Warsaw (35 page)

"Money talks - but I will give him your regards
nevertheless," the Lieutenant replied.

As much as the crestfallen Second Lieutenant castigated
himself during the uncomfortable plane journey to Berlin he soon put the whole
unfortunate episode behind him upon arriving back home - with his wife and six
month old son waiting for the officer.

As soon as a good-humoured Kleist saw the back of the
irksome Second Lieutenant he decided to take the afternoon off - as well as
also dismissing his staff for the day - to spend it in happy seclusion with
Dietmar. He made love to his young adjutant and even cooked a light lunch for
his faithful partner.

A waferish disk of a sun hung high and distant in the
afternoon sky. Every so often an easterly wind would blow into and numb
features - contracting the facial muscles, disinclining people from altering
their drear expressions.

Duritz, his chin tucked into his chest and shoulders sloping
forward, walked three paces or so in front of the Wehrmacht Corporal as they
made their way to the north eastern quarter of the ghetto near the Jewish
Cemetery. Duritz would soon receive his final instructions for the evening -
and also pay the first instalment. Thomas, for his part, stared dispassionately
at the prisoner in front of him, the blueing barrel of a Karabiner Kar 98K
rifle levelled between them.

When they reached the corner of Smorcza and Gesia Duritz
came to a stop and turned to the German.

"I think I should go on alone now. I might be some
time."

Thomas nodded his head, offering his friend an encouraging
expression.

"I understand. I'll still wait for you here though. Be
careful."

"Thanks, but I gave up being careful a long time ago
once I realised how much trouble it got me in to."

Thomas raised a corner of his mouth in an appreciative grin
- in a gesture which was intended more to relieve the tension in Duritz's
expression than to show his amusement at the comment.

Yitzhak Meisel had been deliberately obnoxious towards a
nervous looking Nelkin. The policeman confidently marched into the bureaucrat's
office and demanded the address. It was already upon the desk, written on a
scrap of paper, waiting for collection.

"I can't say for sure if they're still living there
though."

"Well for your sake, as well as mine Andrjez, I hope
they are. Because if they're not there it'll be you who'll be finding them for
me."

As much as it might have amused Meisel to stay and
intimidate the Nelkin for longer the policeman clutched the scrap of paper in
his hand and departed. A mixture of delight but also apprehension suffused in
Yitzhak's being however as soon as he was out of the doomed official's
presence, walking down the stairs of the condemned building. He decided that no
matter how much it would cost him - in both goods and owing favours to his
self-serving colleagues - he would pay out for a couple of fellow constables to
help apprehend the fugitive. They would then all take Duritz
 
- and maybe even the boy and girl who were
harbouring him - back to his apartment where Meisel would finally teach the
conceited student a real lesson.
  

An inexorable increase of dapple-grey clouds first permeated
the horizon but then wafted over and unfolded above the city's skyline - slowly
smothering out the brittle sunlight. Thomas creased his brow at the prospect of
another soddening downpour but then raised one of his eyebrows in an optimistic
gesture. An overcast night would conceal their movements even more during their
escape.

With the absence of a spy hole Yitzhak Meisel knocked on the
door to the apartment. Two fellow Jewish policemen flanked him. Both had been
recruited by the constable, one through the extra incentive that they would be
catching up with the deserter Duritz - Jakob Sztokman had always detested the
new recruit, his aloofness and sarcastic sayings. The other constable had given
up his afternoon for the sake of ten packets of cigarettes which Meisel had
promised him. Yitzhak told the man that the girl they were selecting was a bit
of a looker, which further roused the bullet-headed Marek into action.

Yitzhak snorted before the address on the fateful scrap of
paper in order to catch his breath from having bested the several fights of
stairs of the building so eagerly. It was also the constable's custom to fill
his lungs with air, grind his teeth and grip his sweat-drenched cudgel before
every aktion. The bully felt more effective, powerful, when he worked himself
up into a seething rage.

Jessica and Kolya were in the bedroom of the apartment when
the policeman first knocked and they could not be sure at first that the noise
was indeed a sound upon their door. Upon the second knock however Jessica, now
in the principle room of the flat, instinctively clasped her younger brother's
hand - both to comfort him and herself. Scared. Jessica dramatically grabbed
Kolya thinking that he was about to answer the door. Adam had a key and Thomas
was still in the routine of using his secret knock. Already the woman's composure
and dreams began to shatter, even before the ominous knocking on the door
transformed itself into two, battering rams. She was screaming and tears soaked
her cheeks before the ogres even entered the apartment.

At the same time as the door splintered and opened it also
came off one of its rusted hinges. Meisel and two other snarling policemen
invaded the apartment. At first they all but ignored the woman and the boy,
wary as they were of finding Duritz - and maybe having to deal with some
retaliation from the Jew. The policemen smashed anything and everything that
came in to the range of their flailing truncheons.

Frustrated and wrathful Yitzhak paced around the empty
bedroom like a caged animal, scratching his head and cursing his luck and the
absent Duritz. He soon noticed however the half-packed bags in the corner of
the room, one of which contained men's clothing. He charged back out to the
despairing woman. Jessica's face was still moist with tears but her hysterics
had now ceased. An efficient Marek had slapped the girl across the face and
threatened her with a raised cudgel. The boy at this point had tried to attack
his sister's assailant but Marek had gripped him by his scrawny neck, choking
the boy, whilst similarly threatening him with further violence. Once unhooked
from the policeman's vice-like grip Kolya coughed for air on the floor,
subdued.

"Where is he?" Yitzhak demanded, his two eyebrows
knitted in such fury as to become one. By now Marek was clasping Jessica from
behind (already he had the plan not to let the girl out of his sight; from the
moment he saw her he wanted to have first go with the woman -Yitzhak had
promised him). Jessica dearly wanted to be strong, to protect Adam, to be proud
and defiant in the face of the brutal policeman but an enfeebling fatalism had
already started to infect the captive. Jessica's tone faltered, as too her
expression sank as if coupled to the woman's quaking heart.

"I, I don't know. He's not here."

"I know he's not fucking here. I can see that for
myself you stupid bitch. When is he coming back?"

"He left us. What she means is that he moved on. That's
why we packed his stuff. We're going to try and sell it," Kolya, as
convincingly as possible, exclaimed after having just recovered his breath.

"I wasn't born yesterday boy. If I was you I'd keep
your mouth shut. You're going to need to save all your strength for
later."

Fearful that events could turn violent again Jessica
confessed all that she knew, her cheek still burning with pain from being
struck by the leering policeman.

Asparagus soup followed by guinea fowl followed by
strawberry cheesecake graced the table for dinner. Despite both men having
worked up an appetite during the afternoon they were still uncommonly full
after their coffees. And so Christian suggested that they take a nap each after
their meal as they had a long night ahead.

A couple of hours later the two companions reconvened and
Christian, still full of energy and congeniality, invited his adjutant into his
study. There was an air of a ritual or an initiation to the event. Dietmar duly
acted with a sincere sense of gratitude and honour as the Lieutenant opened up
a converted antique wardrobe to reveal a weapons collection. Dietmar's eyes lit
up and Christian's expression brightened too, revelling in the favourable
impression his collection had instantly made on the youth. A sumptuous smell of
polished rifle stocks and oiled barrels wafted out from the rosewood wardrobe.
Black steel glistened attractively. But as much as the young adjutant desired
to handle the beckoning weapons he was worried that he somehow might soil them.
He wondered if he needed Christian's permission to touch them. Dietmar already
recognised a few of the sleek looking weapons - the standard Karabiner Kar 98K
with its turned down bolt. Next to it was its predecessor the Gewehr, an
elderly but faithful rifle which Dietmar's father had used during the Great
War. Displayed together - and so lovingly maintained - the young soldier saw
the weapons in a new, prouder light. Upon the back board of the wardrobe
Christian had also mounted an array of German pistols (various shiny, almost
toy-like Mausers and Lugers). A Panzerfaust and Maschinengewehr MG34 - with its
colander-like barrel to help cool the notoriously over heating weapon - also
ran up the length of the large wardrobe to flank the rest of the collection.

Christian reached across Dietmar to pull one of the rifles
from its stand, in which every weapon was held in place by a leather-cushioned
mount. He held it upwards with one hand, the butt lodged in the joint of his
muscular arm, his finger on the trigger. As much as the officer was familiar
with the weapon he still clasped and surveyed it with a primal reverence.

"A Karabiner Kar 98K," Christian pronounced whilst
testing the smooth action of the bolt, "fires a 7.92 mm cartridge and has
a range of approximately 800 metres. So many of them now are constructed from
plywood," he plaintively remarked whilst shaking his head at the
cost-cutting, but then brightened up again when he finally exclaimed "But
still a handsome, effective weapon. If it's not broke, don't fix it."

Kleist had already arranged the hunt for the evening,
although he still wanted to surprise Dietmar with the present of the pristine
rifle and the honour of actively taking part in the sport.

Night enveloped an emaciated dusk as though it were
dismissive of its rights and timetable. Twilight was but a comma, a pause in
which to catch one's breath, before evening swooped down upon the city like a
vulture, wings blocking out the light, its cold breath on your neck. The moon
could occasionally be seen, feebly peeping out in between the traffic of fat
grey-black clouds.

The inhabitants of the ghetto began to retreat back into
their homes and hideouts. Some mournfully, some frantically, some painfully -
wheezing from infection or wincing from various rheumatic disorders. A widower,
his beard matted with blood and lice, lay sprawled out on the curb - more rags
than flesh. He had passed away in his sleep. Small mercy. No one took any
notice of him, apart from a child who scurried out from a doorway. First
checking the man's pockets for food or possessions the boy then stripped the
corpse of its best garments. Thomas, for a moment, was transfixed by the child
as he watched him battle the increasing rigor mortis of the body. The German's
face squinted up in pity as the boy wrestled a flannel jacket off the contorted
figure. He watched as the desperate but practised thief held his loot up to the
falling light and then shook the coat - a proliferation of grit and lice
sprinkling down upon the road like some form of macabre fairy dust.

The soldier's attention was snatched away from the pitiable
sight though as soon as he spotted Adam hurriedly returning back down the
street. He had been gone for some time. To show his gratitude to the smuggler
Adam had accepted the old man's offer of a couple of glasses of vodka over some
black bread with margarine. Duritz nodded to Thomas that things were fine and,
without a word said, walked back to the apartment.

Both figures, now side by side, maintained their poignant
silence as they made their way through the crumbling streets of the ever
receding, imploding ghetto. The two men, friends, were duly pre-occupied with
the same thing. They knew that it could well be the last time they were alone
together.

A pool of hushed tears still glistened in Jessica's sore
eyes. Occasionally the tears welled to the point where they couldn't help but
spill down her face. The stunned woman barely noticed the sensation and she had
long left off wiping them away. Instead the remnants of the tears could be seen
encrusted upon her cheeks.

Adam had been gone for hours. Maybe, like the policeman had
said, he was not coming back. Maybe he had seen the group of constables enter
the building - or heard them in the flat whilst on the top of the stairs - and
fled. No. Maybe Thomas was still with him and they were forming a plan. But
what could they do?

The one called Marek approached an increasingly fractious
Yitzhak Meisel. Jessica pretended not to notice but she flittingly darted her
eyes in the direction of the pair. Marek grinned and whispered something into
the more senior policeman's ear whilst gesturing towards Jessica.

Christian was in good form. He had generously arranged a
flask of brandy each for the half dozen men who were willing to brave the
winter evening and accompany himself and Dietmar on the hunt. Even when the
truck kept stalling in the cold the Lieutenant was patient with the driver and
merely whistled snatches of classical music over the spluttering sounds of the
unserviced engine.