Clara's War (9 page)

A few days before Christmas, Mr Beck knocked on the hatch, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. There was something about this war that spelled adventure to Beck, and if there was anything that gave us hope, it was this sparkling look in his bright if often bloodshot blue eyes. He invited me and Mania, Igo and Klarunia upstairs without telling us why. When we didn't budge, he insisted. ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry…' Mania was up in a second. Mr Patrontasch shooed Klarunia up the hatch while Beck leaned down to help us up, one by one. My mind was racing. It was Julia who asked me up to clean. Neither Beck nor Ala ever asked me up. What did he want? Did I have to go? Of course I did, and I let his strong hand haul me up like a sack of grain into the aboveground world of polished parquet floors and oriental carpets
where we had once been at home. It felt especially foreign to me today because it was Beck bringing me here and not Julia.

Beck led us out of the bedroom and across the corridor up to the closed bathroom door where Julia and Ala were waiting. With a flourish, Beck opened the door. My eyes went straight to the window that was high enough not to be curtained and filled the eggshell blue room with the melancholy winter light of late afternoon. But a splashing in the tub quickly drew my attention back down. Swimming in the full bathtub was the largest carp I had ever seen. It had to be 8 kilograms. Christmas in Poland without a carp was unthinkable; even the scales were passed out and kept as good-luck charms. This one was a beauty, fat and sleek. The dorsal fins were the bluish grey of dried lavender and the side fins were bright orange and red like Chinese fans. In the years before the war, the streets would be filled with fishmongers with live carp swimming in washbasins, buckets and small tanks, anything that could hold a fish. Little Igo and Klarunia couldn't believe its size. The fish was almost as big as they were. It was too big and good-looking for them to afford. We asked Mr Beck if he had caught the fish.

‘Better you shouldn't know.'

Julia was now curious. ‘You didn't catch it?'

Beck shook his head. He was either teasing us or he didn't want his wife to know where he got the fish. But she was persistent. ‘Where did you get it?'

‘From Von Pappen himself.'

We couldn't believe what he was saying. Von Pappen was the German SS commandant, Beck's boss and the most feared man in Zolkiew. It was he who had created the ghetto, ordered the murders, extorted our money. Beck had met him through two of his card buddies, Krueger and Schmidt, who were German policemen. Beck had presented himself to the commandant as a
loyal
Volksdeutscher
and Von Pappen had given him the job of overseeing the German army's alcohol supply. It was like giving the fox the keys to the hen house.

Julia persisted. ‘A gift from Von Pappen?'

‘Not exactly a gift. Let's just say I caught it from the commandant's cook.'

Beck refused to give a straight answer. All he would say was that Von Pappen was without his Christmas carp and we were going to eat it. I didn't know if Beck had got Von Pappen's carp because it was his way of asserting his independence and authority, or simply because it gave him pleasure. Whatever the reason, Mr Beck grew taller in my eyes in that small bathroom.

From my few brief interactions with Beck, I was beginning to understand that he was full of contradictions. He had a reputation for anti-Semitism, but he never acted with anything but friendship towards us. The only word I could think of to describe this rough-hewn man was charming. He was charm itself to every one of us. He was not supposed to be educated, but he was a proud patriot and had well-thought-out opinions on everything, which displayed his hatred of the Nazis, the Ukrainians and anyone and everyone who abused their power or authority. To listen to him talk about greedy landowners and the corruption in government, you'd swear he was a communist, but he hated them as well.

Beck let Julia lead us back downstairs and as we went down the hatch, she invited us to their Christmas dinner. I hadn't even thought about an entire dinner. I thought we would get some scraps, some leftovers. But of course Beck wouldn't show off the delightful carp just to taunt us. I wasn't ashamed of my reaction, but I had forgotten what it was like to be given such a gift by a non-Jew. For three years I had become more and more of a shadow, a broken heart, an empty stomach, the single monochromatic thought of survival, and here was this woman who
wanted me at her Christmas table. The invitation reached my ears in an alien language. ‘Why? Why were they doing this?' I silently asked myself. For a moment, and only a moment, this one sliver of light engulfed the darkness. A feeling of joy, which I had felt so often in my life and which had fled from the Nazis, was briefly back. I experienced a powerful sense of gratitude, peace and trust. The carp in the bathtub had become a token of the Becks' commitment to our lives. I also knew that I would love this fish, not because of where it came from or what it signified, but because I was hungry. It would be pickled like herring; jellied in aspic and deep-fried like catfish. But the more I had looked at the carp in the bathtub, the more I thought about the Christmas dinner and wondered what we had that could possibly demonstrate even the smallest part of our gratitude to the Becks.

 

On the afternoon of Christmas Eve the bunker was filled with the wonderful smells of Julia's cooking and, for the first time in months, we had something to look forward to. Ala brought Igo and Klarunia upstairs and gave them a piece of candy, which was a gift in itself. We decided to give Beck one of Papa's sweaters. Mama's leather handbag would be for Julia and Mania's tortoiseshell comb would be for Ala. Even though they were hand-me-downs, they were the closest thing to real presents we could find.

That evening when we went upstairs I don't know why we were taking such a big chance on leaving the bunker, but perhaps Mr Beck thought the SS and the Gestapo would leave us alone on Christmas Eve. None of us was prepared for what was waiting for us as we climbed up from underground. The curtains were closed tight and the rooms were filled with the soft light of candles. There was even a Christmas tree, which Ala
and Beck had chopped down in the forest on the other side of the train station. The tree was decorated with candles and the Beck family ornaments, glass balls, angels and wise men made from shaved wood and paper.

Julia and Ala had set the table for 14 with Mrs Melman's finest china and linen. Julia had cooked all the traditional Polish Christmas dishes. I had no idea where they could get such things during the war, but all Julia said was, ‘Beck has his ways.' She loved him very much and was proud of him and called him her magician. There was a huge
challah
on the table. There were the traditional dishes of borscht and pirogies with mushrooms and sauerkraut as well as the many carp dishes. Julia pointed out the dishes one by one, naming them. One of them was actually called
ryba zwdowski,
‘Jewish fish', which was
gefilte
fish. Of course I had seen Julia helping Mama make
gefilte
fish on dozens of occasions, but I had no idea it was eaten on Christmas or eaten by Poles at all. I kept all the wonder to myself, but I'm sure it was there in my eyes as I followed Julia's fingers around the table. I don't know why this surprised me so much, considering carp was such a staple of our diets.

Even though I went to a Polish school and had Polish friends, this was the first Christmas dinner I had ever been invited to. The table was filled with many things I didn't understand. I counted all the place settings and noticed then that there were not 14 settings but 15. I wondered who the extra guest might be, since no one knew we were ‘guests' of the Becks. Julia saw me staring at it and told us it was for the ‘unexpected guest'. All over Poland, their Christmas dinner tables were dressed with empty plates, waiting for a knock on the door that might bring a hungry stranger. It was an old Polish tradition. ‘When there's a guest in the house, then God is in the house,' Julia told us.

I had lived in Poland my whole life and I never knew of such a tradition. It was hard to believe there was so much we didn't know about each other.

My father was very moved. He raised his glass. ‘Then I know your house is filled with God tonight.'

The room was lit only by the candles, and for these few moments the war seemed to recede into the darkness beyond the glow of the candlelight. We all knew the war was still there. We had been in the bunker for three weeks and, as bad as our situation seemed, we had no idea of the horror ahead of us. The ghetto was only three weeks old. We had heard of the camps and the deportations; we had witnessed the murder of our Jewish leaders and head rabbis in Zolkiew; we knew we had ransomed every day of our lives with the wealth of our community, but there was nothing in our collective imagination to prepare us for what would come and what we would learn. So the feelings of goodwill, gratitude and fellowship pushed our fear to the furthest recesses of that lovely room and our minds. I wasn't thinking of the war at all, just what I saw in front of my eyes as they moved across the table.

Julia then reached into the centre of the table and took a satin-embroidered covering off a plate, revealing a huge loaf of bread. ‘Before we get to the dinner,' she said as she picked up the platter and put it in front of my father, ‘we each eat a piece of this bread.' Another tradition I had never seen, but which echoed our tradition of starting our meals with a blessing over the bread.

Mr Beck explained the custom. ‘When we eat the bread, we forgive the sins made against us over the last year and wish for happiness for all in the upcoming year.' Papa then explained to the Becks our Jewish traditions of the extra wine cup for Elijah at Passover and our yearly expiation of sins at Yom Kippur. We
had always seemed so different from the Poles, and as much as I knew about their religion–the stories of the saints, the mass in Latin, the cloistered abbeys, the nuns that lived behind bars, the rituals of holy communion and confession, the idea of resurrection, the piety of the Polish peasants–it was both familiar and alien; comforting and frightening. It was strange and wonderful and disconcerting all at the same time to have their customs reflect some of our own.

Mama said, ‘I'm sorry to say that in all the years we've known each other, this is the first holiday we've spent together.' In these words were an apology for all the times she treated Julia like a servant and not a friend.

Julia only smiled, but she understood the deeper meaning in Mama's words. All of us who owed our lives to these people understood. But our gratitude, even unspoken, made the Becks uncomfortable. Mr Beck stood up and said in a loud voice, raising his glass, ‘May there be many more.' I started to love the Becks like a mother and father. Because now, even more than my own mother and father, Mr and Mrs Beck were responsible for my life, and for all our lives. They were risking their lives for us, and risking their daughter's life as well.

There were laughter and jokes and toasts. Vodka was one thing Jews and Poles had in common–the men at least. The streets outside were filled now with carol-singers and their voices just added to the wonder of the evening. The Poles were deeply religious and the carols were usually sung with not only spirit but deep devotion and love. After the
kutja
, which is a traditional Polish dish made from barley, nuts and honey, and one of my favourite dishes since a spoon first entered my mouth, Julia and Ala cleared the table and now it was time for our own singing of Christmas carols. The curtains were closed and our voices raised with the Becks wouldn't have attracted any
attention. For the first time in years, I felt I had a reason to sing, and was safe enough to do so.

Ala, Mr Beck and Julia started singing: ‘Jesus, Heaven's Infant' (
Jezus Malusienki
), ‘To the Town of Bethlehem' (
Przybiezeli do Betlejem
), ‘Let Us All Go' (
Pójdzmy Wszyscy
), ‘Rejoice Bethlehem' (
Dzisiaj w Betlejem
), ‘God is Born' (
Gdy sie Chrystus rodzi
), ‘Midst Quiet Night' (
Wsrod Nocnej Ciszy
), ‘Hush-A-Bye Little Jesus' (
Lulajze Jezuniu
). They were all songs Mania and I had known for years. We went to Polish schools, which were taught by nuns, and we had sung these carols since we were five years old. Mania and I had never bothered to share this part of our education with our mother and father, so you can imagine their surprise when we joined in. Mania's voice was so beautiful as she harmonized in, above, below, within and without the rest of us.

For three weeks, we had been sitting as quietly as we could, with every word's consequence weighed and judged before it was spoken. There had been so little of the normal way of speaking, with words added here and there to convey love or affection, amusement, anger or frustration. And now here we were, singing, if not as loud as we could, with as much emotion and joy as Mania and I had ever sung anything. Looking at my parents' faces, and the Melmans' and Patrontasches' as well, gave us the feeling that we had played a wonderful joke on all of them…as if we two little Jewish girls had conspired for years to play this joke. For the few hours we were upstairs with the Becks, there was no war, no ghetto, no hunger and no fear. After the end of a song, Beck leapt up from his chair, a man on fire, and ran to the closet, extracting gifts wrapped in simple tissue paper or newspaper. We were stunned. It was their holiday. We had our second-hand gifts for the Becks, but Catholics giving gifts to Jews was something I had never experienced or even heard of in my life.

Beck had made a dancing bear for little Igo and Ala gave Klarunia one of her stuffed dolls. Beck had packs of cigarettes for the men and in no time at all the packs were ripped open, matches lit and the room full of smoke, the men puffing and sucking like there was no tomorrow, content, full, drunk and happy. Ala had given Mania one of her combs, which she immediately put in her hair. She ran to the mirror to see how it looked. Beck gave me a package wrapped in newspaper. It was flat and at first I hoped it might be a book. I was crazy for a new book. I opened it. Inside was a composition book with a black cover and filled with lined paper, just like all the many composition books I had used in all my years in school and never given a thought to.