A TIME TO BE BORN
a tale of survival and recovery.
Written by Jon Green
(In honour of his father, Boris Grenimann (Green))
(In honour of his father, Boris Grenimann (Green))
Chapter 1. I think It`s Over!
It had been a long night. The sounds of explosions and shooting outside had terrified them. Now silence reigned. A strange, eerie silence. The silence of a cemetery. Eva looked pale. She sat there curled up in the corner, wrapped in her blanket, staring at nothing and breathing.
Yanosh crawled over to the window to look outside. He lifted the curtain, and glimpsed out the window and down below at the street.. Darkness of night was receding before the first rays of the morning sun. The eastern sky was painted pink, clouds carrying the colour out over the ruins of Warsaw. He could see fleeting human silhouettes moving between the darkened ruins , which had once been elegant buildings. The buildings were still smoldering. The tanks were gone. So were the German soldiers.
Yanosh crawled back to Eva and took her hand. It was cold. He rubbed it gently, trying to warm her. She managed a smile, gave him her other hand.
I think it is all over, Eva. Listen...
It had been a long night. The sounds of explosions and shooting outside had terrified them. Now silence reigned. A strange, eerie silence. The silence of a cemetery. Eva looked pale. She sat there curled up in the corner, wrapped in her blanket, staring at nothing and breathing.
Yanosh crawled over to the window to look outside. He lifted the curtain, and glimpsed out the window and down below at the street.. Darkness of night was receding before the first rays of the morning sun. The eastern sky was painted pink, clouds carrying the colour out over the ruins of Warsaw. He could see fleeting human silhouettes moving between the darkened ruins , which had once been elegant buildings. The buildings were still smoldering. The tanks were gone. So were the German soldiers.
Yanosh crawled back to Eva and took her hand. It was cold. He rubbed it gently, trying to warm her. She managed a smile, gave him her other hand.
I think it is all over, Eva. Listen...
I don`t hear anything.-
-That`s right. They`ve gone. They`ve fled. Warsaw is free again. At least until the Soviets arrive. Maybe this nightmare is over.
Yanosh, have they really gone? Are you sure? -“
- The tanks are gone. I don't see any soldiers... Perhaps it is safe now to go down
.
She began to tremble, to shiver... He didn`t know what to do, so he put his arms around her and hugged her to warm her cold body. He heard her whimper. He couldn`t help himself, he began to cry too. Was it really over?
They heard footsteps in the hall. Who was out there?
A crash outside the door interrupted Yanosh`s frightened thoughts with a start. There were voices in the hall. He strained to hear what they were saying. What he heard brought joy to his heart. He turned to Eva again to tell her, but he saw that she had heard too. They hugged again and slowly helped each other up.
Before they reached the door themselves, it flew open. There stood Yanek smiling from ear to ear, his red beard framing a mouth of yellowed, broken teeth. Yanek had been bringing them food, water and news from the Polish underground regularly over the past year, but had then suddenly disappeared for a week, the week of the heaviest fighting. They had been left with no sustenance and no news, fearing that all their friends were dead.
Now Yanek was back, still alive! With him was a woman they didn`t recognize, whom he introduced as Pawla. She stood beside him gripping a rifle, a cigarette in the corner of her mouth, radiant with happiness.
-The Germans are gone! The bastards fled. They ran like frightened rabbits, leaving their dead and wounded behind like the cowards they are., the woman said.
She flicked some ash away from the end of her cigarette in disgust.
Yanosh noticed a thick red scar under her chin, when she stopped smiling to talk to them. Its colour almost matched that of Yanek`s beard. Her long blond hair, though tangled and dirty, gave her otherwise stocky features and physique a feminine look. The scar marred that effect, looking incongruous against her once magnificent hair. She puffed the cigarette as she spoke.
- Yes, they`ve left. We are free now. For the time being, but the Soviet army will be here soon. You will have to take care of yourselves now. We have to disappear, leave before the NKVD tracks us down...
Yanek frowned.
What do you have to say, my friend?, Yanosh asked him. His face had changed from its initial radiant joy to a dark shadow of concern and worry.
Pawla is right. There are many dangers ahead. We will move on, leave Warsaw. Go into hiding. I advise you two to do the same, as soon as you can.
The blonde woman took out her cigarette, walked over to the window and tossed the dead butt out with a quick movement of her wrist, then turned to face Yanosh and Eva.
We`ve brought you this.
she said , as she walked back across the room and bent down to pick up something next to the door.
It was a battered old brown suitcase. Yanosh hadn`t noticed the object there in the excitement. It looked very familiar.
It`s yours, Yanosh. Don`t you recognize it?
Yanosh shook his head.
Open it. Look inside it, Yanek said, smiling.
Yanosh took the suitcase, shoved aside the things on the table and placed it down, ready to be opened.
Before he could do so Yanek offered him his ruddy hand.
-We must go now, he said, shaking hands with Yanosh.
Good luck to you and God protect you, he added. He crossed himself.
He and the woman turned to leave.
Eva and he wanted to thank them for all they had done for them, but neither could find the words. They stood there silently, awkwardly, watching them leave. Yanosh closed the door and turned towards the table.. He looked at the suitcase. It was dark brown, had a gold-painted handle. Bits of a maroon pattern still decorated the edges in some places. It does look familiar, he thought to himself, but said nothing.
He tried to open it, but the lock, which was very rusted, would not budge.
-Break it, Yanshuk, use that,
Eva and he wanted to thank them for all they had done for them, but neither could find the words. They stood there silently, awkwardly, watching them leave. Yanosh closed the door and turned towards the table.. He looked at the suitcase. It was dark brown, had a gold-painted handle. Bits of a maroon pattern still decorated the edges in some places. It does look familiar, he thought to himself, but said nothing.
He tried to open it, but the lock, which was very rusted, would not budge.
-Break it, Yanshuk, use that,
she said, pointing to the heavy bronze candlestick, standing on the floor beside the table.
He bent down and lifted the candlestick. It felt heavy in his hands, not only its weight, also the associations it aroused. He wondered whether Sonia had used it in the past to light Sabbath candles, and what had become of her, a thought which had occurred to him often while looking at it.
He bent down and lifted the candlestick. It felt heavy in his hands, not only its weight, also the associations it aroused. He wondered whether Sonia had used it in the past to light Sabbath candles, and what had become of her, a thought which had occurred to him often while looking at it.
A life could be so easily snuffed out. Like a candle, he thought.
Yanosh pushed the thought away, focused on the suitcase and again sensed the solidity of the candlestick. He gripped it, lifted it with two hands, and then smashed the lock with the bottom end of it. Once. Twice. On the third attempt the lock gave. He put down the candlestick and opened the suitcase.
Yanosh looked down at the open suitcase, and then over at Eva. She was staring at him, still shaking and clutching her blanket. He beckoned her to join him. She came over, barely able to walk, and looked down into the suitcase. It was full of old, used clothing, women`s things. Yanosh was disappointed, had hoped to find something more useful inside than clothes.
He watched as his wife started sifting through the blouses and skirts, until she found a dress she liked. Eva held it up to show him. It was green, with white lace at the collar and sleeves.
Do you like this one, Yanosh?
It would look good on you. The colour matches your eyes.
Yes, it does. It is in good condition too. Almost new.
Most of the clothes now lay strewn around her feet on the floor. Yanosh saw that she was happy about the dress she had picked. But that didn`t last long. She soon looked up at him, her big eyes heavy with disappointment, when she reached the bottom of the case and found nothing more useful than that, nothing edible, nothing to drink.
He had been silent while she went through the clothes, struggling with his emotions, his throat tightening. He looked more carefully at the suitcase. A name had been inscribed on it. Kaminski he read to himself. Kaminski he read the name aloud to her, pointing at the golden inscription, but he hadn`t needed to. She had seen it. His mother`s clothes.
He saw her as she had been before the war. He saw her round lined face as it had been then. She was smiling at him, her dark, kind eyes looking lovingly at him under her favourite red and gold embroidered scarf, the one she wore on holidays. She looked younger, fuller than she had when he saw her last in the ghetto, not yet shriveled up and grey. At thememory of the ghetto her face disappeared, leaving cold and emptiness. He wept.
Eva came over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. He appreciated her gentle touch. Over the last week she had been the source of his strength, as they had sat there in the dark apartment, hovering between life and death, the battles raging outside. Now this. A thought crossed his mind and he bent down to look again through the clothing. He started to rummage through the pockets, the way his grandmother had done before Pesach when he was a little boy. He didn`t know what he was looking for. Eva watched him silently, rubbing her tired eyes with her sleeves.
There is something in this pocket, he told her, showing Eva the pocket of a smart-looking brown coat of silky texture.
His hands slipped in and closed on a folded piece of paper. It was bulky. Could there be money inside?
When he pulled the folded brown paper packet out, Eva crouched down besides him to see what it was. The sudden movement made him jump. He bumped his arm on the corner of the table and dropped the package. She picked it up.
`Give it to me! he demanded.
She handed it over. He unfolded the paper wrapping, throwing the paper aside. There was a small photograph inside, some zlohti bills, a few coins and a plain gold ring.
They both looked at the photo. It had been taken at their wedding. A group photo of Yanosh`s family at the event. Yanosh`s parents, his four sisters, two brothers-in-law, their seven children, his nephews and nieces, and he and Eva, newly-weds in the centre. It seemed so long ago since that picture had been taken, seemed like looking back beyond the moon, at another planet, a world turned to ashes.
They both sat there surrounded by his mother`s clothes, looking at the photo, crying. It was Yanosh who finally stopped them.
`Enough`, he said, drying his eyes, enough of this!`
He got up, shoved the suitcase off the table. It crashed to the floor.
~`What are you doing?` she asked him.
~`Get up`, he told her. `Get up. We can`t wallow in sentimentality` he said, sounding angry and nervous. ` Let`s count the money`
He helped her up, placed their treasure on the table and began to count.
~Four hundred and fifty zloti` he announced.
He pocketed the ring and the money, mumbling as much to himself as to her that they were now rich, if the money was still worth something.
~The ring is gold it must be worth something` he added.
He looked up at Eva, seeing how stunned she seemed at his behaviour. He softened. He remembered how hard it had been to part with her own wedding ring, when they had needed to exchange it for food.
`Here`, he said,` take the ring. You wear it now..` giving it to her as he spoke.
`No, I can`t wear your mother`s wedding ring. Yanosh, I`m sorry, I can`t`.
She returned it to him. He put it back in his pocket.
` Yanosh, there is writing on the piece of paper`
She bent down, picked it up and handed it to him. He felt Eva`s nervousness as he read the letter, could hear her heavy breathing. He noticed that his hand was trembling. Yanosh read the letter to her.
It was short:
15th April, 1943
-My dear children, Yanosh and Eva,
God protect you and help you. Your father and sisters are all dead. I will not survive this hell either. That you might get through gives me comfort. The contents of this paper will help you.
Your mother, Shula Kaminski
Yanosh folded the letter, and put it into his inner coat pocket. He and Eva stood there stunned for a moment. Then he pointed to the door.
It is time we went out, he said.
She nodded.
He lead her towards the door and they went out, began to walk down the stairs, the boards creaking beneath them. The walls need painting, he thought, as they descended, holding hands.
The morning light was blinding, the sun had risen over the blackened ruins across the road and met them with its warming caress as they first stepped out into the street.
15th April, 1943
-My dear children, Yanosh and Eva,
God protect you and help you. Your father and sisters are all dead. I will not survive this hell either. That you might get through gives me comfort. The contents of this paper will help you.
Your mother, Shula Kaminski
Yanosh folded the letter, and put it into his inner coat pocket. He and Eva stood there stunned for a moment. Then he pointed to the door.
It is time we went out, he said.
She nodded.
He lead her towards the door and they went out, began to walk down the stairs, the boards creaking beneath them. The walls need painting, he thought, as they descended, holding hands.
The morning light was blinding, the sun had risen over the blackened ruins across the road and met them with its warming caress as they first stepped out into the street.
From Yanosh`s diary:
15th October, 1944
Eva and I finally came out of hiding on October 3rd. 1944. It had been eighteen months since we had last walked the streets of Warsaw. We took our first steps outside. The light was absolutely blinding. It took a while to get accustomed to daylight. I took her arm, lowered my hat over my eyes, and led the way, down the steps of the building. We looked around to see the ruins of Warsaw. The site was devastating. Barely a building was standing whole. Whole blocks were nothing but rubble, with parts of buildings jutting out like macabre blackened ghosts of a former time, a time when Warsaw had been peaceful and prosperous. That seemed so long ago now, so much had happened since we went into hiding four years ago.
We walked along the street, and through what was left of Pilsudski Square for the first time in years. Few trees were left along what was once one of the finest squares in the city. I turned to look at Eva. She was silently rubbing tears off her cheeks as we looked around. She looked so thin. My beautiful Eva, so little was left of her body, yet her eyes still glowed, despite all that we had been through. She was so precious, so beautiful to me. If not for her I would have long ago given in to the angel of death, who lurked behind every corner, constantly stalking us during these terrible years. She had always been so optimistic, such a source of energy and hope when they were needed, able to joke and smile. It has been only during the last difficult weeks that she has grown somber and weak. Now it is my turn to find strength for her. She needs me now, I know.
I remember thinking at the time that what we were doing reminded me of a Jewish custom. I remember that when my grandmother died we sat at home for seven days. That was how we mourned her death. People would come visit, bring food, share words of comfort with my father and uncles. When the last morning came the rabbi led the family out into the street and told us to take a few steps, to return to life. I felt as if we were doing the same now, but in reverse. We had left our hiding place, our little haven where, in the midst of all the destruction, we hadplanned our rebellion, where we had lived desperately each day, fighting for our lives and for the freedom of our beloved Poland. Now, outside, faced with the dimensions of the destruction we could begin to mourn Warsaw, mourn the world we had known. I understood then that we would have to leave, it was just a matter of time until Eva would agree...
*******************************************************
15th October, 1944
Eva and I finally came out of hiding on October 3rd. 1944. It had been eighteen months since we had last walked the streets of Warsaw. We took our first steps outside. The light was absolutely blinding. It took a while to get accustomed to daylight. I took her arm, lowered my hat over my eyes, and led the way, down the steps of the building. We looked around to see the ruins of Warsaw. The site was devastating. Barely a building was standing whole. Whole blocks were nothing but rubble, with parts of buildings jutting out like macabre blackened ghosts of a former time, a time when Warsaw had been peaceful and prosperous. That seemed so long ago now, so much had happened since we went into hiding four years ago.
We walked along the street, and through what was left of Pilsudski Square for the first time in years. Few trees were left along what was once one of the finest squares in the city. I turned to look at Eva. She was silently rubbing tears off her cheeks as we looked around. She looked so thin. My beautiful Eva, so little was left of her body, yet her eyes still glowed, despite all that we had been through. She was so precious, so beautiful to me. If not for her I would have long ago given in to the angel of death, who lurked behind every corner, constantly stalking us during these terrible years. She had always been so optimistic, such a source of energy and hope when they were needed, able to joke and smile. It has been only during the last difficult weeks that she has grown somber and weak. Now it is my turn to find strength for her. She needs me now, I know.
I remember thinking at the time that what we were doing reminded me of a Jewish custom. I remember that when my grandmother died we sat at home for seven days. That was how we mourned her death. People would come visit, bring food, share words of comfort with my father and uncles. When the last morning came the rabbi led the family out into the street and told us to take a few steps, to return to life. I felt as if we were doing the same now, but in reverse. We had left our hiding place, our little haven where, in the midst of all the destruction, we hadplanned our rebellion, where we had lived desperately each day, fighting for our lives and for the freedom of our beloved Poland. Now, outside, faced with the dimensions of the destruction we could begin to mourn Warsaw, mourn the world we had known. I understood then that we would have to leave, it was just a matter of time until Eva would agree...
*******************************************************
Chapter 2. First steps Outside:
Yanosh looked at his wife. She was so thin. Limping beside him in what was once a pretty green dress, now draped with a piece of orange curtain, she looked so fragile.
We need to find some food and water, we having nothing left.
His parched throat made the sounds. She just nodded.
They limped on through the rubble until they came upon what was left of a German barracks. It was now deserted apart from one old man in uniform, asleep by the gate. They crept past him and entered. His snores followed them into the still smoldering buildings.
There must be a kitchen here somewhere...he thought.
Through the second hall they could smell something like food. The faint odor of burnt oil and then a. pungent smell of rotting potatoes
They entered the room. There was no one else there. The smell of food was irresistable. It had been five days since they had eaten anything. They had also run out of water the day before, so when Yanosh spied the dripping tap he was overjoyed. He quickly shuffled across the room in what was left of his shoes, almost tripping twice on the way. Behind him Eva slid down along the wall and then just sat there. She had no energy left and the sight of water seemed to have sucked out the last drops of it. Yanosh heard her moan behind him but didn`t stop. He was so desperately thirsty he could think of nothing but drinking.
On the way to the sink he picked up a broken green bowl he`d found, which he now placed under the tap. The tap was broken so only drops came out. Behind him he heard Eva`s breathing and began to feel guilty that he had left her behind in his rush to drink. He sucked what he could out of the dripping tap and carried the bowl, with its refreshing little pool of moisture over to her. He put it to her lips and she sucked out what there was. She looked up at him, trying to smile her gratitude. He smiled back, then turned away to look around him again. He soon heard her snoring quietly behind him.
Across the room Yanosh saw a heavy pan. He wondered whether he had the strength to lift it and break the tap so they could really drink. He walked across the room, picked up the pan with both hands and continued to the tap. He smashed the broken tap with the it. The handle came off, landing on the floor beside him with a crash and then rolling away. He grasped the metal oval side of the rest of the pan before it fell as well and then continued hitting the tap with all the force he could manage. The noise woke Eva, who watched him working at it from under her blanket. After a while the tap snapped, and both of them were sprayed by a gushing fountain of water.
Shivering from cold, they drank as much as they could, with the help of the bowl, and their cupped hands. It was good to drink again after so long.
- We must find a container to collect some for later, to bring back to Sonia`s apartment, Eva said, after they had drunk their fill.
Yanosh agreed.
Yanosh looked at his wife. She was so thin. Limping beside him in what was once a pretty green dress, now draped with a piece of orange curtain, she looked so fragile.
We need to find some food and water, we having nothing left.
His parched throat made the sounds. She just nodded.
They limped on through the rubble until they came upon what was left of a German barracks. It was now deserted apart from one old man in uniform, asleep by the gate. They crept past him and entered. His snores followed them into the still smoldering buildings.
There must be a kitchen here somewhere...he thought.
Through the second hall they could smell something like food. The faint odor of burnt oil and then a. pungent smell of rotting potatoes
They entered the room. There was no one else there. The smell of food was irresistable. It had been five days since they had eaten anything. They had also run out of water the day before, so when Yanosh spied the dripping tap he was overjoyed. He quickly shuffled across the room in what was left of his shoes, almost tripping twice on the way. Behind him Eva slid down along the wall and then just sat there. She had no energy left and the sight of water seemed to have sucked out the last drops of it. Yanosh heard her moan behind him but didn`t stop. He was so desperately thirsty he could think of nothing but drinking.
On the way to the sink he picked up a broken green bowl he`d found, which he now placed under the tap. The tap was broken so only drops came out. Behind him he heard Eva`s breathing and began to feel guilty that he had left her behind in his rush to drink. He sucked what he could out of the dripping tap and carried the bowl, with its refreshing little pool of moisture over to her. He put it to her lips and she sucked out what there was. She looked up at him, trying to smile her gratitude. He smiled back, then turned away to look around him again. He soon heard her snoring quietly behind him.
Across the room Yanosh saw a heavy pan. He wondered whether he had the strength to lift it and break the tap so they could really drink. He walked across the room, picked up the pan with both hands and continued to the tap. He smashed the broken tap with the it. The handle came off, landing on the floor beside him with a crash and then rolling away. He grasped the metal oval side of the rest of the pan before it fell as well and then continued hitting the tap with all the force he could manage. The noise woke Eva, who watched him working at it from under her blanket. After a while the tap snapped, and both of them were sprayed by a gushing fountain of water.
Shivering from cold, they drank as much as they could, with the help of the bowl, and their cupped hands. It was good to drink again after so long.
- We must find a container to collect some for later, to bring back to Sonia`s apartment, Eva said, after they had drunk their fill.
Yanosh agreed.
He began looking through the cabinets and inside the boxes strewn around the room, but found nothing. Eva suggested looking outside, perhaps there was something there.
Yanosh walked outside into the backyard. It was blackened with soot. There was a large, deep pit, a crater right in the middle of the yard , a frightening reminder of the past week`s battle. In the far corner he saw a pile of rubble, apparently a wall which had collapsed. He thought it looked promising. He sifted through the rubble, moving broken blocks of cement and timber in search of anything to carry water in, but found nothing.
Eva had crawled over to the kitchen door and was watching him. He looked up at her, smiled sadly, then went back to his digging, like a sad dog looking for a lost bone. It was to no avail.
A thought crossed his mind. He got up from his burrowing in the rubble. After the dust had begun to settle a little, he went over to the blackened crater to peer down into it. He spotted something down below and began to scramble down the side, into the pit.
Yanshuk, what are you doing!? Be careful!
From deep within his voice echoed up:
I`ve found something we can use!
Yes, what is it? Show me.
She watched as first a black object, then the hand holding it, an arm, then Yanosh`s beaming, triumphant face emerged from below. He lifted himself awkwardly over the side of the dark crater. He put down his prize, dusted himself off, wiped his blackened face with his coat sleeve and picked it up again. He wiped the object clean as best he could, and brought it over to his beloved. The cleaned metal gleamed in the sun. He showed it to her but she looked at it blankly. She had no idea what it was.
Yanosh walked outside into the backyard. It was blackened with soot. There was a large, deep pit, a crater right in the middle of the yard , a frightening reminder of the past week`s battle. In the far corner he saw a pile of rubble, apparently a wall which had collapsed. He thought it looked promising. He sifted through the rubble, moving broken blocks of cement and timber in search of anything to carry water in, but found nothing.
Eva had crawled over to the kitchen door and was watching him. He looked up at her, smiled sadly, then went back to his digging, like a sad dog looking for a lost bone. It was to no avail.
A thought crossed his mind. He got up from his burrowing in the rubble. After the dust had begun to settle a little, he went over to the blackened crater to peer down into it. He spotted something down below and began to scramble down the side, into the pit.
Yanshuk, what are you doing!? Be careful!
From deep within his voice echoed up:
I`ve found something we can use!
Yes, what is it? Show me.
She watched as first a black object, then the hand holding it, an arm, then Yanosh`s beaming, triumphant face emerged from below. He lifted himself awkwardly over the side of the dark crater. He put down his prize, dusted himself off, wiped his blackened face with his coat sleeve and picked it up again. He wiped the object clean as best he could, and brought it over to his beloved. The cleaned metal gleamed in the sun. He showed it to her but she looked at it blankly. She had no idea what it was.
What is it?
It`s a shell. A tank shell. It is what they have been using to shoot at each other in their battles! A source of death and destruction, but for us it will be a container of life, he said.
He looked strange in his tattered, dirty clothes, sopping wet, running streaks of black soot on his face, holding the tank shell up with both hands to show her. It didn`t look particularly deadly to her, but it didn`t look like a very practical water holder, either. She nevertheless acquiesced, hoping her skepticism was unfounded.
Eva and Yanosh filled the shell with water. They fastened the broken pan over the top, securing it with bits of cloth and string they`d managed to scrounge around the yard and in the kitchen. They then headed out of the yard, carrying their precious water supply, some good potatoes they`d managed to find and a small jar of oil. They scrambled over the rubble, out through the hole in the fence and towards Prozna street.
Eva wanted to get back to the safety of the apartment as soon as possible.
Looking around they saw that they were not alone in their venture. Others were to be seen digging around in the rubble, carrying odds and ends back to hiding places. The previously empty road was now peopled with sad little groups and solitary figures. Survivors of the maelstrom.
Men and women, mainly in blackened dirty rags, some missing limbs, were to be seen everywhere trying to take their first steps to life after four years of continuous suffering and death. They were strangely silent, murmuring amongst themselves, looking furtively around as they carried their prizes back to their rat-holes. Yanosh thought as he looked around, limping back with Eva to their own hole, that there were no children to be seen anywhere. Where were the children?, he wondered to himself, but soon enough he realized the answer. He kept these thoughts to himself, as they walked on.
They turned the corner of Marshalkofska Street and soon were approaching the apartment with their treasures. There was a group of people who had congregated on the steps, talking excitedly. As they approached, Eva became nervous..
Let`s wait till they leave, Yanosh. she said
Yanosh agreed. They looked around them and Eva spotted a tree where they could wait. It was an impressive tree. It`s thick trunk was perhaps half a metre wide, and one side of it was covered in engraved names and symbols. Amongst them, there was a heart, with their two initials inside it, Y.K.and E.N. They both recognized this inscription. They looked at each other, but remained silent and sad.
The blackened branches spread out broadly above them. There were some leaves but only on some of the lower boughs. That this tree had survived the battles, was still standing, amazed Yanosh. He noticed that these few leaves were still green but beginning to yellow. Autumn leaves, he thought, the seasons continue as always. They will soon fall, scatter in the wind.
He looked strange in his tattered, dirty clothes, sopping wet, running streaks of black soot on his face, holding the tank shell up with both hands to show her. It didn`t look particularly deadly to her, but it didn`t look like a very practical water holder, either. She nevertheless acquiesced, hoping her skepticism was unfounded.
Eva and Yanosh filled the shell with water. They fastened the broken pan over the top, securing it with bits of cloth and string they`d managed to scrounge around the yard and in the kitchen. They then headed out of the yard, carrying their precious water supply, some good potatoes they`d managed to find and a small jar of oil. They scrambled over the rubble, out through the hole in the fence and towards Prozna street.
Eva wanted to get back to the safety of the apartment as soon as possible.
Looking around they saw that they were not alone in their venture. Others were to be seen digging around in the rubble, carrying odds and ends back to hiding places. The previously empty road was now peopled with sad little groups and solitary figures. Survivors of the maelstrom.
Men and women, mainly in blackened dirty rags, some missing limbs, were to be seen everywhere trying to take their first steps to life after four years of continuous suffering and death. They were strangely silent, murmuring amongst themselves, looking furtively around as they carried their prizes back to their rat-holes. Yanosh thought as he looked around, limping back with Eva to their own hole, that there were no children to be seen anywhere. Where were the children?, he wondered to himself, but soon enough he realized the answer. He kept these thoughts to himself, as they walked on.
They turned the corner of Marshalkofska Street and soon were approaching the apartment with their treasures. There was a group of people who had congregated on the steps, talking excitedly. As they approached, Eva became nervous..
Let`s wait till they leave, Yanosh. she said
Yanosh agreed. They looked around them and Eva spotted a tree where they could wait. It was an impressive tree. It`s thick trunk was perhaps half a metre wide, and one side of it was covered in engraved names and symbols. Amongst them, there was a heart, with their two initials inside it, Y.K.and E.N. They both recognized this inscription. They looked at each other, but remained silent and sad.
The blackened branches spread out broadly above them. There were some leaves but only on some of the lower boughs. That this tree had survived the battles, was still standing, amazed Yanosh. He noticed that these few leaves were still green but beginning to yellow. Autumn leaves, he thought, the seasons continue as always. They will soon fall, scatter in the wind.
They sat down at its base to wait. They watched the crowd on the steps of the apartment building, hoping to see them disperse. The people stood there talking for some time. Yanosh studied them as they sat there. They didn`t seem threatening to him. He noticed that they were better dressed than most of the other people they had seen in the street on their way back. Had they been collaborators with the Germans? No, they had executed the quislings weeks ago! So who were they? He had no idea. Perhaps they were Polish patriots who had dug up old elegant-looking clothes, now that the Germans were gone. After some further thought on the matter, he convinced himself there was no danger. He managed to convince Eva as well. They rose, supporting each other up, and continued towards the apartment.
As they approached the building, the voices grew clearer. They could hear some of the conversation:
We must organize before the Soviets arrive,
said one elderly gentleman, leaning on an elegant walking stick, made of dark, polished wood. The gold buttons on his navy-blue jacket shone in the sun.
Yes, we should greet them as liberators, but be wary of them. When the Russians take control of Warsaw they will be reluctant to let go again. We must show them that we can take care of our own needs, now the Germans are gone,
said a younger man from under his thick glasses. The others, three middle-aged women and an even younger-looking man chorused their agreement. A young girl ran up, yelling:
They`re coming! They`re coming! I heard the tanks crossing the Vistula. They`ve built a bridge over it again.
The people quickly scattered. The three women entered the building, the two younger men went hurriedly down the road towards the river to spy the approaching Red Army. The older man turned the other way, walked slowly down Marshalkofska, tapping his walking stick as he went in the opposite direction. None had noticed Yanosh and Eva as they approached.
By the time they arrived at the steps of the building the people had all gone, leaving behind them scattered papers, leaflets on the ground, and some cigarette butts. Yanosh bent down and picked up a leaflet. There was a hammer and sickle in the top right hand corner, a photo of Stalin in the centre , and the slogan Workers of the World Unite! across the left hand side. The slogan and hammer and sickle were printed in red ink, the rest was black on white. The body of the text, in Polish, announced the arrival of the Red Army who had `come to liberate our Polish brethren from the Fascist murderers`. The people were warned to keep away from the army passing through and promised that a civil government would soon be established in Warsaw, after which order would be restored and the city would be rebuilt.
Yanosh read the pamphlet to Eva, who smiled bitterly.
Where were they these last three weeks while the S.S. henchmen and the German army crushed our resistance uprising here? she asked herself and Yanosh rhetorically.
They both knew the answer: the Soviets had waited on the other side of the Vistula, pleased no doubt to see the Germans destroy the Polish nationalist resistance movement, the A.K. and their allies.
He nodded and also smiled, sardonically, remembered well the Soviet treachery in the past, the Ribbentrop - Molotov non-aggression pact, the massive Soviet supply of raw materials to the Germans, the executions and Siberian exile of so many Polish socialists and communists, who had fled to the `Socialist Motherland` when the Germans invaded, Stalin`s bloody purges of his own people. The assassination of Trotsky. So many had simply disappeared.
After a long silence:
We must move on as quickly as possible. Go somewhere where we are not known or recognized as Polish nationalist activists. The Soviets will plant their own people here and the purges will begin here soon enough. Let`s quickly gather our things and move west to a smaller place, a quiet village where we can gather our strength and get organized again.
But how will we manage without help, without knowing anyone? Here we know people.
Don`t fool yourself, Eva. Yanek and his friends have already fled. Most of the Polish underground are under ground (he pointed at the earth below them), dead, or have moved west to escape the Soviets. We must do the same. What do we have left here? A few rags, an old suitcase, this container of water, a few rotten potatoes? We must go!
What about the apartment? What about Sonia`s apartment? she responded.
Sonia`s dead. Her family is gone. The apartment, the building, anything still standing will be requisitioned by the Russians. We must move on. We must get out of here quickly, while we still can.
All right, Yanshuk. I`ll try. It`s hard. I`m weak, but I suppose you are right.
They entered the building and climbed the stairs slowly, heard voices, the sounds of moving furniture from one of the other apartments. Finally they came to the familiar door on the second floor, unlocked it and went in.
The apartment was in disarray, women`s clothing all over the floor, the old suitcase sitting empty and open on the floor besides the table. Yanosh realized that his mother`s old suitcase would be useful to them. He remembered the money and the ring. Checked to see if he still had them in his pocket. He did.
Eva meanwhile began to gather up the clothing, to tidy the apartment. She glared angrily at Yanosh for a moment. He responded with a loud sigh, which Eva did not appreciate at all, but he did join her in tidying the apartment.
When they had finished their tidying, Yanosh remembered the water and food they`d brought in from their excursion outside. He had placed the shell-container of water on the table, next to the now refilled suitcase. It beckoned him.. He went over to the kitchen cabinet, took out two glasses and filled them with water. He handed one to Eva who took it gratefully. He put down his glass, lifted the suitcase off the table and put it back on the floor, then sat down to drink too. Eva joined him.
After a silence they began to make plans again. They would pack the little they had which was useful for their journey, use the suitcase, strapped to Yanosh`s back, to carry the things. Eva would make a bundle of bedclothes, a couple of pillows, some blankets and they would set out as soon as dark fell. They would cook up a meal from the potatoes they had found. That would give them the energy they needed to start their journey.
Eva took the pan, the oil and the few potatoes. She cut away the worst parts, which were truly rotten, grated the rest, forming the result into potato cakes, and began to fry them, complaining that without flour or eggs they would not hold together very well. Yanosh, who was busy organizing their things for the journey, told her he was sure the result would be delicious as always. They discussed what to take and what to leave behind.
The smell of the cooking potatoes and the plans soon had them in improved spirits. So much so that Eva began to hum a tune to herself. Yanosh listened. He recognized the tune, a Bundist song he knew well. He began to hum too.
He hadn`t heard Eva sing anything so long. Before the war she was always humming or singing to herself. Perhaps they would find the strength to go on after all, he thought. Perhaps they would be able to build a new life for themselves despite all they had been through. A new life somewhere else. He decided to keep these thoughts to himself for the time being. He didn`t want to overwhelm Eva, who was only beginning to look a little more lively. He would wait for the right time to have that conversation.
Eva announced cheerfully that the food was ready, brought the pan of potato cakes to the table, indicating to Yanosh that he should move the suitcase out of the way. He moved it, went over to the cabinet, brought two plates, two forks, a knife and placed them on the table, each in its place.
They sat down to their feast. He poured two more glasses of water. They ate quickly, washing the food down with the water. Yanosh complemented Eva on her cooking, to which she responded with a happy smile.
It`s not easy to leave this apartment, our haven over the past year and a half. I am going to miss this place. The meetings of the underground here gave us hope, kept us going.
This was our last supper here, she said.
The last supper! That`s a good one, Eva.
Yanosh laughed bitterly
. So many of our friends are gone, our families, there are so many ghosts here in this apartment, in this city. I am happy to leave, to put it all behind me.
They heard a rumbling sound outside.
We must go! he declared, those are the approaching Russian tanks, I think.
Eva got up to clear the table. Yanosh shook his head.
No, no, he said, himself rising. We must go now. Right away!
He handed over the bundle of bedclothes he had prepared, picked up the suitcase, placing a hand through each of the two ropes he had attached, so it sat on his back somehow. He grabbed the largest kitchen knife, which he shoved into his belt, just above his precious diary, which he had stuffed into his pants earlier, wrapped in its protective piece of old newspaper.
He beckoned to her to come quickly.
They went out the door. Eva looked back up the stairs at the familiar wooden door for one last time. The peephole under the brass number nine there had been such an important life line for them such a long time, and now they were leaving it all behind.
She turned to look at Yanosh, wondering where he was leading her. The sight of the knife jutting out of the side of his coat disturbed her, but she understood well enough why he had taken it.
Who knows what dangers await us?, she thought, as they descended the last steps and went out into the cold Warsaw air again.
As soon as they went out they heard the roll of the tanks. They weren`t the only ones who had decided to move on. People carrying bundles and bags were walking in the same direction, away from the oncoming sound. Others were just gathering along the edge of the road, waiting for the Russians to arrive. There were newly-hung red flags flapping in the wind here and there. Some people were happy that the Soviets were coming, but most of the growing crowd looked somber. Again Yanosh noticed the absence of children. Where were the children?
As the mechanical roar grew louder they increased their walking speed. Soon they had no choice but to move over. The roar was now coming from a cloud of dust which was fast approaching them. People were waving their flags. Others were taking cover to escape the noise and dust.
Eva took hold of Yanosh`s arm, pulling him closer to her. He could hear how heavily she was breathing.
I must rest now, she told him, I can`t go on.
Yanosh pushed through the crowd, with Eva following. He found a tree where they could sit to rest briefly. He hadn`t noticed, but Eva had:
It`s the same tree. It`s where we rested a few hours ago.
Yes, it is, he agreed, looking carefully at the thick trunk to see if the inscriptions were still there. They were, their initials etched there so long ago.
Yanshuk, do you remember how we would meet at this tree. How we first kissed here?
Of course, I do. I will never forget.
They were disturbed by the sudden outburst of gunfire.
It was not the Russians who came. The Germans had returned! They watched in horror as the crowds fled in terror from machinegun fire coming from the Nazi half trucks and jeeps, which had passed them in the Pilsudski square, pursuing the fleeing survivors. These poor people had hoped to meet their liberators at last. Now the streets were soaked in their blood. Death was their liberator. Bodies were piling up along the road. Some arms and legs were still twitching in their last dying struggle. The screaming was unbearable.
Yanosh and Eva lay hidden among the dead bodies. There were others still moving, still alive. The Germans had gone, at least for now, they thought. Yanosh opened the container, poured some water into his hands and washed the blood off Eva`s face, then washed his own.
We have to get away before they get here. Come on Eva get up. Get up!
I can`t, Yanosh. I can`t any more.
He slapped her.
She got up, stunned, and followed him as he began to walk .
They heard explosions behind them, at the far end of the road. Two lines of soldiers were slowly advancing some carrying flame-throwers. Others, striped-pyjama clad prisoners in chains, collected bodies, which they dumped into open carts pulled by tractors in the centre of the road.
From Yanosh`s diary: 18th January 1945
I do not know how, from where, I found the strength to think quickly, to go on, to keep us moving, to get away from them, but I did.
It was weeks until I felt clean again, weeks before the sense of contamination by all that human blood faded. And, even now, I can still hear the voices of the dying, the screams, especially whenever I am lying quietly hoping to revive my soul in sleep.
I thought I had lost her. The dead and dying around us, the pull to just give up to join them so powerful. It would have been so easy to just lie down, to collapse, to give up.!
I could sense her slipping away from me.
So I slapped her.
I have never done that before. I could never do it again.
I will never forget that look she gave me. Was it shock, horror? And the terrible resignation with which she got up and followed me.
She had let go of her own will to live but I would not let her die! Without my Eva I would not be able to go on. Not even one step.
We will live! We will live in freedom again.
We will one day build our home again - here in our country, in a free Poland.
Poland without foreign occupiers and murderers like Hitler or Stalin.
**********************************************************
Chapter 3. Goodbye Warsaw:
They marched on away from the city in the dust billowing up from behind the wagons, cars, motorbikes and horses, as well as the multitude of determined human feet seeking refuge from the Germans.
Yanosh turned to look back at his beloved Warsaw, before it would disappear from view around the next bend. He pulled at Eva`s arm until she turned around to look as well.
The sun glowed from between two mushroom-like cloud formations over the city. The city glowed too. It was burning. Yanosh realized that what he had thought were natural clouds were clouds of smoke.
The bastards are destroying Warsaw. They are punishing us for the uprising.
What about all the people still there, Yanosh? What will happen to them?
The smart ones, like Yanek and his girlfriend, already got out, most of the rest of our friends are already dead, killed in the uprising, or already murdered by the Nazis before it, like all the Jews.
Yanosh, don`t be so cold-blooded. There must be more than a million people there in Warsaw. What will become of them?
I don`t know , Eva. The Nazis are capable of anything, you know that. I can`t cry anymore, I can`t mourn any more. Let`s get moving again, find somewhere to stay where no one will be looking for us any more, neither Nazis nor Communists.
You are right, Yanshuk. We have to move away from the city, but to where? Where will we go now?
I have an old school friend in Trevbishk, which is a couple of kilometers west of here. If he is still alive, I`m sure Peter would help. He was the headmaster of the local school there and has helped the underground over the years. We`ll head for there.
But Warsaw, Eva mourned, they are destroying Warsaw…
Eva cried as she walked and thought of the city burning, hearing the distant explosions. Yanosh waited, drank some water, gave some to Eva, and pointed down the road again, away from Warsaw:
Let`s go. We won`t be safe here on this road too long.
Yanosh`s diary: January 15th 1945.
Thoughts on Warsaw, which is no more:
Warsaw gone. There is nothing left to liberate!
Thoughts? What thinking is possible, what can one think or say?
After all the German atrocities this was the ultimate, the worst of all! They have totally wiped Warsaw off the map. There is no such city any more. It is like what we were taught as kids in the Hebrew school about the destruction of ancient Jerusalem by the Romans.
Nothing left. Nothing, but the smoldering ruins, and some Nazi guards.
Warsawa Warsawa of the Vistula!
You were a shining beauty by the river,
A city of culture, music, poetry and love
You, now a graveyard, torn and bloodied,
Will you rise again, and fly free like the dove?
*******************************************************
Only three months later, after Waffen S.S. squads had completely destroyed Warsaw, blowing up building after building until almost nothing was left standing, after they had rounded up the remaining thousands and incarcerated them in a huge concentration camp and then transferred them inland, did the Russians finally cross the Vistula.
The Russians arrived in Trebishk soon after they entered Warsaw. On January 17th
Eva and Yanosh had found Yanosh`s friend, Peter, there. He had let them stay in his school building, along with a number of other refugees from Warsaw, had supplied them with water, food, arranged heating and blankets. They were grateful to him but were never able to repay his kindness.
Peter disappeared on the day the Russians came. No one knew what had become of him.
The roar of the tanks brought everyone running into the main road of the town that day. They saw the first tank turn into Pilsudski Avenue. It was a grayish-green colour.
A smiling, dirty, helmeted soldier was sitting on the turret, holding a red Russian flag and waving at the Polish crowd. A little boy, perhaps 7 or 8, was sitting up there beside him, also smiling. His blue cap didn`t hide the happy eyes. He was obviously thrilled at his tank ride. The soldier didn`t look that much older than the boy.
After this first tank, another rolled past with a soldier`s head peering over the edge of the turret. A third, and then a fourth tank rolled past them, all of them ripping up the roadway with their massive metal wheels and chains, leaving a trail of slush behind them in the snow.
Yanosh saw the Soviet stars painted on them. His heart sank. Would their momentary elation at their newly-found freedom end so soon? It was Eva who gave them some hope this time. She realized that they were only passing through, pursuing the retreating German army, that it would take time for a Soviet government to be established.
Yanosh could hardly hear her words in the terrible din, but he could see her eyes. He saw the life which had returned to them, understood that his wife was ready to fight for life again. She was now thinking of the future not only mourning the past. The snow will melt, he thought, and we will move west in the spring.
The Russian tanks indeed passed through. The silence returned. The snow settled. A new snowfall blanketed the mud and slush again. The Polish survivors went back to getting organized. The trickle of refugees out of Warsaw into the countryside also continued, just as Eva and Yanosh had done weeks before when they arrived in this little town, carrying their suitcase and bundle of bedclothes. The main enemy now was not the Russians, but the cold.
There was no coal. Mining had ground to a halt because of the heavy fighting and disorder behind the front. People burned whatever came to hand, destroying furniture, ripping planks of wood off abandoned, and partially destroyed, buildings, using almost anything for fuel in order to produce a little more warmth, to keep their cold extremities from freezing, and to heat food.
They huddled around fires and radios that winter and listened to the news from the front. And the news warmed them, the Germans were retreating westwards out of Poland. They were being pushed back by the Allies in the west as well. It was only a matter of time until their thousand year Reich fell. The rumours about Hitler became stranger and stranger as the German empire crumbled, and the allied bombings of the cities of Germany intensified.
Eva would never forgot May 8th, 1945, the last day of the war in Europe. She had been working as a ticket collector at the town’s only cinema theatre, which had been reconstituted after the worst of winter was over. They showed Russian movies, newsreels of the war effort, followed by tragedies or romances, and, rarely, comedies. The film would sometimes tear and would have to be spliced and reeled again as everyone waited impatiently, gossiping or silent.
That day they were being treated to a showing of an American cartoon about a duck or a mouse whose squeaky voice could be heard over the slow dubbed Polish translation. It was supposedly funny, but most of the audience didn’t laugh at the jokes, some had fallen asleep, others were necking in the dark with their latest love.
The lights were suddenly turned on, and the movie was stopped. People booed, thinking the film was broken or a reel was again being changed until a uniformed little bald man got up on stage and demanded quiet. The lights flickered on and off, some in the audience joined the call for quiet, increasing the noise level still further.
“Let’s hear what he has to say!” the man next to Yanosh yelled out.
Someone produced a hammer and handed it up to the bald, uniformed little man, who banged it loudly on the floor until there was a moment of quiet.
Listen to me! he called out.
I have important news to share. Hitler is dead. The Germans have surrendered.
The war is over, he said.
Suddenly there was a loud silence in the hall, and then they heard the little bald man repeat his words again:
“The war is over!”
He said the war is over!”
The Russians arrived in Trebishk soon after they entered Warsaw. On January 17th
Eva and Yanosh had found Yanosh`s friend, Peter, there. He had let them stay in his school building, along with a number of other refugees from Warsaw, had supplied them with water, food, arranged heating and blankets. They were grateful to him but were never able to repay his kindness.
Peter disappeared on the day the Russians came. No one knew what had become of him.
The roar of the tanks brought everyone running into the main road of the town that day. They saw the first tank turn into Pilsudski Avenue. It was a grayish-green colour.
A smiling, dirty, helmeted soldier was sitting on the turret, holding a red Russian flag and waving at the Polish crowd. A little boy, perhaps 7 or 8, was sitting up there beside him, also smiling. His blue cap didn`t hide the happy eyes. He was obviously thrilled at his tank ride. The soldier didn`t look that much older than the boy.
After this first tank, another rolled past with a soldier`s head peering over the edge of the turret. A third, and then a fourth tank rolled past them, all of them ripping up the roadway with their massive metal wheels and chains, leaving a trail of slush behind them in the snow.
Yanosh saw the Soviet stars painted on them. His heart sank. Would their momentary elation at their newly-found freedom end so soon? It was Eva who gave them some hope this time. She realized that they were only passing through, pursuing the retreating German army, that it would take time for a Soviet government to be established.
Yanosh could hardly hear her words in the terrible din, but he could see her eyes. He saw the life which had returned to them, understood that his wife was ready to fight for life again. She was now thinking of the future not only mourning the past. The snow will melt, he thought, and we will move west in the spring.
The Russian tanks indeed passed through. The silence returned. The snow settled. A new snowfall blanketed the mud and slush again. The Polish survivors went back to getting organized. The trickle of refugees out of Warsaw into the countryside also continued, just as Eva and Yanosh had done weeks before when they arrived in this little town, carrying their suitcase and bundle of bedclothes. The main enemy now was not the Russians, but the cold.
There was no coal. Mining had ground to a halt because of the heavy fighting and disorder behind the front. People burned whatever came to hand, destroying furniture, ripping planks of wood off abandoned, and partially destroyed, buildings, using almost anything for fuel in order to produce a little more warmth, to keep their cold extremities from freezing, and to heat food.
They huddled around fires and radios that winter and listened to the news from the front. And the news warmed them, the Germans were retreating westwards out of Poland. They were being pushed back by the Allies in the west as well. It was only a matter of time until their thousand year Reich fell. The rumours about Hitler became stranger and stranger as the German empire crumbled, and the allied bombings of the cities of Germany intensified.
Eva would never forgot May 8th, 1945, the last day of the war in Europe. She had been working as a ticket collector at the town’s only cinema theatre, which had been reconstituted after the worst of winter was over. They showed Russian movies, newsreels of the war effort, followed by tragedies or romances, and, rarely, comedies. The film would sometimes tear and would have to be spliced and reeled again as everyone waited impatiently, gossiping or silent.
That day they were being treated to a showing of an American cartoon about a duck or a mouse whose squeaky voice could be heard over the slow dubbed Polish translation. It was supposedly funny, but most of the audience didn’t laugh at the jokes, some had fallen asleep, others were necking in the dark with their latest love.
The lights were suddenly turned on, and the movie was stopped. People booed, thinking the film was broken or a reel was again being changed until a uniformed little bald man got up on stage and demanded quiet. The lights flickered on and off, some in the audience joined the call for quiet, increasing the noise level still further.
“Let’s hear what he has to say!” the man next to Yanosh yelled out.
Someone produced a hammer and handed it up to the bald, uniformed little man, who banged it loudly on the floor until there was a moment of quiet.
Listen to me! he called out.
I have important news to share. Hitler is dead. The Germans have surrendered.
The war is over, he said.
Suddenly there was a loud silence in the hall, and then they heard the little bald man repeat his words again:
“The war is over!”
He said the war is over!”
It caused pandemonium, people were hugging, kissing, weeping. It was hard to believe.
Eva sat down on the top of the stairs leading up to the projector room watching them, stunned, until a familiar hand waving across her line of vision, caught her attention. She looked up into Yanosh’s smiling face, and was soon standing wrapped in his strong embrace. They joined the crowd singing the Polish national anthem, Mazurek Dąbrowskiego, then left the hall to dance home together in the rain.
From Yanosh's diary:
May 9th, 1945
Its hard to believe. The war is over! The war is over, but not the suffering of our country. The Germans are gone, but Poland still bleeds.
August 3rd. 1945
Life here in Trevbishk has been hard. I haven't found work. We survive on the few zloty Eva gets for her work at the cinema and some sewing she does, a one-time payment I received for an article I wrote which appeared in Henryk's journal, and food from the soup kitchen here. It's potatoes and more potatoes, weak, but sweet, tea and occasional bottles of vodka to wash away bitterness and frustration. And now it's hot, too.
I have no creative juices anymore, either. Everything I write is flat, lifeless. I start and stop. Over and over again. Is the muse dead after all that has happened here in Poland?
We have lost contact with our old friends. I don't know where Yanek and Paula are now. Henryk said he had received a letter, but with no address and no specific information as to where they were, other than somewhere in Silesia, according to the stamp. I have heard that they are still active in the anti-communist underground, but nothing else.
And I? I just sit here isolated in this hole, fretting, worried about the future of our country, but doing nothing substantial to help!
I want to move on from here, to get involved again, to do something.
Chapter 4 Silesia A New Life.
-
the village of Svetyana, Upper Silesia:
Yanosh`s diary: August 24th 1945
We are in a place called Svetyana now. Its a pretty little village which has somehow remained untouched by the war. I found a nice house here. Left behind by the Germans, the Volksdeutsch, who used to live here. It`s a small wooden cottage, windows painted green. A red, tiled roof. A fireplace with a stack of wood, ready for use in the winter. The chimney`s not blocked this time. It`s wonderful to see Eva smile so much. She has been flowering ever since we arrived here. It was a good decision. Things will be better here than they were in Trevbishk.
But money…money is going to be a problem. I've got to find work. At least Eva already has a job in the local factory, but it's not enough. And Henryk still hasn't paid me for my second article. I must send him another reminder.
There are a lot of refugees here, many of them Jews. They have been steadily crossing the border from the Soviet Union. Some are fleeing the Communists, hoping to cross the border from here. The Jews are frightened by the renewed antisemitism in the East. Many are crossing the country to settle here in Silesia where there is housing and work.
They look awful. Thin, in rags, dirty and with haunting, haunted eyes. Most of them come carrying small bags of belongings, but some arrive with nothing. Nothing at all. Not even adequate clothing. Some are invalids, missing limbs
It is good to see children again. To hear some of them singing with their families after work in the evenings. One young man, they call him Yankele, has a small accordian and a group of young people gather around him in a shed nearby sometimes. They use it as a clubhouse. It's a Zionist thing I think. But their "happy" songs in Hebrew and Yiddish sound mournful, sad to me. Eva tells me the words are of hope, of building Palestine, "the Land of Israel" but I am not convinced. They are deluding themselves with a false dream, an impossible utopia.
Three months later (December 8th, 1945)
Eva looked out the window hoping to see her returning husband. He had been gone ten days now. She was worried about him. She had received a postcard from Berlin to say he had arrived safely, but hadn`t heard from him since.
Moniek and Jadzja had come by to visit her the week before last. Moniek had just returned from Germany. He told many stories about his visit there: his successful business deals, the humiliation of the previously proud Germans under foreign occupation, the influx of refugees from all over Eastern Europe. He had seen Yanosh. They had had a drink together in a Berlin bar. Yanosh had sent her the card with him and had asked him to look in on her, to make sure she was o.k., to tell her he would be home soon.
That was two weeks ago. She had heard nothing since and couldn`t help herself - she worried. They had not been separated since 1943. She had become ill with worry because of his Polish underground activity. Then it was the S.S. which terrified her. Now she was frightened of the Russians, the French, the British. She wondered whether she should have agreed to this trip. He had seemed so sure of himself. He had promised that on his return they would have the money they needed, that he would not be caught. He`d known, he said, how to deceive the Nazis during the war, the occupying allies would be much easier to deal with. Something inside her told her that there would be trouble, that he would be caught smuggling, but she had not opposed the trip. They did need the money, perhaps she was just being hysterical, over protective. And now? Was he now sitting in jail somewhere unable to contact her? Why didn`t he come?
They had been in Svetyana five months now. Had moved there from the town of Trevbishk, near Warsaw where they had first found refuge, after they had fled Warsaw. When the Jews began to return from the camps, the forests and later still from the Soviet hinterland, things had taken a turn for the worst in Trevbishk. Their former neighbours were not happy about their return. They feared for their newly-gained possessions, that the Jews would start making demands of them, want their properties back. They were incited by anti-Semitic nationalists who associated the Jews, not without some basis, with the newly established, and much hated, Communist regime. There had been violence. Some Jews had been killed. They had been murdered by hooligans. Eva remembered how Yanosh had pulled out his knife when they felt threatened, how he had slept with it under his pillow, always ready for use. She remembered the constant fear.
Their underground connections had been useful, had helped them find work: she as a seamstress in a newly-established, dress-repair shop, he for the local newspaper. But they lived in fear of the growing anti-Semitism. No one knew they were Jewish. They both spoke excellent, cultured Polish. They didn`t have that sad, tortured Jewish look, but the fear of being found out was always there, gnawing at them.
When the Polish government announced a program of resettlement in Upper Silesia, and the surviving Jews began to move there, they went too. It had been so hard to move yet again, to start over again. The anti-Semitism followed the Jews wherever they went. There were incidents in Silesia as well. As the Zionist groups became more active, the Hassidic groups reemerged, synagogues and Jewish schools were established, so did the attacks on the Jews increase. The government attempts to curtail such attacks were fairly unconvincing. Eva wondered whether the communist leadership, which was clearly unhappy about this new assertion of Jewish nationalism and religion had not acquiesced in the anti-Semitic outbursts. Perhaps they did not regret the new phenomenon, the Jewish exodus from Poland, which the Zionists called `Bricha`. Yanosh had been happy here in Silesia for a while, Eva thought, but now he was growing restless. He had begun to speak about leaving Poland too. This made her nervous. She had wanted to stay put, had been happy here in Silesia.
Yanosh had heard how others made money smuggling goods between Poland and Germany, had made contacts, which enabled them to bring family and friends across the. border and on into the free zone. He had decided to try his hand at it too.
Eva remembered the conversations they had had about it, the way his eyes had lit up with excitement, the fears it had aroused in her. She had agreed. .agreed to his journey, agreed that they would leave Poland at some future time, despite her ambivalence. So he went. And Eva waited.
Two more days passed without a word from him, without a sign of life. And then on Tuesday morning before work she heard a knock on the door. It was early, she was still in bed, but not asleep. She had been sleeping so little, eating so little, was all nerves. The knocking was faint but familiar. She grabbed her dressing gown, wrapped it around her shoulders and went running down the stairs, barefoot. She almost tripped on the dressing-gown cord as she ran, lifted it and tied it around her waist quickly. The knocking or tapping had stopped. It was now silent downstairs. She hastened to open the door, fumbling at the door handle for a moment. It swung open.
There stood Yanek and Pawla
