little church, and everyone began feeling much better about the wedding. Lori and Jacob sat in the choir loft and spoke in low tones to the enormous pastor while the others stared gratefully at the cool white walls and stained-glass windows.

  “Miss Ibsen,” remarked the pastor, “I have heard of your father. Indeed I have. A giant of the faith. Suffering for the cause of the kingdom and Christ.” He knit his bushy black brows together in consternation. “But without the permission of your father—” He spoke excellent German. There was no need for anyone to translate for Jacob.

  “Since Lori’s father is in prison, how can anyone expect us to get permission?”

  Pastor Douglass smiled sympathetically. “But you are both underage.”

  “We are both Christians.” Lori looked indignant. “We love each other.”

  The pastor wagged a thick finger at her. “And since Jacob is to be left behind, what sort of a marriage—”

  “He will join us in England.” Lori took Jacob’s hand.

  “Ah. Yes. And to do that, I suppose it would be convenient to have a marriage certificate.” The frown deepened. “I will not make a mockery of God’s holy ordinance of marriage.”

  Lori drew herself up. “Then when my father gets out of prison, I will tell him that the reason Jacob and I were forced to live in sin is because no Christian pastor would perform the ceremony.” She tossed her braid, and wilted flowers tumbled out.

  The pastor stared at the flowers and considered that no female puts such things in her hair if the wedding is only for a certificate of marriage to show the immigration officials. Perhaps this was indeed a matter of two hearts before the Lord. Here was this young man in a jacket and tie on such a hot day. Was is reasonable to think he would do that for any other reason than true love?

  Pastor Douglass stuck out his lower lip. He scratched his cheek thoughtfully. Peering over the rail of the choir loft, he called, “Who’s the best man?”

  The big dim-witted chap with the kitten stood up and waved the cat in the air. “Me and Werner.”

  “And who will give the bride away?”

  Jamie stood up and smiled weakly. He was taking Papa’s place and was certain he could not do a good job. “Me.”

  “And is there a ring-bearer?”

  “Me!” Mark jumped to his feet and dug deep into his pocket for the ring.

  Pastor Douglass shrugged and stood. “Well, then. All we need is a bride and a groom.”

  21

  Night Closes In

  This was not at all what Alfie had meant when he suggested that Lori could share their bedroom.

  While Jacob took his new bride for an ice cream soda at Sprinter’s ice cream parlor, Mark, Jamie, and Alfie had hurried back to the flat to move mattresses from the big bedroom into Lori’s tiny corner room. Jamie and Mark changed the sheets on the double bed and placed two bouquets of fresh flowers in quart canning jars on the night table and the chest of drawers.

  It all looked very pretty, but Alfie had not meant that he and Jamie and Mark would have to move to the little room while Jacob and Lori got the big one. It did not take a smart person to see that three bodies crammed into Lori’s small space did not fit as well as all five of them in the big room.

  “What do you think?” Mark asked, stepping back and crossing his arms as they surveyed the honeymoon suite.

  Jamie was not pleased. “I still say Papa will not like this when he finds out I helped.” He stared sourly at the flowers. The yellow petals of the daisies had already begun to wilt and drop onto the night table.

  “Jacob owes us for this.” Mark nudged Jamie. “He said if we would make the place nice . . . romantic-like . . . that he would treat us three to lemon ice at Sprinter’s when they got back.”

  Alfie licked his lips at the thought of lemon ice. His favorite. He looked at the flowers and imagined the bright colors of the umbrellas over the round tables at Sprinter’s. He did not know why all five of them could not have gone there together, however. Instead it was Jacob and Lori first and then the boys. Alfie thought it was sad that they could not all spend every minute together until the boat left for England.

  “Well, I am going to have a
double-double ice cream soda after this,” Jamie scowled. “He owes us, all right! Some trade. I give my sister away today, and all I get is ice cream in return.”

  Mark seemed amused. “Like Esau giving Jacob his birthright for a mess of porridge.”

  Alfie winced in confusion.”Huh?”

  “In the Bible,” Mark answered.

  Jamie sniffed. “A sister is worth more than a mess of porridge. More than a double-double soda.” He scowled. “I was supposed to be the man of the family while Papa was gone. Now look what’s happened.” He gestured toward the perfectly made bed. Clean sheets and pillowcases. Not even a wrinkle.

  Alfie was lost. “Your papa won’t mind that you made the bed,” he soothed.

  Mark and Jamie exchanged the look. Alfie decided they knew more than they were telling. He scooped up Werner and went into Lori’s old room to look at the pile of mattresses on the floor beside her iron cot. Not even a place to walk.

  “I say we take the money and catch the train to Sopot,” Jamie said. “Let’s get out of here before they get back.”

  “I doubt Jacob would mind if we stayed out as late as ten.” Mark sounded enthusiastic about the idea. “I’ll write the note.”

  “Good thinking. Lori wouldn’t like it at all if she knew I thought of it. With your handwriting . . . And Jacob will back us up, even if we slept all night on the beach.”

  “Worse and worse,” Alfie mumbled to Werner. Sleep on the beach? Wasn’t this tiny room bad enough? Now they had to sleep on the beach?

  “Hurry up,” Jamie hissed. “Tell him . . . them . . . in honor of their wedding night, we’ve decided to stay away for a while. How is that?”

  No time to reply. A heavy knock sounded against the door. Jacob and Lori were back already. Alfie thought they must have swallowed their sodas in one gulp.

  Mark and Jamie moaned. Too late. Jacob and Lori would never agree to let them stay on the beach in Sopot, no matter how hot the flat got tonight. No cool ocean breezes . . . no gentle drumming of the waves . . .

  Again the knock sounded. “Open it, Alfie,” Mark commanded.

  Alfie put Werner on his shoulder and fixed a smile on his face even though he was not happy about the way everything was so confused. He pulled open the door.

  “Hullo . . . uh . . .” The smile went away. This was not Lori and Jacob after all.

  A thin, frightened little man stood sweating in the corridor. His hatless head was drawn forward toward an enormous nose. Thick spectacles perched on his beak, making him resemble a vulture. His wide eyes seemed to whirl behind the lenses. Alfie thought to himself that the stranger’s eyes looked like bulging boiled eggs. He did not say that to the man, however, because that would have been rude.

  “Hullo,” Alfie said again. He shook the fellow’s clammy hand. “I am Alfie.”

  The man glanced over his shoulder, then at the number on the door. Alfie also looked at the number, then back at the man who seemed very nervous.

  “Who is it?” Mark shouted from the bedroom.

  “A man with egg-eyes who is sweating a lot,” Alfie answered. Then he frowned because he had not meant to talk about the man’s eyes, only his sweat. “He looks nice,” he added.

  “Please,” the man said in a quiet voice. “I need to talk to someone . . . who is in charge. There is a young woman who lives here with you?”

  “Lori is having a wedding . . . soda . . .” The man seemed very frightened. Alfie called Jamie. “Jamie, this man wants Lori.”

  His face set in a scowl, Jamie emerged. But as he peered past Alfie at the little man, the scowl melted into curiosity and then concern.

  “Who do you want to see?” Jamie sounded adult as he challenged the stranger.

  “Lori.” Again the man glanced nervously over his stooped shoulder. “Her name is Lori? It is . . . about you. My business concerns you as well.”

  Jamie did not walk forward to the door. He hung back as though he was afraid the man might reach out and take him.

  “Mark!” he called. Mark was already at his side. The two boys stared silently back at the man.

  “Who are you?” Mark demanded.

  The man wiped his brow with a yellowed handkerchief. “It does not matter who I am . . . I . .. have reason to believe . . .” He faltered, peering past Alfie, who towered above him, blocking his entrance into the flat.”Please. I need to have a word with whoever is in charge.”

  “We are,” Mark and Jamie said together.

  “What do you want?” Mark drew himself up as he had seen Jacob do before a fight.

  “I do not know who you are. Why you are here. But there is a man in Danzig who wants very much to find you.” The stranger’s voice was an urgent whisper. “I met him outside the British Embassy. He told me a story. He hired me to watch for you—” He pointed at Jamie. “And your sister. I followed you here and went to report. He lives at the Deutscher Hof. In his room there was a map. Black pins and red pins. He has searched every district, and now he knows you are here.” He waved his hand back toward the stairs. “I did not tell him the name of the rooming house because I thought perhaps . . . when I saw the map . . . He seems not to be what he told me he was.” The big eyes darted around the room. “Get out of here. I wanted to tell you. Get out of Danzig. Out of Heilige Geist district. Stay clear of the Deutscher Hof.”

  Jamie, Mark, and Alfie stared silently at this prophet of doom. The silence drew out, long and heavy as the heat. Finally Werner moved, and the man looked at the kitten as though he was grateful for some response.

  “Well.” He shrugged and stepped back from the door. “I can do no more than warn you.” And then he was gone. The clatter of his street shoes sounded on the long staircase to the lobby. Alfie stood in the doorway and listened until the footsteps disappeared.

  ***

  “What did he say?” Jacob shouted as he pulled Mark up by his arms.

  “We told you!” Jamie defended. “There was a map with pins in it in the man’s room at the Deutscher Hof. Black pins where he had looked for us. Red pins where we might be!”

  Alfie pointed at the floor. “Here is a red pin still.”

  “We can’t stay here, Jacob!” Mark cried, responding to his brother’s anger with equal feeling. “While we’re standing here talking about this . . . Don’t you see? We have to get out of Danzig now!”

  Lori bit her lip and looked toward the window as if she were afraid to get near it. Could the unnamed pursuer be out there now? Looking toward this flat? She remembered what Alfie had told her. They are coming to Danzig. He had known all along.

  The boys gathered up all the packed luggage. It stood ready beside the door.

  Jacob’s face was ashen. He looked at the luggage and then at Lori. Had any wedding night ever been shadowed by such portent of disaster?

  “They are right,” Lori said with resignation. “We shouldn’t waste any more time.”

  Jacob frowned and stared hard at the window. He felt it too!

  “The man said stay away from this district, away from the hotels.” Jamie’s brow furrowed with concern, an expression that made him appear much older.

  Lori turned toward the perfectly made double bed, the flowers in the quart jar vases. Beautiful and sweet. The gesture made her want to cry, but there was no time for that now. “Where should we go?” she asked Jacob.

  Alfie looked up brightly. “It’s hot here. Let’s go . . . uh . . . Sopot is a good place to go!”

  Six months ago Jacob might have scoffed at any suggestion Alfie made, but this evening he remembered that God seemed to whisper in Alfie’s ear.

  The light returned to the eyes of Jamie and Mark. Sopot! The beach! The Kurhaus! The casino and hotel!

  Jacob raised his head as though he heard the same voice Alfie heard. “Sopot. Perfect. A resort. They would not think of looking for a gang of fugitives at Sopot!” He thumped Alfie on the back. “A very smart idea, Alfie.”

  “Uh-huh. Do . . . can kittens go in the casino?’ br />
  In reply, Jacob opened the false-bottomed valise and dropped Werner in. The racket of unhappy yowling began immediately. Alfie pressed his lips together with concern.

  “They will not notice the noise,” Lori reassured him. “Papa used to say someone could walk through naked, and no one would look up.”

  That comment made Alfie blush. He could not think that Pastor Ibsen would ever say such a thing as that!

  ***

  Allan Farrell rode from post office to post office by alternating cab and underground. At each location he nonchalantly removed one manila envelope from a scuffed leather briefcase. He deposited each in a mail slot and strolled unhurriedly back out to the street.

  Sometimes he would make his drop at post offices that were close together. Other times he would deliberately ride past several or double back on his path so as to confuse his actual route.

  The first of the envelopes blew up at 4:00 pm at the branch of the Royal Post Office, not far from the British Museum. The eyesight of the postal worker who was operating the canceling machine was spared only because he wore glasses; the eruption of flames when the aspirin bottle was crushed burned the outline of his spectacles onto his face.

  From there a string of nineteen more explosions rocked the London summer afternoon. At another post office in the city, no one was injured seriously, but two thousand business letters—banking and commerce, shipping and industry—were destroyed. How do you fight a fire of blazing paper except with water? But what does more damage—a flaming pile of envelopes or a two-inch stream of muddy Thames river water?

  The most common injury among postal clerks was burns to their hands as they attempted to drag letters away from the bonfires. The more enterprising tried to smother the flames with canvas mail sacks, but unless they thought to soak the bags in water first, they only added fuel to the fires.

  One envelope caused a particularly spectacular display. One of the bombs was addressed to an outlying district and so was loaded onto a mail car attached to the 6:15 train from Charing Cross Station. it had not even come near a canceling machine, but the length of time had been enough for the acid to eat through the thin metal cap on the bottle. The clerk later reported smelling a biting, acrid odor just before an entire sack of mail burst into flames!