Karolina's Twins (9 page)

“Very few were awake when we clip-clopped into Chrzanów. The streets were empty as we reached the center of town and veered toward the northeast and to a run-down, tired area of apartment buildings and warehouses, where I believed my parents would have joined the displaced Jewish families.

“‘I can take you close, but I'd better not stray too far from my usual route,' Mr. Tarnowski said, and no sooner had he finished his sentence than a black sedan honked and motioned for us to pull over. Mr. Tarnowski looked at me and put his finger to his lips.

“A Wehrmacht officer got out of the car and walked slowly to our wagon. He was a tall, good-looking man dressed in his officer's uniform. He wore a peaked cap with its shiny black visor, golden braid and the silver flat-winged eagle, Germany's national symbol, over the green hatband. His long trench coat was open, revealing his olive tunic with padded shoulders, silver buttons, tall black collars and red waistband. His tunic was adorned with badges and medals. The officer was graying at the temples, clearly in his fifties, not one of the brash young soldiers who bullied their way around town.

“‘Ah, Herr farmer, so pleasant to see you out and about so early this morning.' He patted our horse on his neck. ‘But what are you doing on this side of town? Your products don't get delivered here.'”

“What did he mean by that?” Catherine asked.

“Milk, eggs, cheese—they were under strict ration and only could be purchased in certain stores. As I told you, Jews were not allowed to buy milk and eggs. Although I didn't know it at the time, the area we were approaching had been demarcated by the Germans as the Jewish ghetto.”

“So these Nazis stopped you from entering the ghetto?”

Lena nodded. “Only one Nazi, a ranked officer. He spoke politely to Mr. Tarnowski, not rudely as the other Germans I had encountered. Still, he was a German—frightening and not to be trifled with.

“‘What have you today, Herr farmer? Do you have a wagonload full of that wonderful cheese?'

“Mr. Tarnowski nodded. ‘
Ja,
Herr Oberst.'

“‘Mmm. I do like that cheese. It reminds me of my childhood in Bavaria. Will we see you at my house today for your usual delivery?'

“Mr. Tarnowski nodded, reached behind him, pulled out a chunk of white cheese and broke off a corner. ‘Mmm. So smooth,' the officer said as he took a bite. ‘I will see you later,
ja
?'

“‘
Ja.
'

“He turned to leave, walked a step and then returned. ‘How ill-mannered of me.' He flashed a disingenuous smile. ‘I did not offer my salutations to the young lady. Is she your daughter?'

“‘
Ja.
'

“The Nazi's smile broadened. ‘Ah, Herr farmer, you think you are fooling me. We know you do not have a daughter. We know you have a son, don't we? A son who is presently serving the Reich by building roads on the Eastern Front. No?'

“‘
Ja.
' Mr. Tarnowski's lower jaw shook.

“‘But alas, Herr farmer, no daughter. Do you know how I know this?'

“Mr. Tarnowski shrugged and shook his head.

“‘Because she's not in the census,' he said in a singsong tone. ‘You think we don't know who lives here in this cozy little town?' He looked at me, smiled and nodded. ‘You know what I think? I think maybe you are stepping out on your wife, Herr farmer. No?'

“‘No, no, Herr Oberst.'

“The officer pointed at me and held out his hand. ‘
Dokumente, bitte.
'

“I didn't want to show him my papers. I sat perfectly still. Frozen.

“‘He is asking for your papers,' Mr. Tarnowski said to me in Polish.

“I shook my head and held out my open hands. ‘No papers.'

“‘Tsk, tsk,' the Nazi said with a grin. ‘Where did you find this girl, Herr farmer?'

“‘I was hitchhiking,' I interjected in German. ‘He picked me up on Slaska Street. He doesn't know I don't have papers.'

“‘Hitchhiking? Is this true, Herr farmer?'

“Mr. Tarnowski lowered his head and nodded. ‘
Ja
.'

“‘Where did you come from and where are you going, little hitchhiker?'

“‘I'm from Lublin,' I said nervously. That's what I'd heard my father tell the Nazis in our home. ‘I was going to school there.'

“‘I do not believe you. The schools have been closed now for more than a year.' The officer looked at Mr. Tarnowski and waggled his finger back and forth. ‘You know, Herr farmer, I would be within my rights to shoot you right now for picking up hitchhikers that are probably Jews, isn't that so?'

“Mr. Tarnowski did not answer.”

“The officer raised his voice. ‘I said, isn't that so?'

“‘
Ja,
Herr Oberst,' he said softly. ‘That's so.'

“‘But then I would miss my weekly deliveries of cheese and butter, wouldn't I?' He chuckled, and I thought for the moment he was going to let us go. But he pointed at me and beckoned with his index finger. ‘Come along, little hitchhiker.' I grabbed my duffel and jumped down from the wagon and walked over to his car.

“Addressing Mr. Tarnowski, the officer said, ‘You are very fortunate that I am such a softhearted man. Perhaps, as a thank-you for my generosity, you will deliver an extra portion this week?
Ja?
'

“‘Oh,
ja,
Herr Oberst.'

“‘Now finish your deliveries and no more hitchhikers. I will see that the young Fräulein gets to the train station.'

“The Nazi, several inches taller than me, pointed at my duffel. ‘What have we here?' He fished through, saw only my clothes and pictures and gave it back to me. ‘Who are you really, young lady?' His tone was civil, but stern. ‘What is your name and where do you live?'

“At that point I figured what the hell, and I told him the truth. ‘I'm Lena Scheinman and I'm proud to be Captain Jacob Scheinman's daughter. I'm looking for my family. They were grabbed by your soldiers, treated very rudely and taken from our home two months ago.'

“‘Well, aren't you the spunky one?'”

Catherine interrupted. “Pretty bold. At seventeen years old, where did you find that courage? How did you keep it all together? I think I would have lost it during that episode.”

“I figured it was all over for me anyway. I was going to be sent somewhere and it didn't really matter.” Lena refilled her cup of tea. “Truly, I don't know what got into me. The officer then opened the back door to his Mercedes and motioned for me to get in. I slid into the backseat and we drove toward the northeast part of town. Just me and the colonel. The irony was not lost on me. I had just boldly asserted myself before a Wehrmacht colonel and now I was sitting in the backseat of his posh automobile, shined to sparkle like a mirror, with oblong chrome grille in the front and Nazi flags flying from the front fenders. People jumped out of the way as it rolled through town. German soldiers stopped to salute as we drove by. And here was little me, sitting on the soft leather seats by myself being chauffeured by a colonel.

“The colonel took off his cap and laid it on the passenger seat. ‘I know your father, Captain Scheinman. I briefly served with him at Galicia. He's a good man, your father, but he's a Jew.'

“‘It didn't bother you back then, when Jews were putting their lives on the line for Germany. Now your German soldiers break into our house, rough up my father, mother and my baby brother and arrest them.'

“‘You best watch yourself, spunky one. Times have changed. Jews are no longer respected by the Reich.' He shrugged. ‘It doesn't matter whether I agree. It's official policy.'

“‘Do you know where they took my family?'

“‘I don't know.' He tipped his head from side to side. ‘If they're still here in Chrzanów, and they're no longer in their house, then they're probably in the northeast section, where the Jews have congregated. Or they may have been transported to any number of places. They're supposed to treat former officers with respect, but it doesn't always happen. Tell me, Lena Scheinman, how did you wind up in Mr. Tarnowski's wagon this morning?'”

Catherine broke in. “You didn't tell him you were living at the Tarnowskis, did you?”

Lena shook her head. “No, I told him I was hitchhiking around town, looking for my parents. The answer made him laugh. ‘Ah, little hitchhiker, you're not being truthful,' he said. ‘You're protecting Herr farmer. That's courageous of you, but foolish. Lying to German officers will get you killed.' He paused and then he sighed. ‘This war is not even two years old and already I am tired of it.' He slowed his car. ‘Put on your armband before one of my soldiers stops you and shoots you. And when someone asks for your papers, don't say you don't have any. I'm taking you to the Shop. They need workers. This time, try to behave yourself.'”

“He didn't take you to the train?” Catherine asked.

Lena shook her head. “I got a reprieve. He took me to Rzeka Street, to a large two-story brick building with no windows. It had been a garment factory in earlier days, but I think it had been vacant before the Germans reopened it as the Shop. Two uniformed sentries stood guard at the front door. We parked and Herr Oberst led me to the door.

“In the large, cavernous interior, there were more than five hundred sewing stations. The noise was deafening, whirring away night and day. Hundreds of workers, mostly women, but also men and children, sat silently at their machines. At its peak in 1942, the Shop employed fifteen hundred workers.

“The colonel took me inside and introduced me to David, the young foreman of the business. ‘This is Lena Scheinman. She's got a lot of spunk, but I think she'll be a good worker. If she gives you any trouble, there's a transport to Gross-Rosen scheduled for Thursday.'

“‘Gross-Rosen? To the textile sub-camp?' David said.

“The colonel nodded. ‘They need seamstresses and cotton bailers. I think we're shipping eight hundred from Chrzanów.'

“‘You're taking all my workers. I'm down to twelve hundred here. How am I supposed to fill the requisitions?'

“The colonel shrugged. ‘I get my orders. I follow them just like you. More Jews are set to arrive here this week. I'll try not to send your workers. But beware, Chrzanów's ghetto is scheduled for demolition next year. Jewish deportations are to continue each month and I'll try to take workers out of the general ghetto population as much as I can. Thursday's group is lucky they're going to Gross-Rosen and not to Auschwitz or Buchenwald.'

“‘I don't know how they expect me to keep this plant running.'

“‘The Jews will all be deported, one way or another. Anyway, here is a feisty little one.' He gestured toward me. ‘I doubt she's done any labor in her life, but she's young and strong. Let me know how it works out.' And he left.

“I stood there with my duffel, taking in the sounds and sights of the Shop.”

“And thinking you should have stayed at the Tarnowski farm?” Catherine said.

“Maybe. But I still intended to find my family and Karolina. I actually felt fortunate. I didn't get arrested, I didn't get transported to some prison camp and nobody harmed me. I was standing in a garment factory staring at a good-looking manager. It could have been a lot worse.

“David was Jewish, seven years older than me, and he'd been apprenticed as a tailor. When the Nazis opened the Shop, they found David working in his tailor shop. They brought him over and appointed him as one of the managers. He did such a good job, they promoted him to general manager of the whole operation. By the time I got there, he was running the show, under the Nazis' watchful eyes, of course. It was his job to produce the daily requirements.

“Each day the Nazis would set their quota and David would tell them how many man-hours and bolts of cloth were required. If more people were needed than were already working, they'd send the young German soldiers out into town to round up additional workers. Inside the Shop, other German soldiers would walk around and prod the workers like Egyptian taskmasters. Each little area of the Shop had its own overseer. They railed about, pressuring the workers to increase their production. They screamed threats of deportation to labor camps, although they really had no authority.

“‘You are Captain Scheinman's daughter?' David said to me as he walked me to the far end of the building. ‘The man who owns the provision store at the edge of the square?'

“‘Used to own. The store was taken from us. So was our home. I don't know where they took my father or any member of my family.'

“David nodded his understanding. He was dashing. He had long black hair, flopped to the side in a cavalier manner, like Errol Flynn. His work shirt was rolled up to his biceps and open at the neck. And he had blue eyes. An Ashkenazi Jew with big blue eyes and thick lips. He was gorgeous.

“‘Do you know where my family is?'

“He shook his head. ‘I haven't seen your father in months, but then, I don't go outside this building very often. I sleep upstairs in a little office. As long as this place is in business, I'm not on the transport lists.'

“‘Is my mother working here? Hannah Scheinman? Have you heard anything about her or my family?'

“He shook his head again and then pointed to an empty station. ‘Do you have a sewing machine?'

“‘No. I don't know how to sew.'

“By his look, he caught the irony of having the highest ranking Nazi in Chrzanów bring a girl to the Shop who not only didn't own a machine but didn't know how to sew. ‘This is quite funny,' he said. ‘Apparently, you caught the eye of Colonel Müller. Most people who come here bring their sewing machines and their sewing experience. Girls who don't sew are sent to the labor camps. Or worse. Why didn't your mother teach you how to sew?'