Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II (17 page)

“Oh yes, Thaddeus,” she said excitedly. “Is Fryderyk there with Thaddeus?”

Anna’s heart sank. She started to speak but nothing came out. She put her hand over the mouthpiece, breathing rapidly. She tried again. “No, Mrs.

Wawrzyn, your husband’s not here. My father didn’t come home last night. I was hoping you might know something.”

Silence.

“Mrs. Wawrzyn?” Anna picked up the small cut-glass hand from the shelf and turned it over, rubbing the smooth surfaces with her fi ngers. It was heavy and solid, its feel familiar and reassuring.

“I knew this would happen,” the woman sobbed. “When I heard you mention your father’s name, I hoped that . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Mrs. Wawrzyn, have you called anyone else?”

“Yes, I did. I . . . excuse me, I’m sorry. Yes, I called Felek, Fryderyk’s assistant. But he had no idea. He wasn’t invited to the meeting. He suggested I call the Rector at his home and I did, but there was no answer. I just don’t know.

Should we call the police?”

“The police? No! I mean, no, not yet. Don’t call them yet. Let me check into this. I’ll call you back . . . all right?”

“Oh, yes . . . thank you. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

“Mrs. Wawrzyn, this assistant of your husband, what’s his last name?”

“Felek? Oh, it’s . . . excuse me . . . I’ve been up all night and I can’t . . .

just a minute, dear. Here it is. It’s Slomak, Felek Slomak. Do you want his number?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Felek Slomak agreed to meet Anna inside the Mariacki Church at ten o’clock that morning. When Anna entered the cavernous basilica, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. The muted sunlight fi ltering through stained-glass windows at either end only partially illuminated the baroque interior, which smelled faintly of incense. She walked slowly down the Gothic nave, under the arched stone vaulting, glancing at the familiar blue and gold walls decorated with Matejko friezes. Her heels clicked on the ancient stone fl oor as she passed a group of 104

Douglas W. Jacobson

worshippers kneeling in front of the Chapel of Our Lady of Czestochowa with its image of the Black Madonna. Halfway up the nave she stopped and glanced around, spotting a thin, balding man with steel-rimmed spectacles sitting alone in a pew. She made a quick sign of the cross and slipped into the pew. “Mr. Slomak?” she whispered.

“Yes, Felek Slomak,” the man said, his eyes darting around. Several groups of people knelt in the pews at the front of the church, near the altar.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Anna said. “Have you found out anything?”

Slomak nodded then leaned close to her. Anna noticed beads of perspiration on his forehead. He spoke in a whisper. “I have a few contacts in the city government that I can trust. The few still left. I spoke with one of them right after you called.” He paused, glancing around a second time. “Your father . . .

along with everyone else who attended the seminar, was arrested by the SS.”

It took a moment to sink in. “Arrested . . . ?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kopernik.”

“Why?”

Slomak hesitated. “According to my contact, it may be the beginning of—”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Anna, I really don’t know.”

“What are you saying? . . . the beginning . . . I don’t understand . . .”

“The Nazis may have considered them a threat.”

“A threat? How could they feel threatened by some college professors?”

Slomak took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Mrs. Kopernik, I really don’t know. Let me check into it some more. I’ll—”

“Where have they been taken? What’s going to happen?”

He folded the handkerchief and put it back in his pocket. “I don’t know.

Neither did my contact. Give me a few days. I’ll contact you.”

“What can I do in the meantime? Who can I call? There’s got to be someone.”

Slomak touched her arm. “I know how you must feel, Mrs. Kopernik. But please try and understand. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no one you can call. The SS and the Gestapo have spies everywhere.”

Anna bit her lower lip. She felt like she would explode.

Slomak gathered his hat and coat. “I’ll contact you. You have my word. Give me a few days.”

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Anna sat in the church for a while after Slomak left, gazing at the majestic high altar at the east end. The immense three-paneled wood carving crafted by the Nuremberg master Veit Stoss was perhaps the fi nest example of Gothic art in all of Europe. Anna had known it her whole life, but she stared at it as though seeing it for the fi rst time. She studied the gilded fi gures of the Holy Family on the outer panels of the folded triptych then closed her eyes, recalling the scene on the center panel, her favorite, visible only on Sundays when the altarpiece was opened. The exquisite life-size fi gures of the Dormition of the Virgin depicted the graceful fi gure of Mary reclining into her fi nal sleep in the arms of the Apostles. It had always reminded her of her mother, a graceful soul ascending into heaven. Her father had sat with her on those Sundays . . .

She left the church and walked across the Rynek Glowny, glaring in contempt at the red swastika banner hanging from the town hall. She crossed the Planty and waited while a tram rumbled past. A large sign in the window of each car proclaimed,
Juden Verboten.
She thought about Irene and Justyn, and her anxiety deepened. Just a few days ago, the boy had been sent home from school in tears. Jews were now forbidden to go to school. She felt like she was suffocating, as if she were caught in the jaws of a giant vise squeezing the life out of her. Get control, she told herself. Get control and think.

She spotted a small café, went inside and ordered a cup of tea. Sitting quietly in a corner, she forced herself to concentrate. Going back to the university was unthinkable. The Germans would very likely shut it down soon anyway.

She stared into the cup and saw only darkness. She felt dizzy, nauseated. She closed her eyes and swallowed. Breathe . . . breathe. She took a sip of the tea.

One day at a time, she thought. Take it one day at a time and wait to hear from Slomak.

Chapter 18

On his way back to the barracks of the internment camp after the regiment’s morning calisthenics, Jan stopped in his tracks and stared into the late October sky, awestruck by the hundreds of enormous white and black birds thundering overhead. In a cacophony of whooping and fl apping, the fl ock of majestic Common Cranes headed south over the woodlands of eastern Hungary on the way to winter resting grounds in Africa.

“Spectacular isn’t it?” came a voice from behind him. It was Peracki.

Jan glanced at him and nodded, then looked back at the sky. “I remember reading about this when I was a boy. Never imagined I’d see it in the middle of a war.”

“Anything new from Tolnai about getting us out of here?” Peracki asked, wiping his face with a towel.

Jan shook his head. “No, nothing yet.”

“You must be getting to know him pretty well by now. What’ve you had, fi ve or six meetings?”

Jan smiled at his only remaining squadron commander. “Yeah, something like that. I’m getting tired of that apricot brandy he keeps in the desk drawer, but he sure loves to talk. He’s quite well educated, traveled all over Europe, loves music, literature, beyond me most of the time. But he’s been guarded about everything else.”

“Any chance of sending a message back home?”

“None. On that he’s been very clear. The borders are sealed, telephones and telegraphs are down. Poland’s cut off.”

They walked on in silence. Peracki jerked his thumb toward the rickety Night of Flames

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chicken-wire fence strung between thin wooden posts with a single roll of barbed wire strung along the top. “Say the word, Jan. You know the men will jump at the chance.”

Jan looked his friend in the eye. “I know they would, but what then? We’re foreigners in a neutral country under German infl uence—no horses, no passports, a thousand kilometers from France.” He glanced around, making sure they were alone. “It may come to that, Lech, but we’re not there yet. Tolnai has gone out of his way to keep us here, and he’s chosen to spend a lot of time with me. I don’t know what it all means, but for some reason I trust him.”

Peracki nodded and threw the towel over his shoulder. “Or, maybe he just wants someone to talk to.”

That night the tall German-speaking guard found Jan and said that Colonel Tolnai wanted to see him. This time, however, Tolnai was waiting for him outside. When the guard departed, the colonel motioned for Jan to follow, and they walked in silence to the main gate where the guard on duty unlocked it and pushed it open.

They walked out of the camp and about a hundred meters down a narrow dirt road cut through a dense stand of conifers. It was a clear night, under a full moon, the crisp autumn air pungent with the scent of pine. Tolnai stopped and turned toward Jan. “Fifty meters farther down the road you’ll come to a bridge. On the other side of the bridge, there’ll be an auto with a man inside who would like to talk to you.”

Jan glared at the colonel, wary.

Tolnai smiled. “Trust me, there’s no danger. Go. When you’re fi nished, walk back to the gate and the guard will let you in. Then come and see me.”

Before Jan could respond the colonel turned and started back to the camp.

Jan stood motionless, watching the colonel disappear up the road. Except for the night breeze rustling the pine trees, it was completely quiet. His hands were clammy, and he wiped them on his pants before continuing down the road. He crossed the one-lane plank bridge and spotted a black sedan parked off to the side. He approached the vehicle slowly, and when he got to the driver’s side window, he bent down and peered inside. A man with thick black hair looked up at him. Speaking Polish, the man said, “Good evening, Major.

Please come around to the other side and get in the car.”

Jan stood where he was. “Who are you?”

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Douglas W. Jacobson

“If you get in the car, you’ll fi nd out. Please, Major, I’m straining my neck looking up at you.”

Jan stepped around to the passenger side of the sedan and got in. The man behind the wheel smiled and extended his hand. “Major Kopernik, my name is ‘Ludwik.’ I am an offi cer with the Polish Free Forces under the command of General Sikorski.”

Jan didn’t respond. The man appeared to be about fi fty years old. He was slightly paunchy and was wearing corduroy trousers and a dark pullover sweater.

The man’s smile disappeared, and he folded his hands in his lap. “Major, I understand that this probably seems very strange to you, but—”

“That’s an understatement,” Jan snapped.

The man exhaled slowly. “Allow me to explain, if you would, please.”

“Go ahead.”

“Thank you. Now, Major, you have orders to get your men to France and join the Polish Free Forces. I’m here to help you do that.”

Jan’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s true. I have the means at my disposal to get you and your men into France.”

“When?”

“When you have completed a task for General Sikorski and the Polish Resistance.”

“The Resistance? What the hell would I know about that? I’m a soldier.”

“I’m well aware of the fact that you’re a soldier. So am I, and I’m here under the authority of General Sikorski. We’ve got a job that we need you to do.”

Ludwik started to reach into the back of the car, but Jan grabbed his arm, pinning it against the seat.

“Whoa, hold on, Major. I just want to get a briefcase.”

Still gripping the smaller man’s arm, Jan glanced into the rear of the car. A brown leather case was lying on the backseat. He released his arm. “Sorry, go ahead.”

“Perfectly understandable, Major. No problem.” Ludwik grabbed the leather case, placed it on his lap and looked at Jan. “Major, a little over a week ago, the SS conducted a
special action
in Krakow. They arrested over two hundred university professors and other prominent citizens and sent them to a concentration camp in Germany.”

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Jan stared at him.

“Among those arrested were two key Resistance operatives. A vital link in our communication network has been severed, and it is extremely important that it be re-established.”

Jan tried to concentrate on what Ludwik was saying but his thoughts drifted:

“university professors . . . prominent citizens of Krakow.” Anna’s father? . . .

Anna? . . .
No, don’t do that. Don’t . . .
He blinked and tried to focus on the man sitting next to him.

“Major? Are you all right?”

“Yes . . . I’m . . . Please, go on.”

“Well, as I said, it is vital that we re-establish the communication link in Krakow. You have been identifi ed as someone who can help us do that.”

“Me? How?”

“You speak fl uent German, as I understand.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And you’ve lived in Krakow; you know the city.”

“Just a couple of years—and I was away a lot . . . the military . . .”

“All the better. Less chance you’ll be recognized.”

“Recognized?”

“We want you to go to Krakow, Major. And deliver a package for us.”

Chapter 19

Anna walked into the Mariacki church and slid into the pew next to Felek Slomak. This time the church was practically empty. She spotted only two other people, a young couple kneeling at an altar in one of the side chapels.

As soon as she saw Slomak’s face she knew the news was bad.

“I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you before now,” he whispered, “but I wanted to be absolutely certain about your father.”

Anna realized she was holding her breath.

“They’ve been taken to a place called Sachsenhausen,” Slomak said. “It’s a prison camp in Germany.”

“Germany?” The word caught in her throat. Anna gripped the back of the pew. “What’s going to . . . ?” She couldn’t fi nd the words.

It took Slomak a long time to respond. “Anna, there’s something you need to know. Your father’s friend, Jozef Bujak, and the man I work for, Fryderyk Wawrzyn, were involved in the Polish Resistance.”