Part 2: The Frenchman's Table

Part 2: The Frenchman's Table

Yves

Yves hung up the phone, taking in a deep breath and the shock of the news seeping in. His aging father had been moved into a new area of the city. A ghetto, which he had been familiar with. Their family home now stood quiet and still with their treasured memories locked behind a chained door and marked as Jew. The call had come from a family friend who informed him of seeing his father, along with others in their community, paraded out and down the street toward another area of the city. They were allowed to take what they could carry, but his father being older, weaker, could not carry much. Yves had friends, businesses, and wealthy acquaintances. Yves stayed connected and informed. He played his role well as a German business man which allowed him to travel undetected. Fortunately, his looks did not give him away. He had inherited more of his mother's American appearance with blonde hair and blues eyes. Tall, too, like his uncles. His parents ensured his education, and Yves was thankful as he spoke three languages fluently. Now on an assignment, he would be unable to get to his father nor able to get him out. This was not good. He had planned to return sooner, as his wife and daughters were also waiting on him. He had told his father to leave Germany, and stay with his family in France. He knew he would not. He admired his dad as his father had stayed longer than he needed to continue to rescue children from the growing animosity toward the Jewish community. He wondered how many children his father had saved. A Rabbi, dedicated to his community, his congregation, does not leave his flock. Damn, Dad.

Yves finished up packing. He had a later ride to Stuttgart that evening. Grabbing his London fog coat and gloves, he made his way down the hallway, out to the foyer of the hotel and hailed a cab. The rays of the sun were fading surrendering to a damp and misty wind from the East. Driving down and swerving pass unrepaired potholed streets, littered with crumbling buildings and warehouses, the cab slipped through the gates of the shipyard. Mostly it lay vacant. Every now and then, a man hurrying home, buried in his jacket for warmth, and vendors packing up their wares, were the only ones still out in the chilling night air. Under the street night lights, he saw his contact and had the cab stop. They made only a nod at each other, both looking in either direction for tails, then disappeared down alone blind alley at the edge of the docks. The trail of smoke from their cigarettes left lingering in the now stale air.

The quarters were small and cramped. One electrical cord hung from the ceiling, with its single light bulbs slightly swaying, casting eerie shadows across the men's' faces. All were standing, but their attention angled toward the center of the room. One man, average height with a clipped sharp voice, barked and punctuated reach order with his outstretched hand. No one argued or raised a question. Yves wondered if all the men knew who this man was, or cared. He knew he didn't know most of the men in the room but did feel that all were sworn to secrecy, and were working hard at their part. He knew he was. At the far edge of the room, the man motioned over a few to join him at a map, held down with a jar and slats of wood from the floor. Yves was one of those. There were red crosses and marks across most of the map, but they all appeared to understand what and where the man was pointing too and directing. Before leaving, he picked up some wires and gently, cradling the blasting caps from the table, wrapped them in a newspaper, took in a deep breath, and carefully tucked the bundle under his arm. No more than just minutes had passed, and then they all left as quickly as they had arrived, and in the dark.

Grease Snout

As Brigita started back, her thoughts were abruptly interrupted with a lone gunshot, and she quickened her pace toward the house. As she rounded the corner of the barn, there standing with the smoking gun was Grease Snout, and in front of him, lay still jerking, and bleeding was the young calf. "We're celebrating tonight, and we want veal." Turning around, he stomped back up to the house, leaving her standing with her mouth gaping in a silent scream, watching the small creature which she had been tending too for so many weeks withering in agony, slowly dying. With all the strength she could muster, she grabbed the shovel and finished the job ending its misery and pain. "You bastard," she thought. "You sick, sick bastard." Brigita heard the sound of Mila running up from behind to stand next to Brigita's bent body. "I'm so sorry, Brigita."

Without looking up at Mila, she asked in a quivering voice, "What have you found out?"

Mila bent down beside her friend, picking up the hind legs of the calf, "They are moving out, but Grease Snout volunteered to stay with some of us to keep the station open and ensure we keep the livestock and farm supplies going."

"He volunteered to stay? Oh, God." Brigita was quiet in her thoughts, grabbing the front legs, half dragging the carcass towards the house. She bit her bottom lip to stifle her body's persistent desire to sob. The closer she dragged the dead calf to the house, the more still her nerves and mind became, focusing on her new mission. "Mila, help me finish cutting and preparing their feast. I've got something special for Grease Snout." Adding, "Roma is on the run, and she killed one of the soldiers by the creek. They are sure to find it when they start searching."

"How did she do that?"

"With castor beans." Quickly pointing down at the tied purse on her belt.

They heaved the limp animal's body onto the chopping block in the middle of the kitchen; a trail of blood followed their efforts. Taking a blade each, they began slicing, pulling and tearing at the meat. Mila worried about Brigita's mindset, but kept quiet, mimicking her friend's movement and resolve.

At 4 am, she heard the soldiers loading up the final pallets on the train, and heard the engine start-up. Loud, dark smoke billowed from its chimney while the entire train shook and rattled, sounding as if it wanted to lurch forward. She could smell the burning diesel wafting through the air. The armed visitors had consumed the veal last night and were set for their next mission, leaving behind tables littered with plates, and spoils of the evenings' meal.

She lay there on the hay next to Mila, clasping on to the last bit of warmth for the moment. Before rising, she said a prayer. Before going to bed late, she had put all the beans into a pot and added what little fat she could shave off the calf into the vat, as well as a handful of the remaining salt. She left it over the stove, with a small tender fire, and waited. Not sure why the commandant had decided to let them live or stay there, but thankful either way. She only had to concentrate on her only objective, Grease Snout. And so, she continued to wait a bit more.

He hated her. She reminded him of his abusive mother. Always watching him, judging him with her eyes. She never had to say anything, it was always the look of disgust. He had tried so hard to make her love him, but raising an unwanted child and pretending you cared, wasn't her thing. She made her money the old fashion way, on her back. He would hear her come in at the wee hours of the night, smelling of filth and alcohol. He would listen until she had fallen asleep to look through her purse for food money. Her drool seeping through the stained couch cushions where she had landed. He was glad that she passed out on those nights, as when she didn't, those were nights that he had to live through the physical and verbal entourage of slaps and screams-all reminders of how much she blamed him for her life of poverty on his arrival. He had no one else to turn too. He ate to console the hurt, and dismal existence. After his enlistment, he had heard his mother had been found down by the docks with her throat slit. He didn't go back to the flat, there was nothing of value- so when the telegram arrived of her death, he was irratated the county required a reimbursement for her clean up and burial. He didn't have a choice in paying as he now had a steady active duty salary. He got drunk that night, alone. His comrades didn't seem to take to him, and he was often solo on his night duties- which was ok, as he didn't really want to anyone to know what he did at night. That Brigita girl wasn't the first one to remind him of his mother. A few months ago, there had been another. A bar maid at the brewey where the soldiers liked to go after work. It smelled of ole spilled urine and beer. He had been drinking alone when she approached him for another pint. She wore her shirt unbuttoned enough where he could tell she wanted attention. But when she pushed him away, it just made him angry and so he had waited.

The Meet

With the amount of German unit streaming in and planes flying northeast, Jakub feared he would be discovered and diverted south following the river passages. He reasoned the fighting forces for Poland were fortified in Warsaw-but needed a way to sneak past the enemy. Jakub had decided to take the children with him. He could find no more food in the area. Days had gone by since he had found them huddled in a makeshift shelter in an abandoned village. A brother and sister, maybe a year apart. He had kept them warm and fed as best he could, but with the extra burden of two little souls so dependent on his help and food, he worried about the risks-but saw no other way. They finished off the last of the unearthed potatoes, packed their belongings, and started out. The walking was long and tiresome, taking the edge of the woods along the roads or the high grassy fields to stay out of sight. They didn't complain much and were trying to keep up with the pace, but Jakub could see the younger of the two struggling, and so he kept his eyes open for other traveling options. A horse would be useful, but only discovered dead ones lying along the roads and fields. Several times they stopped to collect the dried soybean and corn littering the parched fields, filling their nap sacks. Most pastures were barren or burned. In the evening, deeper into the woods, they built a small fire for warmth and cooking, but only for a few hours, to not attract attention. Throwing the corn, husk and all, on the fire and kicking it out to cool down to eat, they managed to keep up their energy. It was risky, and as they got closer to the city, they stopped that all together, and just ate the corn raw, huddling together at night for heat. Mostly, they just stayed cold.

One early morning, they heard in the distance, the loud churning sounds of a large engine. Climbing up on a tree for a better look, Jakub could make out a train with an eagle and swastika emblem, moving across the vast open plain toward a river's trestle. From his angle, he could make out an image of a man hanging precariously to the lower side, near the front carriage. He could tell the individual was struggling with the wind whipping and jarring motion of the freight train. Jakub quickly slid down the tree and motioned for the children to stay low in the grass.

Jakub ran to the other side of the field, mesmerized as to what was happening. Yves pulled the pin arming the firing mechanism. Leaning over as far as he could without falling in front of the wheels, he planted the sticky bomb at the end of the first link. Timed just right, he released the grip on the lever and allowed himself to fall back and down into the black pool below as the train started over the bridge. The five seconds of falling, and distancing himself from the blast, caught up with him quickly when he hit the water with such force, he created his own large splash, knocking the breath out of himself. Bobbing up just in time to witness the spellbinding scene, Yves swam hard to shore. Jakub got to the water's edge just as the man fell, straight down and into the water below. The train continuing on the tracks and crossing over the river never slowed, until the first and second car erupted with a thunderous boom! Debris scattered high into the air, with parts of the bridge crumbling beneath, sending the train's remaining length down toward the moving river. Metal sheets and planks flitted downward, scattering out over the ravine and rushing water below. The cargo full of soldiers all gone in a matter of seconds. He looked for the man and saw he had made it to the other side, sitting wet and dripping on a rock. For some reason, Jakub gave him a wave, and he waved back. Yves removed the pin from his clenched teeth, turned, and disappeared into the woods.

When Jakub returned for the children, he found them gone. Tracks through the long grass led across the pasture and back up to the house across the rails. "Oh, crap!" he thought. As he moved toward the house, keeping a lookout for soldiers, he heard movement outside coming from the back of the house. Creeping around the corner, he saw two women struggling in the heat. Red-faced, they appeared to be digging in a strangled garden of weeds and rock. His eyes darted from one end of the field to the other, "Where are those kids?" he wondered. One of the women looked up and saw Jakub; she stood tightly grasping her shovel. From the other side of the house, the children emerged, carrying an armload of potatoes, completely unaware of the women. Everyone stood, stopped in their tracks, sizing up the other. Jakub shouted out first, "We are just looking for food." He waved the children over to stand behind him.

Mila came to stand next to Brigita, shielding the massive heap behind them. Jakub started towards them with his hands outstretched. "I'm not here to harm anyone; we are just looking for food," he repeated in a nonthreatening voice. The children ran up to him, hiding behind his tall frame. Brigita lowered her shovel, looking at her friend, shaking her head, "It's alright, Mila, they're just hungry."

The hole behind the women was not deep. The ground hard, dry, and full of rock had hindered their efforts. Jakub slowly walked closer to them, keeping his arms out, still shielding the children. From a few feet away, he could make out a large form, still in uniform, lying on the ground. "Is it a soldier?' he asked.

"Yes, a very dead one."

"How'd you kill him? Noting no blood or weapons.

"With beans," Brigita answered, keeping her eyes on Jakub.

Now, it was her turn. "What was that loud explosion?"

"A train."

Mila threw back her head, "Oh, thank God!"

"Help us, and we'll help you," Brigita offering her shovel. Without another word, Jakub took it from her and started digging. His size and strength made the task they started seem effortless. As he finished up, the girls had wrapped the legs and arms with twine, and together they shoved the body down into the abyss and began shoving and moving dirt back over the frame until it was completely covered. The children stood quiet and waited. Unfazed by the scene, they started eating the raw potatoes. Once the body appeared covered, Brigita spits out through gritted teeth, "For Bell," and dropped the shovel across the mound.

As if rehearsed, they all turned and walked toward the house. There wasn't much left to eat, but Mila started boiling water and dropped the remaining potatoes in the pot. The children sat by the small flickering fire, absorbing the warmth. Not much was said, as all had been through hell, fear, and repression for so many months that their minds were numb. Brigita started replaying what she thought she knew but didn't understand how the explosion happened. Finally, she just blurted out, "How did the train explode?"

Jakub wasn't quite sure either but recanted what he had seen and believed that the French resistance was behind it. "What did you say your name was?" he asked.

"I didn't say. But it's Brigita. And, of course, you have met Mila. What's yours?"

"Jakub"

"What are their names?" looking at the children.

"The girl is Sarah, and I don't think I ever really knew what the little one is called. I've been calling him Tom, and he's been doing what I tell him to do."

"Hey, Tom." The little one looked up from the table, "What's your name?" asked Brigita.

With food still in his mouth, he just grinned. Sarah responded for him, "He likes being called Tom."

"OK- Tom, it is."

"We can't stay here." All knew that it would be just a matter of time before reinforcements would arrive, and bodies would be found.

"Gather what you can find; we have got to keep moving. You can go with us. We are headed toward Warsaw," Jakub offered. Without any other plans, the girls decided it would be safer to go with them. They worked in haste, gathering what they could carry. Brigita went out to the barn and lassoed the two remaining cows. Tying her baskets together and balancing them over the cows' backs, she lifted the smaller child, who had followed her out to the barn, onto one of the cows' backs. "I didn't know you can actually ride cows," he stated flatly. It was the first time Brigita had heard him speak. It was amusing to see the expression of bewilderment on his face, and it reminded her of a happy time, but that was lifetime ago.

Giving him a side glance and smile, "Yep, when you need too, you can ride a cow."

"It's getting colder, do you have a heavier coat?" she asked Tom who was busying himself with finding a comfortable spot on top of the baskets and boney back of the cow. Jakub came up behind her to add to the load, overhearing the question, he took off his coat and wrapped it over the shoulders of the boy, "Here you go cowboy."

"But what about you?" she queried.

Mila came outside, pulling from the bag she was carrying, Grease Snout's topcoat and belt, "and, here you go." Mila had been unaware of the attached belted revolver still in its holster, Jakub pulled it out to examine and counted the bullets, "5. This is good." He then proceeded to roll up the sleeves, concealing the revolver under the oversized coat.

They all found comfort, in that, each was looking out for the other. In tandem, they continued packing and tying down supplies.

After a half-hour, all they could salvage was packed or worn for warmth. The older ones walked out in front, with the two cows and children following from behind. As they walked, they shared their family's stories, and as their bonds started to grow, their horrors unfolded. None was holding back their anger and frustrations. It was good to vent. They walked every day and into the night for a week.

"Do you know what day this is?" Mila asked out for anyone to answer. None were quite sure. By the turning of the leaves and the coolness of the temperatures, it was still fall, maybe still September or October. Much of their hard-wearing trek kept them close to the edge of the tree lines, as the German airplanes were continually flying overhead in the directions they were heading. Jakub reassured them that Warsaw's Army would be there, and he reasoned the needed protection. As they made their way closer, they started to hear the bombardment and feel the shake and shudder of the bombs. At night, they understood to huddle together for warmth; there would be no fires built-those you could see in the distance lighting the sky. Large plumes smoldering up from the far off hills were glowing orange and eerie. There were a couple of nights Brigita ended up next to Jakub for warmth. She noticed when she wedged her shoulder under his arm, she could feel his body's heat, and during the cold nights, it felt good and comforting. She noted other things too. He reminded her of someone. Not anyone she knew, just of someone in the past, she just couldn't put her finger on it. She would catch Mila looking at him too. She wondered if he looked familiar to her as well. She made a mental note to ask Mila in the morning what she was thinking.

Yves' ghost-like movements kept him concealed. His painted face and black clothing kept him obscured in the shadows. He had used most of his supplies with positioning sticky bombs, and would now have to rely on fires for damage. He liked to work alone, but as security had tightened, it was getting trickier to get to some of his targets. He had found propaganda leaflets, and smirked, this will not stop them. Overhead, he had been thankful for the recent cloud coverage and noted several of the German air attacks had missed their targets. He had hoped they would miss more. Pleased that he had helped coordinate with the destruction of some of the German's supply lines, he knew his part would only slow the advance through Poland. He was sure he had seen a mix of Soviet soldiers in the area and needed to get that information back to his faction. He suspected a secret pack of sorts with the Soviet Union as the number of units and movements were vast. From his polish resistance comrades, the Polish Air force had lost most of their air defense, relying now more on anti-aircraft guns for protection. Their current fighting gave just a bit more time to move more civilians out, as the encroaching Army didn't care what was in its wake. The east portion of the city near the Vistula River glowed steadily red-orange. Trapped animals from farms and villages lay on the ground, stiff and swarming with flies. Nothing was spared. There wasn't a building left standing. The remaining portions of the Polish Army holding what little they could on the West was an inevitable loss. Once the cascade of aerial missiles started to fall, it was like running through an earthquake. The roads and streets buckled with the impact. Yves came upon a German soldier, quite by luck, alone. He had a radio and must have been the communication's officer. Their overconfidence in taking Poland had left them leaving their positions and moving ahead. Yves, thankful for the opportunity, took him down. His athletic prowess ensured a successful chokehold and snapping of the neck. Rummaging through his uniform, he found the officer's notebook with scribbled authentication codes. BINGO! He immediately gathered the radio and carted it away with him. Once he secured his hiding place, he started listening and augmenting orders booming from the radio. His German was excellent, and so he too throughout directives which were picked up on and executed by the keyed up advancing German forces. The realization came much later when some of the German leaders realized they had bombed some of their elements. Yves prided himself on his wits and the success of knocking out a few units of the enemy. That opportunity may never come again. He hoped he'd live to tell that story. Heading back away from the city, he crested over the last hill and disappeared into the tall weeds. He needed to get home and hug his wife and daughters. The ravishes of war left him needing a human touch.

All of them had fallen asleep. It had been Mila's turn to watch, and she hadn't meant to nod off, but did. Jakub awoke with a knife under his chin. Cold and sharp, he felt the blade. The others were already awake, Jakub saw the children huddled together on the ground and the girls shivering and standing, wide-eyed, and frightened. He didn't move.

"Get up!" the directive coming from behind his ear. Jakub rose slowly, the pointed end of the blade still under his chin. "Who are you?" the man dressed in dark clothing asked.

Slowly turning, with his hands in the air, Jakub turned. His position and the moonlight peeping through the clouds gave Jakub a little light, where he could make out the man's face. "I've seen you before. On the train."

Yves tried not to smile, but the success of the train target, left him feeling accomplished. "You guys are just kids. What at you doing here?" Lowering his knife and standing, assessing the dirty, cold travelers. "You guys are about to walk into a war zone. You can't go forward."

Jakub started to argue, "But on the other side is where the Polish Army and we need protection."

Yves countering, "That's where they were. It's all gone now. Warsaw is in ruins." Even he looked down as he announced flatly, it did sound so unbelievable.

Brigita spoke up as well, "It's all gone? Where can we go?"

"Not there!" Pointing back with his finger. He wondered the same thing. He had not planned to find kids but knew he couldn't leave them here.

"We don't have any place to go or hide," Brigita continued, her voice rising.

"Are those your cows?" Yves asked, thinking on his feet of a plan.

"We need them." Mila pleaded.

"Ya, we're going to need them as a cover," Yves reassured her. Walking over to the cows, he took the reins from Mila. She offered no resistance.

Jakub stood quiet listening and then, in a stoic voice, announced, "I'm still going to Warsaw!"

"There is no Warsaw. Don't be a stupid kid!" turning around to stare at Jakub. Yves let out a long sigh and restarted, "Look, come with me. I have gotten kids out before. I know what I am doing and where to go."

Jakub stared at Yves and then shrugged his shoulders. Later admitted, "You do seem to know your way around. The other kids need your help, but I have a plan. I've always had a plan. They weren't part of it- so please take them, if you can save them. But I'm going.