The Kommandant's Girl (31 page)

He cuts me off. “The child is a Jew also.” His voice is like ice, his eyes dark, hollow pits. He turns and takes a step away. “You lied to me, Anna. I mean Emma.” He spits my real name bitterly. “You betrayed me. And you have broken more laws of the Reich than I can count.” He pulls his revolver out once more. “I should shoot you here, instead of arresting you and sending you to the camps. Believe me, I would be doing you a favor.”

“So now you are going to kill me?” I ask in a whisper. I take a deep breath. “Like…like you did with Margot?”

He looks as though I have slapped him. “I did not kill my wife.” His voice is hoarse, about to crack. “She committed suicide.”

“Because you would not save her father,” I continue, reckless now about saying too much, not caring if he wonders how I know about Margot. He does not respond. “So what if you did not pull the trigger yourself? You killed her.” I do not recognize this voice that comes from inside me now, forceful and bold. “Just like you killed her father. Just like…” I spin around recklessly, my arms flailing in the directions of the Jewish quarter and the ghetto. “You killed all of these people!”

“I did not!”

He lunges at me, but I step away. With his free hand he grips both of my wrists and pins me against the steel column of the bridge. His face is inches above mine, a wild look in his eyes. He shakes me hard. “Who told you about Margot?” he demands, his eyes bulging.

Alek! Alek Landesberg!
I want to shout, the hero whom you murdered. But I do not; I will die before I betray the resistance. “It doesn’t matter,” I reply. “It’s the truth.”

“No!” he cries hysterically. “It’s not true. I did it for us. You must believe me, Margot! I did what I had to do to save us.” I look up in surprise. The Kommandant is staring at me, but he thinks he is talking to his dead wife. I have pushed him too far, I realize. He has survived the war on an elaborately constructed world of fantasy and delusion, separating his actions from their consequences. Discovering the truth about me has caused that world, and the Kommandant himself, to crumble.

“It’s okay,” I say softly, playing along. Perhaps if he thinks I am Margot, he will release me and I may be able to escape. “I understand, my darling. And I forgive you.”

He does not answer or move, but looks out over my shoulder into the darkness, lost in his memories. An eternity seems to pass with his weight bearing down on me, pressing the rail of the bridge into my back.

Suddenly the Kommandant releases me and steps back. I straighten, trying to catch my breath. “I didn’t kill my wife,” he says, seeming to realize to whom he is talking once more. His voice is strangely calm. He leans against the steel column of the bridge for support. “I loved Margot. I never would have hurt her.” Now it is him begging me to understand. It is more than that, though; he is trying to make himself believe it, too. “I loved my wife. I even cared for her father. But I had no choice in the matter.”

Choice. I hear Krysia’s voice, as if in a long-forgotten dream.
There’s always a choice,
she said after I had become involved with the Kommandant.
We have to take responsibility for our actions. It is the only way we can avoid becoming victims and keep our dignity.
I consider telling this to the Kommandant. Then, looking over at him, I shake my head inwardly. There’s no point. He appears defeated, wholly unrecognizable as the strong and powerful man I once knew. His cowardice has made him the victim. No, I conclude, he will not understand.

“I was a good man once, Anna,” he says suddenly. His eyes are looking off across the water, away from the ghetto. His face wears the same faraway expression I have seen so often when he stares out the window of his office, and I know that he is picturing Margot and himself in happier days before the war. “The change in me came about over time, so slowly I didn’t notice.” It is the first time I have heard him admit to wrongdoing.

“You still are a good man,” I offer, moving closer to him and taking his hand in mine. Perhaps, now while he is vulnerable, there is still a chance for me to save myself. “You still can be.”

He shakes his head, pulls his hand from mine. “It’s too late for that.”

“It’s not too late. Georg, please,” I implore, reaching out again and placing my hand on his arm. Get close, I tell myself. Close enough so that he can smell the scent of your hair. Close enough so that he can remember. “We can still go away together, you and I and our child.”

He pulls away. “Our child?” he repeats, his voice bitter. “How do I even know it is mine?” He gestures to the marriage certificate and rings, still clutched in his palm underneath the handle of the gun. “You are married, Anna. The child could be his.”

Emma is married, not Anna, I think. “I have not seen my husband in more than three years,” I lie. “Not since the beginning of the war. I do not even know if he is alive.” I move closer to him again. “The child is yours, Georg.” I watch his face processing this information, wanting to believe.

“Perhaps…” He seems to be considering what I have said.

“You said you wanted a family and children,” I continue, trying to keep the desperation from my voice. “This is our chance. We can leave here and start over. Please.” He does not answer, but I can tell that he is considering the idea. I watch as he paces back and forth, his face twisting, as he wrestles with a torrent of conflicting emotions. It is the only time I have ever seen him uncertain of what to do. “No one has to know the truth,” I add.

Suddenly, something within him seems to change. He pushes me away, steps backward. “I would know,” he replies coldly. “You lied to me, Anna.” Reading his stony eyes, I can tell that his heart is closed to me now. I understand then that it is my betrayal and lies, more so than my faith, with which he cannot live. There is nothing more I can say or do. His hands shaking with anger, the Kommandant lifts his gun.

For a moment, I consider begging him, pleading for my life. Then I decide against it. If my promises of a child and a new life did not soften his heart, groveling will not, either, and it will make him despise me even more. I look ahead toward the end of the bridge, which seems an eternity away, too far to run. Then I wrap one arm protectively around my stomach. I’m sorry, I apologize inwardly to my child for the life he or she will never have. I close my eyes and think of the bravery of those I love: my parents, Krysia, Lukasz, even Alek flies through my mind. Then there is Jacob. “Do not be afraid,” I hear him whisper, and I can almost feel him squeeze my hand.

I hear a click as the Kommandant cocks the gun. I open my eyes, wanting to see the moment that is to be my last. The Kommandant stands before me, pistol aimed at my heart. “Goodbye, Anna,” he says, tears streaming down his face. I close my eyes again.

A shot rings out, then another. I must be dead, I think, for I feel nothing. “Emma!” I hear my name being called out by a familiar voice in the darkness. My eyes fly open. I am not hit, I realize. The Kommandant has spun away from me, firing wildly in the darkness. He stands frozen now, his arm jerked high in the air like a marionette’s, a twisted half smile on his face. The front of his uniform is dark and wet. He collapses to the ground.

“Georg!” I cry out. I run to him, kneeling. Has he shot himself instead of me? He reaches up to clasp my hand. “Don’t move,” I order, looking around desperately. “I’ll get help!” But even as I say it, I know it is impossible. If I call the police, I will be arrested. I cannot risk my own life to save him.

The Kommandant shakes his head weakly, coughing. “It’s too late for that. Stay with me, Anna,” he says, still using my pseudonym, wanting to believe my charade to the last. “It’s better this way.”

“Don’t say that!” I put my hand under his neck, lift him to me. His face is white. “You are going to be fine. We just have to get you to a hospital.”

“No, I don’t want it to go on like this. If we can’t be together…”

“We can be,” I insist. He is bleeding more heavily now, the dark red seeping into the snow underneath him.

He squeezes my hand tightly. “I’m so sorry. I love you. I never could have hurt you.”

“I know,” I whisper, though in truth I do not. He had loved Margot, too, but it hadn’t been enough.

“I love you, Anna,” he repeats.

“I love you, too,” I say for the first time. I realize now that, for some part of me at least, it is true. I brush the hair from his sweat-soaked brow.

“Anna,” he says again. His eyes flutter, then go blank.

“No!” I cry, bending my forehead to his. I freeze there, hoping to feel some hint of warm breath on my cheek. I press my lips to his eyelids, kissing them closed. His face is calm, relieved of all its intensity and torment, and in that moment I know that the Kommandant is gone.

I
kneel frozen beside the Kommandant’s lifeless body, too stunned to move. “Emma,” I hear someone call from behind me. The voice I had heard calling my name as the shots rang out had not been imaginary. Someone else is here. The Kommandant was not alone, I think, leaping to my feet and staring in the direction from which he had come, searching for another Nazi. “Emma,” the voice calls again. A Nazi would not know my real name. I spin around. There in the shadows, holding a still-smoking gun, stands Marta.

“Marta!” I exclaim, walking toward her. “I—I don’t understand…what are you doing here?”

“I followed you,” she replies. “I was supposed to come for you at dawn to take you to Jacob.” So she is the escort, I think. She continues, “I knew you wouldn’t leave without seeing your parents, and I was afraid that when you found out about your mother…” Her voice trails off and she looks away.

I look at her in disbelief. “You knew?”

She nods. “I found out a few weeks ago. I wanted to come and tell you, but Marek forbade it.” Damn him, I think. Damn them all. “I’m sorry,” she adds. I do not answer. “I followed you to the ghetto, then here. When I arrived, I saw him…” she gestures toward the Kommandant’s lifeless body. “He was going to shoot you. So I shot him first.”

“Thank God! If you hadn’t come…” I shudder. My anger toward her is quickly replaced by gratitude. Had she not been there, it might be me lying dead on the bridge. “Oh, Marta, thank you so much.” I try to hug her, but she pushes me away.

“There’s no time for that!” She rushes over to where the Kommandant lies. She must have seen me with him after he was shot, I realize as I follow her. I wait for her to reproach me for holding him and crying as he died, but she does not. Instead, she kneels before the Kommandant’s lifeless body and pries the rings and paper from his already-stiffening fingers. “Here.” She reaches up and hands them to me and I put them quickly back in my pocket. “The authorities will be here soon. We have to get rid of the body. Quick, let’s push him over the edge.”

The Kommandant’s body. I look down at him. My stomach twists. An image flashes through my mind of him hovering above me in the darkness, his torso inches from mine. Fighting the urge to vomit, I look away from him and walk over to the railing of the bridge. “Impossible, the river is frozen. Let’s just leave him, Marta. We need to get out of here. Come on!” I look down to where she kneels, not moving. “Marta?”

She shakes her head, sinking to the ground. “I can’t.” I rush to her. A red stain seeps across her midsection.

“Oh, Marta, you’ve been hit!”

She smiles ruefully. “I was faster than him, but not fast enough.”

I kneel beside her. “Is it very painful?”

“It’s not too bad.” But I know she is trying to be strong. Her face is pale and there is a thin layer of sweat on her brow.

“We have to get you to Krysia’s. She can find a doctor….”

She shakes her head. “There’s no way. I can’t walk.”

“Here, I’ll help you.” I place my arm around her waist, trying to lift her to a standing position, but she pushes my hands away, falling to the ground once more.

“It’s no use,” she says, panting. “You can’t carry me. No, you have to go without me.”

“I’ll go for help,” I offer, looking around.

“Not for help. Just go. I will tell you the planned route for your escape.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “But you can’t stay here. The police will come soon and they’ll find you.”

“Exactly,” she replies, a light growing in her eyes. “If they have me and think I did it, they won’t be looking for anyone else. You’ll be able to escape.”

“I won’t leave you here,” I protest.

“You have to.”

“No…” But even as I say this, I know there is no changing her mind. I hear in her voice the same courage, the same stubbornness that I had seen in Alek and Jacob. Still I persist. “I can’t leave you like this. Not after all that you’ve done for me.”

“Listen to me.” Mustering all of her remaining strength, Marta reaches out and grabs my sleeve. “The resistance is about survival, the survival of our people. It always has been. Those who can must go on. Alek knew it and Jacob does, too. Whoever can go on, must, and no sentimental nonsense about it. Do you understand?”

I take a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Good.” She releases my hand, then reaches over the Kommandant’s body and grabs his gun. “Here,” she says, holding it up to me. “Take this.”

I stare at the weapon that was pointed at my heart just a few minutes earlier. “I—I can’t,” I stammer, recoiling.

“Just take it,” she insists. “You may need it for your escape.” Reluctantly, I take the gun from her. The cold metal is heavy and unfamiliar in my hand. She falls back to the ground.

I place the gun in the waistband of my skirt. “Where is Jacob?” I ask, realizing she might be the only one who knows.

“He is in Czernichow.”

“But…” I stare at her in disbelief. Czernichow is a small village just on the other side of the forest, not ten kilometers from Krysia’s house. All of this time, I had been led to believe Jacob was recovering far away in the mountains when in fact he was close by.

“Everyone thought he was in the mountains, Emma,” she gasps. “We had to pretend. The leaks in the resistance have been even worse since Alek was killed. And even among those we trusted, we could not risk that someone might be captured and made to tell where he was.” I nod. So many secrets. She continues, “There is an abandoned hut just behind the livery outside of Czernichow. Jacob is there. He may be hiding in the root cellar underneath. The property is owned by a farmer called Kowalczyk who can be trusted to help you if you need it. Take the forest path from Krysia’s,” she continues with short, labored breaths. “You can tell the Kowalczyk place by its blue roof.” Sirens wail in the distance then. “Get out of here now! Go to Jacob.” She rocks back and forth in a fetal position, nursing her pain.

I stand to go. She reaches up, grabbing my hand. “Emma, one last thing…about Jacob…” She hesitates. “I’m sorry.” I know she is referring to the thing that had remained unspoken between us, her feelings for my husband. She had always had a crush on him, even before she knew me.

“It’s okay,” I reply, squeezing her fingers. And it really was. I could not judge her. You loved who you loved. She could no more help her feelings for Jacob than I could mine for the Kommandant.

“Go now,” she orders as the sirens grow closer.

“God bless you, Marta,” I say, bending to kiss her cheek. I release her hand and start running, making my way across the bridge. When I reach the end, I look back. Marta sits motionless by the Kommandant’s body, gun still clutched tightly in her hand, looking off into the distance.

I climb down the steps of the bridge, then freeze. There is a large black sedan parked at the base of the bridge. The Kommandant’s car. So he had not been in the truck after all. Through the tinted glass windows, I can make out Stanislaw’s bald head. I consider running back up the steps of the bridge, but before I can react, the driver’s door opens and Stanislaw emerges. We eye each other uncertainly, neither of us speaking. A long moment of silence passes between us.
“Dobry wieczor,”
he says at last, bidding me good evening as though it were entirely usual for us to meet under these circumstances.

“
Dobry wieczor,
Stanislaw,” I reply, my mind racing. Did he hear the shots? Is he wondering what became of the Kommandant? I keep my hands crossed to hide the bloodstains on my dress, praying that he does not notice. There is another awkward silence. The sirens are getting louder now. It is a matter of minutes before he realizes that the police are coming here. For a moment, I consider running. Then I remember the day I had encountered Stanislaw when taking the papers from the Kommandant’s apartment. Even after catching me in the act, he let me go without question. Maybe he really is sympathetic to the resistance. Then again, he is, or was, the Kommandant’s driver and probably a loyalist like Malgorzata. I cannot risk it.

“Perhaps you would like a ride?” Stanislaw asks, breaking me from my thoughts. I look up. His face is impassive but there is a glint in his eye that makes me think that he knows what has happened and understands.

So maybe Stanislaw really is on our side. Or perhaps it is a trap and he will deliver me to the Gestapo. Either way, I need to get back to Krysia’s right away and walking will take an hour that I do not have. I have to take a chance. “Yes, please, Stanislaw. To Krysia’s house as fast as you can.” Stanislaw nods and, moving more swiftly than I knew he could, opens the back door of the car. I slide in and he shuts the door behind me. The sirens are deafening now, the police almost upon the bridge. Stanislaw slams on the gas and the car takes off. He drives wildly through the streets, not stopping at the intersections and taking corners nearly on two wheels. He is going to attract attention, I worry as I grasp the seat in front of me tightly. We will be stopped by the police. Then I remember we are driving in the car of a high-ranking Nazi official; no one will dare to stop us.

I sink back in the seat, suddenly overwhelmed by all that has happened. The Kommandant’s face appears suddenly in my mind. Don’t, I think, but it is too late: suddenly I am back on the bridge. I see the Kommandant, his gun trained upon me, his face racked with pain. His eyes were so desperate when he realized he was in love with a Jew, that fate had played the same cruel joke on him not once, but twice. Finding out the truth about me was like losing Margot all over again. He simply could not bear reliving that pain.

I hear the shots in my mind and flinch as though they are real. Would he have actually been able to go through with shooting me? I wanted to believe that he could not, that he loved me too much. But he had loved Margot too, so how could I ever know for sure what might have happened if Marta had not arrived?

Marta. I should not have left her, I think, a wave of guilt washing over me. She saved my life and I abandoned her to die. But she was right: the resistance, everything we have done, has been about survival. I had to go on because I could.

My mind turns from all that has happened to the present situation. It will be a matter of minutes before the Gestapo realizes what has happened to the Kommandant and begins to investigate and will surely learn of our affair. I need to get out of Kraków as soon as possible. For a moment, I consider going directly to the forest to make my way to Czernichow and find Jacob, without stopping back at Krysia’s. But I need to go there one last time, to pick up the clothes and food she packed for my journey and to tell her all that has happened. To say goodbye to her and Lukasz.

I look out the car window. We are almost at the roundabout at the top of Krysia’s street now. I lean forward to the front seat. “Stanislaw, stop here, please.” He obliges and looks back, puzzled. “The engine will attract attention on the street this time of night. Let me get out here.” He nods, then turns to open his door to get out and help me from the car. “No, it’s all right,” I say. “I can do this on my own.”

He opens his mouth to start to argue. I realize that even after all that has happened tonight, it is this, not being allowed to do the simple duties of his job like opening the car door, that seems to trouble him most. Then his expression changes. “As you wish,” he says.

“Thank you.” I open the car door, then turn to him again. “Stanislaw, after tonight, there will be questions. It may not be safe for you here.”

He shakes his head, a determined look in his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

He would have made a good resistance fighter, I think. Suddenly, I remember Alek saying something about the resistance having other spies around Wawel. Surely Stanislaw is not…I open my mouth to ask, but he reaches back and extends his hand. “Good luck.”

He is right, of course; some things are best left unspoken. I take his hand, then lean forward awkwardly into the front seat to kiss his smooth, full cheek. “God bless you.” I open the door and leap out, then close it softly behind me.

Taking quick, silent steps, I round the corner onto the deserted street, then stop, eyeing Krysia’s house with surprise. All of the lights in the house burn brightly through the windows, as though we had never gone to bed the night before. Even if Krysia had already awoken, she would have kept the house as dark as possible since I am supposed to be leaving in secret. Something is wrong. I race toward the house.

A few meters farther, I halt once more. There is a military car parked in front of the house. Someone is here, I realize, my blood running cold. The Gestapo has come again.

I hesitate, uncertain what to do. I have to help Krysia and Lukasz, but how? I cannot just walk into the house in the middle of the night with bloodstains on my dress; it will raise too many questions. For a moment I consider running away again. Those who can survive, must, Marta had said. But I cannot abandon Krysia and Lukasz. I have to do something. Desperately, I turn and duck behind the hedge on the side of the house.

Crouching low, I make my way around to the back garden, as I had the night Jozef had brought me here. I peek in the window at the foyer, but it is deserted. They must be upstairs. Stepping back, I crane my neck to look up at the second-floor window. I can make out the heads of at least two men through the parlor curtains, but I cannot see what they are saying or doing. I sink back into the bushes, my mind racing. Why are they here? For a moment, I wonder if they know about the Kommandant and have come for me? Impossible, I realize. There is no way they could have figured it out already and gotten here before me, not with the way Stanislaw was driving. Perhaps it is the two Gestapo officers who came last time, making good on their threat to return with more questions. I look over at the cottage that the one officer had wanted to inspect last time, but the door remains closed. Maybe someone in the resistance leaked the plan of my escape and they are here to stop me.