“What have we here?”
An SS brownshirt stepped out of an alley and startled me no end. I saw a girl from my gimnazjum class standing behind him, but she retreated into the shadows. I almost fell over, my knees jellied so.
“Just heading home,” I said in German. Thank goodness I knew German, since all conversation in the Polish language had been banned.
“Ah, German, are we?” He lifted the blanket with his nightstick.
“No, Polish.”
The officer ignored me and walked around for a closer look at the wagon.
“What is this? A dead dog?”
I could barely hear him. My heart was thumping so loud in my ears. “Just sick. I hope it’s not catching.”
The guard dropped the blanket. “Move along,” he said. “Get that sick animal home.” He disappeared back into the alley.
By the time I arrived at the office on Lipowa Street, I was soaked through with sweat. It was a busy road. I left Felka covered in the wagon and walked up the steps, legs shaking like the aspic on Matka’s gaster carp. I was finally, officially a spy. At just sixteen years old, an enemy of the Nazis. There was such power in that! I stood a bit taller and rang the bell. What was the code name of the one who would accept the package?
Wiola.
“Who is it?” came a voice from inside.
“It is Iwona,” I said.
I looked back at the street, cars and horse-drawn wagons driving on their way, people on the sidewalks. Hurry, Wiola. I could be spotted by the SS there with my telephone book for all the world to see.
The door buzzed, I entered and closed the door behind me.
I recognized the girl with the code name Wiola, Janina Grabowski, from my former Girl Guide troop. She held all ten fingers splayed, each tipped with wet ruby lacquer.
“Sorry I didn’t answer the door straightaway,” she said.
I held out the telephone book. “Wiola, this is for Konrad Zegota.”
Janina was a good sort, with hair dyed flame red and a farm-girl build, but not my first choice for a partner when risking my life. She didn’t have one serious Girl Guide proficiency badge in first aid or orienteering, and everyone knew she’d gotten her art badge for doing makeup.
Janina took the book between her palms.
“Thank you, Iwona.”
The office was in a converted apartment building with tall windows that overlooked the street, covered only with transparent white drapes. It was furnished with one metal desk, an old typewriter atop it; two easy chairs; and a dusty table scattered with outdated Polish fashion magazines. Someone had placed a glass bowl on the table, inside it one goldfish. The goldfish, suspended in place with his fins beating, stared at me, mouth agape in a surprised O. Even he could tell this office was a fake.
Janina flopped the telephone book onto the desk. A smile teased at her face until she burst out with a loud laugh.
“You can’t expect me to keep a straight face, Kasia. Iwona. This is all so funny.”
The name Pietrik had given her, Wiola, meant violet flower, not a fitting name for her, since she was a tall girl with wrists thick as table legs.
“Keep your voice down. Who knows who’s nearby watching?”
The overhead lights were so bright. Were we lit up for every Nazi to see?
“The only Nazis that’ve come anywhere near here followed Anna Sadowski when she was carrying grenades in her bra. Flirted with her the whole way. Some girls get fun jobs.” Janina stepped closer. “Stay for cards?”
Cards?
“There’s money in that book. Shouldn’t you hide it? Do you want to get us shot?”
“Come on, stay. I’ll do your hair.”
“I need to get home before dark.”
She clutched her hands to her chest. “An updo?”
Janina worked part-time at the best hair salon in Lublin.
“Pietrik told me to leave right away.”
“Are you two sweethearts?”
“I have to go—”
“Everyone says he likes you…”
I hurried to the door. “Don’t listen to rumors.”
Janina picked a magazine from the table, and slid herself up onto the desk. “So you’re not interested in any rumors?”
I turned.
“Even rumors about, say…Nadia Watroba?”
I stepped toward the desk.
“What do you know?”
Janina thrust her chin in the air. “Oh, now you’ll stay.”
“She’s my best friend.”
“Oh, really?” Janina said, flipping through the magazine.
“Would you stop? Her dog is outside waiting, very sick—”
She slapped her magazine closed. “Not Felka?”
Nadia’s Felka was a famous dog.
“Yes, Felka. So tell me now.”
“Well, I only know a little…”
“Janina, if you don’t tell me—”
“Okay. Okay. All I know is that Pietrik—well, I think it was Pietrik—took Nadia and her mother to a safe apartment.”
“Close by?”
“In Lublin, yes. But that’s all I know.”
“Nothing else?”
“Just that I heard she’s somewhere right under the Nazis’ noses.”
Dazed, I thanked Janina, walked back down the front steps, and started for home, through the park as Pietrik had told me. Nadia really was safe! My whole body relaxed as I pulled the wagon quicker to get Felka home and fed. Nadia was with her mother and still in Lublin! There was much I could do for her—care for Felka, keep working for the underground.
After all, my first mission had gone well even if Janina hadn’t taken it seriously. Was I now part of the resistance? I’d delivered money. I would take the oath tomorrow and make it official.
Halfway home, the skies opened, flooding the cobblestone streets, soaking Felka and me through.
“You were lucky once,” my wet shoes said with each step. “Don’t make a habit of it.”
1939–1940
I took the train home from Camp Blossom, happy to leave, my thoughts fixed on finding a job as a physician. I wore my BDM uniform, but before long regretted this. It would have been restful to watch the thick forests fly by outside the train window, assembling a mental checklist of possible clinics to visit. But I did not get a moment of solitude, for every passenger stopped to display admiration for my uniform.
“May I touch your eagle please, Fr?ulein?” a young boy asked.
He stood at my train seat, posture good, arms by his sides, rocking slightly as the train swayed. His mother stood behind him, two fingers to her lips, eyes wide, as if meeting the Führer. Yes, it was somewhat burdensome to represent the BDM, but flattering as well, since great respect was shown to those of us in that uniform. As young people, we had such power.
“You may,” I said.
Water came to my eyes as he stroked the gold thread with the touch of a butterfly.
Nothing grips the heart like an unspoiled German child.
It was understandable my uniform caused a fuss, since most Germans had never seen the full complement of BDM badges on a woman. While the all-male Hitler Youth had patches and pins for every activity, down to potting plants, BDM achievement badges were limited in number and hard-won. On my navy-blue leader’s jacket, I wore the Red Cross patch, the silver proficiency clasp for nursing, and the first aid and physical fitness badges.
But it was the eagle indicating the highest level of leadership, the golden bird worn over my heart, his bullioned wings fanned out, which attracted the most attention. Mutti had cried with pride the day I first wore it home. She’d been more impressed with that than my diploma from medical school, accelerated on account of the war.