“Mr. Sztajner, I tell you, what a farce!”
“Unbelievable! Right! They made me some kind of commandant, good sir. I keep running around like a headless chicken all day long, good sir. And I don’t even know what’s what!”
“Yeah, yeah. ‘Comediant’ in the old age. Whatever else?”
You hear conversations like this one all over the city.
“Dear friend, let me tell you, it slightly stinks of war.”
“Yup. The end of the world’s coming … Heard something about bombs coming down. But people say it won’t be a war, my friend, just that they’ll keep having a go at each other, the ones from the bottom and the ones from the top.”
“No war, you say?! But I think there’ll be war. You, my friend, you don’t know it, but they always put posters out before the war. They come and go and then, suddenly, my friend, war breaks out.”
C: “Sirens?! An alarm! Turn the lights off! Draw the curtains in the windows! Kazio, grab a pan and whack it, quick,” the commandant yells.
N: “What are you talking about, my dear neighbor? It clearly says that in case of an alarm one needs to bang on a rail,” the neighbor says.
Neighbor 2: “What the hell? Are you crazy? In case of an alarm, one needs to do nothing, just stand quietly in the gateway.”
C: “I think I am the commandant here and I know what to do! Here you are, everywhere there are gongs going, Kazio! A pan and a rail, whack them both.”
N: “Sir, and what about an armband?”
C: “Excuse me?! Don’t tell me what to do. If you keep opposing me, I’ll immediately hand my resignation to the building overman. And you’ll of course need to pay a fine.”
Female neighbor: “Will you be quiet? I’ve only just put children to bed and you’re making so much noise. What’s going on? We need order. Let decent people live their lives. You are the commandant and instead of ensuring there is peace and quiet, you make noise in the neighborhood, keep children awake, get decent people out of beds?”
C: “My dear lady, there was an alarm…”
Female neighbor 3: “What alarm, what alarm?! Mrs. Pietroszkowa, have you heard it? I’ve only just managed to put children to bed. Henio is ill, doctor said he needs rest. And now all this commotion in the building in the middle of the night. Unheard of! Have you ever heard of anything quite like this?”
Mrs. Pietroszkowa: “Yes, my dear, that’s a real rumpus.”
Neighbor 2: “Didn’t I say that what we need is stand here quietly and wait until…”
Zosia: “My Mom has a migraine. She said to be quiet right away or she’ll call the police.”
C: “I’m the commandant here, the responsibility lies with me, so I do what I think is right and I don’t care about any ailments. Kazio, another blow on the barrel!”
Constable: “What’s going on here? Go back to your flats. The alarm’s long over. All this shouting! The racket! I’ll make a note. All residents of 13 Nieszczęśliwska Street will pay a fine for making noise.”
P: “Some commandant!”
MAY 4, 1939
I haven’t told you anything for a while. Why? Do I know why? I study French now and I go to Jerschina.* I’ve written a paper on Roman painting and now plan or rather I’ve already started writing a German text. Yesterday, on May 3rd, I took part in a march, which is why I’m unwell today. I got soaked in the rain. Much has changed since my last conversation with you. Mama and Arianka went to Łódź. I’m on bad terms with Brühla. She didn’t examine me at Greek and she told the Head that I just wander around with Nora all the time. That’s what Irka told me, but Irka likes to spread gossip. There was a school dance, but I didn’t take part. By contrast Luna was showing off as hard as she could. For some reason this idiot has imagined she’s my rival! My rival! I couldn’t care less about her recitation. No, I don’t care at all, I just happen to know a little bit about it. I can’t say I bragged about myself either. But my feeling is she’ll one day become a cabaret artiste (you can tell by looking at her hair and movements), while I have different plans (I think), so our paths won’t cross, so it’s stupid to say that Luna could be my rival. Today I declare war—an internal war. I told her about it yesterday and I’ll stick to it. What happened was she didn’t want to let me into the row, where my place is. Finally the commandant arrived and told me to switch places with her, i.e., with Luna. So she says to me, “I knew you were right, but I wanted to spite you!” She wanted to spite me! Ha ha ha, that is simply funny. She, who fully depends on me at Latin and in general. So I told her, “You wanted to spite me, so now remember that I’ll try to spite you too.” I’ll do just that, until the end, because that’s what I want.
MAY 7, 1939
May. A very strange May it is. So sad … Brrr … It’s raining. And to think it’s May already, May, and I still haven’t seen a tree in bloom, haven’t smelled fields waking up, my fields … It rains. It’s good that it’s raining. Recently I like rain, because at least I know that it was like that there too, when it rained. Yesterday I went to a party and then talked to Nora about this and that, about different goals that people have in life, about the benefits of studying. I like talking so much when I know that somebody understands me …
The moon swims out in silence
To shine in the sky, to shimmer for dreamers
While below a street rumbles shrilly
Crunching with labor, hot and weary
Loud rat-tat-tat-tat of human steps
Echoes from cobbled streets
Gray carts and their wheels
Groan and never miss a beat
Taxis whoosh ahead
And red tramways smoothly slide
On their tracks of steel
Stopping only sometimes
To take in yet again
Another mass of people
Then leave without complaint
Propelled by fiery heat
Above in the azure sky
But nobody sees its flight
Below a street hums, “Whoo”
Chains of bright lights
Illuminate the night
So strangely draped
In shop windows and posters staked
Huge electric streetlights
Stand below the silver
Of the trembling moon
No one looks up with delight
The street below is way too bright
Renia
When I look behind my small window box
I see the same rooftops, same stationer’s shops
I see the same gutters, nestled snugly into walls
And only people in the street change at all
Even the road, shimmering and slippery after rain
Even the people, neighbors from across are all the same
The spectacled lawyer and his daughter
The pharmacist above, the janitor in his quarters
Two servants and the gray-haired lady on the third floor
And here a girl, a doll, a clown, a monkey, toys galore
They always open their shutters the same way
And look down at the street, every day
The houses look out too, as do windowpanes, dozing cozily
And only the people in the street change, supposedly
JUNE 18, 19395
It’s my birthday today. I don’t want to think about anything sad, about the fact that I’m not there … Hush! So instead I’m thinking about all the useful things I’ve done so far in my life.
A voice, “None.”
Me, “I get good grades at school.”
Voice, “You haven’t earned it. What else?”
Me, “Nothing. I really want to go to France.”
Voice, “You want to be famous?”
Me, “I’d like to be famous, but I won’t be. So I want to be happy, very happy.”
Tomorrow’s the end of the school year, but I don’t care. About anything … Anything … Anything.
I like Jerschina very much again, but Brühla less so. I didn’t tell Nora about it, don’t want to worry her. Tomorrow I’ll tell you about our trip.
If a man had wings
If souls could be in all things
The world would lose its temper
The sun would shower us with embers
The people would dance beyond the beyond
Shouting, more! We want to abscond!
What we need is wind and speed
The world is dark, stifling, squeezed
Let it go to sweeping heights
Let it become great and bright
Let it cross into a boundless domain
Let it lose itself in its own vast reign
Supported by hundreds of limbs
Millions of hands, mighty wings
Let the time string go flash through
Until the darkness of the night descends anew
This powerful realm of the underworld
Until its flight slowing down occurred
Until, tired, exhausted and all
It will have to fall
AUGUST 15, 19395
I haven’t spoken to you for a while. The end of the school year is long gone, my summer vacation is almost over, and I haven’t spoken to you. I went to see my aunt in the countryside, I went to Warsaw, saw Mama and now I’m back. But you don’t know about any of that. You were lying here, left on your own with my thoughts and you don’t even know that we have a secret mobilization, you don’t know that the Russians have signed a treaty with the Germans. You don’t know that people are stockpiling food, that everybody’s on the alert, waiting for … war. When I was saying goodbye to Mama, I hugged her hard. I wanted to tell her everything with this silent hug. I wanted to take her soul and leave her my own, because—when?
Mother’s embrace
One and only, the last
Will stay with me through all the days
Through all tears, all ill fortunes
Through all tough moments
We will both get through, you and I
And then a ray will glimmer
I can’t think logically today. Supposedly they call it “spleen.” Something flies at a rapid pace and disappears into the mist. Zigzags, circles, stripes, fog … pink fog, greenish. No. I’m not curious of anything. One thought spins around my head, only one, the same one all the time. Mom … war … brown shoes … war … Mom.
SEPTEMBER 6, 1939
War broke out on Thursday! First on 30th or 31st of August Poland went to war with Germany. Then England and France also declared war on Hitler and surrounded him on three sides. But he isn’t sitting idly. Enemy planes keep flying over Przemyśl, and every now and then there’s an air raid siren. But, thank God, no bombs have fallen on our city so far. Other cities like Kraków, Lwów, Częstochowa and Warsaw have been partially destroyed.
But we are all fighting, we are all fighting, from young girls to soldiers. I’ve been taking part in female military training—digging air raid trenches, sewing gas masks. I’ve been serving as a runner. I have shifts serving tea to the soldiers. I walk around and collect food for the soldiers. In a word, I’m fighting alongside the rest of the Polish nation. I’m fighting and I’ll win!
SEPTEMBER 10, 1939
Oh, God! My God! We’ve been on the road for three days now. Przemyśl was attacked. We had to flee. The three of us escaped: me, Arianka and Grandpa. We have left the burning, partially destroyed city in the middle of the night on foot, carrying our bags. Granny stayed behind. Lord, please protect her. We heard on the road that Przemyśl was being destroyed.
We left the city
Like fugitives
On our own, in the dark, dull night
The city bade us farewell
With the sound of buildings crashing down
Darkness was above my head
Mercy of good people
Mother’s embrace in the far distance
Let them be our guidance
Let them give us comfort and assistance
We will walk through
All our trials
Until the day breaks, until it glints
We are lonely fugitives
Fugitives deserted by all since
SEPTEMBER 18, 1939
We’ve been in Lwów for almost a week and we can’t get through to Zaleszczyki. The city is surrounded. Food is in short supply. Sometimes I get up at dawn and stand in a long line to get bread. Apart from that, we’ve been spending all day in a bunker, a cellar, listening to the terrible whistling of bullets and explosions of bombs. God, please save us. Some bombs have destroyed several tenement houses, and three days later they dug people out from the rubble, alive. Some people are sleeping in the bunkers; those brave enough to sleep at home have to wake up several times each night and run downstairs to their cellars. This life is terrible. We’re yellow, pale, from this cellar life—from the lack of water, comfortable beds and sleep.
But horrible thoughts are much worse, black as night, vulture-like. Granny stayed in Przemyśl, Daddy’s in Zaleszczyki and Mom, my Mama, is in Warsaw. Warsaw is surrounded, defending itself bravely, resisting attack again and again. We Poles are fighting like knights in an open field where the enemy and God can see us. Not like the Germans, who bombard civilians’ homes, who turn churches to ashes, who poison little children with toxic candy (contaminated with cholera and typhus) and balloons filled with mustard gas. We defend ourselves and we’re winning, just like Warsaw, like the cities of Lwów and Przemyśl.
My Mama’s in Warsaw. I love her the most in the world, my dearest soul, my most precious. I know if she sees children clinging to their mothers in bunkers, she must be feeling the same way we feel when we see it. Oh my God! The greatest, the one and only. God, please save my Mama, give her faith that we are alive. Merciful God, please make the war stop, make all people good and happy. Amen.
SEPTEMBER 22, 1939
My dear Diary! I had a strange day today. Lwów surrendered. Not to Germany, but to Russia. Polish soldiers were disarmed in the streets. Some, with tears in their eyes, just dropped their bayonets to the ground and watched the Russians break their rifles. Civilians took horses, saddles, blankets. I feel such grief, such great grief … Only a small handful are still fighting. Despite the order, defenders of Lwów are still continuing their heroic fight to die for their homeland.
The city’s surrendered
On its borders
A handful continue the fight
Without a command
A handful continue the fight
They won’t surrender
They are Lwów defenders
SEPTEMBER 28, 1939
Russians have entered the city.* There are still shortages of food, clothing, shoes, everything. Long lines are forming in front of every shop. The Russians are especially eager to buy things. They’ve been organizing raids to get watches, textiles, shoes, etc.
This Red Army is strange. You can’t tell a private from an officer. They all wear the same grayish-brown uniforms. They all speak the language I can’t understand. They call each other Tovarishch.† Sometimes the officers’ faces are more intelligent though. Poland has been totally flooded by the German and Russian armies. The only island still fighting is Warsaw. Our government has fled the country. And I had so much faith.
Where is Mama? What’s happened to her? God! You listened to my prayer and there is no war anymore (or at least I can’t see it). Please listen to the first part of my prayer, too, and protect my Mama from evil. Wherever she is, whatever is happening to her, please keep an eye on her and on us and help us in all our needs! Amen.
OCTOBER 27, 1939
I’ve been back in Przemyśl for a while now. I go to school. Life has gone back to its everyday routine, but at the same time it’s different, so sad. There is no Mama. We haven’t heard from her. I had a terrible dream that she’s dead. I know it’s not possible. I cry all the time, tormented by bad feelings. If only I knew that I
would see her in two months’ time, even a year, as long as I knew I would see her for sure. That’s impossible. No, let me die. Holy God, please give me an easy death.
OCTOBER 28, 1939
School life is so strange. Yesterday we had a meeting, the day before—a march. Polish women riot when they hear people saluting Stalin. They refuse to join in. They write secret messages saying “Poland has not yet perished,”* even though, to be honest, it perished a long time ago. And now there is Western Ukraine here, there is “coomunism,” everybody is equal and that’s what hurts them. It hurts them that they can’t say, “You lousy Yid.” They still say it, but in secret.
Those Russians are such handsome boys (though not all of them). One of them was determined to marry me. “Pajdyom baryshnya na moyu kvateru budem zhyly,” etc. etc. France and England are fighting with the Germans and something’s brewing here, but what do I care? I just want Mama to come, to be with us. Then I can face all my trials and tribulations.
One “auntie” died here, this silver-haired, thin, wrinkly old lady:
She lived so quietly …
She was like a shadow
One gloomy autumn, she just let go
This gray-haired old lady, all wrinkles and wobbles
Hunched, shriveled, coughing, always needing goggles
She died … (as people do)
And away from a calendar a card flew
A new day arrived
Nothing changed in life
This life, that she held so dear
The silver-haired lady, shed a tear
For her, she was like a shadow
And one gloomy autumn, she just let go
NOVEMBER 1, 1939
I’m so angry today. Angry, as they say. But, truth be told, I’m sad, very, very sad.
There’s a new youth club here now. Lots of boys and girls have been going there, and there’s fun to be had (for some). I don’t have a crush on Brühla anymore. I finally told Nora about it, and she told me she feels the same way. Now, according to the stages of a girl’s development I should “fall in love” with a boy. I like Jurek. But Jurek doesn’t know about it and won’t ever figure it out. You know it, you and I, and …