Gertruda's Oath: A Child, a Promise, and a Heroic Escape During World War II (13 page)

Emil’s impatient voice filtered through the door. “We shouldn’t waste a minute, Mrs. Stolowitzky. We have to go.”

Her body felt as heavy as lead when she got off the bed. She wiped her tears with a handkerchief and applied makeup to her face. More than ever she needed her husband now, his soothing voice, the security she felt when he was there.

She gathered up her passport, clutched to her chest her purse with money and valuable jewelry, and slowly left the house.

“The war will end soon and we’ll all come back,” Gertruda said, trying in vain to make her voice sound reassuring. Deep in her heart she was afraid that the situation would only get worse.

Lydia sighed deeply as she hid the house key in her purse. “Who knows what will happen to us?” she wondered aloud.

The car drove off.

“When will Father come?” asked Michael, his face sad.

“Soon, Michael, soon,” murmured Lydia.

“I miss him.”

“So do I.”

On the main streets of Warsaw, traffic moved mostly in only one direction—toward Vilna. Convoys of civilians, most of them Jews, in trucks and cars, on bikes and in horse-drawn carts, made their way to the safe city, protected for now from the war. The refugees looked worried. They were leaving friends and family, all their property, unsure of what was in store for them.

The Stolowitzky car crawled along. Emil honked the horn in vain to clear the street. Three hours after they had left Warsaw, the Cadillac had managed only to leave the suburbs, as traffic was also moving slowly on the narrow village roads.

Two farmers came to the window of the car selling apples.

“I want an apple,” said Michael.

“Stop a moment,” Lydia instructed Emil. Reluctantly, the chauffeur stopped. Lydia opened her purse and searched for money. At
that moment, one of the farmers pulled out a knife and pointed it at her.

“Give me the purse,” he growled.

Emil pressed the accelerator and tried to speed up, but the man clung to the window. One hand held the window door and the other went on waving the knife. Michael burst out crying.

Lydia clutched her purse to her chest. There was a loaded gun in it.

The knife came close to her face, scratching and threatening. Trembling with fear, Lydia pulled out the gun and pointed it at the man’s face. He let go of the door and yelled for his companion. The two of them approached the slow-moving car as those inside the car looked at the two of them with dread.

“Give me the gun!” ordered Emil.

Lydia gave it to him.

The two farmers were now hanging on both sides of the car. A second knife suddenly popped up in the hand of the other farmer.

Emil stopped. He pointed the gun coolly at one of the farmers. “No, no,” pleaded the man. But Emil pulled the trigger. He then shot the second farmer.

The two men collapsed in puddles of blood. None of the many refugees marching on the side of the road paid any attention to them.

Emil put the gun down next to him and went on driving as if nothing had happened. Lydia burst out crying.

“How could you be so cruel?” she shouted at Emil.

“This is war,” he grumbled. “In war, there is no pity. If you don’t kill, you get killed.”

On the side of the road, people walked along silently, carrying suitcases and bags stuffed with personal belongings. An elderly man with white hair was walking among then slowly, a small suitcase in
his hand. He looked up at the car, his eyes met Lydia’s, and she recognized him immediately. He had worked as an accountant in her husband’s office in Warsaw for more than twenty years. He was a childless widower who devoted most of his time to work. Jacob Stolowitzky appreciated his devotion and personal honesty.

“Stop the car and take him,” Lydia called to Emil.

The chauffeur twisted his mouth reluctantly. “It will be crowded,” he warned.

“Take him!” ordered the woman.

Emil stopped next to the man.

“We’re going to Vilna,” said Lydia. “If you like, you can come with us.”

He smiled gladly. “Thank you,” he said, and squeezed into the seat next to Emil.

On the outskirts of Vilna, a big traffic jam snaked along the border patrol checkpoint. The car advanced slowly. Lydia looked at the city in the distance. She didn’t know Vilna, but she was sure she could get along there. She had enough money to support them for a while.

“I’ve got the address of an apartment to rent,” said the accountant, as if he had been reading her mind. “I thought of living there, but you need an apartment more than I do. I’ll get along somewhere else.”

He gave her a note with an address.

It was late afternoon when they crossed the checkpoint, and it had started raining. Passersby hurried on their way without even a glance at the procession of refugees from Warsaw. They were used to seeing such long lines every day since the war began.

The Cadillac drove through the narrow streets. Lydia asked Emil to take them to the apartment for rent. Emil drove for a while
in silence and suddenly he turned into a deserted sidestreet and stopped.

“What is it?” Lydia was terrified.

Instead of answering, the chauffeur pulled out the gun and waved it at her.

“Get out of the car and leave everything here!” he lashed out.

Lydia froze in fear.

“What are you doing, Emil?” she cried. “Have you lost your mind?”

“You heard what I said,” he repeated coldly. “Now get out.”

Michael shrieked in panic and Gertruda clutched him to her breast.

“Get out!” shouted Emil. Lydia had never heard him raise his voice or seen him scowl as now.

They stayed in the car, hoping he’d change his mind.

But Emil started shouting again. “Get out!” he cried. “You’re wasting my time.”

The accountant in the front seat attacked Emil and tried to get the gun away from him. A shot was heard and the man was pushed back and slumped on the seat. A big bloodstain spread over his suit. Emil opened the door and kicked the man out. The old man lay dead on the street.

Emil’s eyes were crazy. He pointed the gun at his passengers. “The next bullet is for anyone who doesn’t get out!” he roared.

Lydia clutched her purse with her money and jewelry. Her face was as white as a ghost.

“How dare you do this to us,” she called out in a broken voice. “We always treated you so well, like a member of the family. We didn’t listen to the police when they suggested we fire you after the kidnapping attempt on Michael.”

Emil laughed. “You made a mistake,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“The police were right. The two kidnappers were friends of mine. All we tried to do was get a little money out of you. Too bad we didn’t succeed.”

“Bastard!” cried Lydia.

“Enough!” shouted Emil and grabbed the purse out of her hands.

“At least leave us a little money,” she pleaded. “Don’t let us starve to death.”

He shoved her out of the car. Gertruda and Michael followed. Emil turned the wheel and drove off.

They stood stunned in the darkening alley. Lydia leaned on the wall of a house. Her knees buckled as her world collapsed around her. Gertruda hugged Michael, whose body was shaking with weeping and dread.

“Why did he do that to us?” sobbed the child. “We loved him so much.”

“He went crazy,” said Gertruda softly. “Don’t be afraid. He’ll change his mind and come back to us.”

Lydia wrapped herself in her fur coat, the only valuable object she had left. A cold wind whipped her face.

“What shall we do?” she asked desperately.

“First of all, we have to find someplace to live,” Gertruda recovered.

“But we don’t have any money.”

“I’ve got a little bit,” said the nanny. “I hid a few zlotys in my stockings. Emil probably didn’t imagine I had any money.”

Lydia hugged her. “You’re our guardian angel,” she said.

They went back to the main street. The note with the address was lost. Gertruda knocked on doors and asked people if they had a room for rent. Some people didn’t even open the door. Others answered an impatient no. Two or three mentioned enormous sums for wretched holes.

It was night by the time an old woman was finally willing to rent them rooms in her house, at Mala Stefanska 6.

The landlady was a small, vigorous woman, with a hard face and disheveled silver hair. With her hands on her hips, her eyes and voice piercing, she yelled out to the women and child: “I hope you’re not Jews.”

“We’re not,” answered Gertruda.

“Where are you from?”

“Warsaw.”

“Why did you come to Vilna?”

“Food got very expensive because of the war, I didn’t have any work, we had no money left. We thought it would be better for us here.”

She said that her husband was a soldier in the Polish army and had fallen in battle. The woman questioned her about her husband to make sure she was telling the truth, set a rent, and demanded payment for a month in advance.

“I don’t have all the money now,” said Gertruda. “But I’ve got enough to pay you a portion. I hope I can start working soon and then I’ll pay you the whole sum.”

“What’s your profession?”

“I’m a teacher, but I’m healthy and am willing to do anything. I can be a nanny, a secretary. I know a few languages.”

The woman grimaced. “I don’t believe anybody’s interested in a teacher, a nanny, or a secretary these days.”

“I’ll try, anyway.”

“And who’s that woman?” She pointed at Lydia, who had shriveled in a panic behind Gertruda’s back.

“That’s my cousin.”

The woman grumbled under her breath.

“You have to remember one thing,” she roared. “Anybody who lives in my house has to act modestly. You can’t entertain men here or come back home late at night. I want you to promise me that the child won’t make any noise. Clear?”

“Thank you,” said Gertruda, and she gave the woman the rent money.

The landlady led the tenants to the second floor and opened one of the doors. The apartment had two big rooms, furnished with old pieces. Attached to the ancient stove was a sooty chimney pipe that went through the wall over a dusty window. With gnarled hands, the woman kindled pieces of wood in the stove and the cold in the room quickly dissipated.

“You’re lucky,” she said. “In Vilna there aren’t any apartments left to rent.”

Michael disappeared into the other room and returned with a shout of joy, holding a toy car.

“That’s my grandson’s,” said the landlady.

“Can I play with the car?” asked Michael anxiously.

“Yes, but don’t break it.”

“Is there something to eat?” asked Michael. “I’m really hungry.”

Gertruda asked the old woman if she could sell them dinner.

“I’ve only got soup,” grumbled the landlady.

“Fine. We’ll have soup.”

The old woman brought a pot of potato soup and three plates and held out a hand for money.

They were hungry and devoured the meal. Afterward Gertruda made up the bed for Lydia and Michael. “I’ll sleep on the chair,” she said.

The night was cold and there were no more sticks for heating. Lydia and Michael slept in their clothes, wrapped in coats. Gertruda shivered with cold on her chair. In the morning, she bought tea and a few slices of bread from the old woman.

“Try to find the Geller family, our neighbors from Warsaw. They also fled to Vilna,” said Lydia. “They can probably help us.”

“I’ll look for them,” Gertruda promised.

She went to the city but quickly understood that the chances of locating the diamond dealer’s family were very slim. Thousands of refugees had come to Vilna and filled every empty apartment. Convoys of refugees continued to flow into the city nonstop. The railroad station was teeming with families who couldn’t find a place to rent. Many people were lying on the chilly floor with bundles of belongings, in despair.

For hours Gertruda wandered the streets, went into shops and restaurants, and asked for work without any luck. She sat down on a bench and considered her next step. There weren’t many possibilities. She needed work desperately and didn’t dare think what would happen if her money ran out before she found something.

Suddenly, she heard a car, looked up, and saw the Stolowitzky’s white Cadillac passing by. Her heart skipped a beat. For a moment she wondered what to do, and then she leaped up and ran after it. Traffic was heavy and the Cadillac moved slowly. Gertruda soon caught up with the car. She didn’t know what would happen when she met Emil, but she believed she could persuade him, tell him how miserable Lydia was, and convince him to give back at least part of the loot.

Her heart pounding, Gertruda approached the car. “Emil!” she called to the man behind the wheel. He turned his eyes to her. It wasn’t Emil.

“Excuse me,” she said, surprised. “This is our car.”

The man was about forty years old, ruddy, with a fur hat on his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled. “I bought it this morning.”

“From whom?”

“Don’t bother me,” he grumbled. “It’s none of your business.”

He closed the window in her face and turned his head away.

So, she thought, Emil sold the car and is probably living the good life now with the money he got for it and with what he stole. She decided to keep the meeting with the new owner of the Cadillac to herself. She didn’t want Lydia to become even more depressed.

In the evening, after more vain efforts to find work, Gertruda returned to the house on Mala Stefanska. She was approaching the door when a young man came out of the adjacent house. Their eyes met and her mouth dropped open in amazement. She immediately recognized the doctor who had taken such good care of Michael after the accident on the trolley tracks.

“Dr. Berman!” she called. “What a coincidence.”

“You’re living here, too?” The doctor was amazed.

Gertruda told him what had happened to them and he shook his head with grief.