Soon it seemed every Nazi in Germany rolled in. Our German neighbors went to the streets and hailed the arrivals with salutes and flowers while we stayed inside. Russian troops stayed east of us, advancing only as far as the Bug River.
After that, we were like flies stuck in honey, alive but not really living. We were lucky the Nazis reassigned Zuzanna to the Lublin Ambulance Corps, since they rounded up all the other doctors at the hospital, male and female, and took them away. They issued her papers complete with her photo and stamped with a dozen black Nazi eagles. These papers allowed her to be out at any time, even after curfew. Every morning that we woke up in our own beds we were grateful. So many of our Polish friends disappeared in the night with no explanation.
One day to keep warm I sat on my bed wrapped in a quilt and took a quiz in an old Photoplay magazine, my favorite indoor sport. A student in Pietrik’s clandestine economics class had paid him in American magazines and I memorized every word in them. The quiz said you would feel a click like the sound of a compact closing if you were in love, and I felt that click every time I saw Pietrik. Our interests matched perfectly (a rare thing according to the quiz).
Pietrik stopped by that day. It was good to see him. I didn’t care what we talked about. I just wanted to keep him there any way I could.
“How long can you stay?”
I cut a picture of Carole Lombard from the magazine. She was surrounded by white poinsettias, somewhere in Los Angeles. It was hard to remain casual when I could feel the compact going click.
Pietrik came and sat near me on the bed. The springs sagged under his weight.
“Not long. I came to ask a favor. It’s about Nadia.” He looked tired and had not shaved in days. “She had to go away for a while.”
“What happened?” I said, suddenly cold all over.
“I can’t say.”
“But—”
“It’s not safe for you to know. But trust me, people are working to change things.”
It was obvious to me he was working with the underground. Though he didn’t say as much, he must have been among the first to join after the Nazis invaded. I had noticed mysterious late-night meetings. Day-long absences with no explanation. He didn’t wear the big black boots some boys in the underground did, making them sitting ducks for the Germans, but he was in deep.
I hoped it was not so obvious to the SS. Most of us boycotted German orders and sabotaged what we could, but the Home Army, the Armia Krajowa or AK, was serious. Though at the beginning it was not yet officially called AK, it represented the Polish government-in-exile in London. Our exiled government broadcast warnings to us through the BBC and the Polish radio station Swit and all of Lublin’s seventeen underground newspapers.
“If you want to help, you can do me a big favor, Kasia.”
“Anything.”
“When Nadia and her mother left, they had to leave Felka behind. The Nazis are doing terrible things to the cats and dogs owned by Jews. Can you go and get her?”
“Where is Nadia? Can I see her?”
I didn’t care anymore if she and Pietrik were in love. I just wanted them both to be safe.
“I can only tell you the Nazis almost arrested them, and they escaped just in time.”
“For being Jewish? She’s Catholic.”
“Yes, but her grandfather was Jewish, so that puts her at risk. Nadia has to stay away for a while. She’ll be fine, but right now Felka’s not.” He held my arm. “Will you help? Bring her here?”
“Of course.”
“Also, Nadia’s mother left something in her nightstand, and she needs to put it in a safe place. A yellow envelope tucked inside the phone book.”
“I don’t know, Pietrik. Nadia’s mother always locks up.”
“The back door is open. You need to take that phone book with the envelope inside it. I hate to involve you because you’re precious to me, but I have no one else.”
Were those tears in his eyes?
“Yes, you know I’ll help.”
I was precious to him? He took my hand, turned it over, and kissed my palm. I thought I might melt right there, through the floorboards and into the basement. For a moment, I forgot all the bad things going on.
“Bring the phone book with the envelope to 12 Lipowa Street tomorrow morning just after ten. Ring the bell. Someone will ask you who it is. You say, ‘Iwona.’?”
“Is that my code name?” Iwona meant yew tree. I wanted a sexier code name like Grazyna, which means beautiful.
“Yes, that’s your code name. Wiola will buzz you in. Just give her the book, and tell her it’s for Konrad Zegota. Then leave as you came, and cut through Park Ludowy before you head home.”
Later, when I replayed the scene in my head, I wasn’t sure if he’d really said, “You’re precious to me.” But maybe the Photoplay love quiz was right after all.
—
THE NEXT MORNING I departed for Nadia’s house, a fine apartment on the first floor of a two-story building, a five-minute walk from our place. I wanted to do a good job on my first mission for Pietrik.
On the way I stopped at the stone wall next to her house where we left secret notes and our favorite books for each other. I pulled our special square stone out, smooth, edges rounded from so many years of ins and outs. The last book I’d left was still there, Kornel Makuszynski’s Satan from the Seventh Grade, our favorite book we’d passed back and forth so many times. Would she have a chance to take it? I left it and slid the stone back in place.
I continued on without the least bit of nerves, until I came to Nadia’s house, that is. Once I saw her orange door, my knees became quaky. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
I stepped around back to the little fenced-in yard, peeked through the slats, and saw Felka curled up on the back step. I could clearly see her ribs, even through her thick fur. Nadia’s yard was even smaller than ours, a sickly rosebush and a rusted child’s wagon the only ornaments.
I had a time of it getting over the fence and then walked slowly to Felka. Was she waiting for Nadia? I stroked her chest, and at my touch she tried to wag her tail, though she could barely lift her head. She was warm, but her breath was coming in shallow pants. Poor girl was starving.
I stepped over Felka, swung the back door open, and crept into the kitchen.
From the looks of the apple kugel on the table, it had been at least a week since Nadia and her mother left. The milk in their glasses was thick, and the flies had found the plums. I walked through the kitchen to Nadia’s bedroom. Her bed was made, as always.
I stole through the rest of the house and into Nadia’s mother’s bedroom. In this room there was little sign of departure, hasty or otherwise. A white-painted iron bed, covered in a down duvet, took up most of the room, and a crocheted blanket lay at the foot. There was a depression in the down where a suitcase had been, and a Polish copy of Gone with the Wind waited on the bedside table. Two tapestries showing country scenes, a small crucifix, and a calendar hung on the wall. The calendar showed a smart-looking woman standing in front of a locomotive, a bunch of yellow flowers in her arms, with GERMANY WANTS TO SEE YOU printed across the top. It also featured the name of Mrs. Watroba’s travel agency: WATROBA TRAVEL. LET US TAKE YOU THERE.
I opened the bedside table drawer, found the phone book, and paged through it to find the fat envelope. It was sealed, with the word Zegota written on the front in a spidery hand, the color of money faintly visible through the paper. I took the book, pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed, and retraced my steps back through the kitchen, where I grabbed a loaf of shiny, braided egg bread from the table. It was rock hard, but any bread was precious.
I reached the backyard and struggled Felka into the wagon. She barely made a peep, poor girl. I set the phone book next to her, smoothed the blanket over it all, and trundled off toward Lipowa Street, taking side streets to avoid Nazi guards. When we were almost there, we picked up speed, and the wagon bounced over the cobblestones.