Chasing the King of Hearts (Peirene's Turning Point Series) (8 page)

Izolda stands on the corner of Piękna Street, waiting for her acquaintance, an excellent translator of German poetry (the excellent translator is supposed to find a buyer for the pearl ring – if the price isn’t exorbitant).

She’s cold and stamps on the wet snow.

Wearing the patent-leather shoes from the machinist.

Wearing the romantic hat from Stefa.

Wearing the silk stockings with the black arrow print from Józio’s aunt.

Wearing the overcoat from Mr Krusiewicz.

Two women wearing civilian dress look her over and come up to her. Waiting for someone? one of them asks, her hands in a fur muff. May I see your identity card? She takes a police badge out of her muff. I don’t understand… Izolda says in a very sweet, pleading voice, why are you asking? Just don’t pretend, says the other. And don’t smile. You’re all alike, first all innocent smiles and then nothing but tears. Let’s go.

She follows the policewoman.

The nearest station is on Poznańska Street. Not a good place, getting out won’t be easy.

She has her pearl ring. She thinks: Should I give it to her right away? And why did she say you’re all alike? By all she means Jews. Excuse me, ma’am, she risks the question. What did you mean by all alike? Stop playing dumb – the policewoman now makes no effort to be polite. I’m from the vice squad, now do you understand?

Now she understands.

They’re not taking her for a Jew but for a whore. What a relief, thank God, they’re just taking me for a whore.

She now walks more lightly, like any other woman genuinely amused at such a preposterous idea.

The policewoman sits at a little desk, unfolds the identity card and reads out loud. So you’re married, well, well. And where is your husband passing the time?

She says: He’s passing the time in a camp. He was in Auschwitz.

You aren’t lying? The policewoman looks up from the desk and changes her tone: Are you sure that’s true?

My husband is in a camp, she repeats. I have a letter…

The policewoman gets up, as if she intended to escort her to the door. I’m going to check everything, she says sternly. You can go, but I’m going to check… And you better… she pauses for a moment. Couldn’t you make an effort to dress more decently?

If she hadn’t been loitering on the street so absurdly dressed, she wouldn’t have been taken for a prostitute.

If the policewoman hadn’t sent her away, she wouldn’t have stopped in on Mariańska Street to see Mateusz the caretaker.

If she hadn’t visited Mateusz (she wanted to warn him that the vice squad would be enquiring about her), she wouldn’t have learnt that the postman had been there.

That he had delivered a letter.

That her husband was asking for food. And that he had sent a new address: Mauthausen, Block AKZ.

In short, everything in life is interwoven in enigmatic ways.

Shayek’s father and sister will stay in Józefów – Lilusia rented them a room in one of the summer houses from
before the war. Izolda looks around, moved. Nothing has changed, except the hedge has grown… 115 centimetres, according to the owner, that’s twenty-three centimetres a year, I’m waiting for my husband to trim it when he comes back.

(What are they talking about? – Halina’s father doesn’t hear well.

That the war’s been going on for five years, Halina explains.

Are they saying how long it will last?

No, Papa, but I’m sure it won’t be over any time soon…)

The room is sunny, the air outside is healthy, but Halina keeps saying she’s had enough.

I’ve had enough, she tells the owner.

As you wish, the woman replies, but Captain Szubert’s wife paid in advance.

I’m very grateful to you, she tells Lilusia, you’ve been so generous, it’s just that I’ve had enough.

Halina travels to Warsaw. Without any reason; she simply wants to go, and so she does. She keeps saying: I’m fine, really, I’m doing very well, except…

You have to stick it out, Izolda tells her. Here you have fresh air, no one pays any attention to you…

No one? Halina smiles. But someone is paying attention, you see. That’s right, a man. He’s very nice but not very young. We understand each other… Halina smiles again, somewhat secretively. We understand each other without words…

That makes Izolda nervous.

Halina isn’t as tall or pretty as her sisters, her legs aren’t very attractive and her hair is a uniform
bleached yellow from the peroxide. Who would be interested in her? Izolda has a bad feeling, but Lilusia isn’t worried. Good that she has a man, things will be easier for her.

Lilusia rides out to Józefów to pay the next rent. The owner is surprised: Miss Halina isn’t here any more. Nor is the older gentleman. How should I know where they are? They went away.

They’ve gone, Lilusia says when she comes back. The landlady thought I knew all about it. Some man came, the landlady hadn’t seen him before, but it was clear that Halina knew him. He helped them pack up and put her rucksack on his shoulder. They took the path through the woods, towards the tracks. The man with the rucksack, Halina with the flowers and her father.

With flowers?

Yes, a small bouquet. The man had brought them. Early spring flowers, probably from the florist. A modest bouquet, but from the florist, the landlady says. She didn’t know anything more, Lilusia adds. They left and that was all. With an older man. About a month ago.

She has a great idea: she’ll go to Vienna. Why are you looking at me like that? she asks Lilusia. He’s in Mauthausen, isn’t he? In other words, Austria. In Vienna I’ll be closer and it will be easier for me to get him out, am I right? You’re right, dear, Lilusia agrees, with the soothing kind of smile a healthy person uses when speaking
to a lunatic. Why shouldn’t you go to Vienna? Go there and find him.

But Lilusia doesn’t know how to get to Vienna.

Terenia sees an office clerk next to the queen of hearts, but the cards don’t say where to find him.

Vienna… my God… the sad tenor is visibly moved. Zosia and I saw
The Barber of Seville
there. Izolda cuts him off after the first few measures and promises to listen to the entire cavatina when she returns.

She goes to see Stefa. Then the chemist with cyanide. Franciszek in Skarżysko. Kangur near the Slovak border. The Hungarian Jew in Krakow. Roman the waiter at the Rose. My husband’s in Mauthausen, she explains to each, it will be easier to get him out if I’m in Vienna, can you tell me how I can travel to Austria? My husband’s in Mauthausen…

Mrs Krusiewicz sends her to a woman for whom she used to sew bedlinen. The woman’s husband was a judge, she now runs a nursery school (and will take in Jewish children for limited stays).

Outside it’s cold and dark. The judge’s wife is lying sick in her wide double bed, with a lamp on the nightstand and a glass of tea. Her legs are covered with a plaid blanket. Soft and fluffy, with a colourful check pattern.

The judge offers Izolda tea with a slice of lemon, then fixes his wife’s pillow. After that he adjusts her plaid blanket, carefully and tenderly wrapping it around her legs to keep out any draughts.

The judge doesn’t have the faintest idea how to reach Vienna. Izolda responds: What a nice plaid blanket. It must be very warm… And it’s light, isn’t it? So light
and at the same time so warm… It’s a plaid blanket like any other, the judge is puzzled. Where did we buy it, dear?

She rises from the chair, takes a biscuit for the road, wishes a speedy recovery and promises to greet Mrs Krusiewicz.

Viennese children are running to school with their satchels, Viennese bakers are carrying trays of rolls, the cafés are pouring genuine mocha and the restaurants are serving Viennese breakfast. Except you need a ration card to buy a sausage. The waiters cut out the coupons with small, elegant scissors that dangle on chains from their belts. If need be, ration cards may be acquired on the black market at Mexikoplatz. The waiter at the Sacher recommends their famous cake and patiently explains to the regulars that there’s a legal battle over the name ‘Sachertorte’ but he personally has no doubt the court will award exclusive rights to the hotel.

In the evening it becomes clear a war is on. Windows are covered and streets are dark. People have torches. There was a shortage of batteries and someone invented a torch activated by a button. The buttons give off a high-pitched, penetrating noise, which resonates in the darkness and that’s how you can tell Vienna is at war.

(She travels to Vienna on an excellent pass, thanks to the waiter at the Rose, who had introduced her to one of the new clients held in special esteem by the owner. The man
was completely grey and very short, a full head shorter than Izolda. She was quick to sit down so he wouldn’t feel bad, but he wasn’t at all self-conscious. He didn’t let them take his hat off the hook – he stopped the waiter’s hand, then quickly jumped up and grabbed his hat. She laughed. He gave her a stern look; she was scared she had offended him, and didn’t say a word. The grey-haired man arranged for her to meet a German he did business with, an engineer from the Todt Organization, which built military barracks, bridges and roads – and issued work papers as well as travel permits. The engineer in Warsaw told Izolda that his colleague in Vienna would give her the address of her assignment. Assuming you want to work for us… the engineer began. Of course she wanted to, and he issued her a
Marschbefehl.
The engineer didn’t want money, he preferred tobacco, ten kilos, whole-leaf only.

She packed the tobacco leaves in a black lacquered suitcase, covered them with a nightdress and set off for Vienna. The engineer’s sister – nice part of town, the first
Bezirk
, marble staircase, Bechstein piano in the salon – carefully counted out the notes. Half of what they would have paid at Mexikoplatz, but still nothing to sneeze at. And in addition she told Izolda where to buy Italian silk, fashionable but inexpensive.

In the Todt office near Karl-Lueger-Platz the engineer’s Viennese colleague offered her a job in Dalmatia. Since Dalmatia is far from Mauthausen she asked for papers to return to Warsaw. Back home she sold the Italian silk and told the engineer that she was giving up on the idea of building barracks, bridges and roads, but wanted
another travel pass to Vienna. He wanted fifteen kilos of tobacco, whole-leaf only.)

The news about Vienna reaches her friends.

Janka Tempelhof asks Izolda to take her along. Roman the waiter from the Rose asks Izolda to take the Count.

She can’t refuse Halina’s schoolfriend Janka Tempelhof. And she especially can’t turn down the waiter. He tells her that the Count came to Poland to acquire new papers but now he has to go back. He’s worth taking along. And what’s more, Marynia, the waiter adds, lowering his voice, the man pulls a lot of weight there in Vienna.

She ought to know what Roman means by ‘new papers’. The old ones clearly fell into the wrong hands.

She doesn’t hear what’s clear, but she definitely understands ‘he pulls a lot of weight there in Vienna’. That’s what she’s been waiting for! The engineer from Todt issues her a permit – for three people – and she fills the black suitcase with twenty kilos of tobacco.

A few days later the Count has some news. He’s been assured (and the source is by all means reliable) that her husband is alive.

A week later he says: I’ll try to get him out…

She meets the Count in Café Prückel, not far from the Todt office.

She admires his immaculate manners.

She listens to his assurances that her husband is alive.

Wonderful news.

Inside Café Prückel she waits for the engineer’s Viennese colleague and her next travel permit. Opposite the entrance is a potted ficus and next to that is a mirror. Izolda sits facing the door and watches the street. If she hadn’t been facing the door she would have spotted them in the mirror – two men coming into the café, searching for someone… They would have seen her back, would have had to walk around the table, look her in the face… She still wouldn’t have escaped, only gained a minute or two… (And what would those minutes have gained her?)

The men step up to her table.

The shorter man asks: Are you waiting for our colleague from Todt?

She nods.

He’s waiting for you somewhere else…

The men loom over her. The taller one signals for the waiter, she pays and they leave the café.

They walk past the plane trees and maples of the Ringstrasse, towards the Danube Canal. As soon as they reach the bridge the men grab her by the arms – both at once, without a word, from each side. As if they were afraid she’d jump into the water. She has no intention of jumping. They turn on to Franz-Josefs-Kai and head towards the building she’s heard much about. The building that once was the elegant Hotel Metropol and now houses the Viennese Gestapo.

On the second floor, in room 121, they take her handbag and write down her name. That’s all for today. A fat, pinkish officer wearing short Tyrolean trousers and a
leather jacket walks her to the prison. Around the corner there is an old man with a weighing machine that he’s set up on the pavement along with a little ceramic coin bank. She goes to the old man, removes her shoes and stands on the scales. For a moment the Gestapo officer loses sight of her. Hey, where are you? he shouts, and sticks his right hand inside his jacket pocket. Don’t worry, it’s nothing, she assures him, I’m just weighing myself – and slides the balance closer to the middle. Seventy kilograms exactly. Without shoes. She steps off the scales, slips on her shoes and carefully moves the weight to zero. She remembers that she doesn’t have her handbag. She turns to the Gestapo man: Would you mind? He reaches into his left pocket and drops a coin in the bank. It’s on the house, he says, and snorts with laughter. Then he turns serious. Why are you doing that? he asks. She shrugs her shoulders, because she really can’t say.

In the prison they take away her medallion and hand her a copy of the
Völkischer Beobachter
. As a political prisoner, they explain, she’s entitled to a daily newspaper.