Warsaw (10 page)

"You underestimate my capacity to be unpopular. I'm
still me you know," Duritz replied and raised half his mouth in an amused,
charming expression.

Anna cocked her head and coloured the air with a shower of
unaffected laughter.

"I never know when you're being serious or not, but you
always make me laugh," Anna said sweetly and then ran her nail-polished
hands from her satin neck, down past her bosom and along her fleshy right
thigh, pretending at the end to brush some fluff off her skirt.

"I have said the very same thing about myself
before."
 

"I still see you're putting yourself down then."

"I've never felt that I've had any other choice."

Anna ruefully smirked and shook her head a little, either in
disappointment or disbelief at the contradictory Jew. She then finished off in
one mouthful her glass of vodka, deliciously licking her lips after doing so.

"Careful you don't drink too much too quickly."

"And you be careful you don't drink too little too
slowly. Now c'mon and fill both of our glasses. If we run out I can always get
some from upstairs." It came to Duritz again that one of the reasons why
he liked the invigorating woman so much was because she lacked pretension.

Anna got up and seductively walked over to the man who she
once believed could've been anything. She smoulderingly stood before him,
holding out her glass. Duritz was intoxicated and intimidated at the same time
by the woman's power. He could smell her perfume. It was arousing for the
professional seductress to sense her wiles, beauty, working. He subtly drew in
the exotic scent through his nostrils as if trying to store the moment for
future use. Confident that his erection was not too pronounced through his
trousers Duritz continued to try and play it cool - thankfully indifference had
always been second nature to him - and calmly poured the woman another drink
without separating the connection between their concealing, revealing glances.

Should Duritz here have cupped his hands around her waist
and behind Anna would have willingly been drawn towards him and stroked his
melancholy face. She remembered Adam as being one of her better lovers: tender,
strong (but not overly dominant) and deliberate. But the adage that "all
is vanity" is here again proved for hadn't Anna been partly (mostly)
responsible for developing him as a lover? She had been a good teacher. They
had experimented. She had taught him how to put the woman first, to please her
- and he would be rewarded. But hadn't Adam known this himself, been a
gentleman? He never described it as "fucking" or "sex" - to
"make love" was his phrase, which Anna found romantic. Indeed didn't
he make love like some hero from one of those German romantic novels that the
chambermaid used to read? He was intelligent yet passionate. Cold fire.

Anna sat back down again, crossing her legs on the chair to
reveal her black stockinged ankles and sculptured calves. She flirted, seduced
naturally. Anna fingered one of her earrings just to impress upon Adam that she
possessed and could wear jewellery. Duritz was duly attracted to Anna's plumage
and recognised the look in her vibrant eyes. But still the strange Jew could only
return a half-smile. He didn't know what it was exactly - perhaps it was no
single thing - but something still haunted his heart and countenance. Concern
rather than seduction altered Anna's mood in turn (although feminine concern
may have well been just part of the seduction).

"What are you going to do now, now that you're no
longer a policeman? Do you have a work card? Have you become a candidate for
selection?"

"To be honest sometimes I feel like I don't know Anna -
and at other times I feel like I just don't care."

"You shouldn't be so dark, or flippant," the
prostitute replied, shaking her head and creasing her brow - disappointed and
uncomfortable at his black humour. Not only did Anna try to have a practical
and positive mood in the ghetto but her faith was shaken by the fact that it
was Adam Duritz who had now seemingly become resigned to his fate. Out of
everyone she knew Anna had once believed that he would survive the ghetto; he
was earthily intelligent and possessed the necessary morals, or lack of them,
to put himself first and endure. He could also speak German. Like her he also
didn't have the burden of a family. She had thought that his coup of becoming a
policeman had sealed his fate, that of survival. But now relinquishing his
privileged position would seal a different fate she feared.

"Not meaning to sound so flippant, but why not? I don't
want to sound like I'm condemning them, or that I consider you one of a certain
type Anna, but the few people who might just survive this place will not be
those who bow down to our executioners, or resist them. If anyone it will be
the criminals, murderers, policemen who will endure. I've realised that I don't
have the heart, or energy, to be a thief or murderer. I've just got to decide
now whether I'm going to bow my head or resist. We will all come to nothing
though. The ghetto is a pyre, fuelled by malice and lies. As many tears as we
might cry, of compassion and injustice, the fire will still rage on."

Drawn towards the despairing youth as if by magnetism, as
well through pity and attraction (or maybe the womanly girl just wanted him to
cessate his maudlin, depressing mood), Anna calmly got up. She crossed over to
Duritz who remained seated upon the damp bed and bent down and kissed him full
upon the mouth. Awakening. Desire. Her wet mouth pressed against his warming
face and her tongue resuscitated an emotion and physicality deep within the
self-anaesthetised Jew's life. As much as Adam's erection yearningly throbbed
against the loving woman's supple thighs, as she stood between his open legs,
he surprised Anna by just clutching his arms around her waist and burying his
head into her soft belly, womb. He rocked a little and a couple of tears
trickled from his eyes, which remained screwed shut.

Despite their oily, almost slimy texture, Anna maternally
caressed the vulnerable Jew's black curls. It felt nice to be held, needed,
strong. Anna would soon love Adam not just because he cared for her, but more
so he was an outlet for her to have something to care for. She heard him utter
as if to himself or the world - just as much as Duritz seemed to be speaking to
her -

"Thank you. I'm so sorry. It's too much."

There is a phrase in the Talmud,’Meshmud’, which translates
as being ‘alive but dead.’ It relates to a man being barren or without child.
Although Duritz did not feel that way because he was childless, ‘alive but
dead’ was a phrase he often used to himself to describe his existence. Yet as
much as fatalism could eat away like sulphur at his thoughts Duritz could also
be the Wandering Jew in his own mind - destined and cursed to live forever.
Forever growing old, weakening, the blood of history and Christ on his hands.
If only he believed that there would be a Messiah then he would be delivered.
But still he couldn't believe. These and other fragments of conceits Adam tried
to convey to Anna that evening, blurring the line between delirium and truth.

Jessica shuddered and a sodden chill ran down her spine each
time she heard her father's corrosive coughing from his bed in the other room.
Tuberculosis? During the early 1930s the disease accounted for around 8 percent
of deaths among Warsaw Jews. In 1941 the figure was 33 percent. Progress.
Jessica worried that she could have brought the disease into the house from the
hospital. She clenched her eyes tight as if to intensify the prayer - made out
to a vague sense of fate and superstition rather than to a personal God - that
it wasn't the case. If only she could turn back the clock the girl desperately
thought to herself.

She remembered their scene on the stairs again. Her skin
crawled. He had smugly said that it was he, not God, who could save her family
now. She hated him and physically shook her head to dispel his sickening visage
from her thoughts. Yet sometimes the vile policeman was Jessica's very own
voodoo doll who she would stick pins into as if he represented and was
responsible for every crime in the ghetto.

The wilful but fragile girl lay upon her blanket beneath the
window. The stars seemed so far away in the pitch, the moon anaemic. Kolya
slept. Jessica sometimes felt twinges of envy for her brother who could fall
asleep at will as soon as his head touched the pillow. But how could she sleep?
Quicksand - whether one struggled or surrendered, one sank.

In her darkest hour however Thomas' armour shone brighter.
He was her sole hope, joy. She told herself that she would give herself to him
if it meant saving her family, but in truth she wanted him for herself. He was
the only man who she would now offer herself too. Perhaps it was part of the
attraction that Jessica knew that Thomas was the only man who she knew who
would reject the offer. He was "gallant", that was the word Jessica
used to describe Thomas. But other soldiers had taken Jewish women as their servants
or concubines. When she could afford to dream Jessica pictured Thomas as her
Eugene Wrayburn from the Dickens novel, who loved her Lizzie Hexam. He saved
her. She saved him. Love conquering prejudice. The story was a brief escape for
all of the family when Kolya read out loud of an evening. She had even
discussed the book with Thomas during their last meeting. Jessica had tried to
impress the man of culture by quoting from the novel, how she had felt like
Bella when she had said, “I want to be so much worthier than the doll in the
doll's house". She lied and said it was feeling like this which prompted
her to take up a position in the hospital. The white lie was worth it for the
admiration and smile which glowed from his strong countenance. A fifteen minute
meeting with the soldier could prop up Jessica's heart for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately that precious meeting had been their last. Due
to her work at the hospital Jessica had arrived an hour late at where they had
arranged to next meet. She tried to visit the places where Thomas sometimes
stationed himself in the ghetto but to no avail. The young woman was
understandably too frightened to try and contact the Corporal through official
channels. She wished now she knew the identity of Thomas' Jewish companion who
he spoke of occasionally and visited. He might know how to get in contact with
the soldier. But as much as Thomas had spoken about him he had never once
mentioned the man's name for some reason.

9.

Adam smiled to himself, immersed and removed from the scene
at the same time. The copper rays of the morning sun flooded into his usually
tenebrous room. The air seemed sweeter and - perhaps Duritz just hadn't noticed
him before - a robin or sparrow chirruped outside his window as if he were a
herald to the new day. How pathetic Duritz momentarily thought to himself, that
such material, immaterial, phenomena in nature should influence his mood so.
But then the young lover evaporated such dry thoughts from his head in an
instant. It was a good morning, the best he could remember for a while.

Eventually, Adam and Anna had made love to each other.
Firstly - awkwardly and quickly upon the bed but then, just as the woman was
about to leave, up against the wall. Adam showered her with hungry, purposeful
kisses, stroking and massaging her voluptuous body. Anna sighed sweetly,
musically, with pleasure as the cherishing lover ran his warm hand up her skirt
and stimulated her. Their feeling bodies, moans and her low purrs of satisfaction
were all the communication that was needed between them. They made love,
considerately, passionately. They pleasured each other. Her face, sweating,
singing, contorted was almost comic as Anna orgasmed. Beautiful. As if in
harmony, sensing his work was done, Adam heartily ejaculated in ecstasy and
relieved himself. Both panted. Anna still had her arms around his neck as Adam
gently kissed her stomach, breasts, nape and then mouth. The couple lovingly
looked each other in the eyes, appreciative, grinning, a little giggly and
embarrassed. For the next hour or so they just lay upon the bed, holding each
other, until Anna eventually left to go upstairs.
     

Duritz, unburdened and liberated, looked back not just on
the sex though with a fond expression upon his flushed semblance. They had
shared their thoughts and characters too. Anna had spoken of her plan to leave
the ghetto soon. She had gained friends, customers, in relatively high places.
She had saved up some money and could afford to go into hiding, or she could
become the full-time mistress to one of the high-ranking officials in the
Judenrat who she saw regularly. Adam agreed with Anna in that she could pass
herself off as Polish with the right papers. Anna was "good" looking
as the phrase went to describe a Jew who could pass themselves off as being a
gentile.

It was unclear who spoke first in regards to the topic - but
Anna criticised Duritz and the ex-policeman apologised for his treatment
towards the prostitute in their relationship before. She brought up how
attentive and different he had been when they first met and were lovers. But
then soon after he began to change, to be cold towards her and withdraw into
himself. She thought that they were beginning to mean something to each other.
He tried to explain that it was because he was feeling something towards her
that he had changed. The ghetto was not the place for attachments. But then
directly afterwards Duritz contradicted himself, as if it had dawned upon him
at that very moment, that if the ghetto wasn't a place for attachments, where
was? He told Anna how much he regretted his mistreatment of her - and the
sadness he felt at losing her friendship altogether.

Adam hesitantly asserted how he didn't want to now take
advantage of Anna for fear of losing her friendship again. "Maybe it'll be
the case that I'll be taking advantage of you," Anna replied with a
pretty, saucy expression and bouquet of laughter. The vodka helped. It had been
a long time since his chamber had welcomed such sights and sounds.

Adam’s face broadened and glowed as he remembered that
expression again, lying alone in bed with the striking woman on his mind. He
had said to her that he wasn't jealous, or looked down on her because of her
profession. Anna believed him because she knew he wouldn't lie. They decided to
just take it one day, night, at a time. Both somehow knew the precious value of
their second chance. Adam's pulse couldn't help but quicken, his heart leap
with prospective pleasure, in painting Anna into his future - even if the
future meant just another month. Finally Jessica was truly dead and thoughts of
her would torment Duritz no longer. But she had been dead to him before.

He stayed in bed for a couple of hours, uncommonly warm,
comfortable.

Yet, whether Duritz chose to hear them or not, the whistles
still shrilled, the dogs still barked and the grumblings of trucks continued to
resonate through the condemned streets outside.

An old classroom. Grey-green pieces of chewing gum were
still stuck in between some of the floorboards. Clusters of rhythmic, random
knocks and clicks sounded out across the room as small armies of chess pieces
were moved and taken. Privates and officers alike played, for recreation and
money. The men were off duty, tense and relaxed. Cigarette smoke strummed
through the air. The odd bottle of beer clinked or was guzzled upon. Collars
were undone. Conversations were as loud as it they were incoherent. Laughter
chugged out like smoke from a steam engine. A couple of fellows yawned, one because
he was tired, the other pretending to be exhausted to cover up an ignominious
defeat.

Thomas Abendroth and Oscar Hummel were in between games. The
last had been won by the Private. Oscar had sensed his friend had been
preoccupied throughout most of the match. The seasoned soldier had noticed the
increasing self-imposed isolation and black moods of his Corporal. He was not
just now worried for Thomas himself but also the effect on morale his behaviour
was having on the platoon.

"A bottle of beer for your thoughts."

"I fear that they're not worth that much."

"I hope then that you're not thinking upon your wife.
Remember that, more than any Reich or Fuhrer, you're fighting to get back to
your family. And for this platoon."

"I still can't quite decide whether I'm fighting for
everything or nothing. I'd kill for another beer though."

Oscar handed over another warm beer from their dwindling
supply. Thomas bit off the top and tossed it into the ashtray, already over
brimming with previous metal caps. He used to keep them for making the wheels
on the toy trucks and cars he produced - but not anymore. The Corporal cocked
his head back and, in two gulps, finished half of the bottle. His thirst was
quenched and left unsatisfied at the same time, half-soused and half
dehydrated. Increasingly drink was becoming the good soldier's vice, medicine.
It took the edge off of things.

Laughter burst out of a corner of the room from a trio of SS
personnel. They had just been told about the scene from the morning. Hans Free,
the self-appointed jester of their troop, had been up to one of his tricks
again (or at least everyone named him as the likely culprit). During the night
he had dressed one of the Jews up, who had been hanging in the old market
square, in a bowler hat and black jacket in imitation of Charlie Chaplin. He
had also fastened a cane over his stiff hand and coloured in the signature
moustache with boot polish. The singular piece of hilarity though and talking
point was the dry punch line written upon a wooden placard which hung around
the dead Jew's neck - "Gallows Humour".

Thighs were slapped and beer bottles clunked upon the table.
The young bacchants squealed with amusement. Oscar pursed his lips and made a
face in thinly veiled contempt. But what did the young know of manners,
restraint and virtue? They couldn't even remember what life was like before the
Reich, never mind what Germany was like before the Great War.

Their exuberance subsided when the numbers in the room
increased, as Lieutenant Kleist and a handful of his SS cronies made their
entrance. Sartorial in his uniform, handsomely tanned and clean shaven, the
officer seemed to have taken particular care in his appearance. He smiled and
nodded in appreciation at some of the men, instructing bottles of beer to be
given out by one of his entourage as he made his way through the room. A good
General should be conscious of morale - Caesar realised. He was glad to see the
men entertain themselves. It helped relieve the strain of the day's exertions.
Kleist approached a slightly bemused Thomas and Oscar. Dozens of heads appeared
to be on pivots as they traced the infamous officer's path down the room to
where Thomas Abendroth was sitting. What did he want with him? Had Thomas gone
too far in interacting and helping the Jews? Had someone informed on him? But
the platoon's unofficial commanding officer wouldn't be intimidated by the
ruthlessly efficient SS Lieutenant. It was no secret that Thomas, along with a
number of his fellow comrades from the Wehrmacht unit, was far from impressed
with some of the SS's methods and sadistic foot-soldiers.

"Heil Hitler," Christian equitably exclaimed as he
reached the pair, though it was clear he was addressing the Corporal. Thomas
and Oscar returned the salute and stood to attention. Both would feel acute
regret and the unease of cowardice for giving the salute later on that evening,
but they were wise enough not to wish to antagonise the fanatical SS officer.
Thomas met and tried to discern the Lieutenant's intentions from his expression.

"Please, sit down men," Christian said and smiled
pleasantly, politely allowing the men to sit first. Without having to ask for
one a chair was found and placed around the table for the Lieutenant. Christian
carefully removed his cap - handing it to the same duteous youth who had found
the chair - and smoothed his already well groomed hair before sitting. On
others Thomas thought that the Death's Head insignia looked ridiculous, a
child's badge, but upon Kleist the demonic skull exuded a more menacing
portent. The officer grinned, although his cold bright eyes remained discordant
from the rest of the amiable expression on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt gentlemen. Would you be so kind -
Oscar, isn't it? - as to excuse us? I wish to have a word with your Corporal in
private."

Oscar darted a look at Thomas, as if to receive instruction
from his Corporal to say he was okay with the situation. His friend replied by
smiling reassuringly at him and nodding that he was fine. Although Christian
was a little rankled by this old soldier's subtle gesture, that he should need
the authority and sanctioning of a Wehrmacht Corporal to question the request
of an SS officer, he refrained from showing it. He was pleased however to see a
couple of his SS comrades show their displeasure and superiority over the
Private by offering him certain disdainful looks. An awkward moment occurred as
Oscar got up and the horseshoe of the SS entourage blocked the Private's exit.
Yet, through the brawling look in his eye and his heavy-set figure, the SS line
gave way and Oscar earned a minor, petty victory. The old soldier smirked, not
only to display his satisfaction and further goad his despicable counterparts -
but so too Oscar pictured the enjoyment he would have experienced in teaching
the sick-minded bastards a lesson. Stripped of their uniforms they were just
spoiled brats or psychotics.

"That'll be all. You know your duties," Christian
issued sternly, disappointed in the backbone of his men and the way it
reflected upon himself - that an old grizzled Private could have shown them all
up. Nevertheless, as his unit departed, Christian again smiled at Thomas and
glanced at the chess board.

"I hear you are an accomplished player."

"I wouldn't go that far. I've been known to snatch the
odd draw in the face of defeat, but also the odd stalemate in the face of
victory."

Modesty was not one of Christian Kleist's strengths, the
afore he didn't particularly value it in others. Nor was he ever a fan of
self-effacing humour - but the Lieutenant could admire the swift originality
and wit of the reply. It served to remind him of Thomas Abendroth's history,
that he was no ordinary Wehrmacht soldier.

"To play for a stalemate should never be an option. One
must either win or lose. Chess is like war in that respect is it not
Corporal?"

"In that it can be a long drawn out affair when I play,
yes. But I can see your point."

Both men smiled, albeit differently, to themselves. They
both enjoyed the verbal sparring. Any open animosity shown would be ungentlemanly.
Both men were confident. Both were holding their own inner dialogues, as well
as being considerate in their conversation. Thomas knew that any ill-judged
word or piece of insolence could play right into the hands of the combustible
SS officer. Ultimately Kleist, his rank, held the upper hand. Yet how, perhaps
fuelled by the drink, Thomas wished to walk the tightrope and tarnish the image
of the monstrous Lieutenant - not only for his own personal satisfaction but so
too for the honour of his unit, who devoured the scene from sipping glances and
focusing their bat-like hearing in their direction.

"I do believe we have a meeting of minds here Corporal.
Would you like a game? I must ask you that you give me your best game, despite
my rank. Should I lose however I will then of course advise you to throw the
second match."

Thomas raised a corner of his mouth in a smile at the
officer's joke, but inside he was marshalling his resentment and wits to
commence battle with the Nazi. He still wondered about Kleist's intent, as
Kleist himself wondered if the intelligent Corporal would be able to discern
his true purpose in regards to their meeting. Christian was white, Thomas
black. After a few moves each and on Thomas' turn the Lieutenant commenced to
question - and distract - his opponent.

"I feel somewhat guilty Thomas - if I may call you
Thomas? - for I have a slight advantage over you I warrant. I attended the same
University as yourself when younger and, of course to only a small extent, I
feel like I know you already from reading your file and knowing of your
reputation through the college."