Agent in Peril, page 27
‘And where is home?’
‘Cologne: I have her address here. If it helps, she purchased a ticket for the quarter to seven train to Düsseldorf.’
One of the Gestapo officers hurried out of the room and the other stared at Rainer, trying to work out whether he was a fool or a traitor.
The duty manager coughed and said there was one more thing. ‘She asked me to pass on her regards to you, sir: said you’d been so helpful.’
Chapter 28
Poland
June 1943
Lea Loszynski and her two children had remained in hiding at the farmhouse near Zakopane after Roman had left on 23 April, nearly two months, just.
Lea Loszynski was confused about a lot of things these days. For a start, she had to remember her name was now Klara Wójcik, from Krakow – she seemed to have more trouble remembering that than Max and Raisa, who’d adapted surprisingly easily to their new names: Mieczysław and Janina.
She was also confused about dates: not just when they’d arrived at the farm but even what day it was now. Sometimes the farmer or his wife would bring an old copy of Nowy Kurier Warszawski, the Nazi occupation newspaper. It was full of propaganda and nonsense, of course, but with little else to do, she devoured every word before tearing the pages up to use as toilet paper. The newspaper didn’t help much with what day it was, it only confused her more.
The irony was that she used to have such a good memory. She attributed her current confusion to her physical state. The farmer’s wife brought them food every two or three days and it was barely enough for one day, so she gave most of her share to the children and subsisted mostly on water and stale rye bread.
As a result, she had a constant sense of feeling light-headed and confused, a state compounded by a permanent feeling of fear that they’d be arrested at any time, alert to every sound, unable to sleep for more than an hour at a time, trying desperately hard to persuade the children that everything was fine and they weren’t to worry, but, please… remember to keep quiet.
Andrzej, the young man from Żegota who’d brought them there from Krakow, visited the farm every couple of weeks. In the middle of May he told Lea that Roman had made it safely to Switzerland. She asked about their own journey to Switzerland and he said they were working on it. It wasn’t easy though: they needed to get the money together and that was proving to be a problem.
‘Have they said anything to you?’
‘Who?’
‘The farmer and his wife: they now say it’s getting too dangerous for them and keep asking for more money. Our funds are very low.’
‘I thought you said it was safe here and we could stay as long as we need to?’
Andrzej looked slightly embarrassed and said something about circumstances changing, but he was working on it. ‘I’ve just paid them for the next two weeks, so you’re fine until the beginning of June.’
‘And what happens then?’
‘I’ll be back by the end of May. I’ll pay them then.’
But Andrzej didn’t return at the end of May and one afternoon the farmer took Klara aside.
‘Andrzej isn’t coming back,’ he said, looking at her as if it was her fault.
‘I’m sure he’ll be here any day now, he promised—’
‘You don’t understand: he’s not coming back here, he’s dead.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure! He was arrested by the Gestapo in Krakow a week ago, a whole group of them were. He was killed trying to escape. It’s too dangerous for you to remain here: you’ll need to leave – now.’
She began to weep. Could they not stay for another week then maybe someone else would turn up and pay them?
‘There is no one else: what do you imagine, that Poland is full of people lining up to help you Jews? You’re lucky we didn’t turn you in weeks ago, we’d have got a reward. All of that lot from Krakow who were helping you, they’re either dead or in prison. Since the Nazis crushed the Uprising in the ghetto, there’s no one in Warsaw who can help you either. Unless you’ve been hiding money and can pay us, you’re going to have to leave.’
Lea was unable to speak.
‘I’ll tell you what: you remember Pavol, the man who took your husband into Slovakia?’
Lea nodded.
‘I can get a message to him. He and his people over the Tatra Mountains may be able to help you: but whatever happens, I want you away from here within two days.’
* * *
Pavol arrived the following night. He came into the bunker and told her to wake the children. Max and Raisa sat up confused in their beds, blinking at the light. He studied them carefully as a doctor would observe his patients and talked with them for a while and asked their names and without hesitation, they both gave their new names, Mieczysław and Janina Wójcik, from Krakow.
‘Go back to sleep, I’ll have a word with your mother.’
She placed herself opposite him at the table in the middle of the room. Pavol sat expressionless, saying nothing as he slowly prepared a cigarette. Then he shook his head.
‘I can’t do it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It would be impossible to get you over the mountains – your husband just about managed it and he’s quite strong. But for you and the children… no.’
His cigarette was ready now and he took a moment to light it, concentrating on it for another moment or two.
‘And in any case, Slovakia’s too hostile. There’s a possibility we could try and get you into the Protectorate – it’s what the Nazis call Bohemia and Moravia now. The population there’s less hostile, the resistance groups are better established. But it would still be a difficult journey. We’d have to travel through Upper Silesia, which is now part of Germany. If we could get to the border near Ostrava, but…’
He stopped and looked directly at Lea, for the first time his face showing some expression. It was a look of regret.
‘But your son’s the problem, I’m afraid. You all speak good Polish, no trace of a Jewish accent, and you and your daughter – you’re both fair-haired: neither of you look obviously Jewish. But your son does, there’s no escaping it. I—’
‘But when we travelled here from Warsaw, no one suspected him.’
‘Maybe, but you must have been lucky. You were travelling through cities for how long – two days? This is very different: the journey will take weeks and we’ll be relying on the goodwill of local people, dozens of them. Someone’s bound to suspect Mieczysław and then inform on you all. It’s a risk I can’t take. I’m sorry.’
‘Is there any way you could help us?’
‘I can take you and the girl.’
‘What about my son?’
‘Send him into the countryside: if he heads east and hides then sooner or later the Red Army will arrive.’
‘I can’t possibly abandon him – he’s my son!’
‘I understand, but I was just thinking of a solution. Otherwise, my advice is to get out of here as soon as possible. I don’t trust Tadeusz one bit. Promise him you’ll leave Thursday night but go tomorrow night instead, without him knowing, obviously. If he’s going to betray you, he’d want you arrested as you leave the farm, not before. Only travel at night, keep away from roads and don’t trust anyone.’
* * *
They left the farm near Zakopane at midnight on Wednesday, which according to Pavol was 9 June. That morning she’d taken Pavol’s advice and begged the farmer to let them stay for another week. He was having none of it. They had to go. Very reluctantly she said they’d do so on Thursday night.
She let the children go to sleep normally on the Wednesday night, knowing it would be the last time they’d sleep in a bed for a while. When she woke them at midnight, she told them they were going on an adventure: they must dress warmly and were to take the blankets too – and the most important part of the adventure was to be as quiet as possible! They crept away from the farm, cutting across the fields and heading west. Lea had decided to head into Upper Silesia, as Pavol had mentioned, and then into Moravia. Once they arrived there, she’d work out what to do next. Moravia sounded like the promised land; the name almost had a biblical ring to it.
It didn’t take the children too long to realise that this wasn’t an adventure after all and they began to complain at the pace their mother was making them go at. Eventually she stopped and knelt down beside them.
This is very dangerous – but if you’re very good, at the end of the journey we’ll get to see Daddy.
They asked how soon that would be and she said a few days and the faster they walked, the sooner they’d see him. She doubted they’d manage no more than two miles an hour, possibly getting as far as ten miles away from the farm by the time it became light. She wondered whether the farmer would report them: after all, how would he look if he told the Germans he’d been hiding Jews but now they’d escaped?
By the time it was light they came across a dense wood and walked through it for another hour, by which time the children were clearly exhausted and she was too. They came to a small glade with a brook running through it and decided this was a good place as any to stop.
* * *
The children soon fell asleep, but the thoughts chasing around Lea’s mind wouldn’t allow her any rest. Their situation was hopeless: their chances of getting anywhere near Switzerland were so remote as to be impossible. They were exposed enough while they were in Poland and even if they managed to get into Moravia, they wouldn’t speak the language. And if they made it through the Protectorate then they’d have to travel through either Bavaria or Austria and that didn’t bear thinking about.
Max woke up and asked her why she was crying and she said she wasn’t, she was just tired. He turned over and went back to sleep and by the afternoon Lea had dozed for a while and come up with a plan. It was now Thursday: they’d walk for the next three nights. That would be when she’d find someone to shelter them.
They’d rely on the kindness of strangers.
* * *
By the time they stopped early on the Sunday morning she had no idea where they were: she wasn’t even sure it was Sunday and she certainly wasn’t sure they’d been heading in the right direction. For all Lea knew, they could have headed north or even gone round in circles. They’d arrived in a small forest half an hour before sunrise and found somewhere to bed down. Not long before they’d reached the forest, they’d passed by what at first appeared to be a cowshed: a low, single-storey building isolated in the middle of a cornfield, with just a small track leading to it.
They were almost upon the building when Lea spotted a light on in a window. They crouched down and after a few minutes the rear door opened and an old woman stood in the doorway, looking around her before picking up a bucket and taking it to a ditch and emptying the contents. Lea watched for a few more minutes. As far as she could tell, the old lady was on her own. There were no obvious signs around the building that people worked there: no farm equipment, no animals.
This, she decided, was where she’d seek help. She’d concocted a story of sorts over the past few days. From the brief glimpse Lea had had of her and her surroundings she decided she was a kindly soul, someone living on her own in the middle of nowhere, isolated and possibly abandoned, rather like them.
She rested until noon and with the children asleep crept out of the forest to spend another hour watching the building. It was as silent as the fields around it, the sun bouncing off the corrugated iron roof. She spotted the old woman open a window and shake something but there was no sign or sound of anyone else.
She returned to the forest. She decided to make her move around seven o’clock, before the old woman turned in for the night. Lea told the children she was going to find somewhere safe for them to stay for a few days – maybe even longer than that. Somewhere they could sleep in a bed and eat proper meals. She may be away for an hour, perhaps a bit longer, but under no circumstances were they to leave where they were. Even when it got dark, they weren’t to move.
Did they understand?
Max nodded, but Raisa said if they were going to stay somewhere for a few days or even longer then what about Daddy – weren’t they meant to be seeing him in a few days too? Lea bit her lip and waited a moment before replying. Yes, she assured Raisa, of course they’d see Daddy soon too, but only if they did exactly what they were told.
* * *
There was something disarmingly bucolic about the house as Lea got to within a few yards of it, hiding behind a large shrub to assure herself for one last time that the old woman was indeed on her own.
Birds were chirping and a large black cat strolled out of the open door and flopped down on the ground, lifting its head high to catch a scent. A light wind caused the field of corn to rustle and she could feel the warmth of the evening sun. She walked confidently to the door and knocked on it. The old woman appeared in the hallway, watching from the dark interior, more of a shadow than anything else. She said nothing as she wiped her hands on a large apron. Lea wished her a good evening and said she was sorry to disturb her but she was from Krakow and she was looking for work: she didn’t want money, just food and somewhere to sleep.
She tried to sound confident and friendly. She’d decided not to mention the children just yet. The old woman said nothing, watching her carefully as she continued to rhythmically wipe her hands on her apron. Then she turned round and said something into a doorway behind her. Lea watched in horror as two men appeared out of the doorway and approached her. Both were in their thirties – they looked like brothers, well-built and with a menacing look about them. She instinctively backed away and looked round, as if to leave. One of them told her to stay where she was and asked her name.
‘Klara Wójcik.’
‘You don’t look like a Klara Wójcik.’
‘I’m from Krakow, my husband was sent away and I’ve come to the countryside for work and…’
‘There’s plenty of work in Krakow.’
‘I bet she’s a Jew,’ said the other man. ‘Remember the ones who turned up at Nowak’s farm last month: what was the reward they got?’
‘Enough for them to afford to buy two pigs at the market.’
‘No, three pigs,’ said the old woman. ‘But that was for five Jews. This one’s on her own. Maybe we’ll just get the one pig.’
‘I assure you I’m not a Jew, I—’
‘Go on then, recite the Lord’s Prayer!’
Lea started to recite what little she could remember of it: ‘Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be—’
‘Everyone knows that: what about the Apostle’s Creed, eh? Come on then!’
Lea started to cry. She knew her journey had come to an end. She’d hoped to find someone kind, someone who’d help – but now her situation was hopeless. At least they knew nothing about the children. She knew she’d never see them again and that realisation broke her: she sunk to her knees and heard herself pleading.
Please let me go… I don’t want to cause any trouble… I’m all on my own… I’ll work hard…
But by then the two men had grabbed her by the arms and dragged her into a filthy scullery where they bound her legs and tied her arms to a pipe running down a wall. There was a brief discussion between the two: one said they should hand her over to the Germans now. The other said they should wait until the morning.
‘We’ll still get our reward but, in the meantime, we can have a bit of fun!’
Chapter 29
Gelsenkirchen, Germany
June 1943
Sophia spent most of the short train journey from Duisburg to Gelsenkirchen staring through the grime-streaked windows. It seemed that every inch of the landscape was crammed with industry: the smoking chimneys of huge factory complexes, coal mine after coal mine, railway sidings the width of three football pitches, dozens of wagons tethered together, beasts of burden standing forlornly as they waited for a locomotive to take them on their way.
The smell was overpowering, too. The elderly railway policeman who checked her papers closed a window across the aisle from her and had to support himself against a seat to catch his breath against the acrid air.
She spotted some signs of bomb damage, but it was very sporadic, more inconveniences than anything else. Just before they crossed the Rhine–Herne Canal at Altenessen she did spot one factory that appeared to have been levelled to the ground, but that was the heaviest evidence of bombing she saw.
She knew that Gelsenkirchen had been little more than a pit village a century ago and was now a major industrial centre and there was ample evidence of that as the train entered the town. The ingredients that make up a town appeared to have been dropped in as an afterthought after the railway lines and sidings, the coal mines and the factories had been put in place.
From the station she headed into the Altstadt, which in truth didn’t seem very old at all. It was all rather bleak, lacking in charm and every surface coated in a fine layer of coal dust. The sky was streaked with plumes of smokes, most of them a dirty brown colour, and the omnipresent smell made Berlin seem like a spring meadow by comparison.
She checked into the Hans Sachs on Bahnhofstrasse. It was earlier than she’d have liked, but she was exhausted and needed to rest before her meeting. The receptionist seemed to have been up all night and looked equally exhausted, so much so that Sophia took the opportunity to slightly alter her name when she filled in the registration card: Frau Alma Walter became Frl. A. Valte. If challenged she could always blame her bad handwriting.
At a quarter past twelve she left the hotel through a side entrance, taking her room key, ignoring the strict instructions she’d received to the contrary when checking in. She crossed over to Augusta Strasse and entered the Sinn department store through a rear entrance.
