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There below me were row upon row of Polish workers emptying the very luggage I had just seen retrieved from the concourse.
Emptying cases and bags, valises and hold-alls, spilling their contents onto rows of tables, where the goods were being sorted, sifted, mixed together regardless of ownership.
If at first the scene seemed one of chaos, luggage being emptied, the contents thrown into baskets and crates, the more I watched the more I saw order in this madness. It became apparent that the belongings were being sifted by value. Jewellery, candelabra and fine pottery were put carefully to one side, under the close supervision of SS guards. Clothes were being sorted, coats and jackets into one basket, shoes to another and so on.
All these personal effects, items I knew just a short while ago had belonged to countless hundreds of Jewish families, were being sorted and separated with callous disregard of their owners’ wishes.
Confusion and alarm juggled against one another in my mind as I saw box upon box of photographs, pictures of families, of grandparents, of little children, being tipped into an unmarked crate, piled one load upon another and I knew, somehow I just knew, these mementoes were destined for incineration.
It was a puissant portent of things to come.
In shock I lowered myself to the ground, by now desperately fearful for the children.
Elone grabbed my arm as I rejoined them, unable to hide her concern. “Anca, you are quite pale. What is it? Are you not well?”
I struggled to maintain my composure, forcing the scene from my mind, telling myself I had been mistaken. That the Jews’ luggage left on the station concourse and that which I had just seen ransacked were not one and the same.
I clutched Elone to me, and Nicolae too, saying, “Come little ones, I have found the platform we need to wait at. It is just across the way and our train is due very soon.” I added, “Remember, children, speak only in Polish while there are people around us. Come, let us make haste.”
I led them in silence across the station to the appropriate platform and we waited impatiently for the arrival of our train. The children were quiet, for it was easier to say nothing than employ our limited command of Polish talking among ourselves.
For my part I was too subdued by what I had just witnessed to be inclined to persiflage, so welcomed the young ones’ reticence.
At length the locomotive pulled noisily into the station, dragging its ophidian procession in its wake, grinding to a deafening, shuddering halt before us. I was thankful to see it was comprised of passenger carriages, not cattle wagons.
We stood by as passengers alighted then, selecting a sparsely occupied carriage, made ourselves comfortable in a far corner. The information board, though only in Polish and German, had been instructive, and I had established we had not too long a journey ahead. We had by now consumed the provisions Izabella and Wojciech had provided for us and I knew the children would soon feel hungry again.
The other passengers in our carriage were at some distance and, protected by the engine’s roar, we were able to converse quietly in our native tongue, though I would not be drawn by Elone’s questions as to what had so upset me at the station, rather changing the subject to more pleasant matters.
Elone seemed soon to forget the incident and for my part, if unable to forget, I at least pushed the memory to the back of my mind, enjoying some juvenile word games with the children until at length Nicolae began to yawn and very soon dozed, his head on my lap. I pulled his legs onto the seat to make him comfortable and Elone joined him in this position, engaging in casual chatter until she too succumbed to slumber.
Time passed quickly, or at least stations were tended and soon departed, which was much the same thing for me. I mentally counted off the stations as we stopped each time, having calculated how many preceded Krakow, and knew we would soon be approaching our destination.
I was about to awaken the children in anticipation when a voice boomed out, “Tickets! Passports! Have them ready for inspection!”
I was at once mortified to see a Polish guard advancing along the carriage, accompanied by a Gestapo officer, scrutinizing the travel documents of our fellow passengers.
Panic gripped me, for we were without papers of any sort and I had no confidence I could carry off our deception beyond the most simple of practiced responses.
I looked about me, desperate for inspiration, for some way out of this peril, but realised our only hope was to bluff our way through. The guard on his own I could probably manage, for his attention would be on our tickets, which were in order. Wojciech had seen to that.
But if it were realised we were not Polish nationals then the matter of passports would inevitably be raised and the SS officer would become involved. Bad enough, I knew, to be foreigners in this country, travelling without authorisation. But if Elone’s Jewish heritage were realised...
I struck the thought from my mind, for it was unthinkable what might happen. Then, all at once, the guard was at our seat, firing questions too rapidly for me to understand.
I feigned sleepiness, asking him to repeat his query and he did so more slowly for my benefit. As I showed him our tickets he leant across and grabbed at Elone’s legs, shoving them from the seat. “Keep your dirty shoes on the floor, child,” he shouted angrily, and I quickly leant across and eased Nicolae’s feet to the ground, trying not to wake him.
“Ow! You hurt me, you brute!” Elone objected in Polish, indifferent to both the guard’s authority and to the presence of the SS officer standing just a few steps away.
Without thinking I urged her to be quiet in my native tongue, my breath held in abeyance as I realised what I had done.
The SS officer was instantly at my side, staring down at us with cold, unfeeling eyes. “That was not Polish, child. Where are you from?”
I knew deception was pointless. “Romania. We are Romanians.”
“Name, child?”
“Anca. Anca Pasculata.”
He turned on Elone. “And you, little girl? You who think you can talk to your superiors in that way? What is your name?”
My heart all but stopped, praying she would only announce her forename, for to say she was a Pfefferberg would surely seal all our fates.
“Elone,” she said.
I interjected quickly, “She is my sister, Elone Pasculata. Please, forgive her rudeness. She is very tired, for we have been travelling some while.” I added, “This is my brother Nicolae. Please, Sir, do not disturb him unnecessarily, I beg of you.”
The SS officer glared at me. “I will disturb whosoever I wish, child.”
He made as if to move towards my brother and Elone immediately placed herself in front of Nicolae, saying, “Leave him alone. He is only six.”
The SS man looked surprised by her defiance. He glared at her, as if contemplating his response.
“You are travelling alone?” the guard demanded.
Before I could compose an answer Elone said in Polish, “What are you, stupid? Do you think three children so young would be travelling alone? Our Papa is looking for the toilet.” She wagged her finger at the guard as one might chide a small child. “He will be back shortly and I will tell him how you hurt me.”
If impressed by her quick mind and command of a foreign tongue I was at the same time mortified by her tone, yet her rudeness proved to work in our favour.
The Gestapo officer leaned forward until he was level with Elone, a hand extracting his whip from its holster. I held my breath.
“Child, you are very loud. Very brash. And so young. You cannot be more than eight, surely.”
“I am nine, not eight,” Elone declared, meeting his unflinching gaze with fiery eyes.
“Is there no end to your insolence?” the Gestapo officer asked. “I wonder at your father, that he should bring you up so. You would benefit from a good whipping to teach you some manners.” He tapped the horse whip unfurled against the palm of his hand. “Perhaps I should give you the benefit of my Aryan upbringing.”
“You lay one finger on me and my father will have you thrown off this train,” Elone informed him in such confident tone I myself almost believed her. “He is well-connected in both Bucharest and Warsaw, I would have you know, and will have you sent to the eastern front before this day is out.”
The officer’s mouth fell open, uncertain how to respond. At length he stood back and a smile crept across his cruel mouth. “Consider yourself lucky I am in a good mood today, little girl. You are forthright, and I like you for it. It makes a change to see someone so young stand up for themselves. I tell you, the way these obsequious Jews simper to our every whim is quite sickening at times.”
I laid a cautioning hand on Elone’s arm, anxious she should not respond to any derogatory comment about her people. She glared at him, but held her tongue.
The SS man demanded, “Your father, which way did he go?”
I was thankful we had not selected an end carriage this time. I gestured behind me, in the opposite direction from where the two men had come.
“That way. He will be back soon. He has our passports with him.”
“But you carry your own tickets?” the guard asked. “Is that not a little strange?”
“That was in case you came to us while he was gone,” Elone said quickly. “How could he know you would want to see our passports as well?”
The guard seemed satisfied by this explanation, but the SS man peered closely at her.
“Elone, did you say your name was?” He rolled the name around his tongue, savouring it, then, “Elone. Hmmm. It has a certain Semitic ring to it, do you not think?”
My heart missed a beat. I feared we were found out. But once again Elone was to show a maturity and understanding beyond her years.
She stood up angrily, turning on the Gestapo officer and shouted at him at the top of her voice. “Are you calling me a filthy Jew? You ignorant pig!” She jumped onto the seat, shouting down the carriage, “Papa! Papa! This man dares call me a Jew! Papa! Come quickly!”
The guard and SS officer alike reeled in embarrassment, the latter raising his hands to calm her. “That will do, child. I apologise. There is no need to make a fuss. I just wanted to be sure. You know how underhand these Jewish scum can be.”
Elone sat down sullenly and I chided her in mock tones of anger. “Elone, behave yourself, or I will tell Papa of your insolence.”
The SS man shook his head sadly. “She is spirited, of that there is no doubt.”
He turned to me. “Your father, girl. What is his name?”
“Petre,” I said. Petre Bogdan Pasculata.”
The SS man nodded. “We will have words with him, I think. He should know how ill-mannered his children are in his absence.”
“No, please, no,” Elone spoke up, evidently enjoying her role play. “He will beat me if you inform him so. I am sorry. Please, I did not mean to be rude.”
The SS man smiled, almost sympathetically, though I could not quite bring myself to attribute such a warm emotion to anyone wearing the Gestapo uniform.
He said, “Very well, child, but behave yourself hereon.” He brought the whip down hard on his own hand to make the point. “One more word from you and I will see to it you do not sit in comfort the remainder of your journey.”
And with this chastisement they turned and walked away.
As they left the carriage I grabbed Elone, hugging her to my breast, unable to hide my delight and amazement at her performance.
“Elone, you were quite wonderful! I cannot believe you spoke Polish so well! And your acting... Where did you learn to conduct yourself so? You should be on a stage! When you threatened to have him sent to the Russian front it was all I could do not to laugh aloud.”
Elone basked briefly in my appreciation, but her face quickly became serious again.
“Anca, why do people hate us so? Why is it so wrong to be a Jew?”
I clutched her tightly to me. “I do not know, Elone, honestly I do not know.”
Before Elone could ask further imponderables the train began to slow for a station and I calculated we were but one stop from Krakow.
I said, “Elone, I think it would be for the best if we get off here. Krakow is the next stop, but if we wait longer the guard may return. I think it would be tempting fate to try to deceive them a second time.”
The station was barely attended, few people disembarking, and we stood by the door waiting until the very last minute before alighting, for fear of being seen by the guard and arousing suspicion.
In this we were to be proven well-judged, for as we dismounted the carriage and the train began to move away I glanced back and saw the guard staring at us before turning to the SS officer and pointing us out.
His incredulous, ruddy face appeared at the window. Anger shone in his eyes and I was mesmerized, watching him run the length of the moving carriage to an unfixed window. I willed the train to hurry, realising our deception had been discovered, fearing the worst.
But as I watched him struggle with the window latch the train gathered speed and was already half way out of the station. The window came down and his angry face appeared through the opening, but by now the locomotive was in full flow, dragging the carriages in its wake and though I could see him shout still his words were inaudible above the scream of the train’s whistle and seconds later the whole procession of carriages rounded a bend and were gone.
For perhaps a minute I stood watching, fearing the train would suddenly stop, reverse and bring the Nazi back to us, but as the cloud of steam continued to fade into the distance, colour returned to my cheeks and my pulse began to ease.
Elone too watched, aware how close we had come to being caught, and I clutched her hand tightly, saying, “It is okay, Elone. We are safe now.”
Nicolae’s hand crept into mine and his voice piped up, “Anca, I’m hungry.”
I had all but forgotten my little brother in our moment of crisis, and bent down to pick him up, kissing him on the cheek.
“Oh, little one, I do not know what I should do without you. Of course you are hungry. Come, we will find somewhere to buy food. Then, Nicolae, I am afraid we have a long walk before us.”
I put my brother down and gathered both children to my side. “The sooner we get going, little ones, the sooner we will be at Henryk’s.”
Nicolae asked quietly, “Will Mama be there?”
I desperately wanted to reassure him, but could not bring myself to lie.
“No, little one. We have a little way further to go before we will see Mama again.”