Warsaw (16 page)

The coffee was weak. Ever since they had started to see each
other again Anna had noticed how her rations and provisions had lessened,
having to provide for Duritz. More and more he came up to see her. Emotionally,
physically, materially, he was becoming a burden. The night before Anna had
thought how little time she had to herself nowadays. Hope and normality were
luxuries in the ghetto but, during those first few magical evenings together,
they had talked and planned as if they were a couple who would survive the
ghetto and make a life together. They could go into hiding, or Adam could
become a policeman again and provide security for them. But still he hadn't
committed to anything. Whilst Anna was working all day to provide for them he
remained happily holed up in his room, painting or reading. If he didn't care
about himself then why should she care about him? - Although it was perhaps
partly due to the fact that no one cared for her lost boy that attracted him to
her.

She handed Duritz his coffee without saying a word and sat
in a chair away from him. Anna knew what he had come up for but she was too
fatigued - and not in the mood. So too the woman wanted to deny him as a form
of punishment. Duritz wanted to comfort her but he thought that she might think
that he was but making sexual advances. Adam softly smiled at her in hope of
some form of reciprocal expression, but Anna pretended not to notice.

A spherical, milky moon shone through the window to illuminate
the room sufficiently for Halina Rubenstein to notice the dust-laden cobwebs
still shackled to the dead light bulb. Kolya was but a small bundle, a brown
silhouette in the corner. He had fallen asleep almost immediately after supper.
The past couple of day's exertions had caught up with him. He had worked in the
armament factory in the morning and then sneaked off in the afternoon to make
his runs for the black market food smugglers. The mother had cause to love her
son more than most. It dawned upon Halina that - whereas she had entered the
ghetto believing that she would never get the chance to watch Kolya grow up and
become a man - he had indeed grown into a fine young man because, and not in
spite, of the ghetto in some ways. Her features were drawn but one could still
detect a faint, warm smile on the old woman's face as she gazed upon her child,
her eyes moist with fond tears. So too there resided a dull glimmer in her
heart as Halina scanned the room and rested her eyes upon Jessica, who was similarly
asleep. Her daughter had come home in a good mood, for whatever reason. There
was liveliness in her aspect and conversation that Halina had not seen for
awhile. She chatted, laughed, pretty - like the Jessica of old. After dinner
she had read to the family from her book (the Dickens book), which again she
had not done for some time. She then fell into a slumber, the book clasped to
her breast as if it were a child's favourite doll.

14.

Jessica left for work early that morning having been woken
up by another nightmare. She remained awake - with the debris from the
arresting visions and the daydreams of the gallant Corporal on her mind - so
decided to turn up at the hospital early. She would help out at the clinic and
serve what little breakfast they could muster for the patients, which usually
just consisted of a fifty gram ration of bread and margarine. The early bird of
Kolya, hoping to smuggle a worm or two, also left the apartment before sunrise
that raw morning as to his industrious routine.

 
Aktion. The shrill
whistles even pierced through the sound of the shots which seem to hammer out
in celebration almost. For a moment or two Halina Rubenstein's heart stopped,
but then the petrified woman wrestled as much control over herself as she
could. She knew what needed to be done - and what was going to happen. The low
thuds of their heavy hobnailed boots sounded upon the stairs below. The
whistles and rifles grew louder, oppressive. They would be here soon. They
flushed people out from working from the top downwards. Halina quickly hid what
little valuables and provisions they had stored in their family trunk by
placing them into the cubby hole underneath the lose floorboards. She placed
into the alcove the unfinished letter to her two children, tenderly stroking
the white envelope and briefly gazing upon it as if she were saying goodbye to
Jessica and Kolya in person. An otiose Solomon Rubenstein sat on his chair at
the table, seemingly passive. Sometimes his tired eyes followed his wife in
curiosity as she scurried around the apartment. The tears, sobbing, already
began to get the better of Halina. She knew it was the end, but had to act for
sanity's sake as if it wasn't.

The quartet of soldiers (containing an imperious looking SS
Corporal, two adolescent Latvians and an old, brutal Ukrainian) were
spearheaded by a Jewish policeman as he first voraciously glanced around the
small apartment for any obvious valuables on show. He then approached the woman
of the house who stood to attention before him.

"I have papers," Halina said with confidence as
she retrieved the couple's old cards and documents which stated that their
children were essential workers, who possessed the necessary Ausweis (a card
stamped "Operation Reinhald" containing the emblems of a swastika and
Nazi eagle, as well as the words "Not subject to resettlement"). At
the same time as addressing the policeman Halina witnessed the scene over his
shoulder as a young couple across the hall displayed their papers to a soldier
and in return he allowed them to retreat back in their apartment. For a
fleeting moment hope rose in the woman's knotted heart.

"These are old papers. And your children's papers are
not your papers," the pugnacious constable (a former lawyer's clerk)
replied, barely examining the documents before him. A gun shot, followed by a
despairing wail, shattered the air from along the corridor. Halina flinched but
the policeman continued to issue his instructions in the same flat, officious
tone.

"You and your husband are to report downstairs. You
have been fortunate enough to be transported to work camps in the East. There
you will be able to remain together. You will need food and water for the
journey but do not burden yourself with anything more. You will be provided
for."

Without another word said the policeman and soldiers
efficiently repeated the process in a number of neighbouring apartments.
Resignation, cowardice and sickliness were platted together like strands of
frayed rope in Solomon Rubenstein's features, but he got up and seemed to
comprehend enough of what was going on when Halina spoke to him.

More shots rang out, cracking like thunder. Echoing. Halina
caught the sound of someone falling down the stairs and splintering the
banisters on the floor below. Hastily packing up some rations (taking but a
day's bread, for Jessica and Kolya would need the provisions now) and some
spare garments the elderly couple made their way out of their mouldy apartment.

As they got to the top of the stairs a policeman barged past
Solomon and nearly knocked him over. The constable was dragging a boy by his
bleeding ear (his lip was also bloodied) who had tried to hide. But the zealous
ex-civil servant had ferreted out the child. How many people might have been
saved, or would have had their lives prolonged at least, had some members of
the Jewish police have turned a blind eye sometimes? They worked "as if
they were on commission" Anna Weil had once remarked, hard disdain in her
usually feminine voice.

Children screamed, as did adults, but anyone making too much
of a commotion was swiftly beaten or shot. A chill ran down Halina's spine as
she walked down along the floor below and witnessed the wet blood (and flesh
and bits of brain) splattered upon the dimpled walls, the dead bodies of women
and children slumped upon the ground. A multitude of people, as if shunted out
from nowhere, streamed out of their apartments, clutching their bundles or
holding their children by the hand. A couple of neighbours glanced at each other
and tried to offer a comforting smile. Most bowed their heads, not wishing to
make eye contact with the soldiers. Even when struck by riding crops, as
impatient soldiers attempted to quicken and direct the woeful procession of
their charges, people didn't dare react. They tried to carry on as normal.

To hasten the aktion further an SS officer, in both Yiddish
and Polish, firmly declared that:

"The last families to depart from the building will be
punished for their lack of cooperation."

Although this proclamation, issued in a confident and almost
amused tone, did not produce the panic that one might have expected the
inhabitants of the building did shuffle down the stairs and exit the tenement
block with more speed.

Halina held her husband's skinny hand. Torn between the
desire to look after him but also hasten their departure from the building she
led him down the stairs. Patches of grey, or rather white, mottled his dirty
wiry hair and beard. Sometimes his hand was limp and unresponsive, other times
he held onto Halina for dear life.

Four parked trucks, two on each end of the block, vibrated
as if shivering from the cold - or in fright. A half a dozen rickshaws, to be
bone-breakingly pulled by Jews, also sat waiting for passengers (those too
infirm to walk) as Halina and Solomon Rubenstein made it out into the street.
Shots continued to be fired to disorientate and control the evacuees caught up
in the aktion. Riding crops continued to be used as whips (along with whips
themselves) to punish the tardy and innocent alike. Policemen bloodied their
wooden truncheons. Corpses littered the street, victims of being made examples
of so the rest would comply more easily. Ironically, these corpses strewn
across the road and all along the route to the Umschlagplatz would save the
lives of some of the people selected later, as the SS would requisition a small
work detail of Jews to dispose of the dead.

The line of people exiting the building were immediately
filed and herded into a large, enfeebled phalanx. Whilst waiting for the
tenement to be cleared, squeezed dry of every applicable candidate, the group
outside were ordered to get down on their knees and lock their fingers behind
their heads. Halina helped her confused husband assume the required position.
Thankfully she had still been able to remain close to him. Her joints ached, in
both her stiff knees and arthritic hands, but any discomfort Halina experienced
was soon displaced by terror. From a couple of rows behind she heard an old
woman whimper and then fall over from being unable to balance on her knees. The
woman was soon shot in the back of her head without warning. Such was her
proximity that the blast made her ears ring. Halina shuddered as she also felt
spots of blood spit onto the back of her neck.

A long drawn-out note was sounded upon a whistle - which was
reciprocated by two similar responses - and Halina's column was ordered to get
to their feet and march up the street. Policemen and SS flanked the evacuees
like soldier ants protecting a colony on the move. The group was expected to
keep the pace of the marching soldiers. Those that fell behind were beaten -
struck in the head with a rifle butt - or shot. Halina prayed that Solomon
would be able to keep up. She tried as much as possible to make eye contact
with her husband in order to encourage him. He breathed heavily but kept up the
pace. Although the temperature was tepid, with smoke-grey autumnal clouds
filling the sky, Halina began to sweat profusely, her head scarf clinging to
her forehead and temples in spotted wet patches. Her heavy black cotton socks
also began to slide down her shins, bunching up around her already swollen
ankles and revealing a slack-fleshed pair of besmirched hairy legs. But the
once vain woman was not even tempted to break step and pull them back up.

Seen from above the large body of people might have
resembled a huge undulating snake as it wound its way up Smocza Street - right
along Niska Street - then left into Zamenhof Street and into the entrance of
the Umschlagplatz. As macabre, unaccountable and singular as the funereal
procession appeared it had also become a daily occurrence in the ghetto (albeit
occasionally the round-ups would skip a day).

The column began to compress against itself as people were
fed into the mouth of the Umschlagplatz and Halina was again able to take hold
of her husband’s hand. Flustered and nauseous from the odour of the crowd the
Rubenstein’s eventually made it through the narrow channel at the entrance to
the compound and into the large holding area of the converted plaza. Even if
Halina was not huddled into the space by the natural drift of the crowd, she
would have gladly chosen to follow it as the mass of people shifted themselves
away from the SS Headquarters which was situated at the far corner of the
holding area. So too no one wanted to be near the opening which led into the
final selection area - which led to the trains.

A hospital, or facade and cruel parody of such an
institution, was situated in the middle of the Umschlagplatz and divided the
two large holding areas. The second of which, the hospital courtyard, was used
as a space to keep the infirm who were waiting to be transported. The courtyard
was further used as a temporary overnight prison for a variety of vagrants and
felons due to be evacuated. Although largely separated and blind-sided by the
hospital building in the middle of the Umschlagplatz Halina nevertheless craned
her neck and, looking through a sea of bobbing heads, peered into the adjacent
holding area. Her heart flooded in compassion. Hundreds of children, often in
rags, shoeless, shivering, populated the woman's terrible view. They had
emptied another orphanage. Out of an estimated 6 million people who were killed
in the Holocaust it is approximated that around 1.5 million of those were
children under the age of fifteen. Halina could not think of any reference
point to describe the monstrous cruelty, or her own feelings - because there
was no reference point, either in History or her own life. Orphans huddled
closer to their guardians and teachers, nestled in temporary warmth and
sanctuary. Halina could see the adults hug the children and whisper
encouragement, or lies, into their ears. One boy broke free from the group and
ran as fast as his legs could carry him towards the area set aside for those
who would escape the final selections. But a shot came from nowhere - knocking
the child off his feet - and ended the absurdist's escape bid. Tears cut
streaks into their dunny faces. It seemed that they had also been told to stay
close to a friend, for many of the children held hands in couples as they were
ordered out from the holding area and into the space where the final selections
occurred. None received a reprieve. All the children, all the infirm, were
jostled onto the leading cars of the trains. After a short time Halina couldn't
bear to look. She turned her tear-soaked face away and buried her head into the
moth-eaten chest of her husband, who put an arm around his anguished wife in a
delayed, almost mechanical action. Somewhere inside of Solomon there was an
ailing yet clear voice yearning to get out, filled with bellowing rage and love
- but it could not overcome the shell of his senescent body. His eyelids felt
heavy but the scenes before the old man seemed to darken for another reason as
though a hood was slowly being draped over his head.

Halina suddenly felt her husband lean into him, rather than
support her. He had passed out. She immediately wiped the tears away from her
eyes and sat Solomon down. He regained consciousness quickly - with what little
consciousness he had left (his aspect and features were even more unresponsive
to his wife's instructions). She pressed the half-slice of bread into her
husband's mouth and made him wash it down with a couple of swigs of water. As
Halina bent over her husband who sat like a child, or Bhudda, upon the concrete
she was suddenly nearly crushed. A typhus-ravaged adolescent fell over them as
people shifted and parted to allow a brace of Jewish policemen to move among
them - confiscating bundles which, under the rule of them being too large or
too heavy, appeared to contain valuables. Halina heard a voice addressing one
of the constables.

"Where are we going?"

"Madagascar," the policeman answered back. Halina
was too far away to discern whether the man was being sarcastic or not, but she
knew he was lying. When the policemen were contented with their haul they
barged their way back through the crowd, shaking off the odd child and nebbish
who desperately pleaded for food, drink and answers. Various exchanges
fleetingly distracted the grieving woman, some heated, some hopeful - all
seemingly futile.