Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II (18 page)

“What?”

“The AK
,
Armia Krajowa,
it’s a Resistance movement, just getting started—

Bujak and Wawrzyn were involved.”

Anna’s mind was a blur. What was he talking about?

“I don’t know about your father, but it probably wouldn’t matter. If the Gestapo knew about Bujak and Wawrzyn, his association with them would be enough to—”

“Good God, is that why they were arrested?”

Slomak shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. According to my sources the arrest was what the Germans call a
sonderaktion—
a special action—to elimi-nate intellectuals and people of infl uence. It’s happening all over the country.”

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“Then what’s all this about the Resistance?”

“From what I’ve been able to fi nd out, the Gestapo knew about Bujak and Wawrzyn. They would have been arrested soon anyway.”

Anna’s eyes drifted to the front of the church and the magnifi cent high altar.

She had heard that the Germans planned to remove it and take it to Germany.

Tears fi lled her eyes, blurring the image. She could feel her father’s presence, sitting next to her as he had on so many Sunday mornings, gentle and kind, always there, always. “He’s not coming back, is he?”

Slomak shook his head, wordlessly.

They left the church and walked across the Rynek Glowny. There was a November chill in the air, and the sky was heavy with steel-gray clouds. It was a little after four o’clock in the afternoon, and the vast square was bustling with people hurrying to buy whatever meager supplies they could fi nd before the shops closed.

Slomak knew a pub just off the other side of the square and they slipped inside. They were the only patrons. He ordered a glass of wine for each of them, and they sat in silence until the elderly proprietor brought the glasses and disappeared into the back room.

Anna took a sip. She could hardly swallow it.

Slomak set his glass on the table and leaned forward. “Anna, you should get out of Poland.”

She blinked and sat back in her chair. “What are you talking about?”

“I think you should get out of Poland.”

“Felek, that’s crazy.” She looked to see if the proprietor had come back in the room. He hadn’t. She lowered her voice. “It’s not like any of us can just get on a train and leave, you know.”

“I know.” He held the stem of his wineglass between his thumb and forefi nger, staring at the red liquid inside. “But . . . there are ways.”

“Felek, you’re scaring me. Am I in danger?”

Slomak hesitated then looked up. “Yes, it’s possible you are.”

“What?”

“Anna, no one knows what these people might do. But we’re fi nding out every day that they’re capable of atrocities no one dreamed were possible.” He locked eyes with her. “Right now, they may not know you’re Dr. Piekarski’s daughter—”

“Oh, God!”

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Douglas W. Jacobson

He reached over and touched her hand. “Anna, I don’t think they know, but I certainly haven’t asked anyone. I wouldn’t use your name.” He glanced at the door to the back room. They were still alone. “My sources have told me that the Gestapo are tracking down the families of anyone even remotely connected with the Resistance. They’re very thorough. I think they’ll eventually put it together.”

“But why would they bother with me? I’m nobody.”

“Anna, they’ve shot people for walking on the wrong side of the street, you know that. You’re the daughter of a prominent law professor, a well-known Polish patriot who has close ties to people active in the Resistance—and you’re the wife of a Polish cavalry offi cer. Think about it.”

For two days Anna wandered through the apartment, mired in the muck of what could only be a bad dream. She shuffl ed back and forth, from the tiled kitchen through the hallway into the parlor, slumped onto the brown velvet sofa and stood in front of the leaded-glass window, staring at the street below, pondering the situation. Irene and Justyn had moved in with her. Janina had gone home to her mother. Would it make a difference? Were they safe from Gestapo thugs tracking down families? She lay awake at night, waiting for a pounding on the door. She thought about her father and cried. She thought about Jan and cried. She thought about Slomak—about getting out of Poland—and it overwhelmed her. Could she trust him? What did she really know about him?

Then, in the evening of the second day, the dream ended and reality smacked her in the face. She walked into the kitchen and found Irene sitting at the table, staring ashen-faced at the newspaper. Irene stood up and handed her the paper. The announcement was printed in red ink.

Effective immediately

all Jews over the age of nine are ordered to wear a white armband marked with a yellow star of Zion on the right sleeve of their inner and outer garments. Any Jew not wearing a star will be executed on the spot.

Hans Frank, Governor

General Government of Poland

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Anna sat heavily, rereading the announcement. She glanced up at her friend.

“Irene, I don’t know what to say.”

Irene leaned against the tiled wall, staring at the fl oor. Her voice was barely audible. “There’s something else.”

Anna waited.

“I haven’t told you . . . but I think . . .” Irene folded her arms across her chest. There were tears in her eyes. “I think I’m pregnant.”

Anna exhaled slowly, dropping the paper on the table.

Irene sobbed. The tears streamed down her face.

“How far along are you?”

“Three months, maybe. I’m not sure.”

Anna stood up and stepped over to her friend, taking her hands.

“Anna . . . this baby . . . what will happen?”

“You’re going to be just fi ne, dear. Don’t worry. Justyn and I are right here with you. We’ll—”

Irene jerked her hands away and backed toward the doorway. “Don’t worry?

Anna! For God’s sake!” Her face was red. She began to tremble, spitting out the words. “I’m a
Jew!
They’ll probably . . . they’ll . . . Oh God!” She slumped to the fl oor, burying her face in her hands.

Anna got down on her knees and held her friend in her arms. Tomorrow she would call Slomak.

Chapter 20

Slomak was waiting for her outside the church. “Let’s walk,” he said. “It’s safer.” It was noon and the Rynek Glowny was busy. They melted into the crowd.

“Where are we going?” Anna asked.

“Just keep walking,” Slomak said. “The Gestapo arrested Mrs. Bujak and Mrs. Wawrzyn last night.”

Anna stopped and stared at him.

Slomak took her arm. “Please, keep walking, Anna.” They walked across the vast square toward the massive Renaissance Cloth Hall. Slomak continued, “Bujak’s son and his family were staying with Mrs. Bujak. They were also arrested.”

Anna could hardly breathe. Arrested? Last night? She thought about Irene and Justyn back at her apartment and stopped again. “Felek . . . do they know about me?”

He turned and stepped close to her, whispering. “I don’t know, but it’s only a matter of time. You’ve got to get out.”

“Get out? Get out of where? Krakow? Poland? What the hell are you talking about?”

Slomak glanced around. Anna saw fear in the eyes behind his thick glasses.

He took her arm again. “Keep walking—and keep your voice down.”

They walked around the Cloth Hall and crossed the tree-lined Planty.

Slomak handed her a slip of paper. “Go to this address and see a man named Di Stefano; he’s expecting you.”

Anna stopped and grabbed the sleeve of Slomak’s coat. “Felek, this is crazy!

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You’re scaring the hell out of me. Who is this Di Stefano? What’s this all about?”

Slomak took a deep breath. “His name is Mario Di Stefano. He can help you. That’s all I can say.”

“Help me? Help me with what?”

Slomak took her hand. His eyes were intense. For the fi rst time she realized she was actually taller than he was. “Anna, listen to me. You’re in danger.

You’ve got to get out. Di Stefano can help you. Go and see him.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Now? Felek . . . Good God . . . I . . .”

“Right now, Anna. Don’t waste any time.”

Anna was still shaking when she got off the tram on Ulica Rakowicka. She turned the corner onto Grochowska and looked for the address Slomak had given her. It was at the end of the block, a gray three-story apartment building. The row of buttons had names below them. She pushed the one marked
Di Stefano.
The buzzer sounded, and she pushed open the heavy wrought-iron door. As she stepped into the foyer, a door opened across the way and a handsome, dark-haired man wearing an expensive-looking gray suit stepped out.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Kopernik. Please come in.” He spoke Polish with an Italian accent.

He ushered her into a small but well-appointed room. In the center stood a round mahogany table and four chairs on a red oriental rug. Two upholstered chairs stood on either side of the only window. On her left was a sideboard with a silver tea service.

The man took Anna’s coat, laid it over one of the upholstered chairs and offered her a seat at the table, which was covered with thick folders. “Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs. Kopernik. My name is Mario Di Stefano. I am in charge of a special diplomatic mission to Poland on behalf of the government of Italy.”

Anna glanced around the small room.

“Our offi ce is actually in Warsaw,” Di Stefano added, “but since I come to Krakow every week, I have found it convenient to keep a second, smaller offi ce here. May I offer you some tea, or coffee, perhaps?”

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Anna shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Di Stefano smiled and sat down across from her. “Mrs. Kopernik, the government of Italy is trying to maintain relations with Poland under what we all realize are extremely diffi cult circumstances.”

Anna remained silent.

Di Stefano leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “Regardless of any opinions you may have about Italy, Mrs. Kopernik, let me assure you that, at the present time, our offi cial policy toward the confl ict between Germany and Poland is one of neutrality. The people of Italy are sympathetic with the plight of the people of Poland, and in certain cases we can offer our assistance.”

“Assistance? Certain cases? I’m afraid I’m not following you Mr. Di Stefano.”

“I know your father, Mrs. Kopernik.”

It took her breath away. “My . . . father?”

Di Stefano leaned forward, smiling. “Yes. I met your father, Dr. Piekarski, two years ago, at the European Law Symposium in Rome.”

Anna had a fl icker of recognition. She remembered her father talking about the trip.

Di Stefano continued. “We served on a committee together, and we have corresponded occasionally since then.” His expression darkened. “I was deeply disturbed when I heard the news of his arrest from Mr. Slomak.”

“He told you about that?”

“Yes. He knows about our diplomatic mission here and has made other referrals. When he brought up your name and told me about the arrests at the university, I became curious. Eventually your father’s name came up, and of course, I told him I would meet with you immediately.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand, Mr. Di Stefano. Referrals for what?”

He smiled. “Mr. Slomak is even more discreet than I imagined. He didn’t tell you?”

Anna shook her head.

“Mrs. Kopernik, I can arrange a travel visa for you to Italy.”

Anna stared at the Italian diplomat, not sure that she understood what he had just said.

Di Stefano waited for a moment then elaborated. “The government of Italy is offering a limited number of travel visas to certain citizens of Poland. The purpose of our diplomatic mission here is to facilitate the process. Obviously, we Night of Flames

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cannot accommodate everyone who might want to come, so we are operating on a very confi dential, referral basis.”

“Italy? I’m sorry, I don’t . . .” She didn’t know what to say. Nothing made sense.

“From Italy you could go anywhere in Europe,” Di Stefano said.

Anna sat back in the chair, rubbing her temples. Could they do it? Just . . .

leave? She thought about Irene and Justyn and looked at the man across the table. “Mr. Di Stefano, this is . . . overwhelming . . . but . . .”

“But?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I have a very close friend. She just lost her mother and has no other family.

Our husbands are serving together in the cavalry. My friend has a ten-year-old son. I couldn’t leave them.”

He looked at her for a long moment then nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Kopernik.

I will also accommodate your friend and her son.”

“They’re Jewish, Mr. Di Stefano.”

Di Stefano was silent for a moment. “I see. Well I’m sure we can still—”

“My friend’s passport and identifi cation papers have been stamped with a J.

I can’t risk any surprises when we get to Italy.”

“Our government is not anti-Semitic, Mrs. Kopernik. They will be welcome.”

“Will the Germans let them out of Poland?”

He leaned forward, clasped his hands on the table and exhaled slowly.

“That, of course, is the question, isn’t it?” He paused, glancing at the folders on the table. “They will be traveling with legal visas issued by the government of Italy. We have issued these to other Jews who have successfully entered our country.”

“All of them?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Kopernik. But I will be honest with you—I doubt that they all made it.”

Anna closed her eyes. Visions of the German soldiers and muzzled dogs at the train station in Ostrowiec fl ashed through her mind.

Di Stefano waited until she looked at him. “I am confi dent that your friends will have no problem with the Italian immigration authorities. I’m also quite sure that they will not have a problem with the Polish police. Even the German Wehrmacht will probably not bother them. The unknown, of course, is the SS.

One never knows where they will show up or what they will do. There’s no 118