“It looks like we’re getting the first-class schmooze,” Pontowski said.
“The government wants this to be a big success,” she told him. “Personally, I don’t like the constant attention. It makes me feel so, so, watched.”
Pontowski smiled to himself. Ewa was going to be watched no matter where she went.
An extremely attractive middle-aged woman, a photographer, and a driver were waiting for them on the platform when the train arrived at Krakow. The photographer started shooting picture after picture. “I’m Renata Brandys,” she said, leading them to a waiting Mercedes-Benz. “I’ll be your guide. You’re scheduled to tour Krakow this afternoon and visit your family cottage tomorrow morning. But after that, we are at your disposal for whatever you care to see.”
“Thank you,” Pontowski said. “Your English is excellent.”
Renata smiled. “I earned my doctorate at the University of Missouri.”
“I live not too far away,” Pontowski said. “Warrensburg.”
“What a coincidence,” Renata replied.
“I doubt it,” Ewa murmured under her breath in Polish. The two women smiled at each other.
An early morning mist was rising off the Vistula River when Pontowski and Ewa met in the lobby of the luxury hotel for the drive to the cottage. Renata bustled up, all crisp efficiency. Her hair was carefully arranged and she wore a very stylish coat. “Good morning,” she sang. “The car is waiting.”
It was disturbingly quiet when they stepped outside. Pontowski paused and looked across the river at the royal castle in the center of Krakow. It faded in and out of the mist, briefly overshadowing the town before disappearing. “Beautiful,” Pontowski murmured.
“It’s so much a part of us that we don’t notice it,” Renata said.
“But it’s always there.” He crawled into the backseat next to Ewa, very much aware of her soft fragrance. “New perfume?” he asked.
She gave him a little smile and shook her head. Her hair flowed around her face, enchanting him. “It must be the shampoo. I washed my hair this morning.”
“You were up early,” Renata said in Polish, her voice silky sweet.
The traffic going in their direction was very light and Renata spoke with an insider’s knowledge, describing what they were passing and where they were going. Ewa listened carefully and recorded most of what she said in a little notebook. Just before they arrived at the cottage, she scribbled a note for Pontowski. She knows too much. Look at that beautiful coat. She’s not a guide. Be careful.
Pontowski nodded but said nothing.
Two more photographers, a videographer, and the curator of the cottage were waiting for them. Renata got out and held the door for Pontowski. “Ewa is such a lovely child,” she said. “And her English is perfect.”
The curator led them to a small wood-framed house painted a bright blue while the photographers snapped away rapidly. The videographer moved with them, constantly zooming in on Pontowski’s face. “This is a typical peasant farmhouse for the area,” the curator explained. “Only two rooms, a large kitchen where the family lived and one large bedroom where they all slept.”
“Their families were very large,” Renata added.
Pontowski sat on the large bed and looked around. Two trundle beds and two cribs filled the room. “They didn’t have much privacy,” he said.
Renata gave a little smile, knowing what he was thinking. “Farm children learn the facts of life at a very early age.”
Ewa blushed brightly and asked questions about how they cooked and what they ate. “Mostly vegetables and bread,” the curator said. “Meat was a rarity.”
“I’d like to look around outside,” Pontowski said.
“Ah, ah,” the curator stammered, “it’s very muddy.”
“That’s okay,” Pontowski replied. “I’ve stepped in worse.” He walked out with the curator in close tow. “Where’s the barn?”
“They were too poor. They did have little sheds or man-made caves.”
Pontowski looked around and it hit him. This was his heritage! It had always been there, hiding in the mists and taken for granted. An overpowering urge to explore and learn all he could swept over him. “Were the fields this way?” The curator tried to stop him but Pontowski ignored him and walked into the trees.
Renata rushed up. “General, we have a meeting planned with the local priest to show you the parish records…”
“In a few minutes.”
“We’re short of time.”
He came out of the trees and stopped. At first, the rusted, twisted barbed wire and stone foundations made no sense. Then he saw the guard tower. “What was this?” he demanded.
Renata’s voice was matter of fact. “This was a concentration camp.”
Pontowski stared at her. “I didn’t know about it.”
“Of course, your family was not responsible for this. They had the misfortune to live where the Germans decided to build a camp. The inmates worked in the fields.”
Pontowski relaxed. “Oh, I thought…”
“You thought right,” Ewa said. She was standing behind them. “This is part of Auschwitz.”
“Are we that close?”
“We’re less than ten kilometers away,” Renata said. “We thought you knew. Surely, your grandfather told you.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Renata was the cool professional, dispassionate and objective. “There were fourteen separate camps that made up the Auschwitz-Birkenau complex. Most were for manufacturing things like uniforms.”
“You said my family was not involved. Are you sure?”
“You have relatives who still live in the area. One of your grandfather’s third cousins is still alive. You can speak to her if you wish to discover the truth for yourself.”
Pontowski stared at the ground as conflicting emotions tore at him. “Damn! God damn it to hell!” He was brutally honest. “I don’t want to know.”
Renata said evenly, “Would you like to see the parish records? They go back to the 1600s.”
“No. I want to see Auschwitz.”
Renata’s voice was an echo in his mind while they drove over the bridge and followed the road as it curved through the barren field. A light drizzle fell and he could make out the camp’s rail entrance piercing the tower in the center of the long dark facade. Then he saw train tracks that led through the arch under the tower. “Birkenau, not Auschwitz, was the main death camp,” Renata said.
He got out of the car, forgetting his hat. Renata waved to Ewa to remain behind with the driver. Long experience had taught her how to handle what was coming. She led him through the arch. “It’s so quiet,” Pontowski said. They stopped for a moment as he stared. A few wooden barracks were still standing as well as most of the permanent brick buildings. Concrete fence posts with barbed wire outlined the perimeter and divided the camp into compounds. “I didn’t realize it was so big.”
She walked straight ahead, leading him into the heart of darkness. “In front of us are the unloading platforms.” The gravel walkway turned into mud as they made the long walk. “The selection was done there.” She pointed to a small concrete platform next to a low building. “If they pointed you to the right, you were immediately put to death.” They continued to walk, her words reverberating in his mind. “On your left are the remains of the gas chamber which was underground.”
The depthless evil of the gas chamber and all it represented flailed at his soul. This was not a carefully composed photograph nor an eloquently written essay. It was reality and he was part of it. The drizzle turned to rain and streaked his face. “How did they live with themselves?” he whispered.
It was a question Renata couldn’t answer. Instead, “The monument in front of you was built on the rubble of…” Her voice trailed off. He was motionless, staring at the dark monstrosity in front of him. She waited. Physically, he was with her, but emotionally, he was lost in the pandemonium of his emotions. Again, experience had taught her how long to wait. She touched his elbow and gently started him forward. “The monument in front of you is built on the rubble of crematorium number two.” They halted in front of the black structure. It was twisted, low to the ground, with a line of plaques in front, each mounted on a low pedestal.