Padlocked, page 13
“You know them?” Wilhelm asked slyly.
“I do. They have performed work for my family in the past,” he answered smoothly. “That is how I know that they work hard.”
Wilhelm called out to a soldier nearby. “Tell them to move those two women to the Jewish sector,” he ordered. As the soldier left to carry out his order, others began to converge on the bakery with torches in hand.
“Must you do that?” Max asked Wilhelm.
“Of course. Are you a Jew lover?”
“Absolutely not. But if your soldiers are hungry, the bakery is always filled with pastries they might not have experienced since they left home. And the bakery connects to apartments where non-Jews live.”
As the soldier returned, Wilhelm ordered him to stop the fire. The young man rushed back just as the plate-glass windows shattered.
Max pointed to a beautiful home across a side street from the bakery. From the front, it appeared to be one story, but he knew from his mother’s deliveries of clothing to Mrs. Weiss that there was a full wine cellar. A portico rested in the center, supported by four columns that underscored its importance amid the surrounding apartment buildings and businesses. It was smaller than a standard manor house, but impressive nonetheless. It was painted an immaculate white and set off by multi-colored pansies in giant planters, the blooms stubbornly visible despite the snow. “That is my house,” Max said, tilting his chin upward. “Of course, you are welcome to stay there, if you’d like.”
Wilhelm glanced at the house appreciatively. “Thank you, but the mayor has offered me accommodations at the edge of town.”
“Ah. I know the home. It sits along a rise with a beautiful view. Does it not? Rows of chestnut trees frame it, and a beautiful oval garden just beyond the front door.”
“Yes, that’s the one. How did you know?”
“It is the most desirable one, of course, befitting someone of your importance.”
As the soldiers approached the home, Wilhelm gave an order to protect it, and they quickly began seeking out other targets.
The mayhem grew around them, the stench of smoke mingling with the sounds of shattered glass, children crying, and women screaming. As Max peered down the street toward the apartment he shared with his mother, he was horrified to see the building next door to them on fire, the flames licking at the outside walls as they shot through the broken windows.
“If you could excuse me,” Max said, taking a few steps away from Wilhelm.
“Wait, wait.”
Max reluctantly stopped, his heart pounding.
Wilhelm reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a pad of paper. He wrote quickly on a piece of paper, tore it off, and handed it to Max. “You must have this paper with you wherever you go.” As Max began to read it, Wilhelm added, “It says you are assigned to my office. You will not be bothered.”
“Thank you,” he breathed appreciatively. “Thank you! I won’t be but a moment.” As he hurried off, he glanced back to see that a soldier had garnered Wilhelm’s attention. With his back to him now, he ran along the sidewalk until he reached his apartment entrance. He bolted through the door but immediately came to an abrupt halt.
The narrow, open stairwell was filled with soldiers, most of whom carried items they thought had value but couldn’t possibly use—silver candlesticks, paintings, fine porcelain, furs—one even took a rolled-up Oriental rug. Max had lived in this building his entire life, and he never knew that people who had lived hand-to-mouth for decades owned items like these. As one soldier brushed past him, he caught sight of his double-armed loot, and he knew these were family heirlooms.
He heard women shouting upstairs and pushed past soldiers as he rushed up. One grabbed his sleeve as he tried to blow past him, and he turned and spat, “I work with Oberführer Wilhelm Keller. Do not dare touch me again!”
As that soldier quickly turned and ran down the stairs, others gave Max a wide berth. As he reached the top of the stairs, he found the door to Miss Chmiel’s apartment open. The air was filled with the weak, reedy protests of an old woman, and he longed to hold his hands against his ears to block out the sound. Another set of screams soon joined hers in a voice Max knew all too well.
He burst into Miss Chmiel’s apartment to find his mother trying to argue with the soldiers, unsuccessfully attempting to place her body between the Nazis and their neighbor. Max strode up to her and grabbed her by the elbow. “You! The Oberführer wants you!” he shouted in German.
She stared at him wide-eyed.
For the first time in your life, shut up! Max wanted to shout. Instead, he hauled her out of the apartment, unceremoniously pulling her past their apartment door.
“Wait! My things! They will take them!” His mother’s voice was a mixture of pleading and stubbornness.
“Shut up!” he said, striking her across her face.
Her hand went instinctively to her cheek, where her pale skin had already begun to turn beet red.
“Come with me, old woman!” he shouted in German for all to hear. “The Oberführer awaits!” As his voice thundered through the staircase, it seemed that the soldiers had suddenly disappeared. Perhaps concerned he would stop the plundering, they ducked into open doorways or fled outside to other unprotected structures.
A shot rang out above them. Max instinctively stopped in his tracks and stared up the stairs. Miss Chmiel’s constant wailing was gone, the air replaced with the pungent odor of gun smoke. A moment later, he heard heavy footsteps and the sound of breaking glass. “Come on,” he hissed, increasing his hold on his mother.
Once outside, he nearly dragged his mother a few paces from the building before pulling her into an alley.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Are you crazy?” Max hissed.
“My son would never have struck his mother,” she said as tears filled her eyes. She held one hand against the red welt forming on her cheek. “He would never have spoken to me as you have. I don’t know you anymore!”
“Stop your wailing and listen to me.” He blocked her body with his, so that any onlookers rushing along the sidewalk would see his suit and Nazi armband and, hopefully, keep moving. “I just saved your life back there, you idiot.”
“I am not—”
“I am important now. I am not some stupid little Polish boy any longer. I am a man, and I have chosen sides.” He jabbed his finger at his armband. “You see this? This will keep us safe. This will keep you from ending up in the Jewish sector.” He grabbed her arm and began to exit the alley.
“Where are you taking me?” Felka struggled to break free of his grip.
He swung back around, his open palm outstretched. “You are coming with me. You will not fight against me. You will go willingly, like someone who has good sense. You will not look at anyone we pass, do you understand? You will hear things that will give you nightmares, but you will not look. Do you understand?”
Felka began to whimper.
“Do you understand?” Max shouted as he shook her.
“I understand,” she managed to gasp.
“If you do not obey me, I will leave you on the street. The Nazis will do to you what they want, and nobody—nobody—will come to your aid. This is the only chance you will ever get, old woman.” With that, he grabbed her arm again and strode purposefully into the street. This time, Felka did not struggle against him. As he made his way toward Mrs. Weiss’s home, he felt her clinging to him as the chaos grew around them. Everywhere, there was smoke, flames, breaking glass, and children and women screaming and crying. It felt like the end of the world, and to many, it was.
They reached Mrs. Weiss’s home, marching straight up the path to the front door. Max opened it and pushed Felka inside.
“Where is Mrs. Weiss?” Felka asked. Her voice had grown reedy and thin.
Max shut the door behind them. Although they could still hear the pandemonium, it was now muffled. He moved down the hallway, glancing into various rooms. The further they went into the interior, the less he heard the sounds outside. This would work well. Very well, indeed.
The wallpapered walls were adorned with paintings in gilded frames, illuminated by gold-colored light bars. As Max stepped toward one, he realized they were all originals. The wallpaper in the parlor was burgundy with a gold pattern in damask baroque, but as he moved from one room to the next, every room was a different color—emerald green, sapphire blue, and amethyst. The bedlam outside faded completely as he became mesmerized by the opulence.
The furniture was beyond anything he had ever witnessed. Unlike his simple, small furniture with straight lines, this furniture was intricately carved with elaborate claw feet, and the sofas and chairs were upholstered in crushed velvet, every inch of wood shining as if it had just been polished. He moved into the kitchen to find every countertop spotless. The refrigerator was full of food, and in the center of the table was a bowl of fresh fruit. He picked up a red, flawless apple and bit into it.
“Where is Mrs. Weiss?” Felka repeated. She stood in the doorway, her body looking frail and smaller than she had appeared only a few moments earlier, as if she were visibly shrinking.
Max set the apple on the table and pushed past her into the hallway. He marched to the staircase, pausing momentarily to admire the detailed carving on the mahogany newel posts before climbing the stairs. Though the house appeared to be one story from the front, there were bedrooms at each end of the upstairs hall and one in the center. All had windows overlooking a courtyard behind the house. It was easy to identify which had belonged to Mrs. Weiss. The bed was covered in a gold satin spread, not the aged quilts he had grown up using. Perfume decanters were meticulously arranged on a dressing table beside an ornate hand mirror and a matching brush.
“This is my bedroom,” he announced.
“But, where is Mrs. Weiss?” Felka asked.
“Where is Mrs. Weiss? Where is Mrs. Weiss?” Max mocked. “Will you shut up with that? I don’t want to hear that again. Mrs. Weiss is gone. She isn’t coming back. This is our home now.”
“But this isn’t my home!” Felka’s lower lip trembled. “I want to go back to my apartment!”
Max waved his hand to encompass all that he saw. “You would rather go back to that dark, damp cell than stay here?”
“Yes!” she cried out.
“For God’s sake, why, woman?”
“Because it’s my home!”
Momentarily shocked, he simply stared at her.
“I have work to do,” she continued, seizing his silence as a sign to continue. “I have clothing to make. My customers are waiting for it.”
“Your customers?” He took a step back. “Your customers are gone, you silly woman. You will never sew again.”
“But I like sewing!”
“I don’t care what you like.” He pushed past her and moved into the bedroom in the center of the hall. “This is your bedroom.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so, that’s why.” Max glanced around. Being in the center of the house, there were no side windows overlooking the streets below; only one window offered a view of the courtyard at the back. “Listen to me. Are you listening?”
“I am listening.”
“You are not to leave this house without me. Do you understand?”
“Why not?”
“Because you will be raped and killed, that’s why not. And you are not to go to any window except this one, do you understand?”
She nodded silently.
“Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Say it louder!”
“I understand!” she sniveled.
“Stop your crying. You get on my nerves.” He grabbed her arm. “Your world is gone. Your jobs—both of them—are gone. Your apartment is gone. It is probably in flames as I speak.” Felka gasped, but he continued. “The Polish military is gone, Mama. They abandoned us to the wolves. But this—this—is our lair. I will get a soldier—a German soldier—to guard it. You will be safe here. You have plenty of food, enough for a whole army! You will sleep in a better bed than any you’ve ever experienced. You will live like a rich woman!”
Max dropped her arm, walked back down the hall, and hurried down the staircase. He had been gone too long. He stopped at the front door, his hand on the knob. “Close all the drapes and keep them closed. And—one more thing.” He studied her closely as he spoke. “You are no longer my mama, do you understand? You are Felka, the cleaning woman. You are to act like a servant whenever I bring a Nazi into this home, and they will all be Nazis. Do you understand?”
Felka stood with her mouth agape.
“Do you understand?” he bellowed.
“Yes,” she said, her spine straightening. “I understand.”
He pointed his finger at her. “Do not do anything stupid, and anything you do outside this house is stupid.”
“I am a prisoner now, am I?”
“Yes. You are a prisoner. Be thankful you are here.” He opened the door. Instantly, the tumult was almost overpowering. “And not out there,” he added. He stepped through the door, closing it firmly behind him. As he walked down the path to the street, he called out to a young private. “You! You, there!”
The young man stopped and stared at him.
“Do you not know who I am?” Max bellowed. “This is my house. Guard the front door. Do not leave until I give the order. Call out to the first soldier you see passing, and post him at the back door. If anything is disturbed within, you both will be executed!”
As the soldier hurried to his new post, Max turned on his heel. The administration building was only a few short blocks away, but it felt as though it took him forever to push past the throngs of people yelling, shouting, crying, and screaming. By the time he reached the beautiful gardens he had overlooked only recently, he no longer heard them. It was all just noise, like the hum of bees.
“Max! Max!”
He felt a yank on his sleeve, and he whirled around, but at the sight of Stella, his face softened. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she said excitedly.
“Isn’t what wonderful?”
She threw both arms in the air. “This! It is our dream, Max!”
“Where is your home? Is it still standing?”
“I don’t care about my home anymore, Max. I am going to be a Nazi soldier!”
“You cannot. That is not for a woman.”
“Then, I will find a special purpose. I am no longer Polish,” she declared. “I am Aryan!”
Max grabbed her and pulled her to him. He didn’t care about the commotion erupting around them. He didn’t care about Mrs. Weiss or the scores of Jews who would never see their homes or businesses again. He didn’t care that the whole city lay under a canopy of oppressive smoke or that Nazi soldiers had abandoned whatever discipline they once had to loot and rape the population. All he cared about was having this beautiful, golden-haired woman in his arms. He was Max Kursell, and in this moment, he was beginning a powerful new phase of his life.
As he leaned on his toes to reach upward to her and his lips found hers, he felt the young, spindly boy of his youth slip away. In its place was a dynamic, influential Nazi leader. It didn’t matter that he’d come upon his corner office under the veil of a lie; that, also, was behind him. He no longer had to translate English texts. He could command that Rafe and Hank write the articles in German. After all, German was the new official language. It hadn’t yet been declared, but it would soon enough.
He took Stella as though she had always belonged to him, and damn any soldier that dared to interrupt them. He didn’t know why Oberführer Wilhelm Keller trusted him, or maybe he didn’t. All Max knew was that at this moment, he carried with him a piece of paper that made him off-limits to everyone else. On this day, he had moved from a pathetic apartment filled with trashy furniture and a dining table covered in material to Mrs. Weiss’s opulent home. And it was all his.
And so, he thought, was Stella. She gave herself to him, pressing against his thin chest, and her lips passionately parting for him. She knew he was powerful. And she wanted this as much as he did.
18
Agata, Warsaw, 1943
The world had turned upside down and inside out.
It was impossible to recall what everyday life had been four years earlier. It was as though Orson Welles’s War of the Worlds had leaped from the radio into Poland, the aliens from outer space replaced by Nazi soldiers. However, the goal was the same, as the Germans made it clear they wanted Poland for German citizens, and Poles were expected to disappear, either voluntarily or through force.
Ten years earlier, more than half of German voters had been quick to point out that the majority had not voted for Adolf Hitler. The Nazi Party had received 43.91% of the popular vote, leaving 56.09% to claim that they had been against Hitler. The vote had been enough, though, to give the Nazis a majority, with the remaining ballots divided among six other parties.
Agata didn’t know where those dissenters had gone. They had either climbed aboard the Nazi bus or gone deep underground. In Warsaw, in place of local police departments comprised of residents, Nazi soldiers reigned supreme. Autocratic rule had replaced the courts, with their judges, bailiffs, prosecutors, and defenders. Due process disappeared, along with the opportunity to defend oneself. A person could be accused on the street and executed on the spot; their body left for the populace to haul away.
Meanwhile, Polish dissenters, also known as political prisoners, disappeared off the streets. Jews, Roma, who were also called Gypsies, so-called criminals, and others deemed asocial disappeared as well. Agata could see the same face in the neighborhood day after day, until one day that person had vanished without a trace. It happened too many times to count. Scores of families searched for their loved ones, not knowing whether they had been transported to another country, jailed inside Poland, or executed. Often, children were left without any adults in their family; every block was filled with a child crying for their mother, digging in the dirt for food they’d never find, or becoming fodder for bored Nazi soldiers.
