The Kommandant's Girl (21 page)

The Kommandant rolls over onto his back, hands clasped behind his head. I cannot help but look at his naked torso. Though I have calculated that he must be nearing fifty years old, he is as trim and fit as a man half his age. His chest is muscular and his stomach has no sign of a paunch. “I have always regretted not having children,” he says.

“Perhaps you still may,” I offer. “It’s not too late.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees. “Do you want children, Anna?”

“Of course,” I answer quickly. But not with you, I think. I want them with my husband.

He places his arm around me again, drawing me close. I rest my head on his shoulder. “Thank you for staying last night. It’s nice to wake up with you here.”

“Well, with the competition and all. I mean, I’m sure the baroness would have stayed.” I mean the words as a joke, but they come out sounding jealous, insecure.

The Kommandant turns toward me again, his face inches from mine. “I’m sorry about that,” he says. “I never meant to hurt you. There’s no one else.” His eyes are wide and sincere. “When Margot died, I thought I could never feel anything for anyone ever again. And I didn’t, until you. For the first time in two years, I am glad to wake up in the morning, and it’s because of you. You are the only person I can trust. I love you, Anna.”

I am stunned. I do not know what to say. “And I, you,” I manage to say finally, swallowing hard.

“Oh, Anna,” he says, drawing me close and kissing me. Several minutes later, we pull apart again. “I can make us coffee,” he offers, sitting up. “I have some bread and cheese for breakfast, or I can order something in.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I really must get home. It’s late. There are chores to be done for Krysia, and Lukasz will be missing me.”

“I understand,” he replies, his eyes warm. “Stanislaw will drive you home.” I dress quickly and kiss him goodbye. Outside, I slip gratefully into the Kommandant’s car. I had considered declining his offer and taking the bus, but I am too embarrassed by my tousled hair and the fact that I am wearing the same clothes from yesterday.

A few minutes later I walk through the front door of Krysia’s. She is in the kitchen, trying to feed Lukasz a bowl of cereal as he plays in his high chair. “Good morning,” she says without reproach.

“I’m sorry to have left without telling you,” I say. “It was…unexpected.”

“It’s okay. I got your note. You made up with Richwalder, I take it.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I told you he would not stay mad, I can almost hear her thinking. “Would you like some breakfast?”

I shake my head. “No, thank you. I should get dressed.”

She studies my face carefully. “Did everything go all right?”

“Sort of…” Krysia shoots me a questioning look and I hesitate, wondering how much to say. “I was able to get around after he was asleep and I found a drawer with a false bottom. It may be nothing,” I add quickly, not wanting to get her hopes up. “The Kommandant woke up before I had the chance to see what was inside.”

A look of concern passes across Krysia’s face. “You’re lucky you weren’t caught. Are you going to try again?”

I drop to the chair beside Krysia. “Yes, as soon as possible.”

“Good.” She stops feeding Lukasz long enough to pour some juice into an extra glass that is sitting on the table. “I know that Alek will be very glad to have whatever you can find,” she adds, handing me the glass.

“Have you spoken with him?”

Krysia shakes her head. “Not directly, only through intermediaries.” She turns to face me directly. “Emma, listen. I don’t want to worry you, but you need to know for your own protection—there are troubles in the resistance right now.”

My hand, still holding the glass, freezes midair. “What is it? Is Jacob okay?”

“He’s fine, and so are Alek and the others whom you know,” she replies quickly. Relieved, I set the glass down, forcing myself to swallow the mouthful of juice that seems to have stuck in my throat. Krysia continues, “But a group of resistance fighters were picked up by the Nazis at a train station just south of Kraków a few nights ago. Alek and the others now believe that there is a leak in the resistance.”

“An informant?”

“Yes. There is no other way the Nazis could have learned of the location of that group, the exact time they would be meeting. Whoever gave out the information had inside knowledge of resistance operations. Which means that he or she likely knows everything.”

“Everything,” I repeat, swallowing hard. My true identity, the work I am doing. All of us—not just me, but Krysia, Lukasz, Jacob, my parents—are in jeopardy.

“I’m telling you this so that you will know to be careful, even more so than usual. You must be on your guard at all times.” She takes Lukasz from his high chair and sets him on the ground. He runs to me and I scoop him up and place him on my lap. As he babbles, I run my fingers through his tangled blond curls, thinking about what Krysia has said. A leak. I picture in my mind the faces of the resistance members I know. It seems unfathomable that any of them could be traitors. Krysia stands and begins to clear the dishes from the table. “Perhaps you should hold off on looking for anything further right now, while things are so dangerous.”

“Perhaps,” I reply, not wanting to worry her. The truth, I know, is exactly the opposite. If there is an informant in the resistance, it is only a matter of time before my identity is revealed to the Kommandant—before this elaborately constructed charade implodes beneath us. My mission has become more urgent than ever. I have to find the information for the resistance and get out before it is too late.

K
rysia’s warning echoes in my head as I make my way into the office the next day.
Be careful
. But time is of the essence. The resistance needs whatever information the Kommandant has. And if my identity is about to be betrayed by an informant, I do not have much time. When will I be able to get into the Kommandant’s study again? I wonder. Our rendezvous after he left the baroness last night was impromptu and we do not have any dates planned. As I work, I try feverishly to come up with a plan to get into his apartment once more.

The Kommandant is in meetings all day and I do not see him until nearly five o’clock when he calls me into his office. “Here,” he says in a businesslike tone, handing me a large stack of papers and files without looking up. There is no indication of the intimacy we shared the night before. For a moment I worry that he has learned, or suspects something. But then, remembering the genuine affection in his eyes as he held me the night before, I know that things are not likely to have changed so soon. Rather, I decide, he is just preoccupied with work.

I linger awkwardly by the side of the desk as he works, hoping that he will say something about the previous night or perhaps suggest getting together again. “That will be all,” he says a moment later, as though he had forgotten I was there.

He’s not going to ask me out, I realize, my heart sinking. I start for the office door, then stop. There is no time. I must be bold. Taking a deep breath, I turn back toward the desk. “Herr Kommandant…” I venture softly.

He looks up. “Yes, Anna, what is it?” he asks. His voice is gentle, but I detect a note of impatience.

“About last night…” I move closer to the desk, dropping my voice even lower.

“Yes?” A look of surprise crosses his face. We have seldom spoken of our affair at the office and I certainly have never brought it up. I wonder if he will be suspicious if I say too much.

I decide to press on. “Last night was very nice,” I manage to say.

He smiles. “I agree. I’m very glad you finally decided to stay.” He reaches out and touches my forearm. A jolt of electricity shoots through me.

I continue, “I know this may be rather forward of me, but the orchestra is playing a program of Bach tonight and I was wondering…” I allow my voice to trail off, drop my eyes.

“I would love to take you to the symphony, Anna,” he replies, his voice sincere. “I’m flattered that you would ask. But I have an official dinner tonight, and I have to travel to Warsaw tomorrow morning first thing for a day of meetings. Perhaps over the weekend…?”

“Of course.” I try to keep my voice even. How foolish of me not to have checked his schedule! “I understand.”

“I will be thinking of you the entire time,” he promises, raising my hand to his lips. I nod and carry the stack of papers from the room.

As I walk from the castle that evening, my mind races. My attempt to get back in the Kommandant’s apartment failed. Was I too bold? Did he suspect something? No, I decide, he was genuinely pleased that I asked. Something else is nagging at me, though. It is a sense of rejection, I realize with surprise. I am actually a bit hurt that the Kommandant did not accept my invitation. Don’t be ridiculous, I scold myself as I board the bus for Krysia’s house. Your asking him out was simply part of the mission. But even as I tell myself this, I am unsettled by my feelings. It’s like the baroness all over again, I think, remembering my jealousy of a few days ago. Why am I letting him affect me in this way? You’ve got to get your head out of this. Anyway, he had a good reason for declining: the dinner and the trip to Warsaw.

My head snaps up. The Kommandant is going to Warsaw tomorrow. He’ll be out of town all day. Perhaps I can get into his apartment while he is away and look around for the information in the daytime. It would be the perfect opportunity. My mind races. I need an excuse to get inside the apartment. I consider offering to drop off papers at the Kommandant’s apartment again, as I did the first time we were together, but there won’t be any real need to do so while the Kommandant is gone. No, if I’m to get into the apartment, it will have to be without anyone knowing. The key, I remember suddenly. There is an extra key to the Kommandant’s apartment somewhere in his office. I’ve seen Diedrichson give it to one of the office messengers in order to drop things off during the day sometimes. If I can obtain the key, I can enter his apartment.

I get off the bus and begin walking up the road to Krysia’s house, still devising my plan. I’ll go to work early, take the key out before Malgorzata arrives and sneak over to the apartment during lunch. Diedrichson will be with the Kommandant in Warsaw, so he won’t notice the key is missing. At the front gate, I pause, the weight of what I am about to do crashing down upon me. This is taking the mission to a whole new level, not just sneaking around the Kommandant’s at night, but actually breaking and entering. If I am caught, or even seen…I shudder. There is no other choice.

The next morning I arrive at work at a quarter to eight. I have calculated my arrival exactly early enough to beat Malgorzata in, but not so far ahead of my usual schedule as to arouse suspicion with the guards at the gate. The corridors are largely empty, except for a few officers who seem not to notice me. I unlock the front door to our office, then the anteroom. I pause at my desk to put away my bag, picking up some papers so as to look like I have reason to be in the Kommandant’s office in case Malgorzata arrives and sees me. I am hoping not to be in there that long. I race into the Kommandant’s office and walk quickly to the desk. I pull open the top drawer, searching for the key among the well-ordered rows of pens and other office supplies. It’s not here, I think, panicking. I reach deeper into the drawer. Suddenly, my fingers close around a small piece of cool metal. Sighing with relief, I pull out the key

There is a sudden creaking noise outside the office. I jump. Malgorzata, I think, recognizing her heavy, plodding footsteps in the anteroom. I shut the drawer quickly and tuck the key into the pile of papers just as the office door opens. “Oh, Anna, it’s you,” Malgorzata says, sounding disappointed.

“Who were you expecting?” She does not answer. “I thought I’d get an early start today with the Kommandant out of town,” I continue, reciting the alibi I had rehearsed. “There’s a lot of correspondence to be done and I need to run out for some errands at lunch.”

“Oh, okay,” she replies matter-of-factly. “Why don’t you let me help?” She takes a step toward me and points to the stack of papers I am carrying.

“N-no, thank you,” I stammer, drawing the papers closer to me. I envision her trying to take the papers from me, both of us watching as the key drops to the ground. “The Kommandant asked me to handle these letters personally.” I watch her face fall at this lie. Immediately, I feel a stab of guilt. Malgorzata already knows that she is a distant second to me in the Kommandant’s eyes, that she does not share in his confidence and trust. Reminding her of that fact is hurtful of me, but I have no choice. “It would be great if you could handle some of the filing, though, today,” I offer quickly.

“Certainly.” She smiles, her posture straightening. As she turns and leaves the office, I think, not for the first time, that she really just wants to feel useful.

At noon I take my bag and walk from the anteroom to reception. “I’m off for my errands,” I say brightly.

Malgorzata nods. “I’ll stay here and go to lunch when you return, in case the Kommandant or Colonel Diedrichson should phone from Warsaw.”

“An excellent idea.” I knew that Malgorzata was going to suggest this. Though no one had ever asked her, Malgorzata considered it her duty to make sure the phone was manned at all times when the Kommandant was out of town. I suspect that she secretly fantasizes about him calling on an urgent matter while I am away, and that it will be her shining moment, possibly leading to her replacing me. Her zeal, in this case, is actually helpful, since I know she will not be able to man the phones and follow me. “I’ll be back soon.”

Walking as quickly as I can without attracting attention, I walk from the castle to the market square, stopping at the fruit stand to buy oranges to make my errands look real. Then, checking carefully to make sure I haven’t been followed, I circle back around to the Kommandant’s apartment building and slip through the front door. Inside, the building is deserted. I climb the stairs quickly to the second floor. My hands shake so badly that I can barely manage to put the key in the lock. I pause. Breaking into the Kommandant’s apartment is the most dangerous thing I have ever done. Perhaps this is the wrong key, I think hopefully, and I won’t be able to get in. But the key turns smoothly in the lock. I turn the doorknob and slip inside.

I close the door behind me, my heart pounding. I scan the room and my eyes lock on the door that leads to the bedroom. I almost expect the door to open and for the Kommandant to stride into the living room, to have to explain what I am doing here. But the apartment remains silent. I eye the low table, covered with newspapers and dirty glasses. He needs a good housekeeper, I think, not for the first time. But I am sure he would not trust anyone to come in here. Perhaps I could help him by…I shake my head. There is no time for such ridiculous thoughts. It must be my nerves, I decide. Taking a deep breath, I make my way hurriedly to the study. I walk to the desk and pull on the drawer handle, but this time it refuses to open. It is locked, I realize. My stomach wrenches. Why would he lock it now? Perhaps this is a setup. I half expect the Gestapo to come bursting through the office door.
Get out,
a voice in my head says.
Give up now and leave, before it is too late.
Then I think of my parents in the ghetto on the far side of the river. I have to save them. This is the reason I have done what I have done, why I have defiled myself and made my marriage a farce. A wave of fatigue overwhelms me suddenly.

No, I must get into the drawer. But how? I consider breaking it open, but that is out of the question. Even if I were able to do it, the Kommandant would then surely know someone had been here. I look across the top of the desk for something with which I could pick the lock. Something shiny catches my eye. A paper clip. I pick up the metal clip and unbend it, then insert the end in the lock. It turns, but does not catch on anything. I try again. Nothing.

I am breathing heavily now and I can feel the perspiration running down my back. This is impossible. I should just leave, I think again. Then I shake my head. I can do this. I turn the paper clip in the lock once more. It catches on something and turns. Holding my breath, I pull on the drawer handle and it opens readily. I drop my hand to the bottom of the drawer underneath the stack of papers, wondering for a moment if I had imagined the panel. But the crack is still there. Easy, steady, I think as I push the papers aside and pry open the panel. I inhale sharply. As I had suspected, the drawer has a false bottom and in the compartment beneath there are papers with a letterhead I have never seen before.
Directorate of Special Operations,
the first sheet reads in German across the top. It is dated November 2nd, just a few days ago. I lift the papers from the drawer, scan them quickly. There are some technical words I cannot comprehend, but the word
Juden
is everywhere. I gasp. This is what Alek was looking for.

I continue reading, oblivious now to my situation and the need to get out of the apartment. The ghetto is to be liquidated, I make out, and the Jews removed. My stomach twists. The papers speak of a change in policy: unlike the Jews which have been taken from the ghetto thus far, those removed from now on will not be sent to the labor camp Plaszow, but directly to Auschwitz or Belzec. Ground has been broken for the new barracks needed to hold Jews at these camps, the report says, and the barracks will be ready by early January.

I stop reading and look up, my hands shaking. My parents are going to be sent to the camps. Don’t think about it now, I tell myself, knowing that if I do I will not be able to function. I reread the text, trying to memorize the key portions to report to Alek. I quickly realize that there is too much detail for me to remember. There are dates and names of places and numbers that mean nothing to me but could be significant to the resistance. I hesitate. Originally, I had planned just to read the papers and report to Alek on what I had seen. That was all he asked me to do. But looking at the papers once more, I realize that this will not suffice. I am going to have to take them.

Or at least a copy. Holding up the papers, I see that they have been typed on carbon paper. I lick my thumb and work at the corner of the first page. The back sheet, a thin carbon copy, separates from the main page. I hesitate. Do I dare take it? The chances of the Kommandant noticing the carbon copy missing are slim, but if I am caught with such a document it would cost my life, not to mention putting those around me in grave danger. Still, the opportunity is too good to pass up. The actual document will be of much greater value to Alek than just my memorization of it. Gingerly, I separate the back copy from the front, then do the same with each of the remaining four pages. I return the original document to the secret compartment, then close the drawer. I look up at the clock on the wall. I have been gone from the office for nearly an hour. Malgorzata will be suspicious if I do not return soon. I fold the carbon copy twice quickly and put it inside the neckline of my blouse. Then I close the drawer. Taking a last look to make sure I have left the chair and desk exactly as I found them, I back out of the study and hurry through the living room. I did it, I think, a wave of relief washing over me as I exit the apartment and close the door behind me.