|
tigreetsa -> Condemned (6/14/2010 6:13:08 PM)
|
The space was cramped. How long had she been there? How many days? It was pitch black. She carefully shifted position at the bottom of the wardrobe, placing the flat of her palm against the door before silently shifting her side back towards the back of the wardrobe. She was cold..
..and thirsty. She imagined drinking from a glass of cold water and then tried to erase the thought from her mind. It would only increase her thirst. She needed something to occupy her mind. She was starting to feel numb from the cold. She drew the jumper up over her as best she could in the cramped space at the foot of the wardrobe and reached up. She could not see her hand. She couldn't see anything, and after being so long in the wardrobe she wasn't sure if she could see at all. She reached up and felt the bottom of a thick coat. She took hold of the bottom hem of the coat and tugged gently. She wasn't sure if there was a coathanger, or whether it was one of those wooden coathangers, and she knew that if it fell it might make a noise. She knew that she couldn't make a noise. Complete silence.
She decided that she would try to stand. She let go of the bottom of the coat and shifted her palm again to where she felt the door. But she was on her side and knew that she wouldn't be able to get up from that position. She managed to push herself against the door and find herself on her back with her knees in the air. She was feeling for the raised joints near the door and the back of the wardrobe when she suddenly found herself needing to pee.
She lay back momentarily, looking up in the darkness. She had no way of knowing how much longer her confinement would last, or when she would be released. It was pitch black in the wardrobe, a heavy wooden affair, and there had been only occasional sounds coming from the flat and the street outside. She sensed that it had been snowing outside and this would have muffled out even more sound.
All she knew was that she was dirty, hungry, thirsty, cramped, aching, sore, and tired. She had not been able to get comfortable at all, though she had got used to the dank smell of urine and even the smell of faeces in the corner of the wardrobe, now concealed by one of the jumpers. She of course was at the opposite end of the wardrobe.
She lay back as best she could, and relaxed, feeling a warm gush of urine splashing her legs and soaking the bottom of the wardrobe under her bottom and back. It eased the chill she was feeling, but she knew that now had to get up and get that coat, and whatever else there was besides, or else she would freeze.
She pressed her forearms against the sides of the wardrobe, the back and the door and felt with her hands the two joints which were about half way up the wardrobe. She pulled, but only weakly, and she realised that she might not even have the strength to stand up. She pressed and pulled again, managing to sit up. She tried again to pull herself up, but she felt she had no strength in her arms, which were starting to ache. She tried again, her hand slipping off the joint. Her clothes were wet, and the fresh urine was starting to go cold. Not that this bothered her much. She had got used to it.
But she knew that if she lay back that she might fall asleep, and as it was getting cold she realised that if she fell asleep long enough she might not wake up. She reached up, trying to take the joints firmly in her grip and pull herself up, but she couldn't. She was too weak.
She decided to try again, and this time she managed to pull herself up part of the way, and as the pain worked back from her wrists through the muscles of her forearms she managed to shuffle her feet under her so she was crouching. But this only caused fresh pain in her legs and she fell forward onto her knees with a 'thud'.
Noise. She was under precise instructions not to make any sound whatsoever. She paused, now monitoring her breathing so this also didn't make a sound. She was kneeling, which only made to make the stench from her faeces stronger. She wanted to retch but comfortably managed to resist the urge.
She reached out again and took hold of the joints inside the wardrobe with both hands and slowly, and painfully, pushed herself up into a standing position. She felt light-headed and reached out, finding the thick coat to hold onto. Reaching out with one hand she felt for the other items in the wardrobe, deftly slipping them off their hangers onto the bottom of the wardrobe into a loose pile which she weakly attempted to spread with one leg. She carefully lifted the thick coat over the hanger, leaving the hanger swinging in position, and let the coat drop to the floor. She then eased herself back down, back to the awkward lying position at the base of the wardrobe and covered herself with the thick coat.
She snuggled down under the coat, feeling that she might become warm enough for her clothes to dry out. She was just about to get comfortable when she thought she heard stones rattling against the window. She looked up, listening. Again she heard stones rattling against the window. Some had rattled across the floor having got in through the broken panes.
He was back. Anticipation brought renewed energy and strength.
But she could also hear a woman's voice... and his voice. They seemed to be arguing. Then the voices fell silent and moments later footsteps could be heard inside the building, coming up the stairs in the passage way outside the flat. Two pairs of feet. They had just entered the flat when outside two vehicles could be heard approaching. This stopped the footsteps somewhere just outside the room.
The sound of the vehicles stopped almost as suddenly as they had appeared. The two voices started again, in hushed tones and she could hear the sound of a match being struck. He smoked. Perhaps she did too, whoever this woman was. Then there was the sound of a cough. A discreet cough. His cough.
Suddenly there were sounds of more footsteps, coming from outside the building, and they were entering the building. She heard a shuffling in the room, the sound of him swearing. These new footsteps were heavy, three pairs, four, perhaps five.
Then a scream, voices. The voice of a middle-aged man demanding documents. The woman started to cry. Footsteps approached the wardrobe. The door opened, a torch was shone through the wardrobe and then the muzzle of a machine gun came into view.
Hannah, who had been in the wardrobe cried out 'Don't shoot me.' She wanted one last look at Christian and scrambled out of the wardrobe onto her hands and knees.
She looked up, on her knees, and realised that this would be the last time she would ever see Christian, her lover and saviour. Christian stood there in his Wehrmacht uniform, there was another woman, two Gestapo officers and three other men in different uniforms. One of the Gestapo officers, older, large, blond with a ruddy face looked at Hannah and noticed her armband. He pointed this out to his colleague, 'Jew' and demanded Christian's documents. Christian was looking at the man strangely.
These were dangerous times in Warsaw in 1943. The flat was in a side street not far from Pawia street near the prison and overlooking the flat was a church. Hannah realised from what was being said that the Gestapo had been in the clock tower all along. 'You do realise the serious nature of the offences for which you are being arrested here?' the portly Gestapo officer asked Christian, pointing to Hannah, 'especially with regard to the Jew?'
Hannah could not recall how many months had passed, but she would never forget that day when they were liquidating the Warsaw Ghetto and she became separated from the line containing her family. She fought,.she kicked, she even bit the soldiers, she could even recall Christian dragging her round into the alley behind the tenement blocks which were being cleared and he threw her up against the wall, and she had turned and looked him in the eyes.
He was ordered to shoot, but he didn't. Instead he stared at her for what seemed an eternity, and she noted the inner conflict that was going on inside him, and then he roughly grabbed hold of her and led her through two streets to the tenement block where she had been hiding ever since. She knew only too well that inner conflict inside Christian, the charming, sensitive and talented artist who was being turned into a mindless thug in Warsaw.
It was Christian that shouted out which brought her attention back to the situation in hand, among the Gestapo officers and the men in uniform and the woman who turned out to be Polish. Hannah looked at the woman and looked at Christian, trying to work out the relationship between them. What if...?
Not that it mattered. Hannah would soon be dead anyway, and she was grateful for these extra few months of life, and love that Christian had given here. But...
'Officer Freienwald?' Christian called out. The portly Gestapo officer wheeled round, looking at Christian closely and then at his documents. He started to stutter.
Hannah recognised the name of 'Freienwald'. This was Christian's art teacher at school, and a very close family friend. She looked at Christian and the Gestapo officer and saw that they recognised each other. Before the war Christian had a future as a very promising German artist, a painter and sculptor. She had even persuaded him to start again when they escaped to Switzerland. Christian felt that the war had destroyed his future.
But who was the Polish woman? And what was their relationship?
Now it appeared to be an impossible situation. Hannah never wanted this, because for sure it seemed Christian was caught redhanded in an act of treason, for which the penalty was death. It seemed a cruel twist of fate that the Gestapo officer who had caught them was a close family friend.
But such is the cruelty, and the perversity of war.
|
|
|
|
