Renia and Ilza climbed up the green carpeted stairs, shoved from behind by the Gestapo man. Wailing and moaning emerged from a row of rooms. Someone was being tortured.
The Gestapo agent opened the door to one of the rooms. Renia saw a man, about thirty-five, tall and sturdy. Glasses rested on his wide-nostrilled eagle nose. His bulging eyes were evil.
The man who led them in ordered them to stand facing the wall. He told his chief the story. After every few words, he hit Renia so hard she saw nothing but streaks of white light. Then he took out the false papers. A younger Gestapo man entered and removed their handcuffs. A few more blows.
“This is the Katowice prison!” the man that brought them shouted. Katowice was a Nazi jail and detention center for political prisoners, known as one of the most brutal. “Here they’ll cut you into pieces if you don’t tell the truth.”
Their belongings stayed in the room upstairs. The girls were taken to the damp basement and locked in different cells.
It was a hot summer day, but Renia shivered. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the pitch blackness. She saw two cots, and sat down on one, only to find that it was covered with congealed blood. Disgusted, she leapt up. The window was reinforced with two metal lattices. She successfully pulled out the first one—but the window was too small, even for her head. She put back the screen so that no one would notice.
How could she feel healthy and strong, yet so helpless, waiting for torture? She felt colder with every passing moment. “Water is dripping from the wall,” she would write, “as if it is crying.” She sat at the edge of the cot and curled herself into a ball, trying to warm up. Whatever will be, will be, she repeated, self-soothing.
Church music wafted in through the little window. It was Sunday: for Poles, the day of the Lord.
Renia’s mind whirred as she replayed the recent days. Was this life of suffering even worth living? She felt guilty that there were people waiting for her help, waiting for her to return from Warsaw with more money. At least she’d left Meir and Sarah the address for their ally Irena Abramowicz; they’d call her if needed. Then Renia forced herself to stop thinking, especially about her comrades. Who knew, someone may have been reading her mind through a hole in the wall. Anything was possible.
*
Late afternoon. The girls were removed from the cellar. They were ordered to collect their belongings—a sign they weren’t to be shot just yet. The Gestapo walked them down the street, “like dogs on a leash,” holding a chain connected to their handcuffs. Renia recalled once seeing a young man who’d murdered an entire family being led this way. Passersby stared. German children threw stones. The Gestapo man grinned.
They approached a tall building. The main prison. The small windows were covered in thick metal bars. The iron gate opened with a loud screech. The guards saluted the Gestapo. The gate closed behind them. The Gestapo man removed the handcuffs and handed them over to his supervisor. He whispered a few words in her ear, then left. Renia felt better. As long as he was around, her fear was overwhelming.
A clerk took down their formal details: appearance, age, place of birth, place of arrest. They were locked in another cell together.
At eight o’clock, the supervisor opened the door. Two young, gaunt girls handed them small slices of dark bread and coffee served in military pitchers. Renia and Ilza took the food; the door was bolted again. They hadn’t eaten for an entire day, but they couldn’t touch the meal. The pitcher was disgusting, the bread inedible.
Escape was impossible. The girls huddled together and discussed options for suicide. Ilza was sure that she would break under torture; that under the blows she would tell them everything: who she was, who she’d stayed with. “They’ll shoot me, and that will be the end of it.”
Renia wasn’t surprised; Ilza was young, inexperienced. Would the girl have the will to stay silent? She explained to Ilza that if she spoke, it would result in many more casualties. “Yes, we failed,” she said firmly. “But there’s no point bringing suffering to others.”