Karolina's Twins by Ronald H. Balson Page A

would have joined the displaced Jewish families.
    â€œâ€˜I can take you close, but I’d better not stray too far from my usual route,’ Mr. Tarnowski said, and no sooner had he finished his sentence than a black sedan honked and motioned for us to pull over. Mr. Tarnowski looked at me and put his finger to his lips.
    â€œA Wehrmacht officer got out of the car and walked slowly to our wagon. He was a tall, good-looking man dressed in his officer’s uniform. He wore a peaked cap with its shiny black visor, golden braid and the silver flat-winged eagle, Germany’s national symbol, over the green hatband. His long trench coat was open, revealing his olive tunic with padded shoulders, silver buttons, tall black collars and red waistband. His tunic was adorned with badges and medals. The officer was graying at the temples, clearly in his fifties, not one of the brash young soldiers who bullied their way around town.
    â€œâ€˜Ah, Herr farmer, so pleasant to see you out and about so early this morning.’ He patted our horse on his neck. ‘But what are you doing on this side of town? Your products don’t get delivered here.’”
    â€œWhat did he mean by that?” Catherine asked.
    â€œMilk, eggs, cheese—they were under strict ration and only could be purchased in certain stores. As I told you, Jews were not allowed to buy milk and eggs. Although I didn’t know it at the time, the area we were approaching had been demarcated by the Germans as the Jewish ghetto.”
    â€œSo these Nazis stopped you from entering the ghetto?”
    Lena nodded. “Only one Nazi, a ranked officer. He spoke politely to Mr. Tarnowski, not rudely as the other Germans I had encountered. Still, he was a German—frightening and not to be trifled with.
    â€œâ€˜What have you today, Herr farmer? Do you have a wagonload full of that wonderful cheese?’
    â€œMr. Tarnowski nodded. ‘ Ja, Herr Oberst.’
    â€œâ€˜Mmm. I do like that cheese. It reminds me of my childhood in Bavaria. Will we see you at my house today for your usual delivery?’
    â€œMr. Tarnowski nodded, reached behind him, pulled out a chunk of white cheese and broke off a corner. ‘Mmm. So smooth,’ the officer said as he took a bite. ‘I will see you later, ja ?’
    â€œâ€˜ Ja. ’
    â€œHe turned to leave, walked a step and then returned. ‘How ill-mannered of me.’ He flashed a disingenuous smile. ‘I did not offer my salutations to the young lady. Is she your daughter?’
    â€œâ€˜ Ja. ’
    â€œThe Nazi’s smile broadened. ‘Ah, Herr farmer, you think you are fooling me. We know you do not have a daughter. We know you have a son, don’t we? A son who is presently serving the Reich by building roads on the Eastern Front. No?’
    â€œâ€˜ Ja. ’ Mr. Tarnowski’s lower jaw shook.
    â€œâ€˜But alas, Herr farmer, no daughter. Do you know how I know this?’
    â€œMr. Tarnowski shrugged and shook his head.
    â€œâ€˜Because she’s not in the census,’ he said in a singsong tone. ‘You think we don’t know who lives here in this cozy little town?’ He looked at me, smiled and nodded. ‘You know what I think? I think maybe you are stepping out on your wife, Herr farmer. No?’
    â€œâ€˜No, no, Herr Oberst.’
    â€œThe officer pointed at me and held out his hand. ‘ Dokumente, bitte. ’
    â€œI didn’t want to show him my papers. I sat perfectly still. Frozen.
    â€œâ€˜He is asking for your papers,’ Mr. Tarnowski said to me in Polish.
    â€œI shook my head and held out my open hands. ‘No papers.’
    â€œâ€˜Tsk, tsk,’ the Nazi said with a grin. ‘Where did you find this girl, Herr farmer?’
    â€œâ€˜I was hitchhiking,’ I interjected in German. ‘He picked me up on Slaska Street. He doesn’t know I don’t have