Karolina's Twins Page 2

  “I had seen Karolina at school, but she was a year ahead of me. She was also very popular. Even then, as a young teen, she was exquisite and she grew more beautiful with each passing year. She was strong, athletic and vivacious. She had dark, curly hair and big expressive eyes. Coy, flirtatious, smart, bold and very sure of herself, the boys flocked to her.

  “I didn’t know at the time, but her confidence was a charade, an appearance that she wore like an overcoat. Inside she was unhappy and insecure. Her father, Mariusz Neuman was a withdrawn, severe man, always worried about his business. He had little patience for Karolina’s gaiety. His business was struggling, especially in the 1930s. So, Karolina started spending a lot of time at our house.

  “Karolina became an adjunct member of our family. We all loved her and she loved us, but I think she loved Milosz the most. She would sit and listen to him play even when he was just practicing his scales.” Lena shrugged. “Or perhaps it was my mother’s kreplach soup. Anyway, Karolina practically lived at our house.”

  “Was Karolina Jewish as well?”

  Lena nodded. “At the time, Karolina and I attended Chrzanów’s public school. Our new friendship opened a large social circle for me. She took me under her wing and brought me into the popular crowd. It was so easy being around Karolina. I grew to love the Chrzanów elementary school, but my time there came to an end in 1938, when I was ready for high school.

  “Partly because I was a good student and partly because we were a privileged family, when I was fourteen my parents sent me to attend the Gymnasium in Kraków.”

  “The gymnasium?” Liam said.

  Lena smiled. “Although it was called the Gymnasium, it wasn’t a gym, it was a private secondary school where gen-ed courses were taught in Polish, and Jewish studies were taught in Hebrew.

  “I didn’t want to go there. I wanted to stay in Chrzanów. That’s where all my friends were. I wanted to go to high school with Karolina. I protested, but I never had a chance in that battle. My Jewish studies were compulsory and my parents were able to enroll me in a prestigious high school, so that’s where I went.

  “I’m sure you know, before the war, Poland had three million Jews, more than any other country in Europe. Ten percent of Poland’s population was Jewish, and my parents were observant—they took their religion seriously. Anyway, I would travel to and from Kraków every day on the train. The Chrzanów station was six blocks from my house. However, thanks to the Germans, I only attended for the one year.”

  “One year?”

  Lena shrugged. “The war.”

  “So was life comfortable in Chrzanów before the war?”

  Lena tipped her head from side to side. “For my family, yes. But not for all. My parents’ store was very profitable and served customers from the neighboring Silesian towns. And my father was a decorated war hero. He held the rank of captain—three stars—in the army of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. In World War I, he fought alongside German troops.”

  “Alongside the Germans as a Jewish captain. How unusual,” Liam said.

  “No, not unusual at all. No religious distinction was made during World War I. The Jews of Germany and the Austro-Hungarian Empire fought together in the armies of the Central Powers as enlisted men and as officers. One hundred thousand Jews fought in the German army, often holding high ranks, and twelve thousand lost their lives. The empire had always welcomed Jews, and Jewish society flourished. We were doctors, lawyers, judges, scientists. The same throughout Germany.

  “After the First World War, my father enjoyed a certain status and prestige because of his rank and service. Everyone called him ‘The Captain.’ I wouldn’t say we were wealthy, but we were comfortable. Still, in the 1930s Poland suffered from the Depression, and Chrzanów’s economy suffered. Our store continued to sell provisions to the farmers, but oftentimes on credit, which we knew would never be repaid.

  “Karolina’s family fared much worse during the Depression. Her father was a tailor. In the early 1930s his business did okay, probably because it was cheaper to have clothes repaired than to buy new ones. He was often so busy that Karolina would help him on Sundays and after school. She became a proficient seamstress as a teen. Come 1937, in the depth of the Depression, people had no money, even for repairs, and stopped going to the tailor. Karolina’s father had to close his shop. He went off to Warsaw, where his brother had a butcher shop, only returning once a month. Karolina and her mother stayed behind.

  “When her father left, Karolina’s mother began to drink. Those times that I stopped by Karolina’s, her mother was always in some state of inebriation. Her speech was slurred, her balance unsteady. It was an embarrassment to Karolina and because of that, I rarely visited.

  “Karolina had a dog, a white French poodle with pink paws that she loved with all her heart. She got it when she was in the eighth grade. Karolina and I were coming home from school one day and we passed a yard where a boy was giving away puppies. ‘My mom won’t let me keep them all,’ he said, pointing to a box with nine little white dogs. ‘If you want one, you could have one.’ At first, Karolina’s father wouldn’t let her keep it, but seeing her so disheartened, he relented, providing she took care of it and worked to buy the dog food.

  “Because it was a French poodle, Karolina named her Madeleine. With her father and mother essentially in absentia, Madeleine was Karolina’s anchor. In her almost daily visits to our home, Madeleine would tag along. At first my parents weren’t thrilled, but Milosz loved that dog, and Madeleine loved Milosz. He would sit on the floor and play with Madeleine and giggle so hard it would make all of us laugh. Milosz even taught her tricks. So, Madeleine became another member of our family.

  “My father had three brothers. One lived in Warsaw, one in Kraków and one in Berlin. They were all successful. My father traveled to Berlin quite often on business or to spend time with his oldest brother. He took me there twice. I don’t remember much about Berlin except my Uncle Samuel had a very large house with a beautiful garden.

  “I do remember in 1933 my father returned from Berlin to tell us that the Hitlerites were burning Jewish books in bonfires. I was only eight years old and I asked him, ‘Why would they burn Jewish books? If they didn’t like them they didn’t have to read them.’ He told me that was a very good point.

  “As Germany descended into abomination, he traveled less and less to Berlin, and only when absolutely necessary for business. Two years later, in December 1935, he told us that Uncle Samuel was moving to America. The Nuremberg Laws had stripped Jews of their professional licenses and my uncle was a respected pediatrician and a professor at the medical school. The Nuremberg Laws forbid him from treating anyone but Jewish children and prohibited him from teaching at the school. He wisely decided it was time to leave and he left for New York.

  “Finally, in 1938, my father made his last trip to Berlin. It was two weeks before Kristallnacht. About that time we started to feel tensions forming in Chrzanów’s once-tolerant society. Nazi propaganda filtered into Poland and anti-Semitism was gaining a foothold throughout the country. When commuting to the Gymnasium, I remember people on the train pointing at us, holding their noses and chanting, ‘I smell garlic.’

  “Because Chrzanów was close to the German and Czechoslovakian borders, refugees fleeing Silesia and parts of Germany would come through Chrzanów on their way east, wheeling their worldly belongings in carts and wagons. Before the war began, Jews were free to emigrate from Germany under the condition that they leave most of their belongings behind and pay a stiff emigration tax. From these refugees we would hear about Germany’s persecution.

  “As the war approached and the German rhetoric heightened, our town became keenly aware of the impending storm clouds. Polish troops were bivouacked in our area. In fact, they were stationed in the redbrick army barracks at the fort in Oświęcim, twenty kilometers down the road. I don’t have to tell you, those were the very same barracks that would later hold thousands of Jewish prisoners w
hen the name was changed to Auschwitz. My father was no fool. He anticipated the worst. It was time for us to leave.

  “I remember the night in December 1938 when my father sat the family down at the dining room table and said, ‘Hannah, the Nazis are coming, make no mistake. They took over Austria in March, they annexed half of Czechoslovakia in September and they’ll be here whenever they feel like it. There’ll be no stopping them. And they’ve made their intentions for our people well known. Last month, on Kristallnacht, the Nazis destroyed a thousand synagogues and thousands of Jewish businesses throughout Germany, Austria, East Prussia and the Sudetenland. Thirty thousand Jews were arrested and most of them were sent to the Buchenwald prison. Germany will only release them if they can prove they have the means to emigrate.

  “‘They want us out of Europe, Hannah. Not just Germany, but all of Europe. All of us. Men like me, respected Jewish officers in the German army who served their country with distinction, have been stripped of our rank and even citizenship. We need to face facts. We can’t stay here in Chrzanów. I’m going to make the arrangements.’”

  “Did your mother object?”

  Lena smiled. “She protested gently. Times were different then. He was the head of the family. If the father made plans, then the family followed. My mother’s family had lived in the region for generations. They’d founded the provisions store eighty years earlier. It was hard for her to leave. How could she ever live somewhere else?

  “‘Where do we go?’ she said. ‘America, like Samuel? He ended up in Chicago. They have gangsters there, Jacob. Al Capone. I don’t think I’d like that. It’s too dangerous for the children.’

  “My father chuckled. ‘Al Capone’s in jail.’

  “‘It’s still too dangerous in Chicago. They have other gangsters.’

  “‘I’m not thinking about Chicago, Hannah. I want to move us to Paris. They have a very solid Jewish community, two hundred fifty thousand. I know prominent people there. There’s a grocery store I can buy, I’ve contacted the owner. We can sell the house and the provisions store and use the money to move to France.’

  “I was distraught, of course. Devastated was more like it. Fifteen years old, and like my mother, Poland was all I knew. I certainly didn’t want to live in Paris. Or Chicago. I didn’t speak a word of French or English. German was my second language. It was taught in all the schools.

  “Most of all, I didn’t want to leave Karolina or any of my friends. By then, Karolina and I had become very close. I’d be lost without her. With Karolina, I was part of a larger, more dynamic group. Our crowd was so much fun, and I was included because of Karolina. We were the best of friends. Inseparable. I’d be a nobody in Paris.

  “One afternoon, my father took me for a soda. Just the two of us. ‘I know this is going to be hard on you, Lena. And it will be even harder for Milosz. But I have to do what’s best for us, and staying in Chrzanów is too dangerous. I found a lovely apartment for us in Paris—in the 12th Arrondissement, just south of the Jardin du Luxembourg. I promise you will find it enchanting. I found a store for sale that we can buy. In time, if things get better in Chrzanów, we can always return. But you may grow fond of Paris.’

  “‘What about Magda?’ I said.

  “He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to leave Magda here. Truth is, I can barely afford to keep her as it is, but I haven’t had the heart to let her go.’

  “‘What about Karolina?’

  “‘I’m sorry, but you’ll make new friends and maybe someday Karolina can visit.’ That was totally unacceptable to me and I ran home to my room. He came up a few minutes later and sat on my bed. ‘I’m sorry to make you sad, but I have to do what’s best for all of us. Please try to understand.’

  “‘Can Karolina come and live with us in Paris?’

  “‘Well, I doubt her parents would approve.’

  “‘They don’t care. Her father is mean to her and lives in Warsaw most of the time. Her mother is drunk all the time. What if they say it’s okay?’

  “To my surprise, he nodded his head. ‘If her parents will give her permission, I’ll take her with us. Don’t say anything yet. Before we can leave Chrzanów, I have to sell the store and the house. It could take a while. When I get an offer, and I know for certain that we’ll be going, then you can tell Karolina and see if her parents will let her come along.’ I hugged him to death. What a great father.

  “There weren’t many who could afford to buy a house and a store during the Depression. Our store was quite profitable and thus pricey for a small-town business. But by February 1939, my father had obtained a signed contract from a Warsaw investment group and we were packing to move.”

  “And Karolina?”

  “Of course I had already spilled the news to Karolina right after my father and I had our talk, but she hadn’t asked her parents yet. She went home that night and asked her mother, who, shockingly, approved. But when her father came home that weekend, he put his foot down. ‘No way,’ he said. ‘It’s all crap, this war hysteria. Just a bunch of German blowhards. The Scheinmans are Polish. They’re not going to like those stuck-up Parisians, Karolina. They’ll be back soon. Things will be better then.’

  “Karolina was heartbroken. We were heartbroken. She was part of our family. My mother called us the Two Ls—Lena and Lina. I was losing my best friend. Karolina kept begging her father. All around us, our social circles were disintegrating. Families were making plans to move. Some just packed up and headed east to Ukraine or Romania. Some went south to Slovakia. Every day another one of our friends would say good-bye. But Karolina’s father wouldn’t change his mind.

  “Of course, as he pointed out, not every family was moving. Some were in denial and foolishly believed in Poland’s military defenses or the alliances with Britain and France. Some had no money and no way to leave. Karolina’s father had decided his family would stay in Chrzanów. He was saving his money in Warsaw and he intended to come back and reopen his tailor shop.

  “I cried. Milosz cried. I didn’t know who he’d miss more: Karolina or Madeleine. But Karolina and I made a secret pact. As soon as I was settled in Paris, she was going to run away, take a train and join us. I was going to send her the money. Milosz overheard us and threatened to tell our parents if she didn’t promise to bring Madeleine, but I don’t think that thought ever entered her mind. She wouldn’t go anywhere without her dog.”

  “But your family never did move to Paris, did they?”

  Lena slowly shook her head. “Sadly, no. The buyers, the Warsaw consortium, couldn’t raise the money. Because of the Depression and the impending threats from Germany, the bank wouldn’t consummate the loan. The buyers begged us for time to raise the money and pleaded with my father not to sell to someone else. But there was no one else. It was now June 1939. My father couldn’t move without the sale proceeds. So we waited. And hoped.

  “On September 1, 1939, Germany invaded Poland. Seventy thousand Poles were killed and almost seven hundred thousand were taken into custody. At six A.M., Stukas strafed the nearby railroad station. We heard radio broadcasts of German bombings and we knew that our plans to move were off the table. In retrospect, it probably wouldn’t have mattered if we had moved to Paris. Hitler invaded France the following May, and Paris fell on June fourteenth. I doubt our fate would have been much different in Paris. Anyway, three days later, on September fourth, German trucks rolled into Chrzanów and soldiers occupied our town without a fight.

  “The Nazis settled in like the deep winter snow and just as cold. And they never left. Their numbers seemed to increase every day. The SS and Gestapo didn’t arrive until a little later, but the German army was bad enough. The first thing they did was to take prisoners. Men only. They arrested Jews and non-Jews alike.

  “Soldiers came into the store in the late afternoon and pulled my father out from behind the register. The more prominent you were, the more likely you’d be taken. If you hesitated, they shot you. One older man nam
ed Chaim, who was hard of hearing, failed to immediately follow a command to halt and was shot dead in the middle of the street.

  “The Germans locked the Jewish men in the synagogue and the Catholic men in the church. The overflow was locked in the city administration building. They roughed people up and interrogated them, but there were no mass executions. They just kept everyone prisoner overnight. The next day they announced their new rules and let all the prisoners go home. The message was clear: we are in charge and we can do whatever we want. Don’t buck the order. Follow the rules. Then you will live.

  “The Nazis set up their command post at city hall and demanded a census. I’m certain you heard the same story from Ben. They wrote down the names of everyone in town, every member of the family, and where they lived. At that time they didn’t ask if you were Jewish, or a Communist, or a Roma. That all came later. Their immediate goal was to drive home a point—they were superior, we were inferior and they had a license to be cruel. They could and did act without constraint—legal, moral or otherwise.

  “The Germans posted lists of their new rules all over town. All stores were required to stay open every day, even on the Sabbath. No one was permitted to leave town without a permit. Permits were not issued. A curfew was established at sundown for all residents. Anyone out after curfew was subject to summary execution. All radios were to be turned in immediately. Anyone caught with a radio would be executed. Our radio was a large console model. We carried it to the curb, and they came by and demolished it with a sledgehammer. Then we cleaned up the mess. On September fourteenth, Erev Rosh Hashanah, uniformed soldiers surrounded the synagogues and ordered them shut.

  “Ration coupon cards were issued to Jews and non-Jews alike. Of course, that didn’t mean there was food to buy. From the moment the Germans rolled into town, there was a severe food shortage—they took it all. They cleaned out the shelves at the markets and the bakeries. They requisitioned most of the production of the surrounding farms. Lines for food formed early at the butcher shop, the bakery, the grocery store. A long wait at the butcher, if successful, might yield six ounces of some portion of a cow or maybe nothing.