Mila 18 - Leon Uris [117]
“What is it?”
“Life is easy out there. I think I ought to be doing more.”
“Don’t be so noble.”
“I’m not noble. It would be easier if you left Warsaw, but you stay.”
“Look, Wolf. Be happy your father is in a position to put you on the farm.”
“That’s just my point. I’m getting preferential treatment because I’m Alexander Brandel’s son. That’s not right. I talked to Momma and Poppa last night after I took Rachael home. I told them I wasn’t going back.”
“How did they take it?”
“Momma cried. Poppa argued. You know how he can argue. Between him and Tolek Alterman I’ve heard enough Zionist logic to last for six lifetimes. Anyhow, I may not look it, but I can be stubborn. When Poppa knew I wasn’t going back he began to blame himself for not being a good father and not spending more time with me. He always does that So, the baby started screaming and all four of us were going at once. Then later we sat in his office, just the two of us. We don’t do that too often. He’s convinced that I’m right by wanting to stay. He told me to come to see you. You would have work for me.”
“Did he say what kind of work?”
“No. But I know that you must be mixed up in important things. I want to be a runner.”
“What makes you think you can be a runner?”
“Well, I don’t look too Jewish.”
“We use women as runners, Wolf.”
“I can do the job as well as a woman.”
“You said you don’t look Jewish. I say you do. Know what would happen if you got picked up? They’d march you to Gestapo House on Shucha Street and unbutton your pants. Your father put you in a covenant with God when he had you circumcised so that God would recognize you as a Jew. Only trouble is that the Germans use that for recognition too.”
The thought did not appeal to Wolf.
Andrei looked the boy over. Eighteen. Tall, strong. Smart—smart as a whip. The shyness was a decoy. Wolf Brandel had mastered his studies as a brilliant scholar. Ideals. Wonderful. So many people without them, these days. Taking the hard road to satisfy an inner desire to do right. A good soldier in any army.
“Come on, let’s take a walk, son.”
They walked down Leszno Street past the Convert’s Church and the huge new complex of houses forming a factory to make and repair German army uniforms. “A Franz Koenig Enterprise,” the big sign said. Koenig also had part ownership of the woodwork factory in the little ghetto and of the huge Brushmaker’s complex at the extreme northern end. Dr. Koenig had become a millionaire.
They waited on the corner until a red and yellow streetcar came along and hopped on the back of it. Its sides and tops showed large Stars of David. The Ghetto lines were operated by the Big Seven.
At Smocza and Gensia, Andrei got off. Wolf walked alongside him until they reached the wall that ran down the middle of Okopowa Street. He was filled with the adventure of it all. They walked up the street to the middle of the block. Over the wall was the Jewish cemetery. This was a neighborhood for a lot of smuggling. People could hide in the cemetery with black-market goods. In this area the wall was heavily guarded. Andrei stopped at the old abandoned Workman’s Theater. Before the war it had been one of the showplaces of the vital Yiddish stage. Now the lobby had been converted into yet another soup kitchen. The rest, empty.
Down the alleyway to the stage door. Andrei looked about quickly, thrust the door open, and shoved Wolf inside. They were on the stage. It took a moment to adjust their eyes to the darkness and their noses to the musty smell. Andrei whispered to be careful of cables and obstacles. The house was ghostlike. The hard-back seats in a state of disrepair. A faded backdrop of a Polish gentry’s garden hung behind them.
Andrei listened. He could make out very dim sounds from the soup kitchen. He tiptoed to the light cage and threw a switch. Wolf was entranced. Nothing lit up. Some sort of signal, he was certain.
Above them a trap door opened. Andrei scooted up it quickly, the boy behind him. They were in a large loft. The trap closed after them.
“Ladies and gentlemen,