The Kommandant's Girl by Pam Jenoff Read Free Book Online

asked, eager to change the subject. “Have you met anyone in your travels as a messenger?” She looked away and did not answer, a faint blush creeping upward from her neck.
    “There is someone,” she confessed in a low voice.
    “Aha!” I exclaimed. “I knew it. Tell me about him.”
    “He’s one of us.” I knew she meant the resistance movement. Her voice grew wistful. “But he doesn’t notice me.”
    I squeezed her shoulder. “Perhaps he will someday. Give it time.” It began to rain then, thick, heavy drops that signaled the coming of a larger storm. We ran for cover back to the orphanage and spoke no more about it.
    I thought about my conversation with Marta several weeks later, as I stood in the kitchen of our apartment, trying to wash linens in the impossibly small sink. It was a Thursday afternoon and I was home alone, enjoying a rare moment of solitude. Normally I worked days at the orphanage, but I had swapped shifts with another girl, agreeing to work the following Sunday instead. I remembered Marta asking me if I had a boyfriend, if I had dated anyone special. Perhaps she knew about Jacob, I mused, and was trying to get me to admit it.
    Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a loud knocking sound in the alleyway below. I jumped, splashing soapy water everywhere. Wiping the water from my dress, I leaned forward. Through the window over the sink, I heard a woman’s voice, high pitched and desperate, a man’s low and angry. I stepped to one side of the sink, pressing myself against the wall so I could look out the window without being seen. From this vantage point, I could just make out two figures below. I was alarmed to see a man in a Nazi uniform standing in the doorway of the apartment building across the alley. The Nazis, afraid of disease, seldom came inside the ghetto, preferring instead to let the Judenrat run internal, daily affairs. He was arguing with a blond woman I did not recognize. She was tiny but thick around the middle, and I could tell even from where I stood that she was several months pregnant. “Prosze,” I heard her plead.
    The voices continued arguing. Though I could not make out most of their words, I surmised that she was trying to keep the soldier from entering the apartment. The woman is very brave, I thought. She must be hiding something important.
    At last, the Nazi said something and shoved the woman aside harshly. She hit the door frame and fell to the ground with a thud, motionless. The Nazi stepped over her and into the building. Loud crashing noises arose from inside the apartment, as though furniture was being thrown. Moments later, the Nazi reemerged, grasping a small, religious-looking man by the collar.
    The woman on the ground seemed to instantly revive. She wrapped her arms around the Nazi’s ankles, seemingly oblivious to any danger to herself. “Don’t take him!” she pled. The Nazi tried to shake the woman from his ankles, but she would not let go. As the woman continued to beg, the small man’s eyes darted around, like a trapped animal looking for an escape. His gaze shot upward and I ducked back from the window, fearful that he might see me.
    The voices rose louder. A shot rang out. I froze. It was the first time in my life I had heard that sound.
    Now it was the man who cried out, his wail almost as high pitched as the woman’s had been. Unable to keep from looking, I stepped in front of the window. The woman lay motionless on the ground, her eyes open, her head ringed by a halo of blood. One arm lay draped protectively over her full, round stomach. The Nazi dragged the screaming man from the alley.
    I ducked my head and vomited into the sink, great heaving waves of hatred and despair. When at last my stomach spasms subsided, I wiped my mouth and looked back out the window.
    The door of the apartment was still ajar. In the doorway, I saw something move. It was a child, not more than three years old, with the same blond hair as the woman’s. The