“Maybe we shouldn’t ... Well, just once more.”
This time Wolf pulled her gently to him and they felt each other and it was even more wonderful. Her arms reached around him and held him against her and it was so good. “Oh, Wolf,” she whispered.
She tugged away from him and walked toward the door. “Rachael.”
“Yes?”
“Shall I see you soon?”
“Yes,” she said, and ran inside.
Chapter Thirteen
PAUL BRONSKI GENERALLY BROUGHT his work home from the Civil Authority after hours. The census had been a demanding task. There had been a wild scramble for “Aryan” Kennkarten not stamped with the demanding J. Many of the Jewish population were trying to buy their way out of the country or otherwise make the census count very difficult. Three hundred and sixty thousand Jews had registered with the Civil Authority.
It was the new directives and continual organizational work that kept Paul busy until late each night.
Deborah, who spent the days at the orphanage and the evenings schooling her children, took time out from their studies to make tea for Paul.
When she entered the study he was slumped over the desk, his eyes red from reading, and he was pale with fatigue. As he sipped the tea she stood behind him and massaged his neck. It always felt so good when Deborah did that.
“Anything bad?” she asked.
“Just weary,” he answered. “This stump aches. Acts up in the damp weather.”
“Can’t you take anything?”
“Don’t want to get into the habit of too much pain killer.”
“Paul, you’ve been working too hard. Why don’t we take a few days off together? We can slip off somewhere. You can get a travel pass.”
“I wish I could. My belated responsibilities to the Jewish community are rather time-consuming.”
She sat on the desk. He smiled and pushed his papers back. “We aren’t spending much time together,” she said. “Orphanage during the day—but they’re so short-handed—our children’s lessons at night. I’ll cut off a few hours at the orphanage.”
“No,” Paul said. “I won’t be able to get home earlier, anyhow. Besides, it makes a good impression to have the wife of a Civil Authority member volunteering in the Orphans and Self-Help program.”
There was something Deborah didn’t like about that. Paul had reacted with a sense of duty to his new status, but he was still groping for prestige—still thinking in terms of doing the proper thing.
“When is all this going to end?” Deborah said glumly. “Once I was foolish enough to think nothing could be worse than during the siege.”
“Well, no one really knows what the Germans are up to. But even they only can go so far. It will level off.” He switched the subject quickly. “I saw Chris today.”
“Oh ...”
“He’s been able to transfer most of our accounts to American banks.” Paul laughed ironically. “There’s a paradox for you. We are getting richer all the time.”
Deborah worked hard to mask the sudden shock at the mention of Chris’s name. “How is Chris?” she said quickly.
“Fine—fine.”
“I didn’t know that he would be allowed to continue here. Susan Geller told me Ervin Rosenblum was concerned about a possible closing of Swiss News.”
“Seems he has gotten himself in thick with this Von Epp fellow. Naturally, his agency wants him to keep operating as long as the Germans let him. Incidentally, we decided that for mutual interests we shouldn’t see each other except in emergency. There’s no use alerting the Germans that we have business, and I could endanger Chris’s position here. We don’t need the funds, fortunately, and if we do we can always work through Rosenblum.”
“Yes,” Deborah said, “that’s sensible.”
“Dear,” Paul said, “while we’re about it, I want to speak to you about this business of sending Stephan to Rabbi Solomon for study. Let me say that I am in sympathy with your motives, but it’s dangerous business.”
Deborah’s sweetness suddenly vanished. “Dangerous for whom?”
“For the boy himself.”
“Have you thought about the shock he has received in the past few months?”
“Of course I have. Deborah, be sensible. We are very lucky. We have been spared all the harrowing things going on in Warsaw.”
“Is that really it, Paul?” she said sharply. “Protecting our position?”
“Did you ever think what would happen to us if I’m thrown off the Civil Authority? I’m not a criminal for wanting to protect my family.”
Paul had never seen Deborah look so stubborn. Almost always he had been able to talk her around in the past.
“Our son is being humiliated and persecuted because he is a Jew,” Deborah said. “He should at least have some moral fortification to withstand these shocks. We cannot let him stumble through this without knowing why he is a Jew.”
Deborah wanted to say more. She wanted to tell Paul that if he assumed his responsibility as a Jewish father he would give his son instruction and training as other Jewish fathers were doing since the outlawing of the cheder schools. But what she said carried an authority he had never heard from her before. She let it stop there because Paul was tired and confused and she did not wish to hurt him.
The doorbell rang.
Paul opened it. Gawky Wolf Brandel dangled before him. “Good evening, sir,” he said, his face reddening.
Paul smiled slightly. He quickly tried to change the atmosphere of the argument. “Good evening, Mr. Brandel. Did you come to visit with Stephan or Rachael?”
“Rachael—I mean Stephan, sir.”
“I will let you have them both for the price of one chess game.”
Oh darn, Wolf thought. Bronski was a tough chessplayer. It would take an hour to beat him. Then a lovely thought occurred. He would throw the game on purpose. This would kill two birds with one stone—please Dr. Bronski’s vanity and allow him to see Rachael quicker.
That night Deborah lay awake. The mention of Chris had stirred a restlessness in her. She ached for him. She closed her eyes and began to remember moments of coming up the path in the Saxony Gardens ... his touch, the warmth of him. The music in his room as they lay in the shadows. She squirmed about the bed.
She had run from him in anger and fright. But always in the back of her mind she knew she would see him again. Now ... cut off, completely. Not even a stolen glance ... a touch ... not even his voice on the phone. He must have been terribly, terribly hurt. But he is still in Warsaw ... he is still here. She wanted him to touch her. Oh, Chris ... Chris ... Chris ... please touch me.
Her tears fell on the pillow.
Paul reached out for her, and her body turned tense and rigid as it always did. Deborah forced the tears to stop and breathed deeply several times to make herself relax, and she rolled over to her husband.
Paul was in trouble. He was walking a tightrope. In the old days before the war he was so sure of himself, so independent and clever. He was floundering and now he had to lean on her more and more.
“You aren’t angry about what I said about Stephan? If it means so much to you, then we will chance it. We’ll let the boy continue with Rabbi Solomon.”
His hand went beneath her waist. She put her arms about him as he lay his head on her breast.
“I need you so much,” Paul said.
After sixteen years of taking her for granted, it was the first confession he had ever made.
Chapter Fourteen
Journal Entry
SOMETHING NEW HAS BEEN added. As if we don’t have enough to worry about, we were presented with Sturmbannführer Sieghold Stutze. Despite the lowly rank of SS major, it looks as if Stutze holds great power.
He came from Globocnik’s SS, SD, Gestapo capital in Lublin. Like Globocnik and Hitler, Stutze is an Austrian. He arrived with a detachment of SS troopers who are billed as “specialists in Jewish affairs.” We are learning that Globocnik and not Governor General Hans Frank is the real boss of Poland. It may hold true then that Stutze and not Rudolph Schreiker will be the real boss of Warsaw.