Warsaw Requiem

  “It is dark. But God can see, even in the darkness.” As she said it, Elisa regretted the trite, simplistic sound of the words. But the words were true. God had eyes that could pierce the blackest night and illuminate the darkest heart.

  The gentle drumming of rain sounded on the awning over the window ledge. “Yes,” Lori said, reaching out to touch the drops. “He is crying too.”

  Murphy stood in the doorway behind them. “I’m leaving now. I called down for a taxi. Stay here with Lori and the babies.” Then, to Lori, “Don’t worry, Missus Kalner. We’ll do our best.”

  ***

  Gustav Ahlman was standing outside the schoolhouse when the truck arrived from Nameless camp. He stood by with an air of importance as the flap was untied, and the parched prisoners tumbled out, blinking in the afternoon sunlight.

  “Bring them some water,” he ordered. A bucket and a dipper made the rounds of the twelve men. It had to be refilled four times before all were satisfied.

  In a stupor induced by the long airless ride, and now waterlogged as well, the men stumbled into the schoolroom as indicated by Ahlman. In a heap on the floor was a pile of jackets, trousers, and boots. ”First, new clothing,” announced Ahlman cheerfully, “then supper.”

  “What are these jackets?” asked one man as he hunted for a size that would fit him.

  “They look like Army uniforms—Polish, I think,” offered another as he searched for a matching pair of boots.

  “No talking,” said Ahlman. “Anyone who breaks this rule will not be fed.”

  The men got dressed in silence.

  ***

  Wolfgang von Fritschauer arrived at the schoolhouse headquarters in a staff car with Agent Hess. “When can you tell me what this mission involves?”

  “I see no reason not to inform you right now,” offered Hess. “You are about to meet those who will also be part of this operation, so it is time for you to understand the plan. You are aware that the Führer has promised Russia and Italy that we will take no military action against Poland unless the Poles act as aggressors first.”

  Wolf waved his hand to indicate that he was as aware of international politics as Hess.

  “This operation is designed to furnish that instance of aggression. You will be involved in a mock attack on the radio transmitter located in Gleiwitz. We will seize the station, broadcast a message of contempt for the forces of the Reich, and retire, having given the Führer ample reason to retaliate.”

  “Simplicity itself.” Wolf nodded. “I am grateful for the chance to prove myself again to Reichsführer Himmler. Was it he who suggested my participation?”

  “Actually, I asked for you personally,” said Hess, “with Herr Himmler’s wholehearted agreement.”

  ***

  “There men are not soldiers,” protested Wolf to Hess after they had entered the schoolhouse. “They are not Gestapo, either. What is going on here, Hess?”

  Hess pulled Wolf into an adjoining room. On a schoolteacher’s wooden revolving chair lay the uniform of a Polish officer. “Get dressed, and I will explain,” said Hess, gesturing toward the clothing. “It is necessary to furnish some bodies as proof of the validity of the attack. All these men were political prisoners. They have been promised a reduction in their sentences for their participation. After we are through here, no one will question what has happened to them.”

  “Ingenious,” complimented Wolf. “But how can we prevent them from escaping before it is time for them to become casualties?”

  “That is your first duty to this mission,” said Hess. “As you can see, you are dressed the same as they, so they will trust you. They will be told that they are to receive a standard military inoculation. They will not protest the administration of the narcotic because they will see you receive an injection of a harmless saline solution first.”

  “Now everything is clear to me,” agreed Wolf. “You will find that I am eager to cooperate.”

  ***

  It was very late. Warsaw was entirely dark because of the blackout. Jacob was asleep beside Alfie. Werner-kitten was also asleep, curled up in a warm ball on Alfie’s pillow. His soft kitten breath fanned Alfie’s cheek. The night seemed very peaceful. All the darkness of a big city without lights also seemed peaceful, but Alfie knew that it was not. Not really.

  Captain Orde was awake, his chair pulled up beside the window. The curtains were open wide because all the lamps were off. This was so a Nazi airplane would not see the light in their hotel room and drop a bomb on the Bristol.

  There was just enough starlight that Alfie could see the serious look on the captain’s face. His eyes were lost in the shadow of his frown. He tapped a pencil on the arm of the chair. The tapping was like the sound of a drum. One little drum for the one-man army who had pledged to protect and defend Lucy.

  Lucy was in bed in the other room. Alfie did not know if she was asleep or awake like the captain. Alfie smiled quietly. It would be funny if he asked if anyone was awake and everyone answered yes at the same time.

  Alfie considered asking. He decided against it because he was sure that the British Army was thinking very serious thoughts about the one-woman nation he pledged to protect.

  All evening long Orde had looked at Lucy when she was not looking. Then, when she raised her eyes toward him, the captain would look away quickly. And then it would be Lucy’s turn to look at the captain—until he looked up. It had gone on like this, both of them trying not to look at the other when the other was looking.

  Once, when their eyes their accidentally bumped, Lucy had gotten red and Orde had looked very embarrassed.

  Alfie had noticed this, and it reminded him a lot of the way Jacob had looked at Lori and then had tried not to look at Lori. It seemed to be very painful. Alfie wondered why Orde did not just hold Lucy’s pretty face in his hands and look and look and look. Like having all the ice cream a person could eat, only free.

  Captain Orde sighed loudly. A lonely sigh. Alfie had heard their captain make that sort of sound before.

  “Why don’t you help him, Jesus?” Alfie prayed. He had not meant to say the words aloud, but sometimes thoughts came out on their own.

  “Hmmm?” asked Orde. “Did you say something, Elisha?”

  “Not to you,” Alfie answered truthfully. “Just about you.”

  “What about me?” The captain talked to Alfie as though he really mattered. Alfie liked that.

  “Jesus should help . . . you.”

  Silences. “Yes. I hope He will.”

  Silence. “Her eyes are sad,” Alfie said.

  His comment startled the captain. “Her . . . what are you saying?”

  How could Alfie tell the captain what he had seen in Lucy Strasburg’s eyes? Alfie had not been afraid to look at her. Not at all. He had looked at her face all evening long when the captain was trying not to. In her eyes, Alfie had seen so many friends who had all gone away to the Promised Land . . . dead. All dead on the night that the Hitler-men had burned Berlin. When he looked at Lucy, he could easily remember the way his friend Werner had looked when other children walked by and he could not walk. Alfie remembered Dieter, who could not feed himself. Heinz, who could not move his legs or arms without shaking. And there were others.

  They had all worn their hearts in their eyes. The terrible ache was the same. It was not pain that came from being crippled; it was pain that came from not being loved. Not believing that anyone would ever love them because they were not straight and tall or strong or smart. When the Nazi orderlies were cruel to them, they thought somehow it was their fault. Sometimes Alfie had felt that way too. Yes, sometimes Alfie had the ache of his heart in his eyes too. Because Alfie was not smart. But then Alfie remembered that he did not have to be smart to be loved. He knew that Jesus loved him and that made the hurt of being not good enough to go away.

  Lucy was broken inside, just like Alfie’s friends had been broken on the outside. It kept her from playing, it kept her from speaking, and in a way, it
made her helpless even to feed her own soul.

  What Lucy needed was somebody to love her, like Alfie had loved his friends at the sisters of Mercy Hospital before the Hitler-men killed them.

  But who would carry Lucy until she was strong enough inside? And how would she get strong unless someone loved her enough to feed her soul? If there was nobody to do that for her, then Lucy with the sad heart would die inside. The darkness would steal her too, just as surely as it had stolen the lives of the boys in the ward.

  How could Alfie tell all of this to a man so smart as Captain Samuel Orde? “How can I, Jesus?” he asked out loud again.

  Orde turned away from the window as though he wanted to hear Alfie’s heart tell him all about Lucy and himself too.

  “What do you see, Elisha?” Orde whispered. “What is it?”

  Alfie reached up and touched Werner-kitten on his pillow. The rumble of a purr erupted like a laugh and then Alfie knew how he could say it.

  “My kitten was almost . . . dead. His mother, Joseph, did not want him. But I took care of him. Just like Werner . . .” He tried not to confuse Werner the kitten with Werner the boy, even though the stories were a lot alike. “I took care of him because he needed more than the other kittens, or his heart would have died.” Alfie smiled as Werner purred louder. “And now . . . you hear him? He loves me a lot too.” Werner got up and moved closer to Alfie’s head. “Lucy is like Werner was. You should take her face and hold it.”

  At that, the captain gave a small, nervous laugh. “I . . . don’t know her, Elisha. Not at all. How can I?”

  “Just look at her eyes. She don’t have to tell you anything. Her heart . . . just barely hanging on. Somebody’s got to love her back to life.”

  “What have I got to give her?” Orde asked in a truly puzzled way, the sort of voice that wanted to do something right but did not know how.

  “Oh, Captain.” Alfie thought maybe he had forgotten. “You know . . . Jesus. He made lame people walk and blind people see. He loved them before they were well . . . loves me, even if I’m . . . not smart. You tell Lucy. You can say it . . . in a smart way. Huh?”

  Captain Orde sat a long time in the dark. He did not move. He just looked into the dark place where Alfie’s voice had come from. And then he got up and came to the side of the bed. He reached out and touched Alfie’s forehead. He smoothed Alfie’s hair back like Mama used to do. And then he kissed Alfie on the forehead and went back to sit in his chair beside the window.

  Now the night was peaceful. Alfie went to sleep.

  34

  The Ant and the Cricket

  “What will happen to us now, Papa?” Rachel sat at the feet of her father in the dark study. The baby was asleep on Etta’s lap, and David and Samuel rested on pillows nearest the open window.

  Somehow, tonight, on what was possibly the last night of peace, they all wanted to stay together in this room. The walls were filled with Papa’s books—wisdom from floor to ceiling. The books were old friends, like relatives, in a way, to the family of Rabbi Aaron Lubetkin. Who could say what would become of those leather-bound friends if the war began tonight, and the Nazis came tomorrow?

  Papa was silent in his big leather chair. He turned his face toward the sound of crickets chirping in the garden.

  Why did he not answer?

  “I am afraid, Papa,” David said from his pillow.

  Then little Samuel began to cry softly.

  “Listen!” Papa said with a smile in his voice. “I will tell you a story. Listen now, Samuel. David. Rachel. A story you must remember. It is a story about an arrogant cricket and an ant.”

  He cleared his throat, still rusty from his months of illness. But his voice was very strong as he began.

  “Once there was an ant who was carrying a very large bread crumb home to his family. He was very proud of himself because the crumb was ten times bigger than he was. All of a sudden he heard the loud whining voice of a cricket high about him. ‘Tsk-tsk! You are a tiny fellow to be carrying such a load. Let me help you.’”

  Here he paused to let them imagine the voice of the cricket.

  “’Thank you,’ said the ant in a squeaky voice. ‘You are very kind.’ At that, the cricket picked up the bread crumb and gulped it down in one enormous bite. A very cruel and unfriendly act, don’t you think, David?”

  At this David replied indignantly that it was, indeed.

  “The ant thought so too and told the cricket just that! The cricket said, ‘Hold your tongue and feelers. I see you are a strong ant! I have work that you must do, or I will eat you, too!’”

  By now Rachel noticed that little Samuel was no longer crying. He sat up and glared at the imaginary cricket as Papa continued.

  “At that, the cricket stated he wanted to travel, and the ant must drag along the cricket’s things, which were wrapped in a birch-leaf case. The bundle was even larger than the bread crumb. The ant obeyed as the cricket hopped a big hop, then lay down to snooze and wait for the ant to drag the case after him. The poor ant got no rest and was very worried about his family.”

  The evening air seemed cool and pleasant now as Papa spoke about the ant and the cricket. The terrible chirping of the German Führer did not seem so threatening.

  “One day the cricket came to a puddle,” Papa continued. “The ant said, ‘I’ll wager a year of my servitude that you cannot jump across that puddle!’ The cricket stretched his leapers and hopped across in one hop. ‘I did not think you could do it,’ cried the ant.

  “The cricket mocked him when the ant caught up at last. ‘Now you owe me a year of servitude!’”

  “This is not such a good story,” David said grimly.

  “But wait!” Papa said knowingly. “The ant was a smart little fellow. Day after day, as he dragged the bundle along he challenged the cricket to jump over this and that. A path. A wall. A stream. And each time the ant doubled the wager. Every time the cricket leaped easily over the obstacle and won the bet.”

  “Why is this good?” David asked Papa again.

  The rabbi waved his hand in the dark. He was getting to the point. “’You will notice,’ said the ant, ‘that I am betting double or nothing every time. I am sure there is nothing you cannot do, Herr Cricket!’ The day after that, the cricket and the ant came to the sea. ‘I will wager you 16,384 years of service that you cannot jump across the sea.’”

  David listened with renewed respect for the ant. The crickets in the garden chirped on brashly as Papa finished his tale.

  “The cricket stood up. He stretched his leapers. He had a wild look in his eyes and he cried, ‘There is nothing I cannot do!’ With that, he bent his leapers double. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Then he gave a mighty jump into the sea, where he drowned. The ant smiled. He picked up the cricket’s belongings and started for home.”

  Samuel laughed a high, happy laugh. Satisfied, David sat against the wall. Rachel smiled at the bookshelves and wondered if their printed pages were jealous of her papa.

  “When you wonder what will happen to us, you must never forget. We are the ants. One day Herr Hitler will leap once too often. Perhaps he will leap into Poland and be surprised, nu?”

  “It is a nice night, Papa,” Samuel said. “Tell us another story.”

  ***

  Lori was not asleep when the telephone range. The insistent bell was a jarring interruption to thoughts and prayers. Lori could hear Murphy’s cheerful voice on the telephone as she joined Elisa.

  “We’re refueling. KLM has seats for all of us leaving Warsaw tonight at 11:30,” he babbled happily. “I’ve been trying to reach Orde in Warsaw. No luck. Nothing getting through.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Orde is going to have to meet me at Warsaw airport. The plane turns right around and leaves fifty minutes after I get off. There’s no time for me to chase them down in Warsaw.” He sounded mildly distracted. “Maybe a direct wire from London TENS to Orde at Warsaw TENS. I talked to Harvey Terrill an
d told him I was off to Warsaw, but now I can’t reach him. Hope the phone isn’t out.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” she promised. Certainly tickets on a plane leaving what was soon to be a battle zone was a small miracle!

  After quick good-byes, Elisa dialed the number of London TENS. No answer. Where was Harvey Terrill?

  “What is it?” Lori sat on the bed beside her.

  “Murphy got the tickets out of Warsaw, but Orde has to have everyone ready to leave at the airport when Murphy gets there.” The TENS phone continued to ring. “Murphy can’t reach Orde. The telephones in Poland are not taking long distance.” She let the telephone clatter into the cradle. “I’ll have to go to the office. Send the wire on our equipment.”

  Lori peered out at the blackout. “Now?”

  “It’s two blocks.” Elisa waved her hand as if to say how safe she would be.

  “Take the Secret Service agent then,” Lori warned.

  Elisa frowned and bit her thumb. How could she take this government man into the TENS office and send a wire to Orde, telling that Murphy was bringing passports and then naming the recipients of the prized illegal documents? She half suspected that the agents had been put in place less to protect them than to keep an eye on everything they did. This would ruin everything!

  Elisa explained briefly to Lori and then they considered how she could get around them.

  “Lori,” she instructed, “open your door. Talk to them about. . . . anything. The blackout. Tell them you are frightened. Keep them talking for a few minutes, and I’ll slip out my door, down the stairs, and to the office. I’ll be back before they even notice I’ve been gone.”

  Lori really was frightened. She clasped Elisa’s hands. “Are you sure you should go?” Lori had seen what a bomb could do. She knew how really terrible things could get. “Isn’t there some other way?”

  Elisa rang up the TENS number once again. Still no answer. Where was Harvey? Twenty rings and no reply. “I can send the wire,” Elisa said lightly.