Warsaw (19 page)

She pulled out the crumpled up letter again from her faded
red cardigan's inside pocket. She made a small fist and tried to smooth out the
note and envelope, to little or no avail, upon the wooden table. Jessica had
been forced to screw the letter up in a hurry. She had been reading the
precious note again in a quiet corner of the factory when she heard someone
coming.

"If you are reading this my dearest Jessica and Kolya
then something has happened to us. We love you very much, and do not despair if
we have been taken away. We can take care of ourselves my angels, as you must
now take care of each other. Jessica, I want you to make a promise to me and
yourself to look after your brother. Kolya, you must take care of your sister.
Your father and I will be able to suffer any fate as long as we know both of
you are going to be safe. Do not be too sad. We have had our time. We have
watched with joy being there for you when you were growing up. Your father and
I are immensely proud of you, especially after we moved into the ghetto.
Jessica, you will find a deserving husband when all this is over. Love him and
take care of him, and he should love and take care of you. Kolya, it brings us
so much happiness imagining the possibilities of what you will make of your
life after the war. You must keep your faith, both in yourselves and God. The
one will bring the other. Do not be afraid to see the Rabbi if you are in need
of help. Do not look to the past. Do not grieve also, for we will be fine. We
love you so much. Which is why we will get through this and all find each after
this terrible war."

Grief knotted the girl's stomach and the candle burned out,
exuding darkness.

16.

Where once the rain had been cooling in the smelting heat of
summer it now lashed down and chilled. Certain diseases (pneumonia,
hypothermia, starvation) migrated back with the unsparing climate. Clouds
smothered the sky and suffocated the sun, as smoke will drown out and conceal a
fire, in an aegis of gloom. A feral species of stench was created by the
death-breeding showers. The ghetto seemed colourless or, at best, sepia-tinged.
Sunless. But the heavy rain did not, could not, stop the transportations.

Something had been bothering Yitzhak Meisel for days. He all
but ignored the rain coughing down, freezing his furrowed brow to the point of
causing him a headache. Usually his eyes would be darting about the street,
looking for a score, but today his aspect was filled with a troubled vacancy.
His mood was irritable. He fidgeted. So too the policeman was suffering from
the effects of a cold which he couldn't seem to shake off. He sniffed
constantly from a runny nose and found himself forever licking his sore,
chapped lips. Usually Meisel was a good sleeper but he had been up most of the
night. The constable's anxiety was triggered from overhearing a conversation by
two Polish rail workers. They had been talking about the retribution that the
Germans would one day face for what they were doing in Poland.

"Dead men tell no tales," his sage friend had
replied, "How can there be any trial, they'll be no one left to testify
against them. Besides, they cannot exactly punish every single one of them -
although they're all as guilty as hell."

The brief exchange had punctured something inside of the
policeman and had eventually brought him to the crossroads. He reasoned that a
window of opportunity, for him to try and use his position to escape, would
only be open for so long. Else he would share the fate of the rest of them. And
he was not going to end up like them. Yet fear and foreboding freely chimed
through the constable's thoughts. Untrustworthy himself Yitzhak was deeply
mistrustful of anyone who he would have to approach to help escape and hide
him. Poles gave up Jews everyday. Getting caught would be an instant death
sentence. At least if he didn't do anything daring or stupid in the near future
he would still have a workable future.

The rain temporarily desisted. The tarry filth and grime
which streaked along the curbs had turned to slush. Slate coloured clouds,
tumour-like, still ominously draped themselves over the sky above. The weather
brought a further portent atmosphere to the ghetto as it put the Germans and
their Latvian lap-dogs in an even more brutal mood. Even though aware of this
Duritz still decided to take some air and a walk. He didn't particularly know
why, he just surrendered to the impulse despite the potential danger. For
protection, as if it were some ancient enchanted buckler, Adam made sure he
carried with him the cyanide pill in case he came across a selection party. At
least he would take that away from them - teach them a lesson. Perhaps even a
romantic slither of the self-styled Dostoyevskian student wanted to run into
one of the devils so that his hand would be forced, his fate finally settled.

His gait was purposeful but the direction Duritz took to get
to no place in particular meandered somewhat. Deep in thought he dug his sweaty
hands in his pockets, clutching the small tin which contained the cyanide pill
in one palm and a crab apple in the other. He walked with his head down - not
wishing to either be distracted or depressed by the harrowing sights around
him.

Kolya took off the sodden rags which he used to cover his
shoes. They protected them from wear in the sewers and softened the steps of
his hard soles. He hurriedly untied them, panting, shivering. He was late for
his delivery. It had not been his fault, the manhole cover at which he was due
to collect his bundle (which was filled with cigarettes) had been blocked by a
truck. Thankfully the Polish courier on the other side of the transaction had,
like Kolya, waited for the truck to move and the two parties concluded their black-market
business. Also, thankfully, our Jewish Gavroche knew the sewers like the back
of his hand and made good time back to the ghetto through the subterranean
darkness and noxious fumes. But he was still late. He didn't want to be late,
for the smuggler he was due to deliver to might reduce his payment (paid in the
currency of bread and vegetables). Such a delay would upset him, for he was
undoubtedly worrying about his merchandise.

Such was Kolya's industry and talent for appearing to be
everywhere at the same time that the youth couldn't fail to be noticed by some
of the inhabitants of the ghetto. Yitzhak Meisel was one such inhabitant who
had noticed the pint-sized rogue. Up until now he had ignored the courier and
rascal. He was too low down the food chain for the policeman to bother himself
with. But either Kolya had risen in the policeman's estimation of him or the
troubled Meisel decided to track the lad in order to put certain other thoughts
at the back of his mind. There was also the reason that the policeman sniffed a
score. By the way the boy was clutching the satchel, which was hooked around
his body, there must have been something valuable inside it. And so, keeping
his distance, whilst at the same time preparing himself to make his move, the gimlet-eyed
policeman tracked his victim.

Kolya too was also aware of the value of his delivery. One
of the reasons why he was so anxious about being late was the suspicion that
would be heaped upon him. His tardiness might fuel their suspicion should they discover
that one or two cigarettes were missing from a few of the packets (which Kolya
intended to pocket for himself). He could of course use the scapegoat of the
courier on the other side of the ghetto, but ultimately it might lose him
future work. Nevertheless, such was the pittance in rations they were paying
him (and the fact that just a few cigarettes could equal that pay) Kolya
decided to make himself later for his rendezvous by ducking into an alley and
transferring a handful of cigarettes from the satchel into the lining of his
patched up coat (a converted Caftan).

Frustratingly the sky began to spit down its greasy drizzle
again, numbing his grubby hands whilst also wetting some of the cigarettes. The
task was made all the more difficult in the narrow alley by the lack of light
and the stench which polluted the air. Momentarily Kolya thought he lost even
more light believing that a giant cloud had settled over the ghetto, but to his
misfortune he realised that the cloud was really someone's shadow as he
simultaneously felt warm breath chill the back of his bird-like neck.

A short, powerful arm shoved the elfin child aside. Kolya's
right shoulder blade slammed into the rough brick wall, to be followed quickly
by the back of his head. Although disorientated a surge of adrenaline
nevertheless propelled the boy forward to try and attack his assailant and
retrieve the precious bag. Meisel was far too strong and remorseless though. He
grinned at and relished the boy's pathetic retaliation and battle cry. Fists
flailed from the youth, but not one of them connected as the policeman stuck
out an arm and grabbed the urchin by the throat. Once locked in his unflinching
grip the brutal constable brought his other fist down upon the terrified face
as it were a hammer. The punch, blood-letting both Kolya's nose and bottom lip,
knocked him to the floor. No sooner had the boy the chance to realise where he
was than an agonising pain doubled him up as Meisel, fighting the only way he
knew how - dirty and viciously - brought the heel of his boot down upon the
young courier's groin. Sobbing and reeling upon the ground, a hot and heavy
pain sitting upon his face - his innards seemingly mangled - the ordeal was
still not over. As quick as the attack was it felt like it would never end. The
horror swelled. Curled up in the foetal position, his thin arms covering his
head, the constable ended his display of power and by kicking his victim in the
ribs. A couple cracked. The boy's torso purpled soon after.

Afterwards Kolya could not rightly recall whether he passed
out but the next thing he clearly remembered from the episode was his attacker
coolly smoking a cigarette whilst counting the number of packets contained in
his bag. Things were a blur but Kolya must have stirred sufficiently for the
policeman to notice and address him.

"By rights I should be arresting you for this - and you
know what that means - but I'm willing to turn a blind eye towards this if you
are. Eh?" Meisel said and laughed a little whilst taking a visibly pleasurable
drag upon his cigarette. Feeling as if there were an anvil upon his chest and
that parts of his brain and body had been unplugged all Kolya could do was
absorb the misery and sob, weakly. His pitiable expression was part feigned
though, as well as genuine, for Kolya realised that making the policeman feel
sorry for him was the only card he had left to play. But it was all in vain.

"You can tell your employers that the delivery wasn't
made, or tell them the truth that it was stolen. Either way, I don't want this
thing coming back to me. If it does, you and your family will not last the
week. Are you listening?"

Kolya nodded his head as best he could to show his
compliance. As he looked up at the policeman though his eyes couldn't help but
flitter at the figure behind him. As much as Kolya here served to warn Meisel
of the presence of another it was still too late for him. Before the policeman
had time to even recognise his assailant a fist, enlarged from it clutching an
apple, violently smashed into his face - the bony knuckles crunching into the
cartilage of his already crooked nose. The policeman stumbled back from the
force of the blow and might have lost his footing but for him falling against
the wall. Yitzhak winced in pain and shook his head a little as if to shake off
his disorientation. The constable instinctively reached for his cudgel. Duritz
should have followed up his initial blow, but didn't. He just stood with his
fists clenched - his nostrils flared in indignation - and waited for Meisel's
response.

The policeman experienced a rush of blood but yet was
immediately tempered by his instinct for survival. Even if it was not the case
Yitzhak Meisel felt like a dove to Duritz's hawk - a bully, bullied. He
grimaced and satisfactorily issued

"That's it, you're a dead man."

"Then we've finally got something in common
Yitzhak."

Without taking his eyes off the villainous policeman Adam
helped the dazed and enfeebled boy to his feet, holding him up by clasping the
jacket and shirt collar as a lion might carry its young by the scruff of the
neck. Wary of not turning his back on the policeman, lest he attacked or made a
sudden departure to find a fellow constable, Duritz and Kolya retreated back
down the alley.

The blood from his nose dripped down his face, diluted by
the rain, and moistened Yitzhak Meisel's sore lips. The policeman suppressed
any feelings of humiliation and pain by wading in the waters of revenge and
malice. His other four would be but faceless shadows - just so long as Duritz
made up the five. He pictured himself kicking down the arrogant student's door,
torturing him and sending him to his death. Or a fate worse than death. Looking
daggers at anyone who stared at him Meisel eventually made his way home with
the satchel of cigarettes over his shoulder.

Duritz and a bloodied Kolya breathlessly jogged a couple of
blocks - or rather Duritz carried the boy - to make their escape. As a respite
from their tiredness and the pummelling rain they took shelter in the entrance
to a decrepit apartment block. Not particularly knowing what to say to the boy
Duritz smiled awkwardly at Kolya. Both were unsure as to whether one recognised
the other so they mentioned it not (Duritz, understandably, was nervous as to
how much the boy knew of him - especially if his sister had said anything).

"Thanks," Kolya finally said having regained his
breath.

"I should be the one thanking you. I've be waiting for
a chance to do that to Yitzhak Meisel for ages. My only regret is that having
disfigured him, he might now look handsome."

Kolya laughed, albeit it hurt his ribs to do so, but then
suddenly cursed himself for forgetting the bag and told his rescuer of the
stupid mistake. Duritz eased the boy's anxieties by asking who the package was
intended for. Duritz not only knew them but the smuggler owed him a favour (yet
still Kolya would receive a rebuke and have to make his next run for nothing
after the ex-policeman had spoken to the black-marketer about the theft). The
shower refused to abate so the unorthodox pair found themselves getting to know
each other. Adam couldn't help but be impressed by the youth; he was confident,
intelligent, and brave. Kolya too couldn't help but open up to the rebellious
ex-policeman. He found comfort in the strange friend, or friendly stranger,
when he unburdened himself about the injustice, grief, of the evacuation of his
parents. He tried to console the boy by saying that his mother and father were
now in a better place. When Duritz said it to Kolya he believed it.