Clara's War (24 page)

Beck had no sooner gone up through the trapdoor when I heard him mutter something about the sister-in-law, at which Julia let out a scream as if scalding water had been thrown in her face. ‘In my house? In my house? You and your whore can go to hell!'

‘How can we say no! She's blood!'

‘Not mine! And not yours! Are you crazy? She's seeing a Blue Coat. A Ukrainian. A policeman! And you trust her to keep her mouth shut? Mine and your daughter's lives in the hands of your whore? You care more for her than your own daughter? I know how much you care about me, but your own daughter, for crying out loud!'

Beck was calm. He simply asked, ‘You'd rather see her dead?'

‘Let the Blue Coat take care of her! She's descended from Polish aristocracy! He probably believes her. The liar.'

‘She was married to my brother!'

‘She might as well have been married to you! I've had enough! ENOUGH! You hear me!'

Julia ran to Ala's room and slammed the door shut. How could Beck have thought Julia would agree to letting the sister-in-law stay in the bunker? Julia, Klara and the sister-in-law in the same bunker. With Beck as well? There wasn't a bunker big enough for the four of them. I had never read any novel with situations like the ones we faced day in and day out.

Beck stuck his head in the bunker and said to Mr Patrontasch, ‘Help me. You have to convince her. You're the only one she'll listen to.' Mr Patrontasch knew he couldn't argue with Beck.

‘Come up here. Talk to her; I'll watch out for the trainmen.'

Patrontasch's wife leaned in to ask, ‘What are you going to say to her? What are you going to do?'

‘Beg. Beg and then beg some more.'

He climbed up the hatch after Beck.

With the trainmen still out, we had to take advantage of the time to cook some potatoes and empty the pails. So we went about our tasks while our ambassador went off to negotiate a peace treaty. Zygush took out his little penknife and threw it again and again into the dirt of the bunker. I knew it
annoyed everyone, but it was the only toy he had and nobody had the heart to ask him to stop. He knew when it was safe to play with the knife. And the other children knew not to ask to play with it.

The potatoes had been boiled and eaten and still Mr Patrontasch hadn't come back. When Beck was upset, he paced back and forth. He hadn't stopped since Patrontasch had gone to speak with Julia. The floor creaked in the exact same place every time. It was like a waltz. One two creak. One two creak. One two creak. Between Beck walking back and forth and Zygush throwing the knife in the ground, I thought the bunker would explode. Patrontasch didn't come down until an hour later.

He had been successful and Beck showed his gratitude with vodka. When Lola asked how he had convinced Julia, Mr Patrontasch said that he had at first tried to be reasonable, saying that it would be safer for everyone if the sister-in-law were in the bunker with them. He had argued that Beck's sister-in-law might become angry if they didn't let her in, in which case there would be a greater chance of her saying something to her policeman lover. He said Julia hadn't seemed to care what happened to her, to Beck, to us, to anybody. But then Patrontasch told her, ‘We've had our lives. But think of the children.' He told us that he didn't think Julia could take much more. Up until now she had been our well that never ran dry. There weren't enough words to describe her goodness. I loved Beck; he was our saint. But he wasn't a saint for his wife. What she endured from Beck, nobody ever went through.

 

I didn't know if Julia's argument with Beck had any effect on Klara. Or if it made Julia feel differently about Klara. All I knew was that a miracle happened. Klara had been standing up through the trapdoor asking Beck for something. Julia must
have seen them and asked if she could speak to her. Her voice was calm and pleasant. Usually the sight of the two of them in conversation would send her off into a rage. Beck didn't know what to do. He just left the women together and walked out of the room. I couldn't hear what they were saying. But I had never seen so many eyes and so many ears trained at the floor above us. Even if the SS had been upstairs, nobody could have been more still.

I knew our survival hinged on the relationship between these women. We never knew which way the door would slam. But I had to admit that really I just wanted to know what the two women were saying to each other. I was nosy. We all were. The affair had carried on, it had lasted for over 14 months by now. We never could talk about it openly. All I had got on the subject was a few words from Lola over a year ago: ‘Thank God he didn't choose me.' And that was it. We had chopped, boiled, eaten and digested every metre of ground taken or lost in the war. But the war between these two women had been fought in silence. Not a word had been said by the two former best friends. Before the war, a sin of this magnitude would have meant shunning and banishment. Now the final battle was taking place upstairs. I didn't know what to expect. Julia's fury had been directed for the most part at Beck. But I think she felt more injured by Klara. Beck's infidelity was expected by Julia, if not tolerated. It was like the arthritis that had deformed her hands. It was inevitable and had to be endured. But Klara had been a friend. As close as a sister. There was supposed to be a code between sisters. Something that went far beyond ‘for better or for worse'. Far beyond the mysterious yearnings of men and women that I did not understand. This was the code my grandfather talked about when he admonished Josek not to ‘send a girl up the chimney'. Julia's life, I had learned, was built on a
foundation of faith and loyalty. In all the times Julia was kind enough to invite me up to her kitchen table, she had never once spoken with me about her religion. She never said one word about her faith or told me she was saving us because she wanted to be a good Catholic. Such a thought, no matter how sincere, would never have occurred to Julia in a million years. The deepest precepts of her faith, kindness, charity, sacrifice, were so ingrained in her character that even the fears and anxieties which turned friends into enemies and neighbors into traitors couldn't turn Julia against us. Every day I could feel the anxiety coming off her like sweat, and yet she never wavered. She would have sacrificed her life for Klara and the rest of us. She had demonstrated that every day for the last 15 months.

Klara's legs dropped through the hatch. Her brother was there to help her down. She wiped tears from her face. Although none of us could be called radiant, for those first few moments her face looked like that of a young girl's. Free of worry. She moved to her spot and sat with her legs lined out in front of her and her back against the wall. She didn't say a word about what she and Julia had talked about. And not one of us asked her. Everything we needed to know was written in her face.

 

Later, Mr Beck put his head down into the bunker and called Zosia to come up. She looked at Mama and me for help. I had heard the sister-in-law come in and I wondered what Beck was up to. But we both nodded for her to go up. Beck had always been like the uncle that spoiled her, calling her pet names, stroking her blond curls with his rough hands, always an extra piece of candy for her. Zosia had learned two lessons in the bunker: the virtue of silence and the virtue of Beck. Mr Beck picked her up from Patrontasch. ‘C'mon, Zoskia, I have somebody for you to meet.'

We could hear Beck say, ‘Zoskia, this is my sister-in-law. Her
name is Mania and she might come and stay with you downstairs for a while.' We had never known what her name was. That she shared the same name as my sister seemed unfair. I refused to think of her as a Mania. In deference to Julia, I promised only to call her the sister-in-law. Beck went on, ‘Out of all of you downstairs, I thought she would like to meet you the most.'

The sister-in-law's voice, which I had come to think of as brassy, suddenly went soft. ‘It's so nice to meet you. What a pretty girl you are.'

Beck quietly said, ‘Zoskia, can you tell Mania how you came to live downstairs?'

When I heard the question, everything stopped. Zygush's brown eyes were focused on the spot underneath his feet. He had vowed to protect his little sister and I knew he wanted to be upstairs with her. I was frightened for Zosia and angry at Beck. How could he make her remember? She was quiet for a while. I had heard some of the story from Zygush. And Beck had pieced together the remaining sequence of the last days of the ghetto, Uchka's death and the little ones' odyssey. But never had I heard any of it from Zosia's voice.

Beck's voice was even softer. ‘It's all right, dear, go ahead.' She had barely said anything in the last year and the little she did say was hardly more than a syllable. More often than not, she simply nodded her head, yes or no. I had forgotten how melodious her voice was. Hearing it again called me back in time to the days when she had been just learning to talk. I'd walk into her house without knocking and little Zosia would call my name over and over in delight: ‘Clarutchka, Clarutchka.' Then she'd jump in my arms.

She started, ‘Mama was crying and smiling and she picked me up. She said we were going to stay somewhere else for a while. She carried me next door and up the stairs to the attic.
She told us it would be better and safer for us. She gave me a piece of bread. Then she said she'd come back soon. She kissed me all over and told Zygush that he was the man now and to take care of me. She said she'd be back soon and kissed me all over again. Then she went away. But she didn't come back like she promised. I cried. I cried so much…'

Mama couldn't stand it. Her face was buried in her hands and Zygush was crying. So was I. Her voice filled the bunker with memories of Uchka, who was so alive in her daughter's mind.

But Mama didn't come back. We waited days and she still didn't come for us. Zygush told me not to cry, but I couldn't stop. I missed her. I was so scared. I heard guns all the time and people screaming and I was afraid it was Mama. I was afraid she'd be shot like everybody else. Then Uncle Dudio came. He said Mama was here and for Zygush to take me. Dudio said there would be lots of friends to watch out for us and not to be scared. Zygush wouldn't leave the attic until he wrapped all the underwear around him. That made Uncle Dudio laugh. We walked by the big church and heard the singing. Then we came here. But Mama wasn't here. Clarutchka told me that Mama was with Auntie Rosa and that I'd see her soon. I really want to see my mama.' I heard her voice catch and I knew her cheeks would be wet when she came downstairs.

The sister-in-law said, ‘A brave girl. I don't think I've ever met such a nice and brave girl.' I now understood why Beck had brought Zosia upstairs. He wanted the sister-in-law to know exactly whom she would be betraying if she informed on us. He didn't trust her entirely and had wanted to ignite her conscience before allowing her to live with us. Zosia was the match. He gave Zosia a piece of candy and lifted her down to me. As I helped her back down into the bunker, Zosia said the lady was nice.
The memory of her mother was still in her eyes. I could see Uchka there.

The weather had got suddenly warm and with the warmth came the expected invasion of fleas. When there was light, at least we could pick the fleas off each other. The children excelled at this task. Zygush and Zosia would be kept busy for hours, their eyes squinting, almost cross-eyed in concentration. I could tell by the way that Lola and Artek picked the fleas from each other that there was growing affection between them. I didn't know if I was the only one to have noticed what was happening between them, but I did know that Lola would never allow herself or Artek to be compromised in any way in our tiny society. They had found each other, and I was glad for them. Lola had become a kind of surrogate sister to me. Any happiness she could find made me happy too.

 

At the beginning of April, bringing down some food Beck informed us that Von Pappen had ordered all the
Volksdeutsche
to leave. They were needed in Germany to work. He said Beck and Ala were exempted because of their work at the alcohol depot and the post office. But Von Pappen had told him that if they wanted to, they could go. Over the past month, we had heard Beck tell us that almost every family, every friend, every acquaintance the Becks had were on one train or another. But still the Becks stayed. And even though Ala was not leaving on the train, she still went to the station every time to watch it head west. If she went to see it off, I knew how much she wanted to be on it.

The war would end in a matter of months. We knew that. We didn't know if we would be discovered or liberated first. It was a race to freedom or death. And as the pressure built on the Becks with the news of every Russian advance and German retreat,
Ala knew time was running out for her as well. She was free, young, beautiful. While we were trapped, she had no reason except her goodness to keep her in Zolkiew. As Beck went upstairs, I sat with the knowledge that as much as the Becks had our lives in their hands, they had put their lives in ours. I didn't even know if I could look Ala in the eye now.

 

The trainmen had gone out and we heard a knock on the trapdoor. When Patrontasch opened the hatch, we were surprised to see that it was Julia. In her hands were two trays. Potatoes of course. And then we recognized the smell of meat. Somewhere she had found a piece of veal and had roasted it. I was starving. I wanted the veal, but I knew I would pay for it worse than I had with the apples last year. Potatoes. Potatoes and bread. It was all my stomach could tolerate. I was tempted by the delicious aroma of roasted meat with the slightly crusted edges, but it would be insanity for any of us to eat it. Eighteen people with diarrhoea–which would inevitably result–in a house full of Nazis and only sporadic times when we could empty the pails.

On the other tray was a small roasted chicken neck, a bowl of salt water, some bitter herbs and a tiny bowl of apple mixed up with crushed walnuts. All the ingredients for a Seder. Where she had found them was a mystery. We had known that it was Passover. Papa kept the calendar with religious commitment. But Julia had remembered for us too, and for that we were grateful.