Gertruda's Oath: A Child, a Promise, and a Heroic Escape During World War II (15 page)

“I’ll take care of it immediately,” Turner promised.

That very day he went to the German embassy in Bern and saw the ambassador himself. The German was interested in the proposition.

“How much money are we talking about?” he asked.

“Ten million dollars,” Turner threw out.

The ambassador blurted out an exclamation of surprise. He wanted details and the attorney gave him the names and address.

“I’ll check it out immediately,” said the German.

The attractive proposal was sent through diplomatic channels at once. Orders went out from Berlin to the occupying authorities in Poland to locate Lydia and her son, guarantee their safety, and await further orders. Stolowitzky phoned Turner every day to see if he had new information, and when there was none, Stolowitzky was deeply disappointed.

After a week, Turner was summoned to the German embassy in Bern.

“We did the best we could,” said the ambassador. “Our people tried to find the woman and child, but it turns out they are no longer at the address you gave me. The building itself was empty when our forces entered Warsaw. It is now German headquarters. We also investigated the tenants in the area and nobody knows what happened to them.”

“Do you have lists of Jews who were arrested or killed?”

“We don’t yet have orderly lists. If we do have more information, I’ll let you know, of course, without delay.”

Stolowitzky was stunned. Until that moment, he had clung to the hope that his money would induce the Germans to find a way to locate Lydia and Michael and send them out of Poland.

“What do you suggest I do?” he asked the Swiss attorney. “Pray,” replied Turner.

Overnight, Vilna, teeming with Jewish life, prayer houses, synagogues, and well-known rabbis, became a shelter for refugees streaming there from all over Poland. Law and order collapsed. Robberies, rapes, and murders took place every single day and the police simply could not handle every case.

The refugees packed the city. They were everywhere, seeking housing and work, humiliated by anti-Semites and exploitative employers. They stood in long lines at foreign consulates and pleaded for entry visas to countries far away from the front. Only those with contacts and sharp elbows managed to get the precious permission. Lydia sank into a deep depression, lying in bed for whole days and praying that the nightmare would end and that her husband would come back.

Michael couldn’t understand the sudden change in his life, the passage from the mansion to the miserable room, his mother’s helplessness. He didn’t know what war was, but he did understand that something awful had happened, that bad people made them leave the house. He was silent a lot, played with cards that Gertruda had cut out for him from cardboard boxes and drawn on, and was upset when Gertruda wasn’t with him. She herself was out of the house from early morning to nightfall. He waited for her eagerly, for the food she brought and the stories she told him every night at bedtime.

•   •   •

Lydia’s health quickly deteriorated. A woman who had been full of life, gaiety, and vigor turned into a desperate broken vessel. She suffered pains and had a hard time standing up. For a few days Lydia lay sick in bed, until one night Gertruda awoke in panic at the sound of the sick woman’s groans. When she went to her, she discovered that Lydia was unconscious, and Gertruda called Dr. Berman. “She should have been taken to the hospital long ago,” he said.

In the old Jewish hospital building, on Zavalna Street, a few nurses were dozing at the reception desk. A dim light cast gloomy shadows on the walls and the patients’ groans seeped out of the rooms. Gertruda asked the nurses to call for help and they sent for a doctor from one of the nearby rooms. The elderly man put on a shabby lab coat and his fatigue could be seen on his face. He told two orderlies to get a stretcher, and they rushed to the apartment where the sick woman was lying. Dr. Berman was there. The elderly doctor examined her carefully and consulted in secret with Berman. “I hope we’re not too late,” he said.

Carried on a stretcher in the dark empty streets of Vilna, covered with a thin blanket that kept dropping off and exposing her body to the chill of the night, Lydia Stolowitzky was taken to the Jewish hospital. Dr. Berman accompanied her and tried to ease her pain as much as he could, but there was little he could do. He did manage to get her into a room that was less crowded.

“I’m afraid her heart won’t hold out,” he whispered to Gertruda.

The next day, on her way to the railroad station buffet, Gertruda stopped in church and said a prayer for the sick woman. It didn’t help. In the middle of the night, Lydia suffered a serious heart attack. She lay helpless in bed, often unconscious for hours.

Gertruda sat at her bed. Dr. Berman and Michael insisted on
staying with her in the hospital. Michael slept on the cold floor, wrapped in a thin blanket given to him by one of the nurses. Close to dawn, Lydia suddenly woke up.

“Michael,” she muttered.

Gertruda woke up the child.

“Your mother wants you,” she told him.

Michael went to his mother. She raised a weak hand and stroked his face.

“My child,” she whispered. “My beloved child … don’t ever forget me.”

“All right, Mother,” he said in a sleepy voice.

Lydia beckoned to Gertruda.

“I have to tell you something,” she said into her ear.

“Yes, madam.”

“I’m about to die, my dear.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Gertruda begged her. “Rest. It will pass.”

The sick woman shook her head.

“It won’t pass, Gertruda. I want you to promise me something.”

“Whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what happened to my husband … I don’t know if he’s alive or if he’ll ever come back. Michael is all I have left. He’s the most precious thing in the world to me. I want to die knowing that at least he will remain alive. Swear to me that you’ll take care of him.”

“I’ll take care of him as if he were my own son.”

“No one must know he’s a Jew … teach Michael to be careful… one word too many or one hasty act would lead to a great catastrophe.”

“I know, madam.”

“I’ve got distant relatives in Palestine. When the war is over take him to them.”

“I swear to you I will.”

“I don’t have any money to leave you,” sighed the sick woman. “Take my fur coat. It will help you get through the winter.”

With a great effort, she raised her weak hand.

“Take off my wedding ring,” she said.

Gertruda obeyed.

“Wear it now. From now on, you’ll be Michael’s mother.”

Gertruda’s heart pounded as she put the ring on her finger. More than any other moment on that sad night, that act indicated the end of the real mother’s role and the beginning of the nanny’s motherhood. Lydia stroked Gertruda’s hand.

“You’re Michael’s angel,” added Lydia in a dying voice. “He loves you and you love him. I want you to know that my heart is thankful for everything you have done and will do for him.”

“It’s I who thank you for the great privilege you’ve granted me.”

“And one more thing,” Lydia spoke with what remained of her strength. “In the banks in Switzerland there is a lot of money my husband deposited. A lot of money … and gold … take the money. It will help Michael and you to build a new life.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Write down … there are millions in the Banque Credit in Zurich … there are also millions in …”

She didn’t go on. Her head slumped and her eyes closed. A deep silence fell in the room. Dr. Berman bowed his head and Gertruda said a silent prayer. Michael looked at them in fear.

“Please,” Gertruda asked God, “help me keep my oath.”

She had no doubt she would do everything to keep her promise to the dying woman. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, that the weeks and months ahead would place countless obstacles in her way, that it would be hard, if not impossible, to snatch the child delivered to her care out of the claws of the cruel fate in store for him.

•   •   •

Lydia Stolowitzky died that night and her death certificate was given to Gertruda.

For a tiny sum, a Vilna carter took the dead woman to be buried in the cemetery. A gloomy bearded man dug the grave and lowered her body into it wrapped in a tattered shroud. Ever since the war had begun, he had dug many graves like this for refugees who couldn’t stand the hardships in the new city. The number of deaths increased from one day to the next, and only seldom did the family members of the dead have any money to pay for the burial. Anyone who did have money was buried in the local Jewish community cemetery. Paupers were buried far away from there, in simple graves with wooden signs with handwritten names. Lydia Stolowitzky, one of the richest women in Warsaw, was buried in a pauper’s grave.

The gravedigger said the kaddish, the memorial prayer for the dead, and instructed Michael to repeat after him. The child blurted out the foreign words in his thin, tearful voice. Gertruda hugged him and wept.

They walked home to save carfare. The two of them knew that from now on, the bonds between them would be so thick that only death could undo them.

For some time, Jacob Stolowitzky still believed that everything would turn out fine. It was hard for him to get used to the possibility that he would never see his wife and son again, that his business had come to an end, that his own fate was shrouded in fog. He stayed in Paris on the advice of his French agent, and he chose to believe in the vague promises of the railroad company that as soon as the situation was clarified in Europe, the contract would be carried out.

Reality smashed all his delusions one by one. The German mobilization went forward, almost without any obstacle. France felt the heavy burden of oppression and growing uncertainty. People congregated at the newspaper stalls, swallowed the headlines about the German army advances, and asked themselves and those around them if the French army could stand against the invaders. In the streets of Paris, refugees who had managed to flee from Poland at the last minute were walking around, their faces pale and their eyes darting around in fear that, even there, German army units would
burst forth before them. Nevertheless, as a way to make the impending disaster disappear in their minds, some of the French refused to change their daily agendas. They filled the restaurants, ate oysters, and were eager to drink fine wine, nightclubs were open for business as usual, musicians and opera stars were received with cheers and flowers.

With all this going on around him, Jacob Stolowitzky felt in his heart that his loved ones were no longer alive. Despite all his efforts, his connections, and his money, he couldn’t locate his wife and son. All telephone lines and postal service to and from Warsaw were down and reports from Poland told of the deaths of many Jews at the hands of the Germans.

With every passing day, Jacob’s tension and dread increased. Stolowitzky ran around the city like a caged lion, anxiously following the news about the fall of one country after another into the hands of the Nazis, and hoping they would encounter a crushing defeat if they tried to invade France. With a heavy heart, he went to meet refugees from Poland and tried to find out if they knew what had happened to his wife and son. One of them suggested something that had never occurred to him, that many Warsaw Jews had fled to Vilna.

Jacob Stolowitzky didn’t hesitate. He rushed to the Russian embassy and requested an entrance visa to Vilna, but he was rejected on the spot. “No chance,” said the clerk. “We have explicit instructions from Moscow not to give visas to Vilna.”

Stolowitzky didn’t give up. His money had always opened every locked gate, and he was sure it would now, too. He pulled some money out of his wallet and put it on the clerk’s desk without a word. To his surprise, the clerk returned it.

“Sorry,” said the Russian impatiently. “I can’t do a thing.”

Stolowitzky hurried to the office of his Paris attorneys and asked
them to get him a permit to enter Vilna. “I’ll pay whatever I have to,” he said. The lawyers promised to try but they also drew a blank. He contacted Joachim Turner in Zurich and asked him to go to Vilna to look for Lydia and Michael. Turner agreed, but he couldn’t get an entry visa either.

More desperate than over, Stolowitzky locked himself in his hotel room and did what he hadn’t done since he was a child: he wept. The omnipotent businessman was now alone and abandoned, helpless. All at once, his money had become worthless. There wasn’t anyone he could turn to for help, no hope that would improve his mood. He knew that his chances of getting to his wife and son were dwindling by the minute.

Gray, monotonous days went by. He grew thin and there were black circles of sleeplessness around his eyes. He stopped going to the restaurant at the Ritz. The grand atmosphere, the dishes, and the elegant service reminded him of home, the dining room where his family had sat before their life was shattered to bits. Twice a day, he grabbed a quick bite at a small restaurant on nearby Rue Rivoli. He didn’t talk to the other diners. He’d eat quickly, pay, and return to his room, his face pale and his eyes dim. The only one who asked him how he was every single day was the waitress in the restaurant. Her name was Anna and she was twenty-eight years old, ruddy-cheeked, and always wearing a smile. She knew most of her customers, talked with whoever wanted to chat, and was quiet with those who preferred to be silent. She knew only that Jacob Stolowitzky came from Poland and lived at the Ritz. He always ate alone and his face was sad.

One day, Jacob didn’t appear for dinner and Anna was worried. When she finished working, she went to the hotel and knocked on his door. He opened it wrapped in a blanket and feverish. Without asking him, she immediately sent for a doctor and bought him the
medicines the doctor prescribed. Then she brought him a meal from the restaurant. He was so weak, he couldn’t hold on to the dishes, so Anna fed him herself.