Warsaw (28 page)

The wind whistled like a kettle through a gap between the
window and window frame from where the wood had rotted and crumbled away like
sponge cake. Kolya peered out into the coal-black night. Perhaps the whistle
sounded like the one in the factory and he sub-consciously realised that it was
time to go home, or maybe Kolya realised how the weather was between showers
and he could make it back without getting soaked. All the same he roused
himself and left the apartment. The bitter night air was free from rain but
Kolya immediately drenched his feet upon leaving the evacuated building by
stumbling into a puddle. Heated curses, directed at as many targets as there
were stars, littered the atmosphere. Depressed, like a person three times the
boy's age. As if the youth possessed a rolodex within his brain Kolya began to
search for a potential contact or score to get his quart of spirits for the
next day.

Adam and Jessica soberly went over the plan again, as they
had done so with Thomas just before he had to leave. Adam would meet and pay
the smuggler half of the fee in the afternoon. He would then rendezvous with
Thomas and they would proceed back to the apartment together. Meanwhile Jessica
would wake in the morning and explain to Kolya that they would not be turning
up for work that day - and why. They would spend the time preparing for the
escape, sorting out what they would take and what they would need to leave
behind. It would be suspicious and a risk for the pair of them to be absent for
the day from the factory but Duritz reasoned it was a risk worth taking.
Hopefully they would not check up on the Rubenstein’s immediately, believing
that their absence could be explained through them having been selected. Surely
they realised that the penalty for not attending their work detail would amount
to the same thing? Duritz argued that they could not chance either of them
being detained after work. They could not afford to miss their rendezvous with
the smugglers on the other side of the ghetto, who they would pay the rest of
the agreed fee to. In terms of getting through the checkpoint of the ghetto
Thomas said he would accompany them and use the excuse that he was
requisitioning the Jews for work back at his billet. Thomas would but accompany
them all though for a couple of streets inside the Polish side of Warsaw. If
the German soldier was spotted with the party then it would scare the smugglers
off.

At the beginning of recounting the details of the
arrangements again Jessica listened with a duly serious and attentive expression
upon her face, but by the end of his speech the girl was somehow just smiling
coquettishly at Adam across the table. The bottle of wine Thomas gave them
helped. At first their knees rubbed together by accident under the table, but
then Jessica deliberately touched Adam's knees with her own. It was a seduction
technique and game she used to play whenever one of her boyfriends would come
to dinner and they would try to act the would-be son-in-law in front of her
parents. Adam tentatively responded, his voice and expression faltering, but
the more he tried to rein himself in - by being solemn and going over the
practical details the plan yet again - the more Jessica was amused by Adam's
attempted gravity. In the end he gave up and smirked in harmony with a blooming
Jessica. Her skin was pink and radiated in the candlelight. She prettily tucked
her fair hair behind her ears also as it covered half of her face after
laughing so freely. She then spoke, her right hand entwining into Adam's left
which rested upon the table. He gazed lovingly into her fine, spirited eyes.
The couple were lost and found at the same time. Affection and friendship took
root and blossomed simultaneously. She had never appeared so beautiful to him.
Once he had wildly worshipped the heavenly girl, muse. But now Duritz sedately
esteemed and cared for Jessica in a way that he did not and could not have
imagined in his adolescence. He wanted to kiss her. She him. Again though their
intimacy swiftly concealed itself as they heard Kolya return. Jessica gave
Adam's hand a quick, tender squeeze and she greeted her brother with a uniquely
happy expression on her face. She even alarmed the boy somewhat. Until she
explained herself.

During his slow walk out of the empty streets of the ghetto
Thomas reasoned that he would be philosophical and optimistic about Adam and
Jessica. He would suppress his doubts over any relationship they could have.
Maybe she would be good for him and him for her. So too he tried to be positive
in regards to the plan for the following night. Like Adam, Thomas was confident
that Jessica and Kolya would not be checked-up upon immediately for missing
their work detail. No one would question him at the gates of the ghetto as to
why he was commandeering three Jews for a work duty. The smuggling ring had to
be trustworthy; otherwise it would be out of business. Adam would take care of
Jessica and Kolya also, that much Thomas could have full confidence in. Yet the
soldier knew that plans are but plans. Though the prospect of saving Adam,
Jessica and the boy lifted the German's heart - if something should go wrong he
would equally be responsible for their deaths.

And so a tobacco chewing Oscar Hummel was greeted with a
froward expression from his Corporal as Thomas returned to their billet. The
Private sat on a chair, waiting - with his friend's best uniform washed and
pressed beside him, hanging on a hook on the wall.

"You don't have the face of the man who is going to
Warsaw's social event of the season."

"Evening. Perhaps I should start calling you my
fairy-godmother," Thomas replied, breaking himself free from his dark
reverie, wryly smiling and raising an eyebrow upon noticing his rejuvenated
uniform.

"If I was a fairy-godmother I'd turn a carriage into a
pumpkin. I'm starving, which is partly why I sorted out that old thing for
you."

Oscar went on to say what he wanted his friend to pilfer -
and how he should steal it. Meat and beverages were a priority; he should put
bags in his pockets - and stay till as late as possible to take whatever was
left. Oscar was as earnest as he was demanding in his requests. Thomas smirked
at his friend in amusement - to which the Private again insisted that he was
"being serious" - and declared that he would try his best to meet the
order.

24.

Thomas took a deep breath and exhaled, puffing his cheeks as
he blew the tired air out from his lungs. He yawned and in one movement
stretched his arms, chest and back, bones clicking as he did so. It had been a
long day, but an equally involving evening was about to unfold. The Corporal
tentatively peered up into the sky, purple and black like smudged ink. Strips
of cloud appeared pinkish in the mellow moonlight. The rain was so fine as to
be but a spray and Thomas appreciated its bracing effects to keep him awake.
Even when imagining what the party would be like - the conversation, guests,
decadence - Thomas was as bored as he was repulsed by the imminent gathering.

A skeletal Polish girl with a Louise Brooks bob took his coat
as the Corporal entered the grand looking building.

"Doesn't it ever stop fucking raining in this miserable
fucking country? It has more types of rain than it does cuisine," the
Major complained as he wiped a film of fine rain from his face and charged into
the reception area of the building. Major Hans Barkmann - a boar of a man with
large round shoulders, a broad flat nose and flabby, scarred face - began his
official military career as a Sergeant-Major under Theodor Eicke at Dachau.
Jewish lives, or rather deaths, were a matter of quotas now for the
under-pressure SS officer. Himmler again had been on the telephone to him that
afternoon, desiring to know the week's figures and then making a humming noise
down the phone as if expressing disappointment, or frustration. The
Reichsfuhrer always ended their exchanges though with an appreciative word or
two for the Major, which was nice and showed a degree of sympathy for the SS
officer's difficult mission. Alarmingly Himmler had more and more questioned
him on Kleist's performance. The Major felt that he could not help but praise
the efficient Lieutenant, both because of his efficiency and also the fact that
he knew how respected and influential Kleist's father was inside the Party's
senior circles. Hans Barkmann was conscious of the fact that Kleist could - and
would - replace him at any point given the opportunity. Indeed Hans Barkmann
was beginning to resent his privileged and wealthy young Lieutenant's success -
albeit his work and success had helped the Major meet his previous targets. In
an idle thought before the party this evening the Major had argued though that
Christian's star was rising as a result of reflected glory from his success.

A humourless yet laughter-lined Second Lieutenant, about
twenty years junior to the Major, accompanied Hans. Thomas had never seen the
tall SS officer before. Such was his long, bored expression and gangly frame
that Thomas would have surely remembered him. Michael Wittmann was tempted to
dryly reply that, out of anyone, his porcine Major could attest to the range of
Poland's native dishes - but the Second Lieutenant merely rolled his eyes and
shook his head when his senior officer wasn't looking. Not for the first time
Michael Wittmann had to act as an audience to the Major's constant berating. He
told himself that the only reason why he still stayed attentive to the
bellicose grouch was that, one day, he might for once take responsibility for
something himself, instead of blaming and taking it out on the "filthy Jews”,
"dumb, lazy Polacks" or "womanish Wehrmacht".

The Major was as clumsy as he was impatient in taking off
his greatcoat and all but threw it at the nervous Polish girl who was working
the cloakroom to the party. Such was its size - and the girl's delicate frame -
that she nearly fell over upon receiving the oversized fur-lined garment.
Although, like his fellow officer, the Second Lieutenant refrained from
speaking or thanking the girl he was slightly more considerate in handing over
his long greatcoat to the meek receptionist.

Hans Barkmann knitted his brow - which creased itself below
an increasingly bald, shiny pate - and looked the lowly Wehrmacht Corporal up
and down as if he were either confused or insulted that they should both be
attending the same party. A mix of a sniff and "humph" emanated from
the senior SS officer and he made his way up the marble staircase towards the
second floor, increasingly breathless and reddening in the face as he did so. A
haughty look of suspicion laced the SS Lieutenant's thinly smiling countenance
as he walked by Thomas and nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement of the
Corporal.

As soon as they were both out of sight Thomas grinned to
himself and shook his head in amusement. In some ways finding such people
ridiculous was a defence mechanism against the rancour involved in what Thomas
really thought of the cretins. Allowing sufficient time for the two SS officers
to make it up the stairs, without the prospect of him catching up with them,
Thomas finally made his way up to the party also. He could hear bouts of
bellowing laughter, the clink of champagne glasses and a cacophony of voices
before he made it to the top of the stairs. Again Thomas puffed air out of his
cheeks and took a deep breath, making a face as if he were an actor waiting in
the wings and about to go on stage.

The guests, of whom all were men, numbered around thirty.
Most were separated and clustered in groups of three to five. A few suited
civilians and SS personnel in black populated the room - as well as the female
catering staff servicing the party - but for the most part it was a variety of
SS officers in grey who filled the guest list.

A horseshoe of three long, curved tables stood at the back
end of room next to the large oval windows - through which could be seen a
melancholic's dream night, spotted with sleet. Upon the tables rested various
cooked meats (moist hams, beef, salamis), different golden crusted breads,
pastries, jellied pates, a honey-glazed suckling pig, shiny fresh vegetables
with steam still pluming upwards off them and glass plate upon glass plate of
sweets and sugar-topped cakes. To the right of Thomas, running along half the
length of the wall, a bar was set up: fat kegs of beer - next to frothing
steins of cider next to German wines next to zesty champagnes next to tawny
port next to French brandy next to perfume-like coloured bottles of liquors and
spirits - bedecked the tables.

An attractive Polish girl with pinned-up auburn hair in a
French maid's dress came up to him carrying a silver tray filled with slender
glasses of champagne. Although Thomas craved a beer he kindly thanked the
waitress and took a glass. After a brief scan of the room - and realising that
he knew not a single soul - Thomas made his way to the buffet tables. A telling
silence, followed by a whisper and then booming laugh, ensued as the Wehrmacht
Corporal walked past one particular group of SS officers - which had recently
added Hans Barkmann to its ranks. Thomas didn't find it difficult however to
ignore the Nazis, such was his comfortable contempt for them.

When he reached the far table of food Thomas couldn't help
but grinned to upon remembering Oscar and his comically serious plans about
stealing various dishes from the party, "Take the beef first, then chicken,
then any lamb if you have any choice. Lamb's always too fatty, or quite
literally mutton dressed up as lamb". Such was the polished night outside
that as Thomas gazed out of the window he also saw a figure reflected in the
glass approaching him - and about to speak.

"Do you mind awfully if I shake your hand rather than
salute? I fear any sudden movements might cause my pickled onions to fall from
my plate." The voice, tone, was as dry as it was aristocratic. Such was
the charm and humour of the man - and almost child-like smile upon his
rubicund-cheeked face - that Thomas couldn't help but smile in reply. As they
shook hands the gentleman, a little older than Thomas, introduced himself.

"Hello, my name is Walter Fest. Pleased to meet
you."

The handshake (were they diamond studded cufflinks?) was
firm. Thomas noticed how conscious the gentleman was of smiling and looking him
in the eye. From his expensive double-breasted suit and well groomed hair and
nails he looked a little out of place. The man was well fed and enjoyed his
food, if the plate he was holding was anything to go by, Walter Fest was by no
means as corpulent as the gluttonous Major. His light-brown wavy hair was
combed back - emphasizing his burgeoning devil's peaks - and was slightly oiled
to keep it in place and give his scalp an attractive sheen and scent.

"Thomas Abendroth."

"You don't mind if I join you do you?"

"No. I could use the company. As a Wehrmacht Corporal I
reckon I'm already conspicuous enough here, without being a wallflower as
well."

"Yes, quite," the wry gentleman said in reply,
quietly smirking. "And thank you for being the perfect excuse to be out of
their company for awhile. I either find myself having to toady up to them and
unofficially offer bribes and favours - or just as unwelcome they sometimes
attempt to court my favour."

"Fortunately most SS officers have such a superiority
complex in terms of Wehrmacht Corporals that they don't even deign to talk to
us, let alone court any favours."

"I'm not that fortunate. I should say now that I work
for Farben. My fantastically dull job consists of visiting our work plants to
check upon productivity. I also deal with various other all too routine
business matters. My work both keeps me up at night and makes me yawn," he
cheerfully exclaimed.

Another raucous cannonade of laughter shattered the air. The
playful twinkle in Walter Fest's aspect similarly shattered. His perfectly
apple-round face suddenly became long. He rolled his eyes in unassuming
exasperation. Walter Fest's expression soon gleamed with friendliness and
amusement again though upon the arrival of one of the appetising Polish
waitresses that the host had made sure to arrange. The young girl's peroxide
blonde hair emphasised her roots all the more but Walter Fest did not take his
eyes off the maid's other two virtues as he relinquished another empty glass of
champagne and took another.

"Thank you. That's twice now you've saved me from
thirst. You're as veritably sweet as this second-rate champagne my dear,"
the womanising gentleman exclaimed with a suave glint in his chestnut eyes. The
girl herself couldn't help but smile in reply, to the point where Thomas
thought that she was almost going to break into a fit of the giggles.

"Nice girl. If she understood half of what I said just
now then that's twice as much as the rest of the soubrettes here this
evening," Walter Fest issued after finally taking his eyes off the girl's
shapely calves as she provocatively walked away.

Dietmar gently tapped his fingernail against the rim of his
half empty glass of Riesling. He had watched his former Corporal arrive and was
pleased upon witnessing how uncomfortable he was at attending the SS gathering.
But now it was Dietmar who was feeling uncomfortable as he watched from across
the room the confident Corporal conversing with an important - and wealthy -
guest at the party. The secretary's blood burned all the more for being tempted
to introduce himself to the Corporal and talk to him, for the youth himself
currently appeared out of place in the room. He had earlier tried to ingratiate
himself with a senior officer and his staff but they had snubbed the
insignificant adjutant. He had attempted too to catch the eye earlier of a
couple of officers who he thought might like to catch his eye in return. In
particular Dietmar noticed a strikingly attractive Second Lieutenant with short
cropped blond hair and a taut, athletic build. He looked as intimidating as he
was handsome though; cold sapphire eyes - which seemed at once to take
everything in but also dismiss it all at the same time. An aristocratic scowl
dominated his features. For fear of being snubbed again Dietmar refrained from
approaching the SS officer who he had never seen before. And so Dietmar
remained, alone, glued to an empty corner of the room. He could not even take
solace in the wine, as he was under strict instructions from Christian not to
drink too much during the evening.

"Before you become too suspicious of me Corporal, or
back away in lieu of my frankness, I should just declare that I know something
of you already. One of your Privates, Oscar Hummel, used to tend to the garden
of one of my properties. I caught up with him this afternoon. He not only
mentioned that you would be attending this party but he also spoke highly of you
- and I dare say we both know how rare that is for Oscar. But he's a good man.
An army of men like him and this war might've been over by now.”

"I dare say that, if we had an army made up of men like
Oscar, we would not have gone to war in the first place."

"I can toast to that. And also have a cigarette.
Smoke?" Walter Fest asked, holding a French cigarette in between his
chubby fingers.

"No thank you. I don't."

"Really? I don't know what I'd be like if I didn't
smoke - several pounds heavier I suspect," the man then spontaneously
confided, infectiously beaming at his own joke.

There was something of the dandy or dilettante about Walter
Fest, Thomas later concluded. In some ways the ironist was wise beyond his
years, in other ways it was as if Walter Fest didn't want to grow up - with
humour and playfulness acting as an elixir to the welts and gravity of the age.
After the party that night Thomas even thought to himself that Fest had been
almost unreal, like a character from a novel. The well-read soldier then
somehow thought of Fest, perhaps because of his girth or epicurean appetites,
as being a German sequel to Polozov, a character from Turgenev in his novel
"Spring Torrents". But then Thomas rightly dismissed the comparison
as being unfair.
  

 
Christian saw Walter
Fest and the Wehrmacht Corporal laughing together out of the corner of his eye.
Etiquette dictated that Christian invited the well connected contact from
Farben. He was also a long-term acquaintance of his father's set. In truth the
Lieutenant had little time for the former theatre critic. Fest was sarcastic
and even frivolous in the officer's eyes, to the point where he could say
something and one would not know if the one-time theatre critic was being
sincere or not; he seemed to be perpetually amused, as if sharing a private
joke with himself - but at someone else's expense. He was glib. A sour
expression over clouded Kleist's features as the paranoid egoist imagined that
Abendroth and Fest were laughing at him. The host then snapped out of his
brooding and smiled appreciatively at a remark from his Major which the group
appeared to enjoy - albeit Christian's inattention meant that he had no idea
what the remark pertained to.