White Framed Clear Glass Window (2019)
“There were no wanderers during the daytime on Gesia Street. Beggars sat against the walls of the brick buildings with red, swollen legs poking out from their torn trousers.”
BY COLM RICHARDSON
IMAGE BY JANKO FERLIC/PIXABAY.COM
The window sat two stories above the cobbles and looked down onto Gesia Street. It was the only window in the small apartment that Rachel’s family shared with the Galinskis — emptier now than it had been a few months ago. Although small, the apartment was bigger than most: it had two rooms, the second of which acted as a bedroom and housed a well-worn wardrobe on the far wall. The window was the only source of light in the room. It illuminated the smoke-stained walls and gave shape to the airborne dust.
From the window, one could see the western gates at the end of the street. Gesia was alive with activity during the day, and everybody who walked it seemed sure of their destination. There were no wanderers during the daytime on Gesia Street. Beggars sat against the walls of the brick buildings with red, swollen legs poking out from their torn trousers. They held out empty hats and pans. The people passed them by.
The hearses had a constant presence. Men pulled black, wooden carts stacked with naked, bloated bodies down the street and out past the gate to the Jewish cemetery just outside the walls. The hearse men would do their job all day, every day, until a new man took over when their body joined the others.
It was at this window that Rachel spent most of her time, watching the people below from the safety of the room. She enjoyed watching the people on the street, and during the day it was bright and alive with activity. At night, when she looked out the window, the darkness and silence threatened to swallow her.
She was most interested in the people at the gate. Few people were allowed to leave — only those who worked in German-owned factories, German soldiers, and the Polish police.
The Orphan Boy also left through the gates, sneaking out every day to smuggle in rations. He looked as though his clothes were made of scavenged materials found on the street. His pants were fashioned from several pieces of loose cloth held together with string and rope. His shirt was dirty and stained, and his vest was three sizes too big for him. The black cap he wore was dirty but remained intact despite its wear. He didn’t wear any shoes.
Rachel watched for his confident stride towards the gates every morning from the window, envious of his freedom. His accomplice was a member of the Jewish police. The police officer would distract the Polish and German guards, and the Orphan Boy would slip past the gates. He would come back with a sack full of goods, and sneak in the same way he left. He rarely made it back before evening, but he always returned.
Today, the sound of German boots was thunder on the street below, but the room inside was silent and empty. Mr. Galinski was holding his wife in the main room, whispering in her ear. She gently grasped the front of his last good shirt, his belly slightly spilling out where it had become untucked. Rachel’s father, Abraham, held her near the center of the same room, and Rachel held Joseph tight in her arms. Her father’s armband scratched her cheek as he shifted. He had lost so much weight that the armband didn’t fit him properly anymore. He pulled it back up to his shoulder. Ester had stopped crying in the corner and looked up through her tear-stained eyes and wiry black hair to see what was going on.
“Maybe they’ll just pass,” whispered Mrs. Galinski.
“Shhh, Judi,” said Mr. Galinski. “No need to attract unwanted attention. Krause is aware of our arrangement. We’ll be fine.”
Mr. Galinski looked like he was about to say something more, but the drumming boots had come to a sudden stop outside. He walked into the second room and looked out the window.
“They’re stopped outside our building,” Mr. Galinski said. He swallowed hard. “Now there’s no reason to worry. Everything should be fine.”
He walked back into the main room and smoothed down his greasy black hair. Seconds later Rachel and Joseph were ushered to the windowed room by their father with a promise that everything would be fine.
Rachel looked at the sunlight coming in the window one last time before she and Joseph crawled into the wardrobe to hide again. She hoped it would not be the last look she had outside onto the street. The sky was bright and blue.
The space in the wardrobe was cramped, but not as much as last time.
“I’m hungry,” Joseph complained. It had been a week since they ate their last decent meal. Her father had eaten even less; he couldn’t even pick Joseph up anymore.
“You can eat later,” she said to quiet him.
***
It was four years ago that Rachel’s hiding had begun. She had returned home late one day after the other German children had ambushed her again. Despite her taking the long way home, they had still tracked her down. Her face and hair were dirty, and the bruises on her arms were dark and distinct. She opened the door quietly, hoping to avoid the scrutiny of her parents, but her father and mother were talking quietly in their study.
“…not that simple, Reiner,” her father said as she entered the house. “Rachel is only eight.”
“Joseph is just a baby,” said her mother.
“I can’t leave my mother behind.” It was her father’s voice again.
“I’m sorry but it’s the only way,” said another voice. It belonged to Mr. Schmitt, their neighbour. Rachel loved her neighbour. He was handsome, with big blue eyes the colour of the sky. “Look, Asher is only willing to take you and your children, not your mother,” he continued. “I know it’s hard, Abraham, but it’s the best I could do. You need to get your children out of Germany. Asher lives a nice comfortable life in Warsaw. He owns his own business. He’s very well off. He even has a son about Rachel’s age. You will be perfectly taken care of.” Rachel saw that Mr. Schmitt was still in his dark uniform as she rounded the corner.
Nothing more was said between them after she entered the room. Despite her attempt to hide them, her mother rushed over to inspect the bruises and her father put his head in his hands. Mr. Schmitt turned his back to them and looked out the window, his reflection warped in the glass. He never turned to look at Rachel.
One night, a few months after they had been forced into the apartment on Gesia street, Pawel was listening at the door to the main room. Rachel was looking out the window, waiting for the Orphan Boy’s return. A sliver of sunlight could still be seen from the setting sun, which had just sunk below the gates.
“Rachel, come over here,” he whispered to her. Isaac, Samuel, and Joseph were all asleep. Isaac and Samuel were sharing one of the five mattresses in the room, beside the only bed which Mr. and Mrs. Galinski shared. She crept over to the door and listened. The adults were talking in the main room. “I think my dad is arguing with Aunt Ester again,” Pawel said.
“He has to leave, Ester, we have barely enough food to keep us alive. We don’t need another mouth to feed,” whispered Mr. Galinski. Isaac shifted on his mattress. The adults in the apartment had been arguing since Samuel moved in with them.
“We can’t just kick him out onto the streets,” Ester replied. “He lost his family. Have some compassion Asher.”
Rachel made her way back to the window. The constant arguing was making her weary. Looking outside, she saw the Orphan Boy creeping along the building on the opposite side of the street. He looked up at the window, and their eyes met before he darted into the alley across the street.
“Well, why not!” said Mr. Galinski loudly from the other room.
***
“What’s going on?” Joseph asked Rachel from inside the wardrobe.
“I don’t know,” Rachel said. The Germans were moving downstairs. They had entered the building and were making their way through the apartments. A woman screamed. The darkness in the wardrobe suffocated Rachel’s senses. Every noise was swallowed by the dark and the clothes, and the crashing coming from downstairs sounded miles away. She sunk lower into the rough, wooden base and pulled Joseph closer. She was drowning in a musty sea of fabric. The room outside the wardrobe remained bright, empty, and still.
“I’m scared,” Joseph said into her chest.
“Me too,” she confessed.
The Germans pounded at their door. Ester gasped from the main room and began to weep again.
“Open the door!” a man said in German first, and then Polish. The sound of footsteps walking across the floor could be heard.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Krause,” said Mr. Galinski, his voice shaky. Some orders were barked at the men in German. The voice giving them was a soprano, but commanded authority.
“Look we have all our papers,” said Abraham. There was no reply from the Germans. Ester was still loudly weeping in the corner.
“Shut your mouth,” a German said, followed by the sound of a boot hitting flesh. Ester didn’t cry after that. Their boots hammered against the floor, their malice echoing through the apartment to Rachel and Joseph in the wardrobe. A man opened the door to the second room, and Rachel listened as he passed the wardrobe. His footsteps echoed in her head as he paced the room, casting a long, dark shadow against the far wall while counting the mattresses in the room. She held her breath.
“Look,” said Rachel’s father again, “We can show you our papers and then we can be done with this business, can’t we?” The sound of metal hitting flesh was worse than the boots.
***
The knocking at the door came late in the night four months prior. It was stern but not forceful.
“Open the door. We need to check your papers.” The man spoke Polish.
“Get into the wardrobe, children,” ordered Mr. Galinski.
“What’s going on, father?” Pawel asked.
“Just get in the wardrobe,” he ordered again. Ester opened it up while Pawel, Joseph, and Rachel crawled in. The air inside was stuffy, humid, and cramped.
“I’ll come get you once they are gone,” Ester said to them with a bright smile before closing the doors, leaving them in the dark.
“Ow, Joseph you’re elbowing me,” whispered Pawel.
“Be quiet,” Rachel said. It was too cramped with the three of them stuffed among the rough coats and old shirts. The adults, Isaac, and Samuel walked out of the bedroom as Mr. Galinski opened the door. The rustling of papers on the small table and quiet conversation could be heard out in the main room. Isaac was probably sitting in his usual spot on the countertop beside the stove.
“What do you think they’re doing,” Pawel said in the dark of the wardrobe.
“Be quiet, we don’t want to get caught,” Rachel told him. Papers were passed around and Mr. Galinski talked to a man in German. He had a soprano voice.
“Rosner, Isaac,” one of the police said out loud. They were almost done, and Rachel was looking forward to leaving the stuffy closet.
“Wait,” the soprano voice said, followed by footsteps. “These two, they come with me.”
“We have our papers!” protested Samuel.
The terrible sound of ripping paper came from the room.
“No! You can’t,” yelled Ester. From the wardrobe the children could hear shoes quietly scuffling towards the door.
“You can’t! You can’t! We have our papers!” Ester continued yelling.
“I’ll come back, ma,” Isaac shouted from down the hallway. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll come back.” Rachel watched Isaac and Samuel leave the gates through the window. They didn’t come back.
***
“Wait, we have our papers,” stammered Rachel’s father.
“Krause, I thought we…” said Mr. Galinski. The wardrobe was getting more claustrophobic; the sounds were getting quieter and further away. Rachel cracked the door to hear more clearly, letting in a small sliver of light from the window that cut across Joseph’s face.
“You should count yourself lucky, Asher,” said the soprano, “Or I’ll add you and your family to my quota as well.”
“Isaac,” Ester said weakly from out in the main room. “Where is Isaac?” She was speaking in Yiddish. “Where is my Isaac?”
“What is she saying?” asked the soprano man.
“I... it’s nothing,” said Mr. Galinski. “Ester dear, just lie back down and Mr. Krause here will be on his way.”
While Rachel’s father was escorted downstairs, a yell escaped Ester and she ran across the room. The soprano man shouted in German before the sound of a gunshot filled the small apartment, shaking the glass in the window.
***
Pawel left in the middle of summer, 1942, after they came the first time. He told Rachel he was going to leave one night when they were both lying awake on the mattress they shared with Joseph under the window. Although one mattress was now free, they still shared the one, none of them willing to sleep alone. Ester’s mattress was empty for another night; she hadn’t left the main room since Isaac was taken. A light from across the street cast an obscure shadow against the wardrobe.
“You’re only one year older than me! How can you survive out there on your own?” she whispered to him. She was angry. He was leaving his family behind. He was leaving her behind.
“I have to,” Pawel said. “None of us are going to survive this. We need to get out while we can. I can’t take any more of my father’s blackmail and bribes. I can’t take any more of Aunt Ester’s damn crying!” Ester was quietly crying in the main room near the table. “If you’re smart, you’ll come with me. I set it up with one of father’s contacts. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“I can’t. I need to help take care of Joseph. I can’t just leave my family, Pawel.”
“You’ll die if you stay here! Don’t you understand?” Mr. Galinski shifted on his mattress.
The next morning Rachel watched Pawel leave from the window. He hid himself under a pile of corpses and left the gate on a hearse. She never saw him again.
***
The darkness of the wardrobe no longer bothered Rachel; she was afraid to go into the light. The wardrobe ate the sounds coming from outside, transporting her far away from the small apartment. Mrs. Galinski was crying softly in the main room. Mr. Galinski walked into the second room and opened the wardrobe to force Rachel and Joseph back into their reality.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He didn’t look Rachel in the eye. Instead, he turned and looked out at the sky outside the window. From the window, Rachel could see the Orphan Boy taking a pair of boots off a beggar who had been shot on the street below. She didn’t turn to watch the gates.
Ester’s body was beside the table in the main room. The blood had soaked through her clothes onto the floor. Her eyes were wide open, and her hand was limp against her chest where the bullet had pierced her. She was thin, and her hair lay smoothly across her face. She wasn’t crying.
***
Children walked the street at night, crying out for food, their flesh cut down to skin and bone. They call up to the buildings around them in the hope that someone will see. The lights are all off. The windows are black. But in one of them, a young girl looks down onto the street. She cannot help them, and they know she has nothing, but they watch each other for a while before she disappears into the darkness of the apartment. During the night the child will collapse in the street. In the morning, the girl will see that the child is dead. He died crying out for food that nobody had and died in the street when nobody saw. He was not the first, and he wouldn’t be the last. The death carts will come by and pick the child up and go past the gate at the end of Gesia Street.
Colm Richardson holds an Honours Bachelor of Arts in English and History from the University of Toronto, and is a graduate of Humber’s Professional Writing & Communications program. Window on Gesia Street is a product of his passion for both writing and history.
Edited for publication by Harleigh Keriazes, as part of the Creative Book Publishing Program.
Image: Janko Ferlic/Pixabay.com, White Framed Clear Glass Window, 2019.
The HLR Spotlight is a collaboration between the Faculty of Media & Creative Arts and the Faculty of Liberal Arts & Sciences and Innovative Learning at Humber College in Toronto, Ontario. This project is funded by the Applied Research & Innovation.