Mila 18 - Leon Uris [149]
“I am here to speak to Your Grace in behalf of the Jewish Orphans and Self-Help Society in the ghetto.”
The momentum of the conversation stopped. Kiondonski’s blue eyes lost their sweet sparkle. He covered his temporary puzzlement by tapping his fingertips together in mock meditation.
“There is imminent peril that thousands of children will die of starvation in the next few months unless immediate help is forthcoming.”
Bonifacy spoke quickly. “Your Grace has studied the report on the situation.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, taking the cue. “Yes, we have been concerned, naturally.”
“While His Grace expressed concern,” Bonifacy continued to refresh his superior’s memory, “and we concluded in our report that there are hardships in the ghetto, it is a reflection of the times in Poland.”
“Yes, my dear,” said Klondonski, “we are all undergoing hardships.”
“It is difficult to comprehend,” Gabriela answered swiftly, “that Your Grace could study an impartial report and fail to discern the difference between mass starvation and rampant disease in the ghetto and mere privation out here. People are dying off in there at a rate of over five thousand a month.”
Bonifacy spoke in a slow measured whisper now. “Our reports are based on examinations of the ghettos in Poland by a responsible international body, a commission of the Swiss Red Cross. They will be in Warsaw again next week. To date their reports do not bear out your contentions. We feel that the Jews are inclined to a natural tendency to exaggerate.”
Gabriela looked to Father Kornelli for support. Willful cowardice? Closed minds? Fear? A crass expression of anti-Semitism?
“Your Grace ... Monsignor ...” Father Kornelli said unevenly. “You must necessarily realize that any Swiss report is based on expediency and fear. While I do not have the details of their investigations I am quite certain they are seeing only what the Germans wish seen, listening only to those with whom the Germans will let them speak. Switzerland is vulnerable to German invasion and defenseless. They have everything to lose by getting the Germans angry. If you wish the truth, I suggest you call in Father Jakub, who heads our Convent’s congregation inside the ghetto.”
“You do want the truth, Your Grace?” Gabriela asked bluntly.
The round Polish face of Archbishop Klondonski reddened. He did not want the truth. He simmered down and weighed his words with astute care, for his adversaries were sharp and persistent. “We do have a natural humanitarian concern. Yet the Catholic Church is not a political body, a welfare agency, or an underground. Whether or not we like the present occupants of power is a moot point. The fact is, they do constitute the government of Poland. We have a clearly outlined duty to perform. We cannot enter the Church into any schemes in wholesale defiance of authority.”
“It seems to me, Your Grace, that our Church was born in defiance of the authority of Rome,” Gabriela said. “If you would only see the cardinal in Krakow. If we could organize a thousand convents to take five children each ... If ...”
The archbishop held up his hand. “I have closed my eyes and turned my back and shut my ears to those priests and nuns who have engaged in these activities. But my office is for the spiritual welfare—”
“Your Grace, this is basic Christianity we are pleading for.”
“—the spiritual welfare of the Polish people,” he finished, ignoring the interruption.
“Those are Polish people behind the wall.”
“Not really, Miss Rak. The fact of the matter is, we could do more for them if they agreed to conversion. Now, if they allowed us to give their children instructions in Catholicism—”
Gabriela came to her feet. “Your Grace! I am shocked! You cannot demand what God has decided.”
“I will overlook your rudeness and forgive because of the tensions of the times. I suggest penance.”
What was left of Gabriela’s restraint exploded. “I will not forgive yours. And I suggest penance for you, sir! For every child who dies within your power of saving.”
The archbishop was on his feet, as was Monsignor