Kommandant's Girl

We walk into the parlor. Sitting down, I hold the child back from me a few inches and brush his blond curls from his face. His eyes dart back and forth frantically and his grip on my arms tightens, as though afraid I am leaving again. The poor child has seen so many people he trusted walk through the front door and never come back. “Shh,” I coo, drawing him close again and rocking him back and forth. “I have to go away during the day sometimes, kochana, but I will always come back at night. Always.” His grip unrelenting, he buries his head in my shoulder, still not uttering a sound.

“How was it?” Krysia asks a few hours later, when we have finished supper and carried our mugs of coffee to the study. I had eaten with Lukasz still wrapped around my neck and had only been able to put him to bed once he had fallen soundly asleep in my arms.

“Not so very bad,” I answer carefully. How could I tell her the truth, that it was both horrible and yet strangely exciting at the same time? I hated being among the Nazis, but it was somehow thrilling to work in such a grand office in Wawel Castle. And then there was Kommandant Richwalder. The air felt electrified when he was present. But he is a Nazi, and to feel anything other than hatred and disgust … a wave of shame washes over me. After an awkward pause, I fetch my bag and show Krysia the pass Colonel Diedrichson had obtained for me from the security office.