SUMMER PASSED AND THE crisp autumn nights returned. Life at the Shop went on, but all around us the ghetto was deflating. Each week, the names of families were posted on the town kiosk. They were instructed to appear at the square with their suitcases. On the appointed day, German soldiers, many with dogs, took roll call and marched them off to the train station for their so-called resettlement. Some of the transports were going north to labor camps at Mauthausen and Gross-Rosen, but as the fall progressed, the majority of the trains were going straight to Auschwitz. I watched in horror as families walked with their young children and babies, knowing from the secret reports that they were destined to be separated on arrival and sent to die. Fourteen years old was the cutoff for survival at Auschwitz.
“By November, Karolina was getting as big as a house. Major Fahlstein would look at her and shake his head, but Siegfried lobbied for her and convinced the major that she was producing better than most of the girls at the Shop. After all, it was the production numbers that mattered. If you produced, you stayed. If your numbers fell, you were shipped out. With the transports, the number of seamstresses was declining significantly and the major needed all of his good workers. So Karolina had a job as long as she could sit up.
“Without David, news of the war consisted only of scattered rumors, mostly untrue: the British had retaken France, Berlin had been bombed, Hitler was dead. All nonsense. Through Siegfried, we heard the other side, the Nazi propaganda: German troops were on the steps of Moscow, America had surrendered to the Japanese, London had been bombed to smithereens. In Chrzanów, we were truly on an information island, isolated from the rest of the world.
“One day turned into the next. We continued with our daily routines even though the ghetto’s fate was preordained—all Jews were to be resettled. By December, more than half our population had packed a suitcase and boarded the trains to other camps. I was told that the Shop would be closed within weeks and that the manufacture of coats and uniforms was being relocated to labor camps. It made sense. In Chrzanów, workers were still receiving wages, even Jews. But a shop that paid wages could not compete with the concentration camps that had slave labor. Manufacturing Economics 101.
“December also saw the return of the winter freeze. Once again we stuffed newsprint in the window seams. We slept in our coats. But this time around, it was hard for Karolina and me to sleep together under the same blankets. She was so uncomfortable, she couldn’t sleep anyway. She’d get up in the middle of the night and roll her back over a soccer ball. She’d have to stretch to take deep breaths. She was always apologizing for all the grunts and groans that came with every movement.
“With the end of the ghetto patently in sight, Karolina decided to raise the issue of going to live with Siegfried’s mother in Bavaria. Wouldn’t it be wiser to have the baby there, in a clean and warm environment? When could we go? But Siegfried said the timing was bad. He couldn’t get leave to travel and he hadn’t figured out how he’d get Karolina out of the ghetto just yet. But he told her not to worry.”
“That bastard never intended to marry her, did he?” Catherine said.
“You’re wrong. He loved her very much. I know that now. I suppose, given the time and circumstances, they were just fools in love. She believed they’d make a home together and raise a family, just as he was foolish enough to think he could accomplish it all during the war. But he loved her and he continued to provide us with food, fruit, milk, cheese and meat. As a result, we were the healthiest two girls in the ghetto.
“Karolina’s contractions started in the first week of January. After work, we asked Muriel Bernstein to come and have a look at her. Muriel was a student nurse in Kraków before the war, and thank God she was still working at the clinic. The Judenrat had been able to keep two doctors and three nurses in the Chrzanów clinic and off the deportation list.
“‘She’s dilating,’ Muriel said. ‘It won’t be long now. Get yourselves some clean sheets and clean water. Come get me when the contractions are ten minutes apart.’
“Muriel wasn’t wrong. At six the next morning I ran to the clinic. ‘Where’s Muriel Bernstein?’
“‘She hasn’t come in yet. She’s probably still at home. At number fourteen Sosna Street.’
“I ran there as fast as I could, but found that Muriel had gone to the bakery to stand in line for bread and rolls. Off I ran again. When I got to the bakery, I found her near the back of the line. ‘She’s having her baby,’ I said, totally out of breath. ‘She says her contractions are three minutes.’
“‘Three minutes? I told you to get me at ten minutes.’
“‘I know, but I was sleeping and she didn’t want to wake me.’
“The two of us took off and ran back to the building to find Karolina lying on her back, her hands clenching the sides of the mattress with all her might. ‘Oh my God, it hurts,’ she cried.
“Muriel bent down, spread Karolina’s knees and said, ‘Oh, mercy, not a minute to spare. I see the crown.’ She spread the clean sheet underneath and washed her hands. ‘Okay, it’s time. You’re going to have your baby now, Karolina. Give her a push. Harder, Karolina. C’mon, girl.’
“Karolina screamed and Rachel entered the world, a beautiful little six-pound girl. Muriel handed the baby to me. ‘Hold her,’ she said. ‘Karolina’s not finished yet.’ Muriel kneeled back down on the floor. ‘Karolina, you’ve got another one coming. You’re going to have to give me another big push. C’mon, honey. Push hard.’ The second little girl was born two minutes later. She named her Leah. The three of us sat there looking at these two lovely babies and cried. There they were. Karolina’s twins.
“I carry that image in my mind as clearly as if it were this morning. Karolina lying on her bed, a baby on each arm. The sweetest smile you ever saw on my best friend’s face. Muriel stood washing her hands. Me? I just stood there crying.
“‘May God bless the three of you,’ Muriel said. ‘May we all survive this war in health and love.’”
Catherine set down her notepad, stood and stretched. “That’s lovely, Lena. A beautiful story. Now we need to break. It’s late, it’s Friday night and I’m tired. Let’s pick this up first thing tomorrow morning.”