When Elzunia discovered, soon after the Ghetto was closed, that her Red Cross pass had been cancelled and permission to work at the clinic had been revoked, she was in despair. Now her existence would shrink even further and she would become imprisoned within the Ghetto walls.
Spring showers had already begun to fall that April in 1941, and she was sitting at the window telling Gittel stories about fairies and princesses when Edek came in, whistling a merry tune.
‘What can you possibly find to be in such high spirits about?’ she asked crossly.
But Edek brought good news. He had discovered a secret passage that would enable her to slip out undetected, if she made sure no guards were around.
She flung her arms around him but he pulled back. Edek didn’t like effusiveness. ‘Glad to help a damsel in distress,’ he said, and giving his scout’s salute, ran off.
Under an apartment block close to the Ghetto boundary, a cellar led to a long subterranean passageway that came out at a courtyard in Senatorska Street, which was now in the Aryan part of town. From there she didn’t have far to walk to the clinic in Marszalkowska Street.
The route he had mapped out enabled her to sneak out, and, to her delight, Elzunia continued to work at Dr Borowski’s clinic. Although he knew she was Jewish, and realised the risk he was taking in employing her, he treated her like any other employee, and spoke to her gruffly so that Bozena’s wouldn’t suspect the truth. But whenever Bozena extolled the virtues of her Nazi boyfriend, Gunther, the doctor advised her tartly to pay more attention to her studies and less to her social life if she wanted to pass her exams.
Elzunia was applying ointment to a little boy’s burnt leg when Bozena flounced into the surgery, cheeks flaming.
‘The old crank has it in for me, but if he fails me he’ll be sorry.’
Elzunia raised her eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. But Bozena turned away without another word.
An hour later, when Elzunia was putting away the dressings and bandages, Bozena came in and looked Elzunia up and down in an appraising way. ‘Gunther’s got a friend who’d love to go out with a Polish girl,’ she said. ‘You’re a bit young but your figure’s not bad. Do you want to come? He could do a lot for you if he likes you.’
Elzunia struggled to steady her voice. ‘Thanks, Bozena, but I prefer Polish boys,’ she said lightly.
Bozena shrugged. ‘Your loss.’
Ever since her conversation with the old caretaker at the cemetery, a plan had been simmering in Elzunia’s mind. That evening, she discussed it with Edek. Two small candles were burning on the table and the boys sat on the floor barefoot to observe the ritual seven-day mourning period for their mother and baby brother.
‘We can’t leave your mother and little brother in a mass grave in the street. They have to be buried properly in sanctified ground. So do the others that were killed that night.’
Edek looked up at her.
‘It won’t be easy but I’ve thought of some people who might help.’
As Edek and his brothers listened to her plan, the atmosphere in the room lightened. The prospect of taking action and giving their mother and brother a proper burial had energised them.
‘We’ll need four strong boys, with spades, sacks, long poles, canvas and some sheets,’ she told them. ‘I’ll organise the rest.’
Taking advantage of Bozena’s absence one morning, Elzunia had taken Dr Borowski aside and told him what she planned to do. Then, taking a deep breath, she asked for his help. The old doctor listened with growing amazement, and when she’d finished he nodded with admiration and added some suggestions of his own.
‘The idea is extraordinary, but you’re right, we can’t let the bastards drag us down to their level,’ he said. ‘Let’s bury the dead.’
No one who heard the siren screaming as the ambulance sped along Okopowa Street past the Ghetto gate several evenings later could have suspected that the white-haired doctor and his young nurse in her white apron, starched cap and red cape were rushing not to minister to the sick but to bury the dead. Their suspicions lulled by the siren, the guards at the Ghetto gate looked up as the ambulance sped past, and then looked away again.
The ambulance slowed as it turned into Spokojna Street, which was dark and silent. In the small square, shadowy figures were moving around. Elzunia pointed. ‘Over there,’ she whispered to the driver, who stopped the vehicle. In front of them, Lech, Edek and two of his brothers were pushing something large and unwieldy into a sack. Edek walked over to the ambulance. ‘We’ve almost finished,’ he panted, wiping his perspiring brow. We’ve dug them all out, and we’ve put each of them into a separate sack. Except for Mama and Mosze. We put them in together.’
His lips trembled and he turned away.
‘All we have to do now is fill in the grave so they won’t suspect anything.’
Elzunia jumped out of the ambulance, ready to grab a spade and help, but Dr Borowski placed a restraining hand on her arm. ‘You can’t risk getting your uniform dirty in case someone stops us.’
He tapped the driver’s shoulder and asked him to help.
When the soil had been replaced and the bodies had been stacked in the back of the ambulance, Lech and the other boys climbed in and the ambulance set off again, siren blaring. Elzunia looked around anxiously and tore at her thumbnail. It was long past curfew. What if a German patrol stopped them and demanded to see inside the ambulance?
A few minutes later they were at the cemetery gate. At a prearranged blare of the horn, the hunchbacked caretaker shuffled to open the gate wide enough for the ambulance to drive in and closed it behind them.
‘I’ve brought you some spades and mattocks but you have to hurry. The SS have been paying us a few visits lately. They’ve been bringing in slave labourers to dig pits for the prisoners they’ve killed at Pawiak Jail.’
As he spoke, his gaze fell on Elzunia. ‘So you went through with it after all,’ he said. ‘Burying the dead with the proper ritual is a mitzvah.’
Edek saw Elzunia’s frown. ‘That means a good deed,’ he whispered in her ear. He kept forgetting that until she came into the Ghetto, she had been a Catholic girl who knew nothing about Judaism.
The caretaker’s eyes lit up when she handed him a packet of buckwheat. ‘May the Lord bless you for remembering an old man,’ he whispered.
He hobbled around as he directed the driver to a remote part of the grounds where the gravestones thinned out.
The loam was soft and yielding and it didn’t take long to excavate a hole large enough for the bodies. They had deposited most of the sacks inside when they heard banging on the gate and loud German voices yelling, ‘Open up! Quick!’ They looked at each other and the blood drained from their faces.
As the banging and shouting continued, they worked feverishly to lower the remaining sacks into the grave, and covered it with soil, making as little noise as possible. Hiding themselves wouldn’t be difficult, but how could they conceal the ambulance?
Gesticulating to the boys to stand behind the vehicle, the driver put it into neutral gear and indicated that they should push it to the back of the cemetery behind some bushes.
In the meantime, the German voices had risen to a crescendo of fury as they cursed the caretaker as he fumbled with the lock on the gate.
‘It’s the middle of the night. Did you tell me you were coming? How was I to know you’d come so late?’ he grumbled.
In the silence of the cemetery, his words carried to the group hiding in the bushes. Furious, one of the SS men struck the old man with the flat of his hand, and sent him reeling.
‘We know there’s someone in here. We heard noises,’ one of them shouted. Elzunia stopped breathing. Now they’d search the grounds and kill them, together with the caretaker.
‘You could be right,’ the caretaker said, as though considering the officer’s words. ‘Hooligans sometimes get in here and steal tools from my shed. I’ll take you there. I’ll be very grateful, sirs, if you catch them. Tools are so hard to come by these days …’
Ignoring him, the officer pushed him out of the way and Elzunia heard their boots crunching on the gravel away from them. She breathed out again and hoped they wouldn’t search the grounds. She heard a bang and supposed it was a rifle butt forcing the shed door open. A moment later, it sounded as though they were knocking over the crates, cartons and buckets behind which she’d crouched the previous week.
‘They’ve been here all right,’ the caretaker was saying. ‘Some of my spades are missing. The thieving louts! They’ve probably sold them in Kiercelak by now. A man can’t turn his back …’
Finally, Elzunia heard the creak of the gate as it closed, and the car with the SS officers roaring down the street. A few minutes later, the caretaker returned, panting.
He looked around the group. ‘Who are the mourners?’
Edek and his brothers stepped forward. ‘With your permission, I’d like to say Kaddish for these poor souls,’ the old man said.
While the caretaker recited the traditional prayer for the dead, Edek’s shoulders heaved. Sobbing loudly, he put his arms around his brothers and held them close. ‘Now Mama and Mosze can rest in peace,’ he whispered. Elzunia didn’t understand the words of the ancient Aramaic prayer but tears sprang to her eyes as the caretaker’s husky voice thanked God for the gift of life, and chanted a plea to the Almighty to grant eternal rest to the dead, and peace to the bereaved.
Lech returned to his room that night, his heart swelling at the memory of Elzunia’s gratitude for his help. Inarticulate as usual, he’d mumbled a few words and wished she knew that he would do anything for her. The nuns had dinned into his thick head at primary school that God kept a scoreboard on which He listed everyone’s good and bad deeds, something like the blackboard his teachers used. Perhaps by helping the Jews, he was evening up his score, and with each good deed he hoped that God might erase one of the black marks his previous activities had earned. Before falling asleep, he wondered whether it would count against him that he was doing it because he was desperate for Elzunia to like him.