Padlocked, page 11
“Which one is Janina?”
“I am Janina.”
“Then you are Irena?”
Irena nodded silently.
The woman turned to Agata. “And you?”
“Agata.”
“You three have taken bread from my bakery.”
“Yes, Pani,” Agata said, “but we left you money for it.”
“Yes,” the woman said. “You did.”
It occurred to Agata that this was why the woman had arrived earlier than usual, before they could arise, hide their belongings, and leave for the day ahead. It had been silly of her to sleep and eat in the same place; she must be savvier in the future if she were to survive.
“Move over here, under the windows,” the woman said. “Let me have a good look at you.” As they complied, she studied them carefully. “You,” she said, pointing at Agata, “why are you here?”
Agata swallowed. “I lived in the city center. I thought this would be safer.”
“The city center?” The woman repeated. “The Jewish quarter?”
Agata nodded.
“I lived there with my father and sister, but I left when—”
“And where are they now, your father and sister?”
“Still in the city center.”
The woman nodded, her eyes narrowing. “I recognize you.” When Agata did not respond, she continued, “You work at the textile plant. Don’t deny it,” she continued firmly, “I have seen you enter through the employee entrance.”
“Yes, Pani. I do.”
“What do you do there?”
“I am a clerk.”
“Do they know that you are Jewish?”
The question took Agata off guard. “My mother was Gentile.”
“What was her name?” she asked as though she knew everyone in Poland.
“Anna Heinrich.”
“Heinrich,” she repeated. “And what is your surname?”
“Goldberg,” Agata swallowed.
“Your father is Jewish.”
She nodded.
“Then, you are Jewish.” Before Agata could respond, the woman turned to the others. “And why are you here? Did you arrive together or separately?”
As she quizzed the others, Agata’s mind began to race. It was well known how the Germans felt about the Jews, as many German Jews had immigrated to Poland and Warsaw in particular over the past decade. They brought with them stories of cruelty, subhuman treatment, and discrimination.
Poland had been referred to as a Jewish Paradise, or Paradisus Judaeorum, centuries ago, but antisemitism had ebbed and flowed. While some Poles, including her employer, did not care about her religious beliefs, others wanted to purge them from their communities. As Agata struggled to listen to Janina and Irena, she learned they had escaped in advance of the Germans, walking with other refugees until they reached the relative safety of Warsaw.
“Then, you are all three Jews,” the woman said, clasping her hands in front of her.
“We will leave,” Agata offered, “and cause you no further inconvenience.”
“Nonsense.” The word was snapped and firm. She turned to Agata. “Does your employer know you have been staying here?”
“No, Pani.”
“Does anyone know?”
She shook her head.
“Do not bring anyone else here, do you understand? Not your father or your sister. For the time you remain here, you are to leave before daybreak and not return until after dark. Never approach this building or anyone who works here during the day. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Pani.”
“Do you?” She turned to the others, who also agreed to comply with her orders.
“Never practice your religion where anyone else can see or hear you. Is that understood?”
All three nodded.
“No lights in this warehouse. Is that understood? Not even a candle.” As she rattled off additional restrictions, they all agreed. Agata’s mind continued to race. She had intended to remain there only until she could find a suitable room to rent, but the woman's demands led her to believe she would be staying for the long term. She was befuddled. The Polish Warsaw Army would push back the Germans within days, and she would be reunited with Ira, Elsa, and Piotr.
“I will return this evening. It will be long after the bakery has closed. There is no need for you to take another loaf of bread. I will deliver food to you.”
Surprised, they each profusely thanked her, but she waved their words away. “My name is Helen. You do not need to know more.” With that, she was gone.
The guilt threatened to consume her. Though she tried to push thoughts of Elsa and Ira from her mind while she worked, the images of them at the school kept invading her mind. Her soul would not allow her to forget that she had promised to be back the following day, but she had been unable to keep that promise. She kept seeing Elsa’s trusting brown eyes in her mind’s eye. Sometimes, she was a small child, calling her Siostra Mamo, meaning "Sister Mama." Other times, her dreams were invaded by an older Elsa; still a child, her eyes had taken on the characteristics of an old soul, deep and knowing, penetrating and with an understanding that contradicted her age.
Aerial bombing continued relentlessly day and night. There were scattered bomb shelters around the city, but they were crowded and often inconveniently located. Frequently, bombs fell at the entrances, burying people within. Despite the bombardment, scores of people took to the streets to clear the shelter entrances, moving one rock or handful of debris at a time, passing them along makeshift lines. Others fought against raging fires that consumed Warsaw, block by block.
Although Agata continued to show up for work each day, the amount of time she actually worked on the job varied from day to day. Coworkers were trembling, concentration was nearly impossible, and a collective trauma had set in.
Agata returned to the bakery warehouse long after dark, though the continued fires and bombing lit the area in a surreal red swath. She’d spent another frustrating and increasingly dangerous evening attempting to reach the city center, where Ira and Elsa might still remain. The streetcars were no longer running, their tracks cratered. Many streetcars, buses, and cars littered the streets, some still smoldering. Explosions were common among vehicles as flames reached their fuel tanks.
If there were safe havens in Warsaw, she did not know where they might be. The entire city was in flames. She prayed constantly, her body trembling, asking God to protect her father and sister. Her thoughts were a jumble of contradictions. At times, she was convinced she’d made a mistake and that they should have remained together at the school. Other times, she was persuaded that they should have come with her; perhaps they could have left Warsaw together. But, she countered, where could they have gone? The Nazis were everywhere. With that realization, she fought against an ever-present feeling of hopelessness and powerlessness. A voice rose inside her, urging her to place her faith in Piotr and the rest of the Warsaw Polish Army, but just as quickly faded away.
She slipped inside the warehouse and slid the door closed behind her. It was the same door Piotr had led her to on her first night there, through a narrow alley filled with trash from the manufacturing plants. She had to step past rats and roaches, but once inside, she was grateful to have a roof over her head. Times had certainly changed from their neat little apartment and the bedroom she’d shared with Elsa. The bed seemed luxurious now as she thought of it.
The long corridor was dark and windowless, a good place to sit or sleep to escape the worst of the booms. She wandered to the end to retrieve her blanket from the stash she’d hidden behind heavily laden shelving. Agata paused at the entrance to the large room, where shelving that had once been piled high with inventory had dwindled alarmingly. No supplies were getting into Warsaw, and food was running low.
The tall windows revealed a constant flicker of red flames against a heavy smoke, the stench seeping into every crevice. A streetlamp was struck, spraying glass and emitting a glimmering blue light before being swallowed by the darkness. Then the flames returned like an immortal monster.
Through the light, she spotted a small pile on a chair in the middle of the room, and she made her way toward it. It was about a third of a loaf of bread wrapped in cheesecloth and three chunks of cheese. She broke off a piece of the bread and left the rest for Janina and Irena, though they had not yet returned, and selected a piece of cheese. As she returned the bread to the chair, she spotted an envelope on the seat.
She moved under one of the windows, hoping the light would help her see more clearly. Opening the envelope, she poured out the contents: three sets of identification. Puzzled, she opened each one in turn until she found one marked Agata Heinrich. The birthdate and place of birth were the same as those on the identification she normally carried, and she paused to consider how anyone could have obtained her old identification. They would have had to have taken it from her handbag, which she always kept with her. Almost always, she realized. Each morning, she left her handbag behind as she made her way down another hallway to the bathroom, where she attempted to clean up and dress for the day ahead.
The same photograph was on this identification. She tried to retrieve her original paperwork, but it was no longer there. With its absence, she felt her identity as Agata Goldberg slip away as well. She studied the new identification again, her birthplace in Germany jumping out at her. With the Germans on Warsaw’s doorstep, she hoped her birthplace would not become a liability among the Poles.
She tucked the paperwork inside her lingerie, admonishing herself for having left the original unattended. If she had to sew a pocket in her undergarments, she swore this one would never leave her side.
Agata studied the other identifications before placing them back in the envelope and returning it to the chair underneath the bread and cheese.
A newspaper had also been placed on the chair, and she retrieved it, bringing it back to the window, where she attempted to find enough light to read the small print. It was an old paper, creased and crumpled, as though it had passed through a multitude of hands before it found its way to her. The United Kingdom and France had declared war on Germany on September 3, less than 48 hours after the invasion of Poland had begun. There was a glimmer of hope that they would come to their aid and repel the Nazis, returning Poland to its status as a sovereign, independent nation.
Then she sat on the floor with her back against the wall and cried as the bombs pummeled the city.
15
Agata
Warsaw surrendered to Nazi Germany on September 27. One hundred and forty thousand Polish troops were rumored to have relinquished their arms. They were paraded through the city, purportedly on their way to prison camps. They appeared gaunt, grimy, and exhausted, their faces smeared with smoke and ash, their eyes reflecting trauma and bewilderment at their country’s fate. Some limped along as they nursed wounds, their comrades attempting to keep them on their feet, while others showed clear signs of abuse.
Agata stood on the sidewalk, watching the men march by, searching for Piotr. When she did not spot him, her mind went into overdrive. He was there, but she had missed him. He had been in another column in another part of the city. He had escaped and was hiding somewhere in Warsaw, or he’d been able to flee the city. She could not bring herself to consider that he had been killed in action.
In contrast, the German soldiers were robust in uniforms that had been spared the worst of the fighting. With the Germans controlling the skies, it almost felt as though they had simply waltzed into Warsaw after the aerial bombardment had crippled the city. As much as 90% of the city was damaged or destroyed, from simple homes to ancient castles, all denominations of places of worship, nearly all of Warsaw’s cultural heritage, including museums, theaters, and galleries. What they did not destroy, they looted, sending priceless artifacts on trains bound for Berlin.
By December, all Jews were required to wear the Star of David. Although armbands were preferred, some individuals also sewed them onto their clothing, often placing them on their chests above their hearts or on their backs. One could spot the white star easily from half a block away. It may as well have been a bull’s-eye. A population that had been vibrant only months earlier was now rendered as less than human, inviting Germans and Polish Gentiles to abuse them without restraint or retribution.
Everyone was required to carry identification. Jews had theirs marked, further separating them from the rest of society.
That December, as Agata huddled in the frigid warehouse night after night, the last vestiges of her old identity slipped from her. She did not wear the Star of David, nor did she submit to the long lines of Jews required to queue at government offices for new identification.
Everywhere, massive Nazi flags hung from the buildings, the garish red background appearing to represent the blood that was spilled everywhere they went. It was impossible to go anywhere without seeing them. At the end of every block was a checkpoint, usually containing vehicles blocking the way with soldiers on either side. Agata had been stopped each time she ventured out, always by a different set of soldiers. She held her head high as they studied her identification papers. They usually commented on her birthplace, inquiring why she was now in Warsaw. She always answered that she had come to visit her aunts before the invasion, but she knew she needed a different story.
Simply being stopped was a monumental risk. She retained enough of the German language from her younger years, but she feared her sentences were halting. And there were eyes everywhere. If one was friendly with the soldiers to carry on their business, the Polish community judged that person as a collaborator. Not being friendly could draw the soldiers' ire. It was a thin line, and neither side was a winning one.
Her job was gone, the building now a towering mound of rubble in the middle of a city block that she no longer recognized. Helen did not always leave food for her, and Irena and Janina had never returned. She needed to leave, but she did not know where to go. Rumors abounded about atrocities in and out of the city.
Returning to the city center was not an option. Agata told herself that someday, this would all be over, and she would be reunited with Elsa and Ira. But, to go to the Jewish sector now would place her in too much danger. Something deep within her soul urged her not to risk being labeled a Jew.
She tried not to think of little Elsa and how frightened she must be. She attempted to console herself with the knowledge that she was with their father, and he would protect her at all costs. He would ensure she had food and everything she needed to survive. Yet, even as she told herself these things, she wondered how that could be possible under Nazi rule.
By the following October, all Jews throughout the city were required to relocate to a designated area. Rumors abounded about the overcrowding and lack of food and water. Shortly after, the Nazis erected concrete barricades in the middle of city blocks to separate those Jews within from the Gentiles that lived outside. At the few gates into the Jewish sector, Nazi soldiers were positioned with strict orders on who could go inside.
It was now impossible for Agata to reach her sister or father.
16
Hank, 1943
Everything happened gradually until it happened all at once.
Będzin, along with the surrounding area, was annexed into Germany only a month after the Nazi invasion. The rails that once served as a vital supply route for civilian goods were now repurposed to transport infantry and supply the German Armed Forces. Będzin had become an essential cog in the Nazi war machine, its vast manufacturing capabilities pumping out goods around the clock.
As soon as Będzin became a part of Germany, all Jews over the age of ten were ordered to wear white armbands with a vivid blue Star of David. As they were now easily identified, they became vulnerable targets. It began with a constant barrage of hate speech on Nazi-run radio stations, the only stations citizens of any faith were permitted to listen to. They blared in restaurants and public places. Hitler’s speeches were particularly popular, drawing citizens to gather around large television sets strategically erected in businesses. He blamed the Jews for the loss of World War I, and the low status of some Germans, attributing their lack of work or money to Jews robbing them. After these broadcasts, assaults were commonplace against anyone wearing the Star of David.
Hank suspected that Max had become a puppet or useful idiot for the Nazi regime. To supposedly protect the Jews, he implemented a system of segregation under the Nazis’ watchful eyes and direction. All Jews were being systematically moved into one area of the city, their previous possessions now the property of Nazi Germany. Artwork, jewelry, and other valuable items were confiscated and sent by rail to Berlin. Their businesses, real estate, and bank accounts were seized. Sometimes, their companies were shut down completely, while in other instances, they were awarded to non-Jews. It all depended upon the needs of the Third Reich. The money traveled by train to Berlin under the protection of heavily armed soldiers.
Jews were no longer permitted to hold jobs without written Nazi authorization, and the only opportunities provided to them were as the lowest-level workers, regardless of their previous occupations. The Będzin Power Station cut off electricity to the Jewish quarter, and food and water began to run short.
To complicate matters and as if invading several countries was not enough for Hitler, he had invaded the Soviet Union in June 1941, transforming his ally into his enemy, and catching Stalin completely by surprise. The Soviets had begun to invade eastern Poland as part of the Axis powers, but now a line had been drawn that separated them from the Nazis. The Soviets had given the Nazis their first major defeat and shown the world that these superhumans could, in fact, be defeated. In turn, Nazi Germany ramped up the war effort throughout Poland, as more of everything was sorely needed, including uniforms, ammunition, tanks, aircraft, and other types of weaponry.
