The Kommandant's Girl (24 page)

He nods. “I had been at the cabin with Marek just before you arrived. I didn’t dare come out with Avi there, but I followed you when you left to make sure you were okay.”

“And when you saw the Gestapo car coming, you knocked me down to keep me from rounding the corner and being caught?” He nods. “Thank you for that,” I say. “But even then, you left me a stone, rather than actually letting me see you.”

“It was too dangerous,” he says.

“But now you are here,” I persist. “So my question is, what’s changed?”

“Nothing. It’s still dangerous. But I came now because things…” He looks away from my gaze. “Things may change soon…”

“What do you mean? No…” I say, answering my own question as the realization slowly comes to me. Ever since I gave the information to Marek about the Nazis’ plans for the Jews, I have sensed that Alek and the others were planning some kind of major action against the Nazis. I haven’t known when or what, but my instincts have told me it is serious. Jacob has come now, I realize, because of this. Whatever they are planning, he is worried that he might not see me again. “No!” I cry again, flinging my plate aside and throwing myself into his arms.

“Shhh,” he soothes, holding me tightly and stroking my hair. Several minutes later, my sobs subside. “Emma…” He sits me up and spins me around onto his lap, rocking me like a child. “Hanukkah starts tonight. Do you remember the story of the Maccabees?” I nod. “What do the four letters on the dreidel stand for?”

“Nes gadol vaya sham,”
I recite in Hebrew.

“Right, and what does that mean?”

“A great miracle happened there.”

“Exactly! A great miracle happened in Israel when the Maccabees restored the temple and the tiny drop of oil burned for eight nights. A great miracle. This is the season for miracles. It will happen for us here, too. It has to.” I look up then. His eyes are illuminated, as though a fire burns behind them. It is the look I fell in love with when we first met, only now it burns a thousand times brighter. For the first time, I understand: Jacob believes. He believes in Alek and the resistance, believes that this is the only way to deliver not just the Jews, but all of Poland, from the Nazis. The struggle has made him a warrior.

“You are so brave,” I say, wiping my eyes.

“We are Maccabees, Emma. You and me and Alek and Marta and the rest.” I start to protest, embarrassed even to be mentioned in the same breath as the others, but he continues. “Yes, you are brave, too. I know all about how you have helped the resistance by working for Richwalder.” I cringe; he did not, could not, know everything. Jacob continues, “And how you have saved and hidden the rabbi’s child. You, too, are a fighter.”

“And Krysia, too,” I add.

“Especially Krysia.” As if on cue, I hear the front door open downstairs. Lukasz is babbling to Krysia as they climb the stairs. I gather from his words that, despite the cold, they had stopped by the duck pond on the way home. Jacob releases me and we stand up.

At the top of the stairs, Krysia freezes. At the sight of Jacob, her eyes grow moist. Then she looks down at Lukasz, hesitating. “Lukasz, this is my cousin, Michal.” Lukasz, red-faced from the cold, stares up at Jacob with large eyes as Jacob goes to Krysia and kisses her cheeks three times. Both Krysia and Jacob fight to exercise restraint in their reunion and not become overly emotional in front of the child.

“Hello, Lukasz.” Jacob kneels and chucks the child’s chin playfully, but in his eyes I can see reverence—he knows who the child is and how he has come to be with us.

“You knew?” I say to Krysia over their heads.

She nods. “I didn’t want to disappoint you in case it didn’t happen.”

“I understand.” I look down. Jacob is speaking to Lukasz—in Hebrew. I remember suddenly Lukasz trying to speak Hebrew in front of the Kommandant. “Don’t!” I exclaim. The three of them turn to stare at me. I, too, am surprised by the sharpness of my voice. “I’m sorry, Jac—Michal,” I stammer, correcting myself. “It’s just that…” I hesitate. I cannot explain my concern to Jacob, not without telling him that the Kommandant was here. Suddenly, a wave of fatigue washes over me. It is too much. For months, I have strained to keep the truth about my identity from the Kommandant, all the while dreaming of seeing Jacob. I hadn’t focused on the fact that when I saw my husband again, I would have to lie to him as well.

Jacob stands and comes to me. “It’s okay,” he says, bringing his hand to the back of my neck and drawing me in close to his chest. “I understand.” We should not be this affectionate in front of the child, I know, but in this moment, I do not care. Enveloped in the safety and warmth of his arms once more, I am gripped by a sudden urge to come clean about the Kommandant, tell him everything. He would forgive me, Krysia said once. He would understand. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Krysia staring at me, her eyes burning. She knows exactly what I am thinking. Do not tell him, her stare implores. Do not crush him with the knowledge of your unfaithfulness to unburden yourself. Not now, while he has to go back into the darkness and cold to fight.

She’s right, of course. There may be time for confessions and forgiveness in the future, but today is not that day. I straighten, pulling away from Jacob. “Lukasz, come, you are filthy from the woods,” I say. “You need a bath.” Reluctantly, Lukasz allows himself to be torn away from the stranger. I hate to leave Jacob for even a moment of his precious visit, but Krysia and he were kin long before I had come along. They would want to talk privately, and I wanted to afford Krysia the same courtesy she has given me. Jacob winks at me over Krysia’s shoulder as I lead Lukasz upstairs.

As I run the bathwater, my mind reels. Jacob is here. The reality has not entirely sunk in, nor has the fact that in just a little while, he will be gone again. When I turn off the water and soap Lukasz’s blond curls, I can hear Jacob and Krysia speaking in low, urgent voices below. Krysia clearly has some idea of what the resistance is planning, and I can tell from the terse sound of her voice that she is not in favor of it. I strain to hear more, too worried to feel guilty about eavesdropping, but I can make out nothing further.

When I have dried Lukasz and set him down for his nap, I return to the parlor. Krysia and Jacob break midsentence when I enter, and I wonder what is so secret and terrible that I cannot be allowed to hear. I, too, undertake important work for the resistance movement, yet I sometimes feel like an outsider.

My resentment is cut short when I look out the window. It is only three-thirty in the afternoon, but the sky is already turning dusky. Krysia follows my gaze and realizes the time. “I think I shall go have a bath, too,” she says abruptly. “I’ve packed a basket for you, Jacob. Food and some warm clothes. It’s on the table.” With Lukasz out of the room, there is no need for restraint. She throws her arms around his neck. “Good luck, my darling. God be with you.” As she pulls away and hurries from the room, his cheek glistens with the wetness of her tears.

Jacob and I stand in the center of the room as awkwardly as we had when we first met. “Having you here has been wonderful for her,” he says.

“I’m glad to hear it. I worry that we’ve been a burden.”

“Not at all.” We stand facing each other in silence. I blink several times, determined not to cry in front of him. He wraps both arms around me, his chin pressing into the top of my head. “I will come for you, Emma. No matter what happens. We’ll be together soon.”

“I am with you always,” I reply. He nods, then kisses me hard. When his lips leave mine, I keep my eyes squeezed shut, trying to hold the moment forever. But when I open my eyes, he is already halfway down the stairs, his boots thudding heavily below. I hear the door open, then shut with a soft click. I race to the front window and look down the street but there is no trace of him.

I return again to the spot where we last embraced, inhaling deeply, hoping to capture whatever scent he has left behind. The air around me has grown cold. For a few hours, I had been Emma again. Now Jacob is gone and I am just Anna, the Kommandant’s girl.

Several minutes later, Krysia descends the stairs in a robe, her hair damp. She comes to the spot where I still stand motionless. “He is gone?”

Before I can answer, there is a knock on the door. “Jacob!” I exclaim, racing for the stairs. Perhaps he forgot something, or even decided that he would not leave tonight.

“Emma, wait!” Krysia calls after me. “Jacob wouldn’t…”

But it is too late; I am already down the stairs and crossing the foyer. I grab the handle and throw open the door. “I thought you…” I freeze midsentence. There, standing in the doorway, are two Gestapo police officers.

I
stare at the Gestapo officers, unable to speak. Panic cuts through me. Did they see Jacob? He could not have gotten that far away. Perhaps that is why they are here. I take a breath. “G-good evening,” I manage to say over the rock that has formed in my throat.

“Were you expecting someone?” the older of the two men asks.

I hesitate, searching for a response. “Our gardener, Ryszard, was supposed to be dropping off some supplies,” Krysia says from behind me. She has come halfway down the stairs, still in her nightgown and robe. She steps past me, opening the door wider and extending her hand. “I am Krysia Smok.”

The older man, who is thin and tall with glasses, takes her hand. “I am Lieutenant Hoffman and this is Sergeant Braun.” He gestures to the younger man, who is short, with a thick build.

Krysia shakes his hand then turns to Sergeant Braun, who merely nods. “Won’t you gentlemen come in?” She sounds calm and polite, as if she is inviting one of her society friends for tea. Shutting the door behind them, I shoot Krysia a puzzled look. “Come upstairs,” she says. “It’s much warmer there.” I suddenly realize that Krysia wants to get the policemen inside and off the street so they would not spot Jacob. She should be the one working for the Nazis under an assumed identity, I think, as I follow her and the men upstairs; she is a much better actress.

Krysia invites the men into the parlor. “Make tea, will you, dear?” she asks me. I hesitate, not wanting to leave her alone with them, but her voice is calm and firm. In the kitchen, I fill the kettle, my mind racing. Why have the Gestapo come now? What do they want? A few minutes later, I carry the tea tray to the parlor, forcing my hands not to shake. I set down the tray on the low table by the sofa. As I pour, I study the policemen furtively. Lieutenant Hoffman is standing by the fireplace, scrutinizing the photograph of Marcin on the mantel. I remember the night I arrived at Krysia’s, my sadness at her insistence that we hide the photographs of Jacob. Now I am grateful for her foresight. My eyes dart around the room, searching for some sign of Jacob’s visit just minutes earlier, but there is none. Sergeant Braun is staring out the window into the trees of Las Wolski. I shoot Krysia a nervous look. Is it possible that he could see Jacob fleeing in the darkness? “Gentlemen, please, come have some tea,” she urges. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the men come and sit in the chairs across from us. “You’ll have to forgive our using the everyday dishes,” Krysia says, handing each man a cup of tea. “And my not being properly dressed to receive you. You see, we aren’t used to having such distinguished guests arrive unannounced.” She stresses the last word, subtly rebuking the Gestapo for their intrusion.

“We apologize for the inconvenience,” says Hoffman, sounding like a chastised schoolboy. “It’s just that we—”

“Nonsense!” Braun interjects with a blustering tone that reminds me of General Ludwig, our obnoxious dinner party guest on the night I met the Kommandant. “The Gestapo is not in the habit of scheduling appointments, madam.”

“Of course,” Krysia replies evenly. She is speaking slowly, stalling for time. “Our home is always open to you. What brings you out on this cold evening? How can we help?”

Hoffman speaks. “We’ve had reports of fugitives in this area.” I know he means resistance fighters, though of course the Nazis will not call them by that name. “Operating out of the forest in the hills.”

“Las Wolski?” Krysia asks. Her voice is filled with surprise that nearly convinces me.

He nods. “Have you seen anything?”

“Nothing,” she replies with conviction. “Of course, we don’t go walking in the woods this time of year.”

“Of course,” Braun replies. There is a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He faces Krysia squarely. “Have you heard from your nephew lately?”

I inhale sharply, stunned by the question. There is a moment of complete silence and I hope the policemen have not noticed my reaction. “I have several nephews, sir,” Krysia replies, a slight tremor in her voice. “To which one are you referring?”

“Your nephew on your husband’s side. You have only one: Jacob Bau.” My blood runs cold. They know about Jacob.

“Oh, you mean Marcin’s nephew, Jacob.” Krysia pronounces my husband’s name as though she has not heard it in years.

“Yes.” Braun’s voice is impatient.

“Has he done something?” she asks.

Braun hesitates. He is surprised, I think, by the boldness of her question. “He was a troublemaker before the war, publishing lies about the Reich. And he hasn’t been seen since it started. We’d like to speak with him.”

“That boy always was getting into scrapes,” Krysia replies, trying to sound light.

“These are not ‘scrapes,’” Braun replies with a scowl. “We’re talking about treason.”

“Yes, of course.” Krysia’s expression turns serious, as though she has only just grasped the gravity of the situation. “I understand. But I haven’t seen Jacob in years. Not since before the war. Even then I only ran into him a few times in the city.” I am amazed at how Krysia manages to lie so easily. “I haven’t had much to do with that side of the family since Marcin died, you know.” Her voice is even, her tone conversational. “And I don’t get a lot of visitors since I moved out here.” She directs her last remark at Hoffman.

“I find that surprising, Pani Smok,” the older man replies quickly. “You are a gracious host, even to unexpected guests. And you have a beautiful home.”

Krysia dips her head slightly to the left, sweeping her hair from her eyes. “You are too kind, sir.” She is flirting, I realize, to buy time and throw the Gestapo off Jacob’s trail. It seems to be working with Hoffman.

The younger man, however, is having none of it. “I noticed a cabin in the back garden,” Braun interjects. “What’s in there?”

Krysia turns to him. “Nothing,” she replies quickly. “It’s been empty for as long as I can remember.”

Braun studies Krysia’s face. “You won’t mind if we take a look there, then?”

Krysia hesitates. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the quickest flash of panic. I can read the dilemma in her mind. Did Jacob leave? she is wondering, or is he hiding? “The lock is rather old and I’m afraid I don’t have a key,” she says at last, meeting the younger officer’s eyes.

“If the lock is as old as you say, it should break easily,” he counters. It is clear he is not going to back down.

I can see a thin line of perspiration forming on Krysia’s upper lip. “Very well,” she replies at last. “Give me just a moment to get dressed and I’ll escort you.”

Krysia walks from the parlor and up the stairs slowly, stalling as long as she can. I sit motionless, terrified of the questions the men may ask me. But they do not speak. Instead, they walk around the room once more, lifting and inspecting photographs and other items. Braun walks to the piano and fingers the keys in an awkward manner that tells me he has never played. Sitting helplessly as they rummage through our lives, I feel more violated than I ever have with the Kommandant.

The Kommandant. For a moment, I consider mentioning that I work for him; perhaps the mention of such a high-ranking official would persuade them to leave us alone. But if the officers decide to verify my story with him, they might explain why they came calling at Krysia’s house in the first place, which would highlight my connection to Jacob. I cannot risk it.

A few minutes later, Krysia reappears in the dress she had been wearing earlier when Jacob was here. As she passes me, I can smell the faintest hint of his scent, which still clings to her clothing. Run far, Jacob, I pray. Be safe. “Ready?” she asks the officers brightly, as though we were going on a picnic. We make our way down the stairs and Krysia opens the front door. Before we can step through, however, another uniformed man appears in the doorway.

“You were told to stay in the car,” Braun admonishes.

“It’s okay,” Hoffman interjects. “What is it, Klopp?”

“We’ve been radioed by headquarters, sir. An urgent matter requires our return.”

Braun hesitates, looking in the direction of the cabin in the backyard. “This should take just a minute—”

“I’m sorry, sir, but the message said we’re to return at once.”

Hoffman turns to Krysia. “It appears your cottage door is to be spared tonight. Thank you for your cooperation.” The men disappear into the night.

Krysia locks the door behind them. Outside a car engine starts, then grows faint in the distance. I exhale sharply. “That was close.”

Krysia does not answer but sinks to the bottom step, clutching her hands to her chest. Her face has gone gray. I kneel beside her. “Krysia, what is it? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she manages, her voice barely a whisper. Krysia is normally so strong and capable, I forget that she is nearly seventy. I wonder if the strain of the Gestapo coming here has been too much.

“Let’s go upstairs.” I put my arm around her and gently help her to her feet. Together, we make our way up the stairs into the kitchen and I guide her into a chair. From the upper floor, I can hear Lukasz crying. “Wait here,” I tell Krysia.

Upstairs, I find Lukasz standing in his crib, his face red and wet. I lift him up and draw him close. “Good boy,” I whisper, grateful that he had not cried earlier.

I carry him downstairs to Krysia, who sits where I left her, not moving. “Here.” I place Lukasz in her lap. She clutches him tightly and rocks back and forth. “I’ll make some tea.”

Krysia shakes her head. “No tea,” she says, still rocking. “Vodka.” I remember the bottle I have seen stored in the back of the ice box. I pull out the bottle and pour some in two glasses, over ice. Then, I pour a small cup of milk for Lukasz. I rejoin Krysia at the table with the drinks. As Krysia reaches for her glass, Lukasz wriggles free of her arms and scampers to the floor, taking the cup of milk from me.

“Feeling better?” I ask Krysia, studying her face. Some of the color seems to have returned to her cheeks.

“Yes. I’m sorry about that,” she replies. “Sometimes I just get some…some tightness in my chest when things are tense.”

A wave of panic rises within me. “Krysia, that could be your heart. You need to see a doctor.”

She shakes her head. “What would a doctor do for me, even if we could find one? No, I’ll be fine.”

I start to argue but know that it is futile. “Well, at least that’s over with.”

“For now, anyway,” she replies tersely. “I have a feeling that they’ll be back.”

“We were lucky that they got called back to headquarters.”

Krysia looks at me, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “What makes you think that luck had anything to do with it?”

I realize then that Krysia had not just been stalling upstairs. I remember a radio that I saw once, tucked in the back corner of her closet. “What did you…? How did you…?”

“Let’s just say that the men were likely to find the call back to headquarters had been some sort of misunderstanding.”

My mind reels. I cannot imagine the connections Krysia must have to be able to fabricate such a call. I want to ask more, but the less I know, the better. “Were you worried that Jacob might be hiding in the shed?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all. Jacob, I knew, was long since gone. But there are things…well, let’s just say that I need to get ahold of the resistance right away. That shed needs to be empty when the Gestapo returns.”

“You seem certain that they will.”

“Definitely. I think I had Hoffman fooled—”

I interrupt, “Yes, you flirted very convincingly.”

She manages a laugh. “I thought I might have gotten rusty, but I suppose it’s one of those things you never forget. Anyway, Hoffman may have been distracted, but Braun was still suspicious. And he’s tenacious, like a pit bull.” I nod, knowing the type. “At least Lukasz stayed upstairs quietly.” At the sound of his name, the child looks up and smiles. “We may not be so lucky next time.”

I slump backward, the full reality of what has happened crashing down upon me. The Gestapo has been here looking for Jacob. We are lucky not to be in a prison right now. Stay calm, I tell myself. It is your turn to be strong for Krysia. I take a small sip of the vodka, trying not to grimace. “I considered telling them I worked for the Kommandant so they would leave us alone.”

“It’s better that you did not,” Krysia agrees. “We don’t want them drawing to the Kommandant’s attention any connection between you and Jacob, even if it is just that you are both somehow related to me.”

“I thought the same thing.”

She pauses and takes a large sip of vodka. “I’m not sure what we should do about the child.”

“Do?” I ask, alarmed. “What do you mean?”

“If the Gestapo comes back and sees Lukasz, they are going to have questions.”

“But we were able to keep him quiet tonight….”

“Anna, it’s not that simple. Do you think it was a coincidence that the Gestapo came here asking about Jacob just moments after he left? No,” she says, answering her own question. “I think someone told them that he was here.”

I gasp. “An informant?”

“Yes. Perhaps one of my neighbors with Nazi sympathies who saw him arrive, perhaps a traitor within the resistance. I’ve been worried about this ever since we heard about the earlier leaks. There may be someone who knows, or suspects, that you and Lukasz are not who you appear to be. It may not be safe for him to stay with us much longer.”