A streetcar isn’t all that fast, but after having been forced to walk everywhere for so long, the journey felt incredibly fast, even unnatural. I felt at that moment how people must have felt who rode on the very first trains when and wherever that was. Though they hadn’t had to worry about being arrested.
After a couple of minutes, I began to relax. We had got away! I almost managed to stop thinking about the fat pig. Then the streetcar stopped again and two SS soldiers got on. Amos and I both knew that even the slightest sign of fear would give us away, but neither of us knew if the other realized this. And so we both whispered, “Don’t worry, it’s okay.” And started laughing because we had both said exactly the same thing at the same time.
The soldiers looked across at us at that moment and saw a happy, fairly shabby-looking Polish couple. They walked to the front of the streetcar where only Germans were allowed to sit, and didn’t turn round to look at us again. So we were able to get off the streetcar three stops later at Górnośląska Street without being stopped.
We walked to a five-story house. We were to ring the bell labeled Synowiec, and then a go-between from the Polish resistance would open the door.
I rang the bell. No one opened the door. We waited. I rang the bell again. Still no reaction.
I started to feel nervous. If we stood in front of the door in full view for much longer, we might arouse suspicion. But we couldn’t go away, either. Where should we go? As Jews? In Warsaw?
An old man wearing a vest was standing looking out the window of his flat on the opposite side of the road. Watching us closely. Why were two shabby-looking young people hanging around like that? Were they burglars? Or something worse?
“Let’s walk round the block,” I suggested.
“Good idea.” He nodded.
We were just about to set off when a small portly man wearing a flat cap came toward us calling out merrily, “Why, there’s my nephew and his brand-new wife!”
The man at the window turned away and went back into his flat yawning.
“You seem to like pretty, skinny ladies, nephew!” the man with the flat cap kept the charade going, and Amos played along, “I like lovely ladies, Uncle!”
Lovely!
Why couldn’t I stop lapping up Amos’s praise and compliments? What was wrong with me?
“Come on in, I’ll make you a cup of tea,” “Uncle” said, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath, which suggested he preferred other beverages, even at this time of the morning! That was probably why he was late, instead of meeting us in the flat as agreed.
We entered the house, walked up the freshly polished stairs—I had long since forgotten how cozy ordinary blocks of flats could be—and Uncle showed us into a small two-roomed flat that was almost bare of any furniture but still seemed luxurious to me because there was a real bed in the bedroom.
“The landlord thinks I’ve rented this flat for my nephew and his young wife who have come up from the country to try their luck in town.”
He threw two wedding rings onto the table.
“Your names are Robert and Gabriela Szalach. I’ll bring you your papers tomorrow.”
Amos put his ring on his finger at once and held it up for me to see, laughing. “Congratulations on getting married,” he said.
I gave him a twisted smile.
“And…,” he continued, “… on your excellent choice of husband.”
I pulled a face. “Idiot!”
“But, then, I do have a lovely wife.”
Don’t go red whatever you do.
“Such a beautiful young lady.”
“Idiot,” I said again and went red.
“You said that already.” Amos laughed, took my hand, and gently put the ring on my finger.
That was the nearest thing to a wedding I would ever know, I thought.
“Can we get down to business?” Uncle asked, sounding annoyed.
“Of course,” I answered.
“If we must,” Amos grinned.
“You are not to leave the flat. Not even for a second. We will let you know when you can meet with the leaders of the Polish Home Army.”
“We need to talk to them as soon as possible,” Amos explained; he was totally serious all at once, had turned back into a strong, determined fighter. Amazing how quickly he could switch roles. I wondered what sort of person he would have been if I had really been able to go back in time and kill Hitler. Would there have been an ounce of earnestness in him? Would he have been just another charming daredevil?
“When you are to meet our leaders is for them to decide, not you,” Uncle snapped at us. “Just be glad that they are prepared to see you at all.”
This man made sure we understood fast just how unimportant we Jews were for the Polish resistance fighters.
I took off my left shoe and sock and handed the dispatch to Uncle. “A letter from Mordechai Anielewicz.”
“It smells,” he said.
Instead of laughing or saying, “I told you so,” Amos laid into the man. “You’re not here to make remarks; you are here to deliver it.”
“Watch your mouth, Jew!” Uncle said, put on his cloth cap, and left the flat.
When the door closed, Amos sighed. “So these are our comrades,” he said.
For the next half hour, Amos berated the Polish resistance for having done so little to help us, giving us the worst weapons, and being riddled with Jew haters who were secretly or even unashamedly pleased that the Germans—the enemies who occupied their beloved Poland—were doing them a favor by getting rid of the Jewish vermin.
I didn’t say anything. I knew I was safe here, but I started to feel the fat SS man crawling over my skin until I couldn’t stand it anymore and had to wash the spot where he had kissed me. Literally scrub it away.
I left Amos standing in the middle of a rant about how Jews could only ever trust one another, hurried into the bathroom, and turned the taps on as far as they would go. There was flowing water! Hot flowing water!
So there was a God after all!