Padlocked, page 14
Intellectuals were targeted. Hitler declared that Polish educators, doctors, writers, lawyers, scientists, economists, journalists, and even librarians were enemies of the Third Reich. The Nazis needed an uneducated population so they could feed them the same propaganda that the Germans had received for more than a decade. Those who disagreed were targeted.
There had been a steady stream of refugees at the beginning, but now they were no longer permitted to travel. The uneducated, thugs, and thieves now reigned supreme.
Hatred grew and festered unfettered. The Poles had lost the war within weeks of the German invasion. It had been as though there was a war between good and evil, and evil had won. Once it took hold, it metastasized into hatred of everything and everyone that was not German Aryan and a zealous supporter of Adolf Hitler.
Agata’s life had changed dramatically, and she feared it could never be the same as it had been before the invasion.
She was twenty-one years old now, and Elsa would be fifteen if she were still alive. Agata had long ago given up on trying to reach her sister and father, and the decision had devastated her. It had become too dangerous for her to leave her hiding place for anything other than food or water. The hospitals were gone, bombed beyond recognition, as were the shops, bakeries, fishmongers, and butchers. To eat, one had to become resourceful. Food became the overwhelming driving force in her daily existence.
If there had been a silver lining, it was that Germany turned on its ally and invaded the Soviet Union in 1941. Then, in December of 1941, Germany declared war against the United States just four days after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. This meant that the United Kingdom had been joined by the Soviets and Americans against the Germans, allowing some Poles to dream of liberation. Meanwhile, the German expansion had conquered Belgium, Finland, France, Austria, Hungary, and the Sudetenland, among others.
Helen turned out to be Piotr’s aunt, so it was no surprise to Agata that he had led her here. Shortly after the surrender of Polish troops, Agata received a note from Piotr via Helen’s underground resistance network. He was alive, and he had not been captured. He had fled with thousands of others to undisclosed locations, and they were plotting their overthrow of the Nazi-installed regime. The letters continued to arrive sporadically, each saved in a growing bundle tied with an old hair ribbon. She wrote back on scraps of paper, and in those moments, she felt a connection to Piotr, despite the miles and circumstances that separated them.
Supply chains were in turmoil, leading to the closure of Helen’s bakery. Only a small portion of the warehouse now remained intact; indiscriminate bombs had obliterated the rest. The door that Agata once used was blocked by rubble, and to anyone performing a cursory inspection, it may have appeared as if there was no entry to the building wreckage. But Helen and Agata were imaginative, and they had carefully constructed a wall of debris that hid an entry into the warehouse. They were forced to crouch to squeeze through the entrance, and afterward, they tossed fresh dirt and debris to hide their tracks. The windows had been painted with a mixture of any colors they could find.
An underground network had emerged for those desperate to escape Warsaw. Agata never knew how Helen had ingratiated herself into it; the woman refused to tell her, only advising her that the less she knew, the safer she would be. Piotr’s letters never mentioned specifics in case they were intercepted, but Agata wondered if he was somehow involved.
Almost every night as the skies grew black, a tiny group of people was led to their haven. They often traveled with only the clothes on their backs and perhaps a little bit of money in their pockets, which Helen refused to accept. Sometimes, it was a woman escaping alone; other times, there were small children with grimy faces and hungry expressions. Occasionally, a man would be among them, usually an elderly relative.
And with each group that appeared, Agata asked if they knew Elsa or Ira Goldberg. Night after night, month after month, the travelers shook their heads. Each group left before dawn that night or the next, never remaining for more than a day and a half. With each departure, Helen pleaded for Agata to join them. Some said they were traveling east now that the Soviets were the Germans' enemies. Others believed that if they could reach Northern Europe, they would be safer than in Poland. Still others set their sights on Eurasia.
Agata might have taken the chance, had she been all alone in the world. But something deep in her soul urged her to remain in Warsaw until she knew her sister’s and father’s fates.
It was a frigid night with heavy clouds that brought Piotr to her. After a man, a woman, and a child had emerged through their secret passageway, Piotr appeared, and the energy completely shifted for Agata. She rushed to him, nearly knocking him off his feet, her arms around him. He held her in an embrace that was so tight, she could feel his ribs and shoulder blades. He was haggard, his face drawn, and dark circles had emerged under his eyes. His clothes were threadbare, his shoe soles nearly worn through. But the smile that lit up his face revealed that his spirit was still there.
They were not alone just yet, as the young family was to share their tiny quarters for the night. The man was even worse for wear than Piotr. He was dressed in a ragged coat that seemed too thin for the season, his shoes sporting holes filled with old newspaper. His hair was long and unkempt, and even in the gloom of the warehouse, Agata could detect large, dark circles under his eyes. His wire-rimmed glasses were askew, and one lens had a crack across it. He carried the child in his arms, wrapped in a blanket that was unraveling. The child was unnaturally quiet, and Agata wondered if it had died, for it did not move despite the crawl into the warehouse.
While Piotr spoke to the man, Agata moved closer to the woman, whose face was cast in shadow by a tattered shawl. She shivered in the freezing temperatures, and Agata could provide nothing that might have warmed her, for she, too, suffered from shivers that she feared would not subside until spring had arrived.
The woman gathered the threadbare shawl around her, her eyes darting to her clothing as though she were ashamed. “They take our water and call us dogs when we drink from puddles,” she said. Though her voice was barely over a whisper, Agata could feel the resentment. Before she could respond, the woman continued, “They take our food and laugh when we dig through the dirt to find a morsel.”
Her husband joined in. “They take our clothing, so we must wear the clothes of dead people so that we do not freeze.”
“And your child?” Agata asked, nodding toward the baby.
The man shook his head. “Her heart beats, but I fear she is unconscious.”
Agata asked to hold her. Reluctantly, the man relinquished her to Agata as Piotr peered over her shoulder. She pulled back the worn fabric to find a wrinkled little body, sparse hair, and nearly blue skin. She placed her hand over the child’s heart and barely perceived a faint heartbeat. “Is she a newborn?”
The woman let out a sob. “She is three.”
“When was the last time she has eaten?”
The parents shook their heads. “Maybe two days ago,” the man answered. “Maybe three. It was the last time for all of us.”
Agata gathered her shawl around the child, holding her close to warm her. She wished she had milk to keep the child alive, but as she gazed at the tiny face, she realized the child was probably beyond the ability to swallow.
“Do you know Ira Goldberg?” she asked them as she rocked the child. She turned her attention to Piotr. “Have you heard anything?”
Piotr and the woman shook their heads without meeting Agata’s eyes. Piotr appeared particularly distressed.
Helen moved closer to them. “Give us your names,” she whispered, “or write them on the wall there.” She nodded toward a wall that was already filled with penciled names of those who had passed through. “If anyone looks for you, they will know you were here. Add the date after your names.”
The man nodded to the woman, and she made her way to the far wall, careful to remain under the windowsill. As she began to write their names, he leaned toward Agata. “Is that—Agata, is that you?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes!” she answered.
Before she could say more, his words spilled out. “I worked with your father at school. Caleb. Caleb Kotler. I thought I recognized you.”
Agata tried to picture him, but she was unable to recall the faces of Ira and Elsa, what the school had looked like, or the people they had known. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t remember you. It has been a difficult time.”
“Of course. Yes. And we have changed.”
“All of us have,” she answered. “Do you know if they are alive? My father and sister?”
“They were taken only a week ago.”
“I wanted to tell you,” Piotr said, leaning in. “In private,” he added.
“What do you know? Where were they taken? By whom?”
Caleb shook his head. “It has been happening...” His voice faded.
“Just the two of them?”
“No. The Nazis have been relocating people from the Jewish sector. How long has it been since you were there?”
“Years,” Agata answered, her voice revealing her agony.
“They brought in so many people... They turned our community into a ghetto; almost half a million people were crammed into the area.”
“Half a million!” Agata exclaimed. “How is that possible? The area is—what—perhaps a square mile?”
Piotr wrapped an arm around Agata, and she turned to face him. “People have been disappearing,” he said sadly. “Members of the Warsaw resistance say that Jews are being told that they would be transported to the south, where they would have their own community. Some have even gone willingly. The beautiful, vibrant community that you knew and loved, Agata,” his voice choked as he continued, “is now like living in hell. There is no food left in the city center; people are starving. Some are eating—well, whatever they can find.” He placed a thin hand against her cheek as if ready to wipe away her tears, but she felt numb inside as though shock had long ago taken over her body.
“Of course,” Agata said softly. “The goal is to survive. Is it not? Tell me, did my family go willingly?”
Piotr nodded toward Caleb, and the older man responded. “They did not wish to leave. But once they were tapped, they had no choice. They had nothing to take with them.”
“But our home—”
Caleb shook his head sadly. “Your home has been gone for a long time, Agata. It was bombed, and what wasn’t destroyed was ransacked early on. The Germans took all they wanted and burned the rest.”
“Did they harm my sister? Father?”
“The less you know, the better,” Piotr interjected sadly.
“Don’t tell me that!”
Caleb continued in a low voice. “They got in the vehicle on their own two feet. Your father is not as healthy as he once was. They are both thin, very thin.”
Agata gazed at the little girl in her lap. When she looked back at Caleb, she realized that he, too, was nothing but bones obscured by the oversized clothing. “But alive.”
“Yes. They were both alive.”
“And they are taking them south, you said? Where?”
“We don’t know for certain,” Piotr said. “None of us knows.”
As Agata’s face fell, Caleb added, “Some have said the vehicles take them to the train station. If you follow the tracks...”
“Follow the tracks?” Agata breathed incredulously. “Poland has extensive rail lines. You must know that.”
“Not any more. Most have been bombed or otherwise destroyed,” Caleb said quietly. “If not by the Nazis, then by the Armia Krajowa.”
“The Armia Krajowa?” Agata repeated.
“Poland’s Home Army,” Piotr said. “It is, perhaps, the largest resistance force in Poland, though it’s difficult to tell. Everyone is underground.”
“Then, how do I find them?” Agata asked, anguished.
Caleb spoke first, drowning out Piotr’s objections. “Follow the rail lines south out of the city if you can.”
“You have no idea where they might be heading?”
Caleb shook his head. He appeared exhausted, and he leaned against a pile of boxes.
“You can’t leave,” Piotr said, pulling Agata closer to him. “You are safe here, as safe as one can be under these hellish circumstances. If you leave, you are likely to be picked up before you can find them.”
Agata glanced over her shoulder at Caleb. “Where are you going when you leave here?”
“We don’t know,” he said sadly. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
“They will be moved from one haven to the next,” Piotr added in a tense whisper. “They won’t know whether they will be sent to the north, south, east, or west. It all depends on where the Germans are. And they are everywhere.”
“If it is safe enough for them, it will be safe enough for me.”
“No, Agata, it won’t. There is a huge difference.”
Caleb’s wife held out her arms for her child, and Agata reluctantly handed her back. She doubted the child would live until dawn, and perhaps, that was better than existing in this hell. She tried to console her own guilt at not having food to keep the child alive by telling herself that God was waiting on the other side of the veil to love and nurture this innocent little girl.
She turned back to Piotr. “How is it different?”
He pulled her into an alcove. “They are escaping, Agata, wherever and however they can. They are not searching for anyone. It is like searching for needles in a haystack, yet with bombs all around. It would be ludicrous for you to try it.”
Helen sat in the shadows, nearly undetectable in the gloom of the warehouse. “He is right, Agata. People are disappearing every day. You could travel south along the rail lines, only to discover when this is all over, that they were taken north. None of us knows for sure.”
“But I must find my sister,” Agata insisted. “I promised her that I would return, and—” She stopped as she fought back tears of pain and frustration.
“Your sister understands why you never came back,” Piotr said sadly, pulling Agata against his chest. “This, I know.”
“You don’t understand, Piotr. Perhaps, no one does. On that day when you found me, I was only going to secure a place in a safer part of the city. I was coming back for them the next day. They expected me to return for them.”
Helen rose and patted Piotr on the shoulder. “I will stay the night. I’ll be in that far corner, over there.”
Piotr nodded and pulled Agata down to the floor, where they made a makeshift bed from shawls and clothing.
As he held her, Agata pleaded, “Tell me what you know. And do not tell me it is best that I not know.”
Piotr’s eyes were kind but veiled. He had aged substantially since the invasion. He took a deep breath. “Treblinka is a camp located north of the city. It is rumored that people are killed if they enter Treblinka. If they are sent to Majdanek, near Lublin in the east, they are put to work in Nazi factories.” He grimaced. “The Nazis have a war machine. They are woefully behind the Americans’ production, and they are using slave labor as they attempt to catch up.”
“And the south, as Caleb said? Where would they have sent them?”
“Due south is Kraków.”
“That is almost two hundred miles from here.”
Piotr nodded. “Yes. But they would travel by train. It is only a few hours by train.”
“Tell me about these people who leave here,” Agata said, nodding toward Caleb and his family, now bedding down together.
“Are you sure?”
“I will do this with or without your help.”
“Then you must understand what you are getting yourself into.” He took a shaky breath. “Men and women in the underground resistance arrive before dawn and gather up the refugees. They will break into three groups, three distinctly different directions.”
“And is anyone going south?”
He shrugged. “One will head south if it is clear. If you do this, he or she will take you out of the city to a place such as this. From there, I cannot tell you who will help you on your journey.”
“Someone will take me there?”
Piotr shook his head sorrowfully. “No, sweetheart. You will be on your own once you leave Warsaw. Sometimes, they will be able to tell you how to reach the next safe place, and perhaps the next. Everything is fluid, Agata. You must understand that. What was safe yesterday is teeming with Nazis tomorrow.” He held her against his chest as his eyes closed.
“When do you leave?” Agata whispered.
“Dawn,” Piotr said before his breathing began to change to a fitful slumber.
Agata was ready as Piotr, Caleb, and Caleb’s family prepared to leave. His wife still held the tiny child in her arms, and Agata could not bring herself to look under the wrapped shawl to see if she still lived. There was an emptiness in both Caleb’s and her eyes, and she understood that they must know, and perhaps, they were prepared to bury her once they had escaped.
Three men and a woman arrived before dawn, when the skies were at their blackest and grim clouds obscured the moon’s light. They collected a packet of notes from Helen and secured them inside their layered clothing.
“Do you know one another?” The question came from a burly man.
“Yes,” Agata and Piotr answered simultaneously.
“Then, say your goodbyes to one another now. Once we leave here, there will be no talking. None. Any sound can give us away and endanger us all. Do you understand?” They all murmured their understanding, and he continued, “When it comes time to separate, there will be no farewells. None. Every second counts. Every delay puts us all in danger. Is that understood?”
Agata cast a sideways glance at Piotr as they all answered.
“You will not be given food for the journey. You may or may not receive food and drink at your first stop. Do not ask how long it will take. We don’t know. Everything depends on rapidly changing conditions. Do you understand?” Again, they all murmured their agreement, and he continued as if he’d recited these words hundreds of times. “Do not ask for breaks. We will give you a break when we decide it is safe to do so. The length of the break depends on conditions.”
