We have had mass executions at the cemetery before. Usually a group accused of “criminal” activities or intellectuals. Never have fifty-three people been indiscriminately lopped off without excuse.
Although the property was “condemned as contaminated,” I was able to lease it this morning as an orphans’ home. Now I hear that the Germans are going to do a series of legal explanations of their actions to “justify” the executions. “Fear of epidemic” is their main reason as well as the catchall phrase “criminal activities.”
We in the Good Fellowship Club are rather certain this mass execution was a test case.
Other distressing signs. A further ration cut was ordered this morning. Dr. Glazer says this puts us below starvation level. This means that anyone obtaining enough food to live is a “criminal,” according to Nazi logic. Who figures these things out for them?
It is in the Soviet Union where the real terror is going on. More and more word comes back about special SS “Action Kommandos” massacring Jews all over the Baltics, White Russia, and the Ukraine just as quickly as the German army presses forward.
We heard something about a plan to send all the Jews to the island of Madagascar. (It might be a vacation.)
Hans Frank has lost his battle, once and for all. Not only are Jews still pouring into the General Government Area, but criminals, homosexuals, gypsies, “Slavic types,” political prisoners, prostitutes, and others deemed as “subhuman.” So, the General Government Area has become the “cesspool” for Germany’s non-Aryans. Several huge new concentration camps are under construction. One in particular, Auschwitz in Silesia, I hear, is mammoth.
The Good Fellowship Club reasons that this transporting of Jews and “sub-humans” is a burden on the rail system, especially for the German army on the Russian front. It is taking tens of thousands of their manpower also.
Conclusion: The Germans have reached their decision for a “final solution” for us. I fear further executions until they reach the desired level for slave labor.
The phone interrupted Alex.
“Hello, Alexander Brandel, here.”
“Alex. Shalom aleichem,” a voice on the other end said. It was a greeting from a contact named Romek on the other side of the wall.
“Shalom,” Alex answered.
“Alex, I hope you didn’t forget we have a lunch date.”
“Ach, what a stoop I am. I forgot to mark it down.”
“Yetta’s house at two o’clock.”
“Good, good, I’ll be there.”
Alex quickly locked the volume of the journal in the safe and went upstairs to his room. Wolf was playing with baby Moses on the floor.
“Son,” Alex said, “get Andrei at once. Wanda has arrived from Krakow with a package. Tell him to send one of the Farber girls to the Old Town Square. He’ll understand. Time is important. Wanda will pass at two o’clock.”
When Wolf arrived at the loft over the Workman’s Theater, only Adam Blumenfeld was there on radio watch.
“Where is everyone? A runner is in from Krakow.”
“Lord,” Blumenfeld grunted. “She wasn’t expected till tomorrow. Andrei, the Farber sisters, and Berchek are all on the Aryan side. Pinchas Silver can’t go. Get back to your father and tell him right away. He’ll know what to do.”
Alex drummed his fingers on the desk top, trying to think. It was one o’clock. Only an hour to the pickup. It was so unexpected that all four of the Bathyran runners were on the other side.
Think, dammit, think, Alex said to himself.
His usual unalterable calm became thready. Eight to ten thousand dollars were in the package. Nice, wonderful, untraceable dollars from Thompson at the American Embassy.
He looked at the phone. Call up Romek over the wall. No, that would be breaking the cardinal rule. Never phone a contact on the Aryan side under any circumstances.
What if Wanda saw there was no contact? They had completely lost one package like that.
Alex lifted the phone and dialed the Orphans and Self-Help Division at Leszno 92, Simon Eden’s headquarters and asked to speak to Atlas.
In several moments Simon Eden was on the phone.
“Atlas, here.”
“Brandel.”
“Yes?”
“I got an invitation from Romek to be at Yetta’s house for lunch at two o’clock. I simply can’t get away from my desk. Could you keep it for me?”
“That’s less than an hour. Hold on a moment and I’ll see if I can rearrange my appointments.”
Three more precious minutes ticked off. It was twelve after one.
“Alex.”
“Yes!”
“Can’t do it. Impossible.”
Alex put the receiver on the hook slowly. Lost! The package is lost! He looked up slowly and saw his son at the edge of the desk.
“I’ll go, Poppa.”
“No.”
“I’ve got false papers and I’ve been in training—”
“I said no!”
“Poppa ...”
“It’s damned well bad enough I let you talk me into this business of leaving the farm. It has nearly killed your mother.”
“I swear,” the boy said softly, “I’ll never talk to you again.” Wolf turned and walked toward the door and unbolted it.
“Wolf, for God’s sake, don’t ask me to—” He knew his boy. Gentle but stubborn. Even more stubborn than Andrei. Alex steadied himself. “All right. Leave everything identifying you on the desk. Take only your false papers. Time is running short You’ll have to go out of one of the three northern gates—there should be a guard ‘playing’ at one of them.” Alex opened a drawer. “Here, twelve hundred zlotys, mixed notes. That will get you in and out of the ghetto. Go to the Madam Curie Museum in the Old Town Square. Buy some blue violets on the way and wrap them in a newspaper. Wanda is Rebecca Eisen. You know her.”
“Anything else?”
“If ... anything happens ... you are not Wolf Brandel.”
“Don’t worry, Poppa. Nothing will happen.”
“Son, we haven’t spent enough time together—now, all of a sudden—”
“Poppa, you mean so much to so many people. I’ve always been very proud of you.”
Wolf walked briskly for the closest gate at Dzika and Stawki streets, only a few blocks from Mila 19. He made a false run past the gate to study the Jewish militiamen on guard. He did not recognize any of the three, so it was certain they did not know who he was.
He walked to the man of highest rank and snapped out his Kennkarte. The guard unfolded the three-part document and deftly palmed the folded hundred-zloty note. The guard studied the document. It was obviously a false paper, for it was not marked with a J. A clue that this was underground work or smuggling. He’d try for more.
“My old mother is very sick,” the guard said.
“She should see a doctor,” Wolf answered, slipping the man another hundred zlotys.
A windfall. “What time are you coming back?”
Bastard wants more, Wolf thought “Few hours.”
“Too bad. I won’t be on duty. Try my cousin Handelstein at the Gensia Gate. Tell him you spoke to Kasnovitch.”
“Thanks,” Wolf said.
Fifty zlotys on the other side of the gate took care of the Polish Blue Police.
Wolf walked rapidly for the Old Town Square. Time was running out.
For several weeks the Gestapo had been watching the movements of Tommy Thompson at the American Embassy in Krakow. They knew his sympathies and were relatively certain he was passing money and information to the Jews. The Gestapo allowed him to continue, in the hope that they could trail his contacts successfully and break up the ring at the Warsaw end.