Gertruda's Oath: A Child, a Promise, and a Heroic Escape During World War II (20 page)

“How are you getting along?” Gertruda asked the doctor in a soft voice as they walked in the snow.

“It could be better. There’s no more food, people are dying like flies, the Germans are clearing out the ghetto systematically. Every day more and more people are sent to what they call labor camps. None of them have returned to the ghetto.”

“Do you manage to work?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, there are a lot of patients. They can’t pay, of course, but I try to help them as much as I can. In the awful living conditions, without heat or food, with stocks of medicines running out, and with no possibility of being hospitalized, there’s not much chance for anybody who gets sick here.”

“What do you live on?”

“The food you send, selling personal items, and the hope that better days will come.”

The way to the sewer, as expected, was fraught with danger. They walked next to the houses and a few times they had to hide when a patrol passed by. Fortunately for them, no one was at the entrance to the sewer. The two of them crawled inside and, with trembling hearts, passed through to the other side of the city. They knew the danger hadn’t passed, even after they got out to the street. If the German patrol discovered Jews sneaking out of the ghetto, they were shot on the spot.

Finally, they came to the house where Gertruda lived with
Michael. She opened the door. The fire had died down to the last embers and a kerosene lamp on the table illuminated the face of the sick child, who lay in bed covered up to his neck.

“Hello, Dr. Berman,” he murmured.

“Hello, Michael, I hope that next time we meet, you’ll be healthy.”

Dr. Berman examined him for a long time.

“Pneumonia,” he confirmed. He took some medicine out of his bag that would ease Michael’s breathing. It was the only medicine in his bag and in the black market he could have sold it for a lot of money. By the time he gave Gertruda instructions for taking care of Michael, the night was coming to an end.

“I have to hurry,” he said.

Gertruda thanked him with tears in her eyes, filled his bag with food, and gave him some pennies.

“Take care of yourself,” she said.

The doctor slipped into the staircase and went out to the street. The snow was falling and it was still dark.

He got back to the hospital without incident as dawn was breaking, and his wife embraced him.

As Michael slowly recovered, Gertruda regularly watched the alley that led to the opening of the sewer. She continued to meet the boy who smuggled food into the ghetto and gave him fruit, vegetables, and bread for the Berman family, along with food for the boy in payment for his errand.

Joachim Turner entered the offices of the bank in Zurich, talked with one of the clerks, and soon emerged with a briefcase full of banknotes. He went to the railroad station, bought a ticket to
Genoa, and from there he went to Pontrepoli, where he spent hours looking for the address Jacob Stolowitzky had sent him in a telegram. He knocked on the door and Anna stood there, looking at him inquiringly.

“My name’s Turner,” he said hesitantly. “Does Mr. Stolowitzky live here?”

“Yes. Please come in. I’m Anna, his wife. My husband has been expecting you for some time.”

The Swiss lawyer entered. Jacob Stolowitzky came to meet him. They embraced warmly.

Joachim Turner took bundles of Swiss francs out of his case and gave them to Stolowitzky.

“If you want more money,” said the attorney, “send me a telegram and I’ll come again.”

They drank coffee and Stolowitzky told his agent that he had married Anna after he concluded that his wife and son had been killed in the war. He wound his arm around her shoulders and she gave him a loving smile.

“We got here right after the wedding,” he said in apology. “We haven’t had time to arrange things properly.”

“Good luck,” said Turner, still surprised at the revelation that Jacob Stolowitzky had remarried.

“Anna is a wonderful woman. I was very lonely … she cheered me up, we fell in love,” said Stolowitzky.

Turner sat down on the shabby sofa.

“Naturally, this is only a temporary home,” Jacob told him. “When the war ends, we’ll move to our own house. Of course, if I’m still alive then.”

“Why won’t you be alive?”

“If the Germans reach here, too, they’ll send me to a concentration camp immediately,” said the manufacturer from Warsaw.

“Are there other Jews in this town?”

“No.”

“Then what do the Germans have to do here?”

“Thanks for the encouragement, Joachim. You always were a good friend. I wanted to ask you something, something extremely important.”

“Please.”

“I want to write a will.”

“Why?”

“I have to think of every possibility, even the possibility that something bad will happen to me. I’d like you to be a witness to my will.”

Joachim Turner nodded. Jacob Stolowitzky picked up a pen and began writing:

He asked the guest to witness the document, and Turner complied. “We’ll drink a toast when the war ends,” he said before he left.

When the door closed behind him, Anna turned to her husband.

“You surprised me with the will,” she said. “I hope you know that I didn’t marry you for your money.”

“I know, my dear.”

In the middle of the night, a tap was heard on the door. Gertruda woke up in a panic. She was afraid of sudden visits. Most of them meant only one thing: disaster.

Michael was sound asleep under the blanket in their double bed when Gertruda put her coat over her nightgown and went anxiously to the door.

“Who is it?” she asked through the locked door.

“Denka. Please open the door. It’s worth your while.”

She remembered his last visit on the stairs. Then he had tried to persuade her to spy on Dr. Berman so he could turn him over to the Russians. The neighbors told her that after the German occupation he had changed sides and now worked for the Germans, reporting people who had played roles under the Russian government. He also made a lot of money in the black market, buying jewels from refugees and giving them food in exchange. He sold the jewels to the German soldiers for cigarettes, bread, and canned goods. He was well dressed, spoke arrogantly, and was loathed by all the other tenants in his sister’s apartments.

“I can’t open the door now,” said Gertruda in a trembling voice. “It’s late.”

Denka didn’t give up.

“It’s important,” he said.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” she tried again.

“The morning will be too late.” His voice was aggressive.

She opened the door hesitantly and he pushed himself inside, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes.

“What do you want?” she asked, her hands clutching her coat to her body.

The guest reached out and stroked her face with a coarse hand. She flinched.

“What do you want?” she repeated and demanded to know.

“Calm down,” he smiled. “You know that I only want what’s good for you.”

He pulled two cans of sardines out of his coat pocket and put them on the table.

“That’s a little present from me,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Thank you,” she said reluctantly.

His eyes examined the shabby room.

“Hard for you, eh?”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No.”

“Money? Food? Cigarettes? Candy for the kid? Just ask.”

“I don’t need anything, Denka. Thanks for your kindness. Now, please, get out”

He didn’t show any sign of leaving. Instead, he came even closer to her. She retreated, but he grabbed her. Her coat was open and his big hands invaded her nightgown and crushed her breasts.

“No,” she insisted. “Please, no.”

But he refused to listen to her. His hands tore her nightgown and she couldn’t fight back. He was too strong for her. Only when he put her on the floor and bent over her did she shout. She expected him to be scared that the neighbors would rush to her aid, even though she knew that only a few of them would dare come out of their apartment to help her. Denka had scared them all.

He put his hand over her mouth, spread her legs, and roared like an animal. With what was left of her strength, she got her right hand out of his grip and stuck a finger into one of his eyes. Her
sharp fingernails hit the lens of the eye and made him shout in pain. For a moment, he let go of her. She managed to flee to the other room and quickly pulled the gun out of its hiding place under the bed. Denka chased her, but froze when he saw the gun barrel pointing at him.

“Get out!” she growled.

For a moment, he stood still, hesitating. He then blurted out a curse and left the apartment. Gertruda locked the door and stood there a long time, shaking with cold and fear, afraid that the thug would break down the door at any minute. That didn’t happen.

She went back to bed and hugged Michael, who was still sound asleep. The warmth of his body dissipated the cold that chilled her limbs and the fear that had encompassed her heart.

The little smuggler from the ghetto looked around in fear, but the street was still quiet and the night looked darker than ever. No German soldier was seen in the area, no sound of military boots was heard. Gertruda gave him two bags with fruit and vegetables.

“This is the last time we’ll meet,” he whispered.

“Why?” she wondered.

“In the ghetto, they’re planning an uprising. I may not be able to get here anymore.”

The boy’s words scared Gertruda. Revolts in the ghetto seemed to her to be battles lost in advance. She feared for the fate of Dr. Berman and his family.

She made her way home, deep in thought. She was willing to do whatever she could to help the handful of desperate Jews who had
decided to fight against all odds, but she couldn’t figure out what she could do. Not until the middle of the night did an idea pop up in her head. Yes, she could help.

The next evening, Gertruda returned to the secret passage that led to the ghetto. Even though she knew the boy wouldn’t be there, she waited for him awhile. He didn’t come. She entered the sewer with a firm resolve and crawled along until she reached the ghetto. There, she ran out of the sewer and hurried to the Jewish hospital. Dr. Berman greeted her with terror.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said. “It’s dangerous.”

“I came only to give you something,” she said, and pulled out an old shirt with the gun peeping out, the gun Emil had stolen from Lydia. “Take it,” she said, gasping with excitement. “It might help you.”

Dr. Berman grabbed the weapon and clutched it to his chest.

“You have no idea how grateful I am to you.”

The ghetto was completely deserted when she started making her way back to the Christian quarter. She quickly went through the big, dark sewer, came out onto the street, and looked around, afraid of running into a Nazi patrol. In a few minutes, she’d get through the secret passage and soon after that she’d be home. Michael, she thought, must still be sleeping.

Near the sewer, her worst fear materialized: the silence was suddenly shattered by the clatter of a rifle bolt and a sharp scream in German.

“Halt at once!”

Gertruda obeyed in fear. The tread of army boots beat on the cobblestones. Two German soldiers burst out of the dark alley and aimed their weapons at her.

“Damn Jewess!” shouted one of them. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not a Jewess,” she replied.

“Liar. Did you escape from the ghetto?” they demanded.

She gave them Father Gedovsky’s letter. The German examined it carefully.

“If you’re not a Jewess,” he said, “what were you doing in the ghetto?”

She desperately scrambled for any excuse at all that the soldiers would accept.

“I was looking for a Jew who owes me money,” she said after a brief hesitation.

“Where do you live?”

“Mala Stefanska Street.”

“How did you get to the ghetto?”

“Through the sewer,” she said. “I was afraid I couldn’t get in any other way.”

“Who told you about that way?”

“Everybody knows.”

The Germans gave her a long look. They were still suspicious.

“Come with us,” one of the soldiers ordered her.

“Where? I left a child at home. He’s waiting for me.”

“Let him wait,” decreed the soldier.

They led her to Gestapo headquarters. In the gloomy building, she was put into a small room on the second floor. A nervous officer wrote down her personal details.

“Tell me the truth,” he raised his voice. “What were you doing in the ghetto? Did you smuggle weapons to the underground?”

She turned pale. His guess was precise.

“I went to collect a debt.”

“What debt?”

“I earn a living by writing requests to the authorities,” she said. “I did work for a Jew and he didn’t pay me.”

The German wanted details and an address. Gertruda gave a name and address she made up.

“Do you have contact with Jews?” he asked.

“I have contact only with people who want me to write letters in German for them. Some of them are Jews.”

“And aside from those people?”

“I don’t have contact with any Jew.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She fixed pleading eyes on him. “Please let me go. My son is alone at home.”

“First tell me the truth,” the officer persisted.

“I already told you.”

“It doesn’t seem reasonable to me that you snuck into the ghetto only to collect a few pennies from somebody. You’re hiding the truth from me.”

Gertruda denied it forcefully.

He swung his hand and slapped her cheek hard.

“That’s only the beginning,” he said. “I suggest you talk.”