David couldn’t help himself. He could quite easily have avoided this particular street on his journey across the city. Several other cross-streets could have served his purpose as he made his way out of Nalewki, the ancient Jewish quarter of Warsaw. Yet it was to Dzielna Street that his legs automatically led him. And there it was, the grim building that had been his home for just over twelve months. Wisps of smoke rose slowly from a chimney just behind the grimy walls, which stretched out far along the street ahead of him. The ache in his right arm, which had been with him ever since his stay there, sharpened as if to warn him of the folly of approaching so close. The two guards at the gate stared dully at him as he halted briefly and rubbed the painful arm vigorously with his left hand. One of the guards muttered something to his colleague and then shouted out. “Hey, Jewboy. What are you up to? I’d move along if I were you. Unless you’re looking for cheap accommodation. If you are, we might be able to help you.”
The guard launched a gobbet of spit at David, who stumbled before running to the other side of the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a coal haulier’s horse and carriage. He could hear the guards laughing and felt his forehead prickle with perspiration. He cursed himself for taking this route and for his cowardice in running away from the guards. He breathed deeply and glanced across the road at the jeering guards before fixing his eyes firmly on the pavement ahead of him and walking away as calmly as he could manage. He would not pay his compliments to the Pawiak Prison again – not on a voluntary basis at least. Shuddering at this thought, he turned across Zamenhofa, which was clogged with morning traffic, turned right and then left by the Mostowski Palace. After pausing briefly to take in the clean, neo-classical lines of that elegant building, he carried on down towards the Krasinski Gardens. As he turned his head to the right, his eye was caught by a flash of sunlight glinting on the high dome of the Great Synagogue of Warsaw. He bowed his head and offered a brief prayer seeking God’s favour. It was not the first prayer he had offered up for divine support in his new assignment. If things went wrong, he could end up behind those forbidding, grey prison walls again. Hannah said he was mad to take on the job, but then he needed to put food on the table for her and the twins. How else was he going to do that without making use of his God-given skills? And what choice had he anyway, given who was asking him?
David crossed the wide boulevard and passed through the gateway into the gardens. The raucous traffic noise receded and some of his tension eased as he breathed in the more fragrant air. He stopped and took a breather on a bench overlooking the small garden lake. An old man wearing a skull-cap under a stovepipe hat sat at the other end of the bench, fingering his thick, grey beard. In front of him, a small boy out for a walk with his nanny was feeding bread to the ducks. It was April and spring had well and truly arrived in Warsaw. As David left home that morning, there had been a brief sharp shower, but now a surprisingly strong sun was making its presence felt. Only a few of the early morning clouds remained. As the ducks squabbled over the bread, David smiled, closed his eyes and raised his face to the sun. It’s good to be alive, he thought. When you’ve survived the horrors of somewhere like Pawiak, the simplest of life’s pleasures can be profound.
The louder quacking of the ducks as the little boy ran out of bread roused him from his brief reverie. He opened his eyes and sat forward with a jolt then turned to the old man, who smiled and raised his hat.
David returned the compliment, then pulled the gold watch his grandfather had given him out of his waistcoat pocket. “Damn, I’m going to be late. Good day, sir. I must be on my way.”