The Kommandant's Girl (29 page)

She does not answer right away and I can see her mind working, considering what I have just said. It is not an easy dilemma. The child must be kept safe, and it is hard to know which would be riskier, keeping him here and facing questions when the Gestapo comes or taking him with me to face possible capture as we escape. “Taking the child would slow you down,” she says at last. “And be riskier for you.”

“I can manage,” I insist.

“You have more than yourself to consider now. You have your own child.”

“But…” I want to tell her Lukasz is my child, too, but Krysia raises her hand.

“Let’s not argue. We don’t have to decide now.”

“Okay,” I reply. I return to the sofa and pick up the towel I had been folding. A moment later, I look up again. Krysia is staring out the window into the darkness, the pile of clothing in front of her untouched. “What is it?” I ask.

She turns to me and I notice for the first time a deep sadness in her eyes. “After Marcin died, I found the loneliness unbearable. I became used to it after time, but it’s a dull ache that never really left me. Until the night you arrived.” Her eyes are moist now. “I just realized how much I have enjoyed this time, having you and Lukasz with me. How much I will miss you when you are gone.”

“Oh, Krysia.” I walk back over to her and put my arm around her shoulder. I had not considered until that moment how my leaving might affect her. I wanted to tell her that things would not change, that we would always be close. But I could not. The three of us living together had been an unexpected arrangement, strange and lovely and born out of necessity. By necessity it would all soon end.

“He’s already asked for you twice,” Malgorzata informs me smugly as I enter reception the next morning. Surprised, I look quickly at the clock behind her desk, wondering if I am late. But the clock reads seven-forty-five, a full quarter of an hour before I am scheduled to arrive. The Kommandant is early. My stomach plunges.

Stay calm, I tell myself as I enter the anteroom hurriedly. He probably just has a lot of paperwork to catch up on or an early meeting. But even as I think this, I know that something is wrong. The Kommandant is as precise about time as he is about everything else; he always leaves his apartment at exactly eight o’clock and enters the office approximately fifteen minutes later, unless there is traffic. The Kommandant being early is as unthinkable as him being late.

My heart racing, I take off my coat and grab my notebook from the desk. The door to the Kommandant’s office is ajar. I knock softly. “Herr Kommandant?” I call through the opening. There is no answer. I repeat the words, louder this time.

“Come in.”

I open the door a few more inches and slide through. The Kommandant is standing at the far side of the office, looking out the window. “Malgorzata said you wished to see me.” The door clicks shut behind me.

“Yes, sit down.” I perch on the edge of the sofa, pen poised. The Kommandant does not look in my direction, but continues staring out at the river.

I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to turn and run from the room. Another minute of silence passes, then two. Finally I can stand it no longer. “Is something wrong, Herr Kommandant?”

“Wrong?” he repeats softly. He turns and begins walking toward me, his face stormy. He exhales hard through his teeth. “Everything is wrong. Partisans blow up cafés at will, killing our men. We are losing the war.” I am surprised by his last statement; it is the first time I have ever heard the Kommandant, or any other German, admit that the war is going poorly for them—until now, it had only been a rumor, whispered by Polish staff in the corridors of Wawel or heard on the street. The Kommandant continues speaking, just feet away from me now. “And my enemies would like to blame both of these matters on me in order to see me ousted.”

A wave of hope arises within me. Perhaps political matters are all that are troubling the Kommandant. “These are difficult times,” I offer, trying to sound supportive.

“Yes.” He sits down in the chair beside me, still looking away. “And then there is you.”

My stomach drops. “M-me?” I stammer. My heart is pounding so loudly I can barely hear my own voice.

“Yes, Anna. You.” He turns to face me then. “Is there something you would like to tell me?”

I hesitate, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. He knows something. But what? In my despair over my pregnancy these past few weeks, I had almost forgotten that I have a much larger secret. Now I wonder if my true identity has been revealed. “No, Herr Kommandant,” I reply at last, looking down.

“Anna.” He reaches down and lifts my chin with his fingers, forcing my eyes to meet his. “Call me Georg.” Though he had given me permission some time ago to use his first name when we are alone in his apartment, it is the first time he has ever bade me to do so in the office. His eyes are soft, I realize, without any sign of anger toward me. He would not look at me this way if he had discovered who I really am. Suddenly, in that moment of attempted intimacy, I know exactly which secret he has learned.

So he knows about my pregnancy, I think, and he does not seem angry about it. I am still not sure what to say. “Georg…” The name feels heavy and strange on my tongue. “How did you find out?” I know the answer of course, but I am stalling for time in order to figure out what to say.

“Malgorzata told me.”

“Oh?” I try to sound surprised at this.

“Yes, she came to me with the news, thinking that I would be angry that you were unmarried and with child and cast you out from this office.” I look up. “Oh, don’t worry, I know she has long had designs on your job. Of course, she had no way of knowing that the child is mine.” His face turns serious. “I wish I had heard it from you, though.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, shifting uncomfortably.

“No, Anna, it is I who needs to apologize.” He takes both of my hands in his much larger ones. “I have been so preoccupied with this war business, I did not notice, and I did not give you a chance to tell me. Anyway, it doesn’t matter how I found out. I know now.” He takes my face in his hands and kisses me on the forehead.

“You mean you aren’t angry?” I ask, my surprise genuine.

“Angry?” he exclaims, smiling broadly. “Anna, I couldn’t be happier! You know that I always wanted children.” I nod. “And with Margot, well, we never got the chance…” A picture flashes through my mind of Margot, lying on the floor, blood from the self-inflicted gunshot wound covering her pregnant, full stomach. I feel suddenly nauseous. Concentrate, I think, forcing the image from my mind. “I would have liked things to happen for us in the traditional sequence, of course—marriage, then children,” he replies. “But it is no matter.”

“But what will people think? I mean, your career…”

I watch the Kommandant’s face as he considers for the first time the stigma of having a baby with his unmarried assistant, the ammunition it will give his political enemies. “Yes,” he says slowly. “We must get you out of Kraków before anyone else notices.” How ironic, I think; that is exactly what Krysia said when she learned of my pregnancy. The Kommandant leaps up and begins pacing the floor, as though dictating a memorandum. “I would like to send you to my home in Hamburg,” he says, thinking aloud. “But that’s impossible right now. The enemy bombings make it too dangerous. I know…” He stops and turns to face me. “My sister Hannah lives in the countryside near Salzburg. I will send you there.”

My stomach drops. Austria is even deeper into Nazi territory. How will I ever find Jacob or my parents again if I am sent there? He is watching me now, waiting for a reaction. “Herr Kommandant, I mean, Georg, that is very kind of you.” I hesitate, searching for the appropriate response. “But I cannot leave my family….”

“No, of course not,” he replies. “And you cannot travel alone. Krysia and Lukasz shall go with you.” I marvel at how he thinks he can rearrange the lives of so many with just a few words, though of course he has been doing that to the Jews for years now. “Colonel Diedrichson will escort the three of you as far as Vienna and I will have my sister’s driver meet you there. How does that sound?”

It sounds like a death sentence. I cannot let him send me away. “Georg…” I try again.

He sits down in the chair beside me. “What is it, Anna?” I can hear the impatience in his voice.

I take a deep breath. “What about you?” I ask.

A look of realization crosses his face, followed by a smile. “About us, you mean?”

“Yes,” I say quickly, running with the lie. “I would hate to be so far from you.”

“And I, you,” he replies, touching my cheek.

“Perhaps I can remain in Kraków, hidden from sight….”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but it is impossible. The chance of someone finding out would be too great. And with the way the war is going…” He hesitates, looking away. “Well, I don’t want you and the baby here if something should happen in the city.” I want to ask what he means by this: does he think that Kraków will become under siege, a battleground when the Allies advance? He continues, “Anyway, the medical care is much better in Austria. No, it is for the best. You are leaving tomorrow.” He takes my hands once more. “And then after the war, as soon as I can arrange it, I will join you there and we will be married. Okay?”

I start to open my mouth to raise another point, then close it again. The Kommandant is like Jacob in that regard—there is no point in arguing further once his mind is made up. “Good,” he says, taking my silence as agreement. “Then it’s settled. I’ll make the arrangements. You will leave tomorrow morning at nine.”

I look up at the clock. Twenty-four hours. I need to get out of the office and tell Krysia immediately. “Georg,” I say, standing up. “I apologize, but I am feeling rather weary. If there is nothing pressing, would you mind if I go home?”

He rises. “Of course, of course. It is your condition, I am sure. Go home and rest for the day. You will need your strength for the journey.”

“Thank you.” I start for the door.

“Anna,” he calls after me. I turn back. “There is one other thing.”

Reluctantly, I walk back to where he is standing. “Yes?”

“Will you see me tonight?” He looks away, runs his hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s been so long since we’ve had any time alone together, and now, with you leaving tomorrow, it may be some time…” He turns back to face me again. “What do you think?”

I stare at him, puzzled. With everything that has happened, he cannot possibly be thinking of romance. “I—I don’t know,” I reply.

“Please,” he persists. “Just for a little while.”

I pause, considering his request. The last thing I want is to spend the night with the Kommandant. But I cannot afford any suspicion, not now after all that has happened. Seeing my hesitation, the Kommandant looks quickly at the door to make sure that no one is there, then draws me into his arms and looks into my eyes intensely. My heart beats hard against my chest as it always does when I am close to him. I wonder if he can feel it. He presses his lips against mine, quick and hard. A moment later, he releases me. I step back, smoothing my dress. “What do you say?” he asks, as though his kiss should have magically persuaded me.

“Okay,” I relent quickly. Anything that will get me out of the office and back to Krysia’s house.

“Excellent. Stanislaw will come for you tonight at eight. Do you want him to drive you home now?”

I shake my head. “No, thank you. I have some errands to run on the way.”

“Very well, then I will see you tonight.” He turns and begins walking toward his desk. “Send Malgorzata in on your way out, will you?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir.” His request is routine, as though it was any other workday and our exchange had not taken place. But I can tell from the Kommandant’s tone that this day would be Malgorzata’s last at Wawel, because she had tried to betray me, and because she knew too much.

In the anteroom, I put on my coat and scarf quickly. Taking only my bag with me, I step into the reception area. “The Kommandant wishes to see you,” I inform Malgorzata coldly. Avoiding my eyes, she leaps from her chair and scurries into the Kommandant’s office. I realize that, seeing me leaving the office in my outerwear so early in the morning, she probably thinks I have been fired, and that she is being called in to replace me. I am almost too weary to pity her. I try not to run as I leave the office and walk out of Nazi headquarters for the last time.

“Y
ou are leaving at dawn,” Krysia announces at two o’clock that afternoon.

Four hours earlier, I had entered the house, breathless from running, with the news that the Kommandant knew of my pregnancy and wanted to send us all to Austria. “I was afraid that might happen,” Krysia said when I had finished the story. “Stay here with Lukasz.” Krysia had thrown on her coat and boots and raced out into the street. A few minutes ago, she had returned and, without saying where she had been, told me breathlessly that I was leaving.

Now, walking up the stairs, she briefly outlines the plan for me. “Someone will come here to escort you to Myslenice.” I nod; I am familiar with the small town, thirty kilometers south of Kraków. “You will be hidden there until tomorrow night when it is dark and then smuggled by wagon over the border to a safe house in the mountains of Czechoslovakia. It’s a risky plan, not nearly as good as the one we would have had if we had been able to wait another month, but there is no choice.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply, following her into the kitchen and dropping into a chair.

She waves her hand. “There is no point in worrying about what can’t be changed. We just need to get you out of here.” She carries the empty teakettle to the sink and turns on the water. “Lukasz is napping?”

“Yes. What about Jacob? I mean, will he be going with me?”

She stops filling the kettle and turns to me, a helpless look crossing her face. “Emma, I’m sorry, I don’t think so. There’s been no further word about his whereabouts or his condition. I had hoped you would be able to go together, but with having to get you out of here so unexpectedly, it’s just not possible. Perhaps in a few months he will be able to follow you,” she adds.

So I will be going without Jacob. For a moment, I consider refusing. “You have to go,” Krysia says, reading my mind. She puts the kettle on the stove and then turns to face me once more. “I know my nephew, and above all else, he would want you and your child to be safe.” If that is true, then why hasn’t he been here with me, I wonder for the hundredth time, instead of fighting with the resistance? If I mattered most, we would be together. He would not be wounded and I would know the child I was carrying was his. But the truth, I know, is not that simple. If Jacob had not gone underground, I would never have escaped the ghetto. We would both be in a concentration camp by now, or worse. Krysia is right, of course; Jacob would want me to do what is necessary to survive.

“What about you and Lukasz?” I ask a few minutes later, as she places the cups of tea on the table.

She shakes her head, sitting down. “We cannot all go together. Making the journey now, ahead of schedule when the mountain snow is still deep, is dangerous enough for you. Lukasz cannot manage it and he would only slow you down. I’ve arranged with the resistance that, when you go, Lukasz will be taken from the house and hidden in the countryside.”

“But why?” I cannot bear to think of Lukasz uprooted again and left with strangers.

“Emma, once you are gone, the Gestapo will surely come here again. I will tell them that you have gone to visit relatives back in Gdańsk, but we need to make it look like Lukasz has gone with you. So you see why it must be this way.”

I do not answer. We drink our tea without speaking, the silence broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. A few minutes later, I clear my throat. “Krysia, there’s one other thing.” I hesitate. “My parents…”

“Oh, yes.” She smoothes her skirt, not meeting my eyes. “I asked about them just now while getting information about your escape plan. They are all right, surviving as well as can be expected. That is all I’ve been able to learn. I was hoping to find out something more before mentioning anything to you.” I can tell by the uneasiness in her voice that she is not saying all she knows.

“I need to see them before I leave.”

She shakes her head firmly. “I’m sorry, it is out of the question.”

“Please,” I implore. “I can’t just leave without saying goodbye.”

“Emma, be reasonable,” she replies impatiently. “Podgorze is not safe now. Security is tighter than ever since the Warszawa incident and there are checkpoints everywhere, especially around the ghetto. You would be risking your life by going there. And even if you went to the ghetto, what is it you would do? Go back inside?”

I hesitate. “I—I don’t know,” I admit. “I mean, no, of course not. But perhaps I can find a break in the wall, like the one I escaped through the night I was brought from the ghetto. I could speak with them at the wall, or at least send word.”

“It’s too dangerous.” Her voice softens. “I will make sure the resistance has someone look in on them after you are gone.”

I am not convinced. I do not doubt the sincerity of her words, but I take them in with the same distrust I have acquired of all those I had once believed in the most. No one would look in on my parents, not unless it was eminently convenient or in his or her own interest to do so. Our families had been collateral damage to the resistance. For the millionth time, I curse myself silently for trusting them, for not trying to do something to get my parents out of the ghetto months ago.

But I know this is not a fight I will win with Krysia. “And the Kommandant?” I ask instead.

“What about him?”

“I am not at all sure he will believe that I disappeared the very day I was to be going to Austria.”

“You let me worry about the Kommandant,” she replies, her eyes narrowing.

“You didn’t seem surprised at his proposal,” I remark.

“Of course not. He is in love with you.”

I look away. “I know.”

She looks up, surprised at my tone. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I do not know what I am feeling. Pity, perhaps, or regret.

Krysia pats my hand. “I understand. It is no fun to break a heart, even one like Richwalder’s.”

“I suppose not.” I clear my throat. “He’s asked to see me tonight.”

Her hand freezes on mine. “Oh? What did you say?”

“I said yes. I had to,” I add. I can hear the defensiveness in my own voice. “I had no excuse not to.”

She nods. “That’s right, of course. Although it does complicate things a bit, with you leaving in the morning.”

“It will be fine. The Kommandant is a heavy sleeper.” I can feel myself blush as I reveal this intimate detail. “And I’ve left before he’s arisen many times.”

“Still,” Krysia says. “We need to be sure.” Without speaking further, she rises and walks out of the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returns. “Here.” She presses a small glass vial containing a white powder into my palm. “Sleeping powder,” she said. “If you can slip a little bit of it into his brandy, it will make sure he doesn’t wake up when you do.”

I look up at her, puzzled. “How on earth…?”

“Pankiewicz gave it to me some time ago, before he was taken from the ghetto. It is normally used by doctors to sedate patients for minor procedures. I asked him for it because, well, you never know what you might need.”

I think about all of the times I had waited for the Kommandant to fall asleep so I could search for papers. “Why didn’t you give it to me to use earlier?” I ask.

“I considered it, but the powder is extremely powerful,” she replies. “Even if you had used a small amount, he would have woken up feeling very sluggish, as if he’d had way too much to drink the night before. I thought it was too risky to use on a regular basis, when you had to keep going back there. I was afraid he might get suspicious. But now…”

“I understand.” Tonight is the last night I will ever go to the Kommandant’s. There is nothing more to lose. I tuck the vial into my skirt pocket and stand up. “Krysia, it’s safe, isn’t it?” Now it is her turn to look confused. “For the baby, I mean, if I have to go to the Kommandant’s tonight…” My voice trails off—I am embarrassed.

A look of realization crosses her face. “Of course, you haven’t been with him since you found out you are pregnant, have you?” I nod. “Don’t worry. It should still be fine at this early stage.”

From upstairs comes the sound of Lukasz, awake and babbling. “I’ll get him,” I say, suddenly eager to escape the conversation.

“Okay.” She starts up the stairs to the third floor. “I’ll gather some warm clothes for you and Lukasz.”

Krysia and I spend the rest of the day preparing things for Lukasz’s and my departure the next morning, packing two small bags tight with clothes and preparing foodstuffs that will travel well. We speak little as we work. That evening, Lukasz clings to me tighter than ever as I tuck him into bed, as though he somehow knows it will be the last time.

A few minutes before eight, I hear the Kommandant’s car pull up in front of the house. “You have the powder?” Krysia asks, following me down to the foyer.

“Yes,” I reply as I pull on my coat. “I’ll be back before dawn.”

“Good. Be careful tonight. We are so close now. We can’t let anything go wrong.” Her papery lips brush my cheek. “I will see you in the morning before you go.”

When the car pulls up in front of the apartment building, I am surprised to find the Kommandant waiting for me downstairs by the front door. “You look radiant,” he says warmly, taking my arm. As he escorts me upstairs, I notice that his face is freshly shaven and that he has put on cologne. Inside, the apartment looks transformed: the tables are cleared of clutter and the air has a faint lemon scent.

I turn to him in surprise. “You cleaned the apartment?”

“Yes,” he says, helping me off with my coat. “Or had it cleaned, I should say. Squalor may be fine for a bachelor like me, but you can’t raise a child in such a place.” I start to reply that the child will not be raised, or even born here, then think better of it. He is trying to show me, I realize, that he will make a good father.

As I walk to the sofa, I notice another change: the photograph of Margot has disappeared from the mantelpiece; a vase filled with fresh flowers sits in its place. “Georg…” I turn back to him and gesture toward the mantelpiece.

He comes over to where I am standing and takes my hands in his. “You are my life now,” he says. “It’s time to let go of the past.” I search his face for any sign of sadness or remorse, but find none. For the first time since I have known him, he looks completely happy. A wave of guilt washes over me suddenly. Tomorrow I will be gone and the charade of Anna will, too. What will happen to him then?

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

I start to shake my head, then remember the vial of powder. “A bit,” I lie. “Perhaps something light. Why don’t I pour the drinks while you get it?”

He disappears into the kitchen and I walk to the glass-front cabinet where he keeps the liquor. I take out two glasses and, looking quickly over my shoulder, tap a small amount of the powder into one of them. I hesitate uncertainly. Krysia had not said how much to use. I add an extra pinch for good measure, then pour brandy into both glasses. “Here we are,” the Kommandant calls as he comes through the door of the kitchen carrying two plates.

Trying not to panic, I stash the vial hurriedly back in my skirt, then turn to him. “That looks delicious,” I manage to say, as I carry the glasses to the low table by the sofa.

The Kommandant makes small talk as we eat, as though this was any other day and I was not leaving the country in the morning. I watch carefully as he drains his glass of brandy, hoping the powder has completely dissolved and will not leave a telltale trace in the bottom of the glass. A few minutes later, I study his face to see if there is any effect, but his eyes are clear and give no indication of sleepiness. I wonder how long it will take for the powder to work. When we have finished our meal and had coffee, he starts to reach for me.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” I suggest. If the powder takes effect here and he falls asleep on the sofa, it will be harder for me to sneak out of the apartment.

“Okay,” he agrees. In the bedroom, I begin to see the effects of the drug. His pupils are dilated, and his kisses are slow, his hands clumsy. A few minutes later, he falls away from me, eyes closed. He is breathing heavily. The powder is really strong, I think, rolling away from him. I hope that I have not given him too much. I look at the clock on the nightstand. It is after eleven. I had not realized we had been talking over dinner for so long.

I stare at the ceiling, wondering what to do. I would like to leave now, but I don’t know how long the powder will last and I am afraid he will wake up and find me gone. No, I should stay at least for a little while. Though I had largely pretended to drink my glass of brandy, the few sips I took have made me drowsy and I have to pinch myself a few times not to doze off.

As I lay in bed, my thoughts turn to my parents. It has been so long since I have seen them, and now I am supposed to leave, without even saying goodbye. My earlier conversation with Krysia plays over and over in my mind. She is right, I know; by going to the ghetto I would be risking my life, and the safety of everyone around me. It would be a crazy thing to do, especially now, when we are so close to the end. And there is no guarantee that I would even be able to reach my parents. But even as I play the risks over and over in my mind, I know that I have to try. In a few hours I will leave Kraków, possibly forever. I had already walked out on my parents once the night I escaped from the ghetto. I cannot do it again.