The bit of information brought forth a new burst of crying from Sylvia. And then the baby shrieked and Sylvia picked him up and clutched him to her breast and rocked him back and forth, oblivious of Alex’s words of consolation.
Alex nodded to Andrei to leave Sylvia alone. He tiptoed from the room, both of them retreating to his office. Alex began berating himself.
“Stop sniveling,” Andrei demanded. “He is a courageous boy.”
“Where is he now?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Should I?”
“He is with his girl.”
“His girl?”
“My niece.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.” Alex began berating himself again for being such a bad father that his own son would not confide his love life.
“Shut up, Alex, the boy is alive and safe.”
Alex kept rambling. “All these eight horrible days I said it was right to get Wolf out. We have bought freedom for our people before. Rodel cost us nearly two thousand when they took him to the Pawiak Prison, and he isn’t even one of ours. The Communists didn’t even pay me back for Rodel’s release. It was all right, buying Wolf out. We would have done the same for any of our people.”
“You want to hear it, I’ll tell you!” Andrei raged. “It was not all right! You should have left your son to die before crawling in front of Max Kleperman!”
“Don’t talk like that, Andrei!”
Andrei snatched him from his chair and grabbed his lapels and shook him as though he were weightless. “Grovel! Beg Max Kleperman for mercy! That three thousand dollars could have bought guns to storm the Gestapo House and take your son out like a dignified human being!”
Alex fell against him and wept, but Andrei slung him into his chair. “God damn you, Alex! God damn you! Open your goddamned precious journal and read to me about the Jewish massacres in the Soviet Union!”
“For God’s sake, leave me alone!”
“I want money! I want to buy guns!”
“No—never. Never, Andrei. We keep twenty thousand children alive—not one zloty for guns.”
Alexander Brandel gasped violently for air as the room whirled around him. He had never seen the anger of the big man who glowered over him. Cornered and beaten, his soul cried out instinctively for the lives of the children.
“I’m through,” Andrei hissed.
“Andrei,” Alex cried pathetically.
“Roast in hell!”
“Andrei!”
The door slammed on his plea.
Andrei Androfski wandered in a fog, aimlessly through the ghetto streets. It was done. There was no turning back. He walked and walked and walked in a daze that shut out the sight of corpses and the pitiful moans of the child beggars or the brutal clubs of the Jewish Militia.
And he found himself standing in the lobby of his apartment house before the bank of mailboxes. His hand groped instinctively in slot 18. He pulled out two armbands. Two white armbands with blue stars of shame. The kids were still upstairs. Wolf and Rachael. He shoved the armbands into the slot and dug around in his pocket. Two bills. A hundred zlotys each. Always when he plunged lower and lower one word kept him from reaching the bottom—“Gabriela.” Two hundred zlotys. Enough to get him to the Aryan side. He needed her desperately.
“I have quit,” Andrei said.
“What are you going to do?” Gaby asked.
“Try to contact the Home Army. They’ll give me a command. The Home Army needs men like me. They won’t argue and quibble, they’ll fight—tired of all this damned arguing—all this dealing with Kleperman.”
Gaby watched him mumble aimlessly.
“Roman. That’s the name of the commander of the Home Army in the Warsaw district Roman. I’ll get to him somehow. You’ll stick with me, Gaby?”
“You know I will.”
He put his arms about her waist and buried his head in her belly, and she stroked his hair. “Are you certain?”
“I am certain—absolutely certain.”
Rachael and Wolf lay side by side on the bed, awed by the magnificence of their experience.
Wolf was completely exhausted. Rachael held him and petted him, and her lips sought him again and again.
She felt so elated from the wonderment of fulfillment.
It was not ugly or difficult. She felt no shame when they saw each other for the first time. Wolf had been so gentle and tender. He knew the awkwardness in her.
He was happy. She had made him happy. He was tired, but he wanted her to touch him.
Poor dear Wolf, Rachael thought. He is so shy he cannot say words he wants to, but I feel every word he wants to tell me by the way he touches my breast and kisses me and whispers to me.
It felt good ... so good ... and I am so proud I was able to be a woman for his sake. Now anything can happen and it won’t be quite so bad.
I am so sleepy. ... Uncle Andrei must be furious. I hope he went to see Gabriela, because I’m not going to leave. I’m going to snuggle close and sleep for a little while, then I’ll wake him up and try it again. ...
Chapter Twenty-five
Journal Entry
NO ONE HAS SEEN Andrei for ten days. We assume that he is living on the Aryan side. After so many years of working together, it is difficult to believe he is really gone. None of us knew till now what a symbol of security he was. It has been a terrible blow to the morale here at Mila 19.
We now operate ninety soup kitchens and have some twenty thousand children under the care of Orphans and Self-Help.
Dr. Glazer tells me we have a new trouble, venereal disease. Before the war, prostitution was never a Jewish social problem. Nowadays I hear more and more of wives and daughters, many from fine old Orthodox families, taking to the streets.
For a family to get a daughter married to a Jewish militiaman is an achievement.
Tommy Thompson has been evicted from Poland. We have lost a dear friend. However, we have been expecting it for a long time. Ana Grinspan has already made a new contact to pass in American Aid funds. Believe it or not, a chap named Fordelli, who is the second secretary at the Italian Embassy. Although he is a good Fascist, he takes exception to the German treatment of the Jews. Is Ana having an affair with him?
ALEXANDER BRANDEL
Alex was instinctive about bad news. The moment Ervin Rosenblum walked into his office he knew something had gone wrong. Ervin paced and wrung his hands.
“Out with it.”
“My pass to the Aryan side has been revoked.”
“Has De Monti protested?”
“He left for the eastern front four days ago. He doesn’t know yet.”
“Confidentially, it is just as well you are inside the ghetto with us.”
“But all the contacts on the Aryan side ...”
“It was getting more difficult for you to see anyone, and De Monti refused to co-operate. You were being watched every minute. Ervin, I’ve been thinking. You can fit right in here at Mila 19. We need you in several positions.”
“Like for example?”
“Orphans and Self-Help cultural director. Nu, don’t shrug and make faces. The arrangement of debates, concerts, theater, chess tournaments becomes more and more important to give the people something to think about other than misery. What do you say?”
“I say that you are a good friend.”
“Another thing. The Good Fellowship Club. I can’t keep up with all the material coming in to the journal. I have been thinking for a long time. Build a secret room in the basement. With you putting time in, we could really expand the archives.”
Ervin shrugged at what he felt was charity.
“Think it over, Ervin. Let me know.”
That evening Susan Geller came to Ervin’s flat. Since the ghetto, they had had little time for each other. Susan was nearly completely married to the orphanage and Ervin was on the Aryan side most of the time. They met about once a week at Good Fellowship Club meetings, usually too weary to pursue personal pleasures. Their unofficial engagement seemed destined to go unresolved.