Chapter 1: Without Sunshine
The train to Krakow is going fast.
It makes stops along the way, picking up passengers at each station before bellowing on.
My compartment is crowded and noisy. Men and women talk loudly as a baby cries softly in his blanket. The air is saturated with cigar and cigarette smoke. An elderly woman sits on my right side holding a big package on her lap; tears stream from her eyes covering her pale cheeks.
“The package is for my sons who are in the camp,” she explains to everyone.
The conversations immediately switch to the latest arrests and street round-ups. Smiles disappear from faces of women and men, fear taking hold. Everyone starts to check their documents.
Warm rays of sun sneak inside through open windows. The meadows are already green, dotted with the first pale violet patches of early blooming lilacs. Gleeful children stand in front of their houses to welcome the first rays of May sunshine.
I hear birds singing outside; fondness for spring overcomes me. The season has turned the fields into carpets made of colorful flowers shimmering in the early morning sunlight.
The train has stopped.
I bring myself back to reality. Krakow. I have to get off the train, but wish I could stay in my seat forever watching endless countryside go by.
I cross the platform slowly and find myself on the street.
***
Just now, I realize the purpose of my trip; escape from prison, camp, and perhaps even death. But how difficult it is to escape from one’s destiny.
***
The spires of the Mariacki church look black against the blue sky. Krakow’s trees are layered in lush, dark greens. Soon I’ll hear Hejnal, but suddenly I hear heavy steps behind me; before I’m able to turn around, I hear a callous, disdainful voice.
“Halt.”
I stop. My heart starts to beat faster. I feel the blood drain from my skin.
“Kemkarte, arbeitskarte,” he says, asking for my identification and work permit.
“Here, here,” I say.
With a shaking hand, I remove the documents from my little bag. I try to explain, to make it clear, but nobody is listening. I stop seeing clearly. Everything gets blurred. I see nothing around me but two silhouettes; two men with cold, relentless faces and heavy machine guns.
I’ve seen the pictures of prisoners being transported from Pawiak prison; the images overtake my mind. I can almost hear the distant shots of machine guns.
- - -
The room on the fourth floor of the Gestapo building is bright and full of sunshine. There are oleanders on the window sills. A man - about forty years old with a beautiful aristocratic face - is sitting at his desk.
He inhales cigarette smoke and looks at me, his eyes squinting in an interrogative glare. He asks me several questions while removing rings from his fingers and money from my bag.
“I am asking you for the last time, why did you come to Krakow? What do you really do?”
“I came here to do a little shopping,” I respond.
A hard fist comes across my face, interrupting my answer.
“I am asking you to tell the truth. We know everything anyway.”
“I am not lying.”
This time a hard belt strikes my chest and back.
“It is enough for today. We’ll talk some other time.”
I am silent. Two young gestapo men take me to a car where a handcuffed man is already inside. I sit next to him on soft cushions. The rearview mirror allows the gestapo driver to keep an eye on us; he searches our pale faces.
The streets are crowded. People stop and let the black limousine pass. My eyes are half closed.
Oh, God. Why are you so cruel? The cross you gave me is too heavy to carry, too heavy to bare. Oh, you sad road of our destiny.
The car stops in front of a large building. The words on the outside read: Montelupich Prison. The gates squeak open and again squeak closed. I’m led through narrow corridors to an office where a thick white book is opened and my name (an alias from my documents) is written down.
I hear the sound of keys clinking together as we walk through more corridors, one more set of steps, and finally the door to the prison cell, which is then shut behind me.
Sunshine disappears, and with it the green color of trees, the songs of birds, and the sound of human voices. Life has stopped.
Coldness and silence envelope me. I’m full of pain, despair, and emptiness.
I take a look at the cold surroundings. There’s a prison mattress in one corner; in the other a wash basin, and in the third a bucket full of human waste with a putrid smell. Names, dates, and a poem have been written on the wall in shaky handwriting. There’s a small window with bars through which I can see the shoes of a walking guard.
When I approach the window and press my whole body against the bars, I’m able to see a tiny piece of blue sky. I sit down on the mattress and tears start pouring down my cheeks. Homesickness for my mom and my beloved husband takes over.
Oh my dears. Probably now you are thinking why I haven’t returned with the next train. But I won’t return today or tomorrow, nor the day after tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll never return. No! I will return!! I have to return to you, the love of my life, and to you, my dearest mom.
The cell is cloaked in darkness. Voices carry through the window from the prison yard; footsteps of the guard interrupt the quiet evening. After three days, I’m transferred to a communal prison cell.