“It’s all right Susan, I understand.”
“God, I don’t know what to do with Dr. Glazer gone.
God ... Ten children died today ... God ...” Her breath darted out in streams of frosty air.
Journal Entry
As the population is decimated the Germans close off the little ghetto in the south. As soon as a bit of room becomes available in the big ghetto, houses are closed off in the south. Crossing the bridge over the “Polish corridor” are the fancy Jews from Germany, the Jewish Civil Authority people, and the Militia and wealthier smugglers and members of the Big Seven. Only one major factory complex is left in the small ghetto, and that is the woodwork shops. As the small ghetto is abandoned it has become a no man’s land where Wild Ones without Kennkarten hide so they will not have to submit to slave labor. The abandoned ghetto has become a rendezvous for smugglers and to carry on prostitution for those still decent enough in appearance to sell their bodies. Raiding parties cross into the little ghetto at night and rip up wooden floors, doors, rails, and anything else that can be used for firewood and cart it off. In the big ghetto the crowding is worse than before. People sleep in hallways, cellars, in outside courtyards.
We continue to attempt to get dollars from British parachute drops, but it is hit-and-miss. With our dollar supply shrinking, the zloty has inflated again. David Zemba has made a simple plan. Through our people in London we have gotten American Aid to deposit several hundred thousands of dollars in Swiss accounts. Many of the smugglers have enormous collections of zlotys virtually unspendable and useless to them. We buy the zlotys by transferring Swiss dollars into their personal accounts in Geneva. We are able to get a good rate and with enough of these zlotys can buy essentials. We try not to deal with the Big Seven, but it is certain that Max Kleperman has his people in on this. Also, we can make direct barter with our Swiss money for houses, rooms, gold, food, and medicine with those smugglers who have caches. This latter is preferable to the zloty exchange. David Zemba is in conferences, trading for our Swiss dollars all day, every day. He has saved hundreds of lives.
Three major slave-labor factory complexes remain in the ghetto, all belonging to Franz Koenig. In the small ghetto there is a woodwork plant. In the north, the Brushmaker’s district. This latter supplies a major part of the brushes for the German army. Most of the people, in their desperation to live, still maintain that a Kennkarte stamped for labor is the key to life.
From the third factory we hear something that is a ray of hope, however faint. It is the uniform factory. Although the Germans claim to be at the gates of Moscow, we sense their first great defeat of the war. Nearly a hundred thousand bloody uniforms have arrived from the eastern front. In the factory the slave laborers clean, patch, and weave them and make them ready for reissue in Germany.
A hundred thousand German casualties? Good news.
ALEXANDER BRANDEL
Chapter Four
RACHAEL RACED THROUGH RAPID passages of Chopin’s Second Concerto in preparation for a concert with what was left of the Ghetto Symphony Orchestra to be held in Franz Koenig’s uniform factory.
She turned to the slow hit of the andante, and her mind strayed from her work. Three more members of the orchestra had died. There were only forty musicians left and they were listless. A spasm of tension gripped her stomach. Wolf had been gone five days this time. It was the third time in a month that Andrei had sent him to the Aryan side. They said they wouldn’t, but they needed Wolf, even at the risk. What were they to do? She longed to marry him, but her father would be violently opposed. Wolf’s father had once been an active Zionist and many people knew about Wolf’s work. Poppa would allow nothing to besmirch his position on the Civil Authority. He was completely unreasonable about it.
In the bedroom, Stephan lay on his stomach studying the Haftorah, a reading from the Prophets, in preparation for the coming bar mitzvah. He always remembered the sound of music from his mother and sister. It had a magic quality of transcending him beyond all harm and all ugliness. Rachael stumbled on a passage, then fingered her way through the next bars.
Stephan automatically stopped reading and rolled off the bed and walked to the window. They had just moved to this new place in the big ghetto. He had to share a bedroom with Rachael, and it was a pretty run-down place but far better than most people had. Just across the street stood the old post office building where the Civil Authority had been housed since the Germans closed the place on Grzybowska Street. His father worked in there. In front of the large square, columned structure stood the only tree and plot of grass in the ghetto. It felt cool and soft to roll in.
The music stopped.
Stephan walked back to his bed and flopped on his belly, waiting for Rachael to begin playing again so he could resume his studies.
He had always had an unspoken communication with his sister. They wanted to talk to each other now. She sat on the edge of his bed and mussed his hair. He rebelled slightly.
“How can you read that chicken scratch?” she said, referring to the Hebrew text.
“It’s no worse than the chicken scratch you read at the piano.” Stephan closed the book, “I wish Wolf would get back and help me with my lessons. Rabbi Solomon—well, we have to be perfect. He’s tough.”
“Stephan?”
“Yes?”
“Wolf told me you tried to get him and Uncle Andrei to let you distribute the underground paper.”
The boy did not answer.
“Is it true?”
“I guess so.”
“Does Momma know?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think you’d better tell her?”
He spun off the bed, away from her inquiries.
“What would we do if anything happened to you?”
“Don’t you understand, Rachael?”
“With Wolf and Uncle Andrei doing their work, I can’t lose all of you.”
“If only Poppa—” Stephan stopped short. “Nothing.”
“You can’t make up for him, Stephan.”
“I’m so ashamed. For a long time I tried to believe what he was telling me.”
“Don’t be too hard on Poppa. No one knows how much he has suffered. You must be kind.”
“How can you say that? If it weren’t for Poppa you and Wolf could marry.”
“He’s still your father, Stephan, and I know that Rabbi Solomon would be the first to tell you to honor him, always.”
“Rachael ... Momma and Poppa don’t love each other any more, do they?”
“It’s only because of the times, Stephan.”
“That’s all right. You don’t have to try to explain.”
She changed the subject quickly. “So, you’re going to be a real man next week. Well, let me see if you have a hair on your chin yet.” Rachael wrestled him to the floor. He gently allowed himself to be pinned down. Her fingers dug into his ribs and he squirmed, half angry, half laughing.
“Quit it, Rachael! I can’t wrestle with you any more.”
She bared her claws. “And why not?”
“Because you’re a girl and I may grab something by mistake.”
“Well! Stephan Bronski! You are becoming a man!”
In a moment she went back to the andante movement Stephan slipped beside her on the bench and rested his head on her shoulder. Rachael put her arm about her brother and kissed his forehead.
“It won’t be much of a bar mitzvah for you, will it?”
“Just taking the oath to live as a Jew is important,” he answered.
“You are a little man.”
“Don’t be afraid, Rachael. Wolf will be back. I heard you cry last night. Don’t be afraid. Rachael, I think I understand everything about you and Wolf and I want you to know I’m very glad because next to Uncle Andrei he’s the finest man who ever lived. He has explained lots of things to me ... about being a man ... like things Poppa should have explained ...”