Warsaw (23 page)

   
Upon the
indiff'rent azure

As I plot upon the dark sand

   
And, vacant, gaze
out from the shore.

I know not if the maiden tide

   
Is riding to or
from old me,

But I feel fated to rest here -

   
Let my vexed
souls kiss the sea.

And she heaves and softly lets go

   
And pouts and
waltzes back and forth.

More regular than Dian's moods

   
Does her lap and
lull keep its course.

But in this measure for measure,

 
  
Tho' it seems to keep perfect time,

Something in her form must progress

   
For she must
other beaches climb.

So too must ev'ry grain of sand

   
Within my thorn
suffering feet

Shift; surely one day in my life

   
I will again
------- meet?

But are the sands of time moved so

   
By Love's
invisible spirit?

Or by Chaos, a gaping void,

   
Is she moved? - O
God - I fear it!

And so I wallow here tonight

   
As lonely as a
grain of sand;

'Mong billions and billions

   
I search, but do
not find. I'm damned."

 
For a moment or two
Jessica just held the poem in her hand, impressed upon by a sense of wonder,
compassion and something else. He was so lonely. She briefly wondered about who
the girl in the poem was (did each dash stand for a letter of her name? Or was
she a muse?) - but then Jessica just read on, absorbed by a dozen other
thoughts and feelings. A new Adam Duritz began to appear before her eyes, as if
she were following the numbers upon a dot-to-dot picture. Jessica suddenly
realised that the man needed sympathy, not condemnation. Such was her immersion
in the illuminating writings of the deep-feeling student that it took a moment
or two for the girl to realise that the candle was flickering and taking its
last breaths before dying out. For the first time, in a long time, the young
Jewish woman forgot about her hunger, parents, prison and Thomas. From that
evening Jessica vowed that she would try to be nicer to the ex-student. She
instructed Kolya not to sell all of Duritz's papers the following morning.

The vow was honoured and made considerably easier to keep
the evening after as Kolya somehow managed to get his hands on a bottle of
vodka. Jessica and Duritz neither asked where he had come by it, nor did they
criticise the boy for his profligacy (though she wanted to). They played cards
and enjoyed themselves. The next night she watched with the lustre of
wonderment on her face as, put up to it by Kolya, Adam recited and performed
some Shakespeare. Yet whereas before in his youth he would choose passages from
the great tragedies Adam now recited what little he remembered from the
comedies.

And the subsequent night the woman was grateful for the
ex-policeman's presence in the house when a couple of families who had been
moved out of their own tenement building tried to co-opt their apartment. As
much as they would not take no for an answer when Jessica refused to
accommodate them, they backed off when Duritz appeared and threatened to send
for a policeman to deal with the disturbance. The bluff worked. Both Jessica
and Adam felt a little guilty at having turned the wretched people away, but
equally they knew it had to be done. In a small but significant moment Jessica
thanked him, placing her hand on his arm.

A couple of evenings on, after cooking and serving her guest
turnip soup with half an apple for dessert, Jessica and Duritz grew closer
still - literally and emotionally - as she sat next to Adam and tried to teach
him how to knit, much to the amusement of Kolya and his giggling sister. By now
Jessica owned a conscious desire to show Adam that she was willing to give him
a second chance (without wholly forgiving and forgetting). Duritz offered to be
taught in order to take on some work repairing garments so as to bring a little
more food into the household (an eight hour day spent working brought in a
couple of finger-sized pieces of bread). Duritz was slow at the work - and his
inability fed his antipathy for the task - but he didn't want to be seen as
being idle during the day and Jessica seemed to appreciate his gesture. He
smiled attractively - as his maternal sewing teacher did so too - upon
commenting after finishing a piece of work

"I dare say my brow's more knitted, but it's an
improvement is it not?"

Jessica laughed not just at what he said, but more so she
was touched by the self-deprecating humour of the way the Adam said things - as
if everything was either a source of amusement. She thought him funny,
vulnerable and maybe even a little attractive all at once as the intellectual
held the knitting in his hands. She would later consider how she had never
known one of her boyfriends to make her laugh so much. Nor could they be
mentioned in the same breath as Adam in terms of how cultured, creative and
engaging he could be. She had but courted rich, pretty boys - whose vulgarity
and vanity had ultimately proved unattractive; their hearts matched not their
wealth. Perhaps Jessica's change of heart concerning the once reviled
ex-policeman had something to do with her looking at Adam through Kolya's eyes.
He acted as a big brother, friend and teacher - without ever patronising the
teenager. She couldn't help but note the difference between how Kolya behaved
towards Adam and how he had been with Thomas. But maybe Adam was right and
that, after all, the German was an outsider - he couldn't truly understand what
it was to be Jewish and live in the ghetto, as much as he asked questions and
wanted to sympathise with their fate.

Slowly but surely Adam displaced Thomas in the woman's
thoughts.

Whilst Duritz and Jessica sat talking that early evening
about what had happened in the factory that day Kolya was making his way home.
Desperate to regain that warm feeling - and also the cheer in the household
when he had obtained the bottle of vodka last time - Kolya had spent the last
couple of hours searching those apartments that had just been evacuated for
another find. The elixir gifted a high - and blissful forgetfulness. Kolya knew
full well how hopeful he was being but the reward would be worth it. He predicted
that such a task would bring some spoils regardless, which it did: a crust of
stale bread which would be fine dipped in soup; a pair of scissors; a couple of
worn cardigans and a bag which he put them all into.

Such was the birdless, pigeon-grey firmament and epidemic of
rain that the city suffered from one couldn't tell nowadays what time it was
but dusk was currently drawing itself across the sky. Another cold shower. Each
drop pelted onto Kolya's head like a pellet of ice. Because of the dull light and
dirty rain Kolya and Yitzhak Meisel were slow to recognise each other.
Thankfully Kolya saw the policeman first yet such was the boy's reaction of
stopping dead still and making a face of being all but petrified the
"vulture" (as some of the inhabitants of the ghetto called Meisel)
spied his quarry. An ugly grin broke out upon Meisel's wet face as he fastened
his gaze upon his prey twenty yards away. He even lifted his eyebrows in
playful acknowledgement and delight at spotting the boy. The policeman clenched
his cudgel tightly, ready for use.

Kolya ran. The satisfied smile fell from the corrupt
constable's face. He grunted and screwed up his features - cruelty unmasked. He
was disgruntled, in that Yitzhak would now have to give chase having failed to
paralyse the boy in fear with his glare. In his hastiness Kolya slipped a
little on the grimy cobble stoned street in his first couple of steps but
Meisel was soon taken back by how quickly the boy sped off.
 
Before he even got off the pavement and onto
the street the policeman was delayed slightly by someone getting in his way. He
shoved the ageing Jew aside, not even looking to see where he fell. Kolya had
thought about this moment before - and even discussed it with Adam. Frantic,
Kolya tried to rein in his thoughts. He glanced back to see that he had a
greater head start to what he could've expected. As Adam had instructed he
tried to regulate his breathing so as to fill his lungs and heart with oxygen.
Kolya decided that he did not have that great a gap to pace himself and let his
pursuer tire out. He needed to sprint to safety. Meisel, his strides long and
determined, soon gained ground though. The policeman shouted out to the flotsam
and jetsam of people ahead of him to stop the thief, offering a reward to do
so. But no one believed the hoarse-voiced villain. They either ignored the
policeman out of a small act of resistance or because they didn't have the
energy to help. Kolya could hear from the increasing audibility of the shouts
emanating from Meisel that the policeman was getting menacingly close. The
boy's breathing soon turned to panting, he even whimpered a couple of times; a
lump fed its way up from his stomach and into his throat.

Another five seconds and Kolya would've been caught. He was
even tempted to give up - a certain defeatism arguing that the policeman might
then go easy on him. But thankfully another voice inside of the boy overruled
such follyful thoughts. Meisel closed in on the boy to the point of readying
his arm to thrust out and grab his collar. But Kolya suddenly threw the cloth
bag carrying the cardigans at his feet. Kolya could have attempted the same
throw a dozen times and he would not have been as fortunate. Sometimes David
fells Goliath. The mouth of the bag munched itself into the policeman's feet
and the he tripped as if someone had kicked his heels from behind. His hands
naturally whipped themselves out in front of his face to protect himself but,
as well as scraping his palms and drawing blood, Meisel crucially bashed his kneecap
upon an obdurate cobblestone. He grimaced. Cursed. Kolya but sweatingly glanced
over his shoulder and then darted around the first corner, still running as if
his life depended on it - which it did. Every second that the policeman lay
stationary upon the road was precious to the fleeing teenager, but as much as
Meisel knew this also he did not re-start his pursuit immediately. Seething, he
stood up and bent his knee a few times to assess the extent of his injury. It
was after wiping the iced rain from his face with the back of his stinging
hands that the policeman noticed the wonky horseshoe of people staring at him.
Some were amused. Some looked at him with thinly disguised contempt. Some were
curious. In reply to all he sneered and cleared his nose, making a grunting
noise. He limped off after the boy (who he now cursed under his breath and
vowed to damage even more), determination feeding his pace and subduing the
pain.

Kolya's narrow escape caused him to quicken his pace rather
than lessen it as he raced down a long alley between two great tenement blocks.
When reaching the end of the side street he allowed himself to stop and look
back. He bent-over, gasping for breath - wheezing as he did so. For a few
euphoric moments Kolya was seduced into believing that the policeman had
abandoned his pursuit. But in that split-second when he had begun to truly
hope, his hopes were dashed. Although but a distant figure, the figure was
inescapably Yitzhak Meisel. As physically beaten as Kolya was he still possessed
his wits. Deciding that he would not be able to out-run the policeman - and
conscious of the fact that he could at any moment come across another constable
- Kolya scanned the street for a possible hiding-place.

Yitzhak Meisel's breathing became laboured by the time he
reached the end of the alley where he had last glimpsed the rodent of a boy.
Again he wiped the rain from his maniacal face. Initially he studied the street
to his left, for it was on that side that he had last seen Kolya run down at
the other end of the alley. A half a dozen figures trundled up that way but
none of them resembled the boy. Surely he couldn't have been fast enough to
make it to the end of the street? If he decided to dart into one of the
apartment buildings then it would be like trying to find a needle in a
haystack. Yet still Meisel glanced at the first few doorways on either side of
the street to check if any were open. There were no drains he could've dived
into he surmised. The sound of the policeman's gurgling breathing increased
with his frustration. He spat out both spittle and a curse. Thinking that he
could've missed the boy crossing to the other side of the alley way without him
having noticed Yitzhak surveyed the rainy view to his right. It was much the
same as the one to the left. Again he told himself, with slightly less
conviction this time, that surely the boy couldn't have made it to the end of
the street. There were another couple of alleys, albeit leading to dead-ends,
that he might've darted into. He walked towards them both, regaining his breath
but not his composure. Yet his investigations proved in vain. Just at the
moment when the policeman started to think how potential eye-witnesses were
notable by their absence he realised why. Half-way down the street he noticed a
fifteen foot high pyramid of bodies stacked up upon each other. What caught his
eye simultaneously was the trio of handcarts, each covered with a dust-coloured
sheet of tarpaulin, parked in a line behind the pile of corpses.

Thankfully, by now, Kolya had ceased drinking in the air to
satisfy his heart and lungs. His breathing was regular, albeit he was conscious
of breathing in the fetid air through his mouth. He even pinched his nose
between his fingers for fear that the nauseous smell could provoke him into
vomiting. Crouching into a ball Kolya also closed his eyes in some form of a
prayer that the policeman would walk past. He could not see where Meisel was -
but the terrified boy felt he was close.