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“Quiet or I’ll leave you behind,” Jan threatened in a whisper as the two Germans raised their voices, arguing loudly.
More shots rang out from the back of the church, the space behind the cathedral where the priests lived and worked.Jan’s heart was in his throat as he lowered himself to the floor and crept towards the basilica’s tall, arched entrance.
Meisinger slapped the soldier across the face with a shout, the sound reverberating in the basilica.He shoved the paper at the soldier and jogged towards the back of the church, one hand on the holster at his hip.The soldier folded the paper and pushed it into his coat pocket, pressing one hand to his cheek for a moment as he glared at theOberführer’s retreating back, then spun away from the children and headed outside.
This was their chance.
Moving quickly now, Jan crawled closer to the door with the two children not far behind him.He looked at them, gave a nod, then leapt to his feet and sprinted for the door.The children following, he ducked through the doorway even as Meisinger yelled for them to stop.Footsteps thundered as if a hundred elephants were after them, but Jan didn’t look back.He leapt down the stairs and ran into the street, nimbly taking cover behind a rickshaw filled to bursting with three men all dressed in black and sporting fashionable fedora hats.
The men barely fit in the tiny vehicle, and the rickshaw driver huffed and puffed along behind them on his bicycle.The man in the centre overflowed onto his fellow passengers, his arms resting down the middle of their chests.Neither seemed bothered by it.All three men ignored Jan and each other.
The two children who’d followed Jan in his escape from the cathedral melted into the passing crowd.SeveralWermachtsoldiers joined Meisinger in searching first one way down the street, then the other.Jan remained behind the rickshaw, keeping up with it at a slow jog, and checking sporadically around the tightly packed men to watch the soldiers in their hunt for him.
Finally, with a nod and a wink at the rickshaw driver, he skipped behind a passing truck and onto the footpath that edged the road.Behind him, guns fired, followed by screams that echoed and caused a panic of people running for cover behind wagons, into shops and around corners.The acrid scent of burning wood drifted in the air, filling his lungs as he sprinted away.
By the time he’d reached theHala Mirowskimarket, he was puffing hard.He jogged through the marketplace, waving and tipping his hat at the vendors he passed.He couldn’t wait to see Mama and tell her what’d happened.The Catholic community in Warsaw had been certain the Germans would leave them alone.They were after the Jews, not the Christians, some had said in hushed voices when concerns were raised about the invaders’ intentions for the close-knit community of Old Town, where Jews and Catholics lived side by side in the crowded tenements.
He slowed his pace as he neared Mama’s stall.With his chin high and his chest poked out, he walked through the markets as if he owned them.He loved it there, with all the noise and bustle of commerce.Mama had trained under their neighbour, Antoni Wierzbicki, to become a trader.She didn’t know how she would provide for her three children after her husband walked out.
In the years since, Jan had come to know the marketplace like it was his own backyard.Every street and alley, each stall and vendor—he recognised them all, and understood how everything worked together to provide food and supplies for the people of Old Town.
Mama’s stall was a humble one near the back of the market.To get there, he passed a line of tents where the smallest vendors had set up their fruit and vegetable stands to sell items they’d grown in their kitchen gardens, or shawls they’d knitted at home before the fire.
But the grandeur of the market couldn’t be fully appreciated until he stepped inside the looming, two-story building with its curved ceiling and long, narrow aisles.It was a massive marketplace where everything imaginable was bought and sold, haggled and bargained over.Mama was a trader.She shared her tiny pocket of space with Antoni, where they kept the things they intended to trade or the items they’d already traded.They found supplies that buyers needed, they haggled with vendors, and they traded for a profit.
The market was busy with people looking for a bargain.Shoppers stooped over tables, inspecting hand-sewn leather satchels or long coats made from the finest wool.Bags of rice, flour and barley were stacked along the aisles and tucked in corners, while housewives quibbled over the food their families would eat and farmers watched the fruits of their labour walk away slung over stooping shoulders, hidden in cloth bags, or tucked into wagons and trolleys.
Mama was in the middle of a heated discussion with a man.Beside him rested a wooden hand wagon piled high with large bags of flour.Antoni was nearby at a fruit stall, counting coins into the vendor’s hand while the man bobbed his head, smiling around a pair of missing front teeth.
Antoni was no longer able to own a stall or trade since the Germans had banned Jews from conducting business, but he still came to Mama’s stall each day and helped her, for which she paid him under the table.If the Germans ever came to inspect the market, he would scurry through the door behind their stall into the labyrinth of hallways and storage rooms hidden beyond the wall.
Jan waited impatiently for Mama to finish her trade.He hopped from one foot to the other, the cold afternoon air slicing through his woollen pants and setting loose a trail of goose pimples across his knobby knees.Sweat cooled down the middle of his back, and he shivered.
Mama faced him with a quirked eyebrow.“Janek, you’re late.”
“I know, Mama.But there’s something I must tell you.”
She tucked coins into a money pouch and hid it in a secret pocket of her skirt with a deft flick of the wrist that no one else but him could see.“Help me with this flour.It’s a good haul.We’ll be able to move it before sundown, if I’m right.And for a nice tidy profit.”
Jan heaved a bag onto his shoulder and carried it through the stall and out the door to their cramped storage space filled with spices, fruits and vegetables, canned goods and clothing that Mama had traded for that day.
He talked as he worked, Mama overseeing where he put the flour and half listening.It felt to Jan as though she only ever listened to him with one ear.Her brow would furrow in concentration as he spoke, but when he asked a question, she rarely answered him the first time—only after he repeated himself with frustration lacing his voice did she respond to his requests.
“They shot the priests, Mama,” he whispered in a furious voice.
He had her full attention.Her eyebrows drew low, and she leaned in close.“What?What are you saying, Jan?”
“TheEinsatzgruppewas there…with that devil, Meisinger.I lit a candle for Tata.”
Frustration flitted across her pretty face.
Jan grit his teeth, but continued with his story.She didn’t understand why he held on to the past, and usually his prayers for his father would result in an argument between the two of them that could carry on into the evening hours.But not today.There were more important concerns.
“They came into the cathedral while I was there and shot the priests in the head.Didn’t give them a warning.They weren’t provoked.They killed some of the old women praying as well.”
Mama’s eyes widened, and she gasped.Then she crossed herself and said a silent prayer, her lips moving mechanically.“Why?This is wrong.They did nothing to deserve that.”
He nodded, feeling a growing tightness in his throat for the first time since it’d happened.“I got out of there.”
She squeezed his arm, then kissed his forehead.“It’s not safe on the streets tonight.Go home to your sisters and take care of them for me,mój syn.”
He didn’t want to leave her there alone.“But what about you, Mama?”
“I’ll be fine.Antoni is here with me.I’ve got to finish trading.”She raised an arm and waved it about at the stock of goods surrounding them.“But as soon as I’m done, I will return home.”
Jan hesitated a moment, then with a brief nod of his head, he ran out of the stall and headed for home.
