Irena's War Read online

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  The sun stabbed her eyes. She blinked, and her body jerked. Her mind spun, and she rolled onto her stomach, vomiting. She tasted bile and blood. The pavement beneath her gradually materialized. She pulled herself to her knees. She saw men, women, and children, covered in thick brown dust, lying in jumbled positions nearby. Some were starting to stir. A woman lay on her back, staring at the sky, covered in blood. Irena scanned the group, searching for Ewa. She was sitting nearby on the curb, head between her knees, rocking back and forth. Irena turned and found the building where they had sought shelter. The structure had collapsed in on itself. Fire raged, and a black cloud billowed out of the rubble. It was a miracle they had escaped in time.

  Irena checked her arms and legs. She had some minor burns and cuts, but she was not seriously injured. She crawled over to Ewa and placed her hands on her friend, checking her for injuries as well. They sat there together for a long time, amidst the burning buildings, the screams, the dead and the dying—too stunned to speak or to move.

  “Irena.” Ewa’s voice, thick with emotion, reached her through the ringing in her ears.

  “Yes?”

  “We should go home. Your mother might need you. My family . . .”

  “Of course, you’re right,” she responded. She pulled herself up. Her entire body ached. Her skin felt like the top few layers had been scraped off. She reached her hand down and drew Ewa up.

  “Run along now,” Irena said. “Make sure everyone is safe.”

  “I’ll come for you tomorrow,” Ewa said.

  “Come when you’re ready.”

  Ewa turned and limped away as quickly as she could, a gray ghost amidst the dust and the flames. Irena watched her until she turned the corner several blocks away. She dusted herself off as best she could, turned to the right, and continued toward her office. She passed more scenes of violence and death. Whole blocks had crumbled under the German attack.

  She noticed a mother with two children in her arms, sitting on the sidewalk, her eyes glazed, tears running in rivers down her cheeks. She had a hand on the head of each of them. They looked like twins, boys, no more than three. Neither was moving. Their little bodies were covered in blood. They were gone. She tried to speak to the woman, but she didn’t hear, couldn’t see.

  Irena scurried on through the shattered streets of Warsaw. The smell of acrid smoke filled her nostrils. Her mouth was parched, tongue dry and heavy. The bombers were gone. She scanned the sky as she navigated the broken pavement but saw nothing. She knew the Germans might return in an instant. Out here exposed in the open, even a near miss would surely kill her. Her panic rose. She wanted to run home, but she steeled herself and marched on. In another kilometer she reached her office in the social welfare building on Złota Street, not far from the banks of the Vistula River.

  The three-story structure appeared intact. The whole block was unscathed. The bombers apparently hadn’t reached this far. She scrambled up the stairs and into the interior. As Ewa had told her, there was no power. The corridors were dark and difficult to maneuver. The building was deserted.

  Inside, Irena felt a measure of safety. She searched an office and found what she was looking for: a half-empty pitcher of water. Ignoring the layer of dust floating at the top, not even bothering to skim it aside, she tipped the vessel back and gulped greedily from the contents. The water was almost as hot as the air outside, but she had never tasted better.

  Refreshed, Irena stumbled back out into the dim hallway and felt her way to the stairs. If the interior of the building was dark, the stairway was blackest night. She groped around until she found the rail and pulled herself up, step by step, to the second floor. Making her way along the upstairs corridor she came to her office. The space was little more than a closet. Two desks shoved face-to-face in the space, with just enough room to pull out a chair and sit down. The walls were bare, but the desks were covered with papers. Irena stared at the familiar scene and only now her emotions overwhelmed her. She stood for long minutes, tears running down her face.

  “Irena.”

  She was startled out of her grief by the voice of her supervisor, Jan Dobraczyski. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  She was embarrassed. She thought she was alone. There was no way to hide her tears. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve and looked up to see Jan standing over her, like a professor proctoring an exam. Spectacles crowded close-cropped iron-gray hair. Wrinkles etched like riverbanks outward from piercing eyes. Everything about him reminded her of university.

  “What are you doing here?” he repeated, a hint of irritation and command in his voice.

  “I came to the office.”

  “That’s obvious. However, there is no work here right now.”

  “There’s always something to do,” she said. Taking a step toward her desk, she fumbled with the mound of documents.

  “Look around, Irena,” he said, motioning down the hallway. “There isn’t a soul here. There is no power. The phones aren’t working. People are dying outside by the hundreds. Go home to your family.”

  He scrutinized her more closely, his eyes widening. “My God!” he said. “Look at you. You’re cut all over.” He took a step forward.

  “I’m fine,” she said dismissively. “It’s nothing.” She turned toward her desk again. “I want to get the soup kitchens reopened. It’s been weeks. People are starving.”

  She felt a hand on her forearm, holding her back. “Are you listening to me? There is no one here and nothing we can do.”

  She pulled away from him. “I’ll get started right away.”

  “Irena. There is no one to man the kitchens. There’s no way to communicate with them. Even if there was, where would you get the food?” His voice softened. “Look, I’m proud of you that you came in. That must’ve been terrifying for you. You’re a brave woman, Irena, but your place is at home right now with your family. That’s where all of us should be.”

  She turned back to him, regarding him with an arched eyebrow. “You’re here.”

  “Not for long. I just came to grab a little paperwork and make sure the office was closed. I didn’t expect to find anyone here.”

  “I’ve already talked to Ewa. I will find her. If the phones are down, we can go door to door. I only need four or five people and from there we can reach out directly to our volunteers that run the kitchens.”

  He looked at her, exasperated. “There’s no point,” he said. “There’s no food.”

  “I have a contact with families in the countryside. I have a friend who has some wagons. He doesn’t live far away from me. Once I get everything together, I’ll reach out to him and get him started right away.” She turned to him. “But I’ll need some money.”

  He shook his head again. “Irena, it’s not going to work.”

  “It will if you help me. All I’m asking for are a few zlotys. That’s it. You don’t have to do anything else. I just need the resources and I will take care of everything. All the risks, all the duties.”

  He hesitated, scratching his chin. “I don’t know, Irena. If people are killed trying to assist us right now . . .”

  “Then it’s on me. Besides, people are dying in their homes. What difference does it make if they are bombed in a soup kitchen instead? At least it’s a good cause.”

  He was quiet for a moment and Irena watched him closely. She could see the objections ticking through his mind. His lips opened several times, but he did not speak. Finally, he nodded his head slightly. “Fine,” he said. “But it’s on your head. I’ll return with the zlotys. I can’t spare many.”

  “Whatever you have will serve.”

  He left her, and Irena went to work. Over the next several days she labored furiously. With Ewa’s help they established a network of workers willing to assist them in getting the soup kitchens back in operation. Irena reached her contact on the edge of Warsaw and paid him all the zlotys she could spare, adding most of her savings to th
e pot. He contacted his friends in the countryside and purchased food. She now had provisions along with wagons to bring the precious stores back to Warsaw. She’d lined up the personnel to man the stations throughout the city. After three days everything was ready to go.

  The situation in Warsaw deteriorated. The booming sound of artillery echoed ever closer. The radio blared promises of victory but the battle sites discussed by the broadcasters crept nearer to Warsaw with each passing day. The government promised the Germans would never set foot in Warsaw. They told of counterattacks and the spirited fighting of the French and British on Germany’s Western Front.

  Irena saw the hollow lies of these words. Large formations of men streamed into the city: wounded, without weapons, exhausted and starving. The bombers came each day now, unopposed by the Polish air force. There was violence in the streets. Looting increased as the residents of the city struggled to survive. There were few police. Civil order was breaking down.

  Irena’s mother begged her to stop. Several of the social workers helping voiced the same concerns, but she persisted, braving the streets of Warsaw each day, making contact with different locations, assuring the staff that supplies would be present at each point when the food arrived. Everything was set for tomorrow, September 27. She would meet the wagons coming in from the west. Ewa would direct the food distribution to the numerous kitchens while Irena ensured all the purchased goods were accounted for before the provisions were split into smaller parcels. She had hired men to stand with her, protecting the food from looters while she counted the supplies. The men would then ride, one with each wagon, to make sure the rations made it safely to the sites.

  Irena slept fitfully that night. She dreamt that Mietek appeared at her door, a bloody corpse with a blank stare, a mouth open to scream but emitting no sound. She looked past him, searching. Were they all dead? The scene shifted. Gray steel monsters chased her through the smoldering streets of Warsaw. No matter where she hid, they eventually found her. She woke at dawn, exhausted and afraid. She dressed quickly in the semidarkness, trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake her mother, to add to her burdens on this critical day.

  She left her flat minutes later, rushing down the stairs and out into the street. The city was dark, deserted, a black blanket beneath a sky growing brighter as the minutes passed. She made her way down the street, heading west toward the outskirts of Warsaw. She had to hurry. Her friend would be waiting with his wagons, twelve loads brimming with sustenance for the starving children of the capital. If she was late, he might be overwhelmed, the structures picked clean by starving looters.

  She reached the outskirts of Warsaw twenty minutes later. She saw the wagons ahead of her parked in the street. Her driver had placed them on the side of the road facing toward the interior of the city. A group of men stood protectively around them. A small crowd perched across the street, greedily eyeing the food. She smiled to herself, glad she had hired these bodyguards protecting her precious cargo. She searched for her friend. He should be there as well. She spotted him standing near some soldiers. He was gesturing, arms pointing toward the city. One of the soldiers, an officer, shook his head.

  Irena hurried. Something was wrong. The army must have stopped him. She felt fear rising. What if they confiscated her goods? She was a patriotic Pole, toward her nation rather than its government, but she had worked too hard to secure these supplies, only to have them taken away. She crossed the last few meters, approaching the soldiers.

  “I’m in charge here,” she said. “What seems to be the problem?” Her friend looked up in surprise, his eyes full of fear. What was he worried about? She could handle a few arrogant men.

  “What have we here, Fräulein?” the officer asked.

  Too late, Irena realized her terrible mistake. In the early dawn light, she had failed to recognize the color of the uniforms. These men were not Poles, they were Germans. The enemy was here. Her supplies were lost, along with Warsaw. The Polish war was over.

  Chapter 2

  Endings and Beginnings

  September 27, 1939

  Warsaw, Poland

  Irena rushed up to the cluster of German soldiers. She searched for the words in German, reaching back to her university training.

  “Excuse me, Hauptmann,” she said, recognizing the officer as a captain.

  The soldier stopped mid-sentence, looking her way. He sized her up with his eyes and then turned back to his men, beginning to issue orders.

  “Herr Hauptmann, I need to speak with you.”

  The captain turned to her, eyes flaring with impatience. “What is it?”

  “These wagons are the property of the Polish government. I am a social worker assigned to bring this food into the city.”

  “I’m sorry . . . what is your name?”

  She hesitated, then answered. “Irena Sendler.”

  “I’m sorry, Frau Sendler, but I cannot let you take this food. My soldiers are hungry.”

  “They may be hungry, but my people are starving!” she responded, iron in her voice.

  “That may be, but the food is here, we are here. I am taking the wagons.”

  “You must not,” insisted Irena, taking a step forward.

  “Just shoot her already,” said one of the other soldiers, laughing and raising a rifle. He pointed the barrel at Irena.

  The captain shoved the weapon aside, sharply rebuking the soldier. He turned back to Irena. “I’m sorry, Frau Sendler, but as I said, I cannot release the supplies to you. As you can also see, it’s dangerous for you to be here. Not everyone will be as understanding as me. Go home and wait a day or two. Order will be restored, and it will be safe to go out.”

  “My people don’t have a day or two.”

  “Your people will get nothing from you if you’re dead,” he responded icily. “Now shoo.” He lifted his hand and dismissed her as if she were an insect.

  Irena turned, fighting back tears of frustration. The Germans were already unloading the supplies, helping themselves to the bread, fruits, and vegetables while the bodyguards looked helplessly on, arms in the air. She wanted to go to them, to demand their freedom, but she was afraid. That soldier back there moments ago wanted to kill her. If it weren’t for the captain, she might be dead right this moment. She turned and rushed away, heading back into the city. The streets were already lining up with Poles, faces drawn with stunned expressions. The news was out. The Germans were here. Their beloved city had fallen.

  She weaved through the crowd, heading toward her flat. She needed time to recover, to think. She was angry, the rage filled her. She had worked tirelessly for days to bring this food to the people who needed it. She’d orchestrated everything and at the moment of success the Germans had ruined everything. How dare they? Surely there was someone higher up that would decry what they had done. The Germans weren’t monsters, were they? Oh, there were the stories put out by her government. Whispers of Nazi atrocities. But wasn’t that just propaganda? After all, the Polish leadership had no problem spreading lies about the Jews and the socialists. She’d witnessed this firsthand.

  No, the Germans were a civilized people. She would wait a few days like the captain suggested. Then she’d go and complain. She would work her way up the ladder until someone listened, then she would arrange for replacement supplies. Perhaps the situation wasn’t as bad as it seemed. After all, she had all the names of the workers and the locations. All she needed was food and she could be swiftly back in operation. Working through all this she felt immediately better. She decided she didn’t need to go home after all. The Germans couldn’t make her do anything. Instead she stopped on the sidewalk and joined the growing crowd of onlookers, watching for the enemy to arrive.

  She didn’t have to wait long. In an hour they were there, long lines of marching soldiers, steel-gray boots clomping in perfect unison on the pavement as they stomped by in machine precision. Their uniforms were new, as if they’d hardly done any fighting at all. The fac
es were stern, grim, arrogant. The men stared forward, uninterested in these people they’d just conquered.

  She stayed there for hours, watching the endless stream of soldiers marching into the city. There were tens of thousands of them, all young, strong, full of an endless energy. All she had seen of soldiers in the past month were the Polish wounded who limped through the streets, dirty, exhausted, and dejected. What a stark contrast these superhuman Germans made. These new masters.

  She was pleased to see they were behaving themselves perfectly. A few soldiers were assigned to each street corner. They maintained a close watch on the crowd but there was no bullying, no lording over the people with their sudden victory. These men were like the captain, simply doing their job. Perhaps that other soldier, the one who had wanted to shoot her, was an exception. She realized he might even have been joking. She knew little of soldiers’ ways.

  Eventually she grew bored. One can only watch so many boots. She decided to walk to her flat. Her mother was probably hungry and would be angry at Irena for not returning to take care of her. She sighed. She’d rather go elsewhere, find her friends and coworkers, talk to them about what had transpired, learn what they’d observed. There would be time for that. She needn’t stay long at home. She just wanted to get a little food and change her clothes. She would fix her mother a quick meal, give her medicine, and head back out into the city. She decided to go to Ewa’s as soon as she was finished. Her friend was likely home and they could go to the office together.

  As she traveled farther into the city, the crowds thinned out. She was off the main streets now and could move faster. She reached her apartment, pushing through the downstairs door and hurrying along the corridor past faded wallpaper and a single flickering light. She clambered up the narrow staircase, feeling her way along until she spotted the dim glow of the upstairs hallway. She reached her door, fumbling with a ring of keys until she found the correct one. She jiggled the lock and pushed through, hurrying to the cupboard in search of a little bread. She’d skipped her morning meal, assuming she could eat from the wagons, and she was famished.