Chapter Eight
April-May, 1946
They were paid no attention by the Czech border police before the train crossed into Poland.
The Czechs seemed more intent on exiting the train than in keeping an eye on its passengers. When they reached the frontier, the locomotive ground to a halt in Czechoslovakian territory, and most of the crew and all the officials left the train. The Czechs trudged past the carriage towards their own country as the train rolled slowly forward onto a siding on the Polish side.
Once across, the exchange of Czech railway personnel for Polish was completed, and Colling watched as a group of a half dozen men climbed the steps into their carriage. They were wearing a ragtag variety of uniforms that seemed to have been pieced together from Russian, German and Polish military and Railway Service origins. They began going from compartment to compartment while the train was held on the siding. All of them were armed with either rifles or circular-drummed Russian submachine guns slung over their shoulders.
When they entered Colling’s and Elizabeth’s compartment, and were greeted by the couple wearing American uniforms and speaking fluent Polish, the Poles’ reaction was enthusiastic. They asked all sorts of questions about the United States, and related stories about friends and relatives who had immigrated to America. One of them pulled out an unlabeled bottle of clear liquid which he identified as vodka, and passed it over to Colling, who made as if drinking, turning it up, but letting little of the liquid pass his lips. Even at that, he coughed as he handed the bottle back. The Poles laughed and circulated the bottle among themselves, and Colling was asked what he thought of Polish vodka. He truthfully told them that he found it stronger than what he was used to, and they laughed again. Colling refused a second pull from the bottle, and noticed that they had not offered Elizabeth any. While he concluded that this must be a mark of their respect; he also realized that the men were glancing appreciatively at Elizabeth, but at the same time their actions toward her were almost shy, and he guessed that none of them had probably encountered a woman as attractive in some time, if ever.
The visit concluded with a cursory examination of the couple’s papers, a dismissal with a wave of Colling’s offer to allow them to search the luggage, and then the group moved on to the next compartment loudly laughing and talking, after wishing them a safe and pleasant journey to Warsaw.
The condition of the railway road-beds in Poland turned out to be no better than anywhere else in Eastern Europe, and in many instances, somewhat worse than what they had experienced thus far. Not only was there constant jolting, swaying and vibrating, with an associated clamor, but in many places there was only a single set of rails, so that they were literally side-tracked for hours at a time, to permit those in charge of the Polish railway, for reasons of their own, to hold the main line open.
Their first-class compartment did not have sleeping accommodations, but since they were the only ones occupying it, they were able to stretch out on the seats and sleep when night fell. They found that the dining car, while still attached to the train, had no cooks or waiters. An old man sat at one end of the car, selling hot tea which an old woman, presumably his wife, was brewing on the stove in the car’s kitchen.
As they reached stations along their route, vendors on their platforms offered apples and pears, sausage, ham, bread and cheese. Colling purchased a selection of these offerings at noon and later in the day. With hot tea from the dining car, they at least did not go hungry.
Almost thirty-six hours after leaving Czechoslovakia, the train pulled into a makeshift terminal on the eastern edge of the city of Warsaw. Colling and Elizabeth were not surprised to hear that the main terminal was undergoing repairs. Transportation to the city center was provided by horse-drawn wagons with makeshift plank seats nailed across their beds. They and several others of the train’s passengers clambered on board one of them, quickly filling it to capacity. When he saw their American uniforms, their driver, with an almost exaggerated show of chivalry, indicated that Elizabeth should ride beside him on the cart’s seat, while Colling was seated directly behind, his legs resting on their piled luggage.
Elizabeth asked to be taken to the Polonia. She and the driver carried on a running conversation about the city as they drove through battered streets filled with work parties of both men and women clearing the rubble of collapsed and shattered buildings.
Colling was surprised that the streets were as busy as they were. There were few motor vehicles, but lots of horse-drawn traffic and crowds of pedestrians. The street-cars seemed to be fully back in operation, clanging away as they rattled along. Colling tapped Elizabeth on the shoulder to point out a shiny bright red double-decker London bus plying its way. The driver explained that the busses were a gift from the British. So far, however, they carried no advertising placards on their sides.
The Hotel Polonia had served as headquarters for the Germans throughout the war, and had by some odd circumstance escaped major damage. It was now filled with foreigners, mostly diplomats from the Allies and neutral nations, as well as opportunists looking for quick and tidy profits in an uncertain political and economic environment.
The lobby of the Polonia was crowded. In walking from the front door to the registration desk, Colling was able to identify over ten different languages being spoken. At the desk, he presented their passports and his travel papers to the clerk while Elizabeth stood by his side. The man smiled at Elizabeth and frowned at Colling. When Colling addressed him in Polish, the clerk’s attitude warmed, and he asked pleasantly if they had reservations.
Colling was about to say no, when Elizabeth interrupted, “Please, yes, you will find them under the name of Collins,…Lieutenant and Mrs. James T. Collins. We are here with the Red Cross.”
The clerk searched in a small file-box and pulled out a card, “Ah, yes, Madame. Here it is. Unfortunately, our accommodations are limited, but we do have one room for you. The management requires now that payment be made in advance. It says you will be staying two weeks. If you will sign the register, please, lieutenant, sir,” he said, turning the registration book to face Colling. As Colling wrote “Lt. and Mrs. Collins,” the clerk continued, “And lieutenant, sir, I must prevail upon you for 14,000 zlotys.”
Colling counted out $140 in U.S. dollars, and reminded himself to ask Elizabeth why she had taken the room for two weeks, when she knew his furlough expired in a little over a week. If they weren’t back in Germany on schedule, he would be likely to lose his stripes and forfeit his pay as well.
The clerk called out, and a bellhop was immediately at their side, lifting their bags. The collar and cuffs of his blue-trimmed gray uniform were threadbare, and it was large for his thin frame. Taking the room key from the desk clerk, he asked Colling and Elizabeth to follow him.
Their room was on the fourth floor. It was in better condition than Colling would have predicted when he registered. It was furnished with a comfortable double bed, two drab over-stuffed chairs, and a writing desk. There was a water closet with an ancient sink and toilet, but no bath. The bellhop provided him with an answer before he could ask, and informed them that the bath was at the end of the corridor.
Colling gave the man a dollar bill as a tip, and closed the door after him. He turned to Elizabeth, “How come you reserved this room for two weeks? I’ve got to be back at the kaserne next Wednesday.”
Elizabeth didn’t answer, but placed her finger over her lips, pointing up at the ceiling light. As Colling looked upwards at the gesture, she answered, “Well, you know, darling, I thought we’d take an extra day or two for ourselves.”
Still pointing, she drew him into the water closet and turned on the faucets full force. She spoke softly directly into his ear, “There are probably listening devices in the room. The Russians have microphones in every room in the Polonia. Try and carry on a normal conversation, but don’t give away any secrets.”
She shut off the water and asked in a cheery voice, “Darling, ca
n we get something to eat? I’m simply starved after that terrible food on the train.”
Looking around their room, he responded, “I suppose they have a restaurant downstairs. Let’s give it a try.”
Elizabeth began chattering about what might be on the restaurant’s menu, while she opened her suitcase and extracted the envelopes of cash, which she stuffed into her purse. Colling took this as a hint, and opened his own bag and pulled out his own money and the Luger. He shoved the Luger into the back of his belt, under his uniform jacket, and put the folded currency and the box of cartridges into his pants pocket. They re-closed their luggage and, before leaving the room, Elizabeth plucked two hairs from her head and looped one around the catches on each of their suitcases, so that if they were opened, the strands of hair would be broken.
In the hallway, she leaned close to him and said in a whisper, “Bringing a gun was not a good idea, my love. If they catch you with it, we’re in trouble.”
He pulled her closer to him and spoke into her ear, “Just a precaution, Liz. I’m keeping it. I’ll find a safe place to hide it, don’t worry.”
Colling was pleasantly surprised to find that the Polonia’s restaurant served excellent food. They started with a Žurek, a traditional Polish mushroom soup, followed by a garden salad. The main course consisted of pork roast, mashed potatoes, and bowls of fresh vegetables from which they served themselves. When they thought they could eat no more, their waiter brought a tray of assorted pastries, from which they selected makowiec, or poppy seed cakes. Colling had not eaten food like this since he had left for college. While Elizabeth knew the Polish words for almost all the dishes, she admitted to Colling that she had not ever tasted most of them.
After they finished eating, Colling suggested he exchange some of their dollars for Polish currency, and the registration clerk directed him to a cashier’s window on the opposite side of the lobby. The banknotes he received in return for his dollars were of simple design and plainly printed, and Colling was told by the cashier that the bills had been provided courtesy of the Russians.
Elizabeth asked if they could see something of the city, and they left the hotel and strolled arm-in-arm among the crowd circling the round plaza close by the Polonia, known to the Polish as a rondo, where Marszawkovska and Jerozolimskie streets intersected. Colling’s American uniform drew stares, especially from the Russian soldiers they passed. One or two, recognizing that he wore officer’s insignia, saluted. Most did not.
One man in British-style uniform with Polish insignia saluted Colling as he approached, then stopped them and greeted them in English. The Polish soldier explained that he had fought with the Polish Brigade attached to the British forces. When he learned they spoke Polish, he began enthusiastically describing his service in Italy, his demobilization and return to Poland after six years as an exile. As they stood talking, a few of the passing throng stopped to listen and add their own comments. Some of them wanted to know if either of the Americans was from Chicago. When Colling told them he was from Wisconsin, which is near Chicago, they all started asking if he knew various of their friends and relatives who lived there. Colling recognized none of the names thrown at him, and politely expressed that he had not heard of any of them, explaining that Chicago has over two million residents. The questioning would probably not have ended if Elizabeth had not interrupted to say that they must return to their hotel. Even then, it took some effort to tear themselves away and return to the Polonia.
As they retraced their steps, a battered black Renault sedan parked on the opposite side of the boulevard, across from the Polonia’s main entrance, caught Colling’s eye. Two men were seated in its front seat. As Colling and Elizabeth crossed the street, Colling glanced towards the car and the man in the passenger seat, whom Colling had observed was watching them intently, quickly looked away. The driver had a newspaper held up in front of his face.
Once in the crowded hotel lobby, Colling spoke softly to Elizabeth as they waited for the elevator, “I think we’re being watched.”
Elizabeth looked cautiously around and asked, “Who?”
“Outside across the street. Two men in a black car.”
The elevator door opened and the operator motioned them in with an impatient, “Come, come.” After telling the man their floor, they rode without speaking until they reached it.
In their room, Elizabeth inspected their bags to see if the strands of hair had been disturbed, and gesturing a caution to Colling not to speak, pointed out that they had been. The two of them quickly surveyed the rest of the room, noting that some of their personal articles seemed to not be in the same positions in which they had been left.
As quietly as possible, Colling moved the chair from the desk and placed it under the light fixture. He then climbed up to get a better look. The room had a high ceiling, so that he had to stretch upwards to look over the rim of the lamp’s broad shade. Elizabeth was correct. A thin wire coiled down around the chain suspending the lamp, and ended in a small black wafer of a microphone.
While he had been standing on the chair, Elizabeth had kept up a vocal one-sided running commentary about their stay in Prague compared to Warsaw, the Polonia’s restaurant, and the elevator operator, while walking noisily around the room. Colling returned the chair to its place under the desk, and nodded his head affirmatively to Elizabeth, pointing up at the light.
On an inspiration, Colling said, “You know what? I wonder if we could get a radio? We might be able to get the Armed Forces Network. Even if we can’t, we might at least get some music.”
Elizabeth replied, “That would be great. I’d love some music.”
The telephone was ancient but did get Colling through to the front desk. He was assured that a radio could be brought to their room, but an additional charge of 100 zlotys per day was necessary. Colling gave his assurance that the extra expense did not present a problem.
While they waited for the radio to arrive, they continued to converse about as many inconsequential subjects as came to mind, but then Colling interjected, “I love you.”
Elizabeth was obviously disconcerted by his statement, and he interpreted her reaction to be due to her being surprised by his sudden change of subject. She recovered quickly, however, and responded, “I love you, too, Jim.”
Colling had just put his arms around her and was kissing her when the bellman knocked on the door. He was carrying a large old-fashioned table radio, which he ceremoniously placed on the desk and after some fuss, managed to plug it in. The bellman turned the apparatus on, and twisted the dial slowly, searching for a clear signal. He was finally rewarded when the voice of a Polish announcer boomed out, giving the weather report for central Poland. Colling thanked him and tipped him 50 zlotys.
When they were alone, Colling adjusted the radio’s dial so that the result was a low-pitched hum, fluctuating occasionally with a shriller tone. He then raised the volume. He motioned Elizabeth closer and speaking softly, said, “I don’t know how well this will work, but maybe it will interfere with their mike.”
“Good grief, it’s annoying!” she said, “I don’t know how long I can stand it.”
“Long enough for us to talk, I hope. Those two guys in the black car outside I am pretty sure are keeping an eye on us. If they’re still there tomorrow, we can be sure of it.”
“So what do you want to do about it?”
“We can’t do much, but I don’t think we’re going to have much luck finding your uncle with the police, or whoever they are, in tow.”
“Since they have a car, I would guess they’re Russian, NKVD, most likely. Word is, that’s who’s got microphones in all these rooms.”
“I’m worried, Liz. We’re being watched, and I think they knew we were coming.”
Her hands clasped over her ears, Elizabeth said, “I don’t think so. This is just the way they do with all foreigners. The Russians don’t trust anyone. Once I get to Red Cross headquarters, everything will be fine. Now please
, turn that thing off.”
Colling twisted the dial some more, producing a range of noise, then tuned back to the Warsaw station and reduced the volume. For the consumption of whoever was listening, he said, “Damn. We can’t get A.F.N. I hope this station has some decent music.”
The prospect of someone eavesdropping on them while they had sexual intercourse was at first inhibiting, but they decided that their not doing so might raise suspicions. Remaining as quiet as possible, they began making love, and as things progressed, their intruders were forgotten. Afterwards, when they were lying side by side, sated, Colling began moaning and sighing dramatically. Suppressing a giggle, Elizabeth followed suit. After awhile, they became quiet, and Colling whispered in her ear, “That will give them something to talk about.”
The Renault was still there the following morning when they exited the Polonia. They boarded the street-car that the desk clerk had told them would take them south on Marzalkowska to Red Cross headquarters. Colling looked back to see the black sedan pull from the curb to follow the trolley and watched as it slowly matched their route and speed, confirming without a doubt Colling’s suspicions about the assignment of its two occupants. He glanced at Elizabeth sitting upright beside him. She seemed preoccupied, and he did not mention the car trailing them, or his own apprehensions, which had begun to increase as he evaluated their situation.
The headquarters of the Polish Red Cross in Warsaw had been set up in a large mansion that Colling guessed must have belonged at one time to a wealthy member of Warsaw’s merchant class. The Red Cross flag hung from a pole over the house’s front doors.
In the spacious tiled foyer, a woman receptionist greeted them from behind the Rococo table that served her as a desk. She appeared to Colling to have been expecting their arrival. When Elizabeth asked to speak to the Director, she excused herself and disappeared through a door behind her. She re-emerged a short time later, followed by a tall bearded man. He enthusiastically shook both Elizabeth’s and Colling’s hands, introducing himself as Gregoris Zabiewski, director of the Warsaw office of the Polish Red Cross.
He was wearing a gray Russian-style blouse over trousers of the same color that were tucked into low black boots. The white armband emblazoned with a red cross that he wore was apparently intended to identify him as a Red Cross official. Colling found the costume strikingly reminiscent of official Soviet dress, and wondered whether it was imitation or genuine. Despite his appearance, Zabiewski’s manner was friendly as he greeted them in broken English and conducted them to his office. Elizabeth switched to Polish and informed him that Colling, her “husband,” spoke the language as well.
Elizabeth handed over the letters on American Red Cross stationery that she had shown to Colling in Germany, and indicated to Zabiewski that she had requested of her superiors with the American Red Cross that because of her fluency with the language, that she be permitted to contact the Polish Red Cross on a lower, somewhat unofficial level, regarding assistance that might be provided to it. At the same time, she continued, her husband, Lieutenant Collins, who was with the American occupation government, had been given an inventory of surplus supplies of various sorts that the American Army was willing, at the request of the American Red Cross, to see transferred to assist the Polish Red Cross and the Polish people. Elizabeth was speaking in a formal and precise manner that Colling was not used to hearing her use, and he had the impression that her speech might have been prepared ahead of time, perhaps even rehearsed.
Zabiewski expressed his pleasure at the offer of assistance. Elizabeth asked if she might view the facilities in the Warsaw area that were operated by Zabiewski’s office, and he responded that he would personally conduct them on such a tour. Colling was somewhat surprised when Elizabeth told Zabiewski that her husband would probably make better use of his time by comparing his inventory against the list of needs that her superiors had informed her would be provided by the Warsaw headquarters. She would accompany Zabiewski by herself to visit the local Red Cross operations.
Zabiewski saw to it that Colling was ensconced at a desk in a tiny office and provided with a sheaf of papers listing items that the Polish Red Cross was supposed to need, and which it was presumed that the Americans could provide.
Colling pulled out the notebook that he had carried in his suitcase from Germany, and began to make a show of comparing it with the list he had been given. He used a pencil that he found in the desk drawer to check off items in his inventory and make cryptic notes in the margins of Zabiewski’s list. He made enough entries so he felt it would look as if his efforts were genuine, and laid down the pencil. He stood up, stretched and went to the one window in the room. It looked out over a courtyard that he estimated was at the rear of the mansion. He began pacing, both with the intent of relieving his boredom and having some exercise. At some point he looked up at the high ceiling and observed the crystal chandelier that hung from its center. It had apparently been converted to electricity since its original installation, and Colling circled, examining the wires that twined down the ornate gilt chain attaching it to the ceiling. A nudge of curiosity caused him to pull the desk under the light and climb up for a closer look. He found that he was still not close enough, and placed the chair on top of the desk. Playing the acrobat, he was finally at eye level with the chandelier, and saw what he had suspected he would find. He carefully replaced the desk and chair as he had found them.
He estimated that at least two hours had passed since he had entered the room, and he was seated in the chair, leaning back, his feet on the desk, when Elizabeth came through the door. She greeted him, but before she could say more, he placed his finger to his lips and pointed to the light. She looked up and her eyes widened, then she nodded her head in acknowledgement of his cautionary gesture.
“Mr. Zabiewski is very nice,” she said brightly, “I mentioned I would like to find my uncle, and he said he would provide his car.”
“Can he help you locate where he is?” asked Colling cautiously, wary even though Elizabeth seemed to have no compunction about someone listening in on their conversation.
“He said he would do what he could, but everything is in such turmoil these days.”
Gathering up his notebook and Zabiewski’s lists, Colling nodded towards the door and said, “Let me take these lists back to him. There are some things we have on hand and in sufficient quantity, but most things we don’t have or can’t spare.”
Colling said the same thing to Zabiewski when they met him in his office and Colling handed him the list of the director’s requests. Colling apologetically explained that approval from Heidelberg remained necessary, but that he had marked those items that he believed were in Army warehouses. He would seek the needed authorizations once he had returned to Germany. Zabiewski appeared to take Colling at his word, saying he would make arrangements for transportation of the goods to Warsaw from the Polish frontier.
Zabiewski offered to have his driver return them to the Polonia, but Elizabeth declined, saying she enjoyed riding the streetcar and taking in the sights. Zabiewski commented that Warsaw was once much more beautiful than one would believe from its present appearance, and expressed his belief that it would not be long before the city was restored to its former self.
Instead of boarding a streetcar at the nearest stop, Colling and Elizabeth walked along, his arm around her waist, to all appearances two young Americans without a care in the world, enjoying the warm Spring day. In truth, they were engaged in an earnest discussion, although their facial expressions did not betray it. They both were aware of the black Renault that doggedly followed.
Smiling all the while, Colling spoke through his teeth, “Are you sure this plan is a good one.”
She hissed back at him, “Of course. If you will just calm down, everything will be alright.”
“But this guy Zabiewski looks like a Russian commissar; he has a mike planted in his own building to eavesdrop on us; and you think you can trust him to help
you get your uncle out?”
“Things will work out. Just wait and see. Zabiewski is Polish and he doesn’t like the Russians very much. He warned me about the Russians putting microphones everywhere, including in Red Cross headquarters.”
Even though Colling continued to argue, Elizabeth also continued to respond that his fears were unfounded. When Elizabeth told him she did not want to discuss it further, Colling decided it was useless to persist in trying to convince her. When he saw the streetcar with their number at a stop ahead of them, he led her to the line of people waiting to board. The trolley was crowded, and they had to stand in the aisle, struggling to stay upright in the swaying carriage. The Renault followed in their wake. They stepped down from the streetcar on the far side of the rondo near the Polonia and walked the circular sidewalk to the hotel. The black sedan drove past them and pulled to a stop in the side street beside the hotel, positioned so as to have a view of both the side and main entrances to the building.
Instead of immediately entering the Polonia, Colling pointed to a cluster of tables arrayed on the sidewalk across the street, and pulled Elizabeth by the arm, suggesting they have something to eat. They took seats at one of the small tables that appeared to have been recently repainted. They ordered sandwiches and tea from the stooped waiter who came to serve them. With the combination of street noise and the chattering conversations at the tables around them, Colling felt confident that they could not be overheard.
“Elizabeth, do you really think Zabiewski can be trusted to help you find your uncle?”
“Oh, Jim, not again. Would you please not worry so much. I don’t need Zabiewski to find my uncle. I know exactly where he is.”
“Does the fact that you haven’t told Zabiewski that mean that you do have some doubts about how far you can trust him?”
“Well, something did tell me keep that little piece of information to myself. But we do need the Red Cross to get us a car to go get him. So as far as that’s concerned, I do have to trust him. There’s no way around it. And besides, we’re set up for just getting on the train to Prague with my uncle and going there. Our identity papers won’t let us do anything else.”
Their food came and they continued their discussion while they ate. As Colling took a sip of warm tea from the glass that the waiter had brought, he noticed a man wearing a black leather jacket approach the table behind Elizabeth, and lean over to whisper something to the man and woman seated there. The couple suddenly stood up and left the table, leaving half their meal unfinished. The man then sat down and pulled out a newspaper. When the waiter approached him, he ordered tea, and Colling realized that his conversation with Elizabeth could be easily overhead.
Elizabeth was starting to speak when he changed the subject by observing what a fine day it was. Without demonstrating any surprise at the sudden shift, Elizabeth agreed with him. Colling then leaned across and took her hand and told Elizabeth that he loved her, both for the benefit of the man at the next table, and because he enjoyed saying the words. She smiled and silently mouthed the words, “I love you, too.”
They finished eating, and Colling asked the waiter to bring their bill. He paid, and as they walked past the black-jacketed man, Elizabeth glanced down at him, then turned her head away as he stared back at her over his newspaper. She said nothing to Colling as they crossed the street to the Polonia.
When they reached their room, Elizabeth turned on the radio and adjusted the dial until the sounds of a symphony orchestra filled the room. She raised the volume, and turned to Colling. He sensed her nervousness and placed his hands on her shoulders, pulling her close to him.
She whispered in his ear, “That man at the café. I saw Zabiewski talking to him today. He didn’t see me. It was at an orphanage we visited. I was talking to one of the nurses when I saw the two of them together outside.”
“So now are you going to believe me?”
She took a step back and said softly, “We need to get new papers.”
“Do you have a way to do that?” he asked.
“I think so. But we’re going to have to get away from the men who are watching us.”
They both jumped as there was a loud knock at the door. Colling opened it to reveal a dark-haired man in a white suit, who began speaking rapidly in a loud voice. Colling shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he did not understand what he was saying, when the man brushed past him and turned off the radio with an emphatic twist of its dial.
Colling asked, “Excuse me, sir, but what are you doing?”
“I am shutting off the musica, senhor,” he responded irately.
Suddenly realizing what effect the noise that they had been creating with the radio must have been having on the other hotel guests, Colling apologized, then introduced himself and Elizabeth as “Lieutenant and Mrs. Collins.” The intruder’s demeanor changed dramatically when Elizabeth smiled at him and acknowledged Colling’s introduction, and he stepped forward stiffly, bowed and taking her hand, kissed it.
“João Mendoza Espinoza de Cahinas, à suas ordens, senhora.”
Elizabeth graciously thanked Senhor Mendoza and asked if he spoke English or Polish.
Mendoza admitted that his Polish was not very good, but he did have a little English. He explained that he and his wife were in Warsaw with the Brazilian trade mission. He apologized for his abruptness about the radio, and Colling and Elizabeth repeated their apology for causing any discomfort to Mendoza and his wife.
The Brazilian asked if Tenente Collins and his lovely esposa would wish to join him and Senhora Mendoza in their room for a glass of wine. Before Colling could respond, Elizabeth accepted the invitation.
The Mendozas’ room was next to Colling’s and Elizabeth’s. It was also arranged and furnished in the same sparse and shabby manner, with the exception that the room seemed to be filled with luggage. Two large steamer trunks stood against one wall, and suitcases were stacked around the room. The wardrobe was ajar, and Colling could see that clothing on hangers was arranged on the inside of both its doors.
Senhora Isabel Mendoza was an attractive brunette who seemed glad to have another woman to whom to talk. Once Mendoza had poured them all a glass of white wine, begging their indulgence that he was forced to use the plain water glasses that were all that the hotel was willing to supply to its guests’ rooms, Senhora Mendoza and Elizabeth sat on the bed chatting while Colling and Mendoza took the two easy chairs. Colling expressed his compliments concerning Mendoza’s choice of wine, and the Brazilian explained that it was Portuguese, from Oporto and called by the name vinho verde, or “green wine.” At hearing this, Colling saw that the clear wine was in fact colored with a tinge of green.
When Mendoza asked their purpose for being in Warsaw, Colling described their mission to obtain supplies for the Polish Red Cross. In turn, Colling asked Mendoza about the trade mission, and was informed that Brazil had a surplus of coffee that it was anxious to export worldwide. Mendoza was only one of many representatives that the South American country had sent to Europe as soon as the war was over, in an attempt to restore pre-war levels of overseas sales of the beans.
Mendoza was in the middle of a description of the optimum conditions for growing coffee beans when Elizabeth came to stand beside Colling’s chair and interrupted.
“Darling, Isabel has offered to solve our shortage of something to wear.”
Colling was not expecting to hear what Elizabeth had said, and he was unable to think of anything to say except, “Oh?”
“Yes, Darling. I explained to Isabel how it was so hard to get around without a lot of unwanted attention when both of us are in uniform, and she has offered to lend me a couple of her dresses, and she tells me Joào has an extra suit or two that you can borrow.”
Mendoza laughed and said, “Of course, of course. But I must say that my esposa is unlikely to miss a ‘couple’ of dresses from this inventory she has carried from Sao Paulo.” Senhora Mendoza said something to him in Portuguese,
and he laughed again. His response to her in the same language caused her to laugh as well. Mendoza explained that Isabel had asked him if he would prefer that she go shopping here in Warsaw, and he told her she would have to settle for the only fashion salon in town, the city’s flea market.
Colling and Elizabeth returned to their room carrying the clothes that the Mendozas had lent them. The Brazilian couple had insisted they borrow several changes, but Colling and Elizabeth had declined all but one outfit apiece. Additional searches of their room were to be expected, and apparel that had not been there earlier would undoubtedly heighten the interest of those watching them.
They remained in their room until dusk. Colling tore a piece of paper from his notebook and wrote a “Do Not Disturb” sign that he closed in the door to their room so that it was over the doorknob. He also telephoned the registration desk to ask that any messages be held until morning, as they would be sleeping.
Dressed in the Mendozas’ clothes, they strolled leisurely through the Polonia’s lobby. To hide her blonde hair, Elizabeth had tucked it into one of the turbans that had become fashionable during the war. Senhor Mendoza’s light brown suit was slightly large for Colling, but he did not believe it would be noticeable. He pulled down the brim of the Panama hat that the Brazilian had lent him as they walked through the Polonia’s front doors. They did not look in the direction of the Renault when they exited the hotel and crossed the street. They climbed into the first of a line of horse-drawn cabs that stood at the curb. Once the driver had snapped his reins and the carriage had pulled into traffic, Colling looked cautiously back to see that the black sedan was still parked where it had been that afternoon, and was not following them. Elizabeth told the driver they wished to go to Potok, and the man told her that it was at a considerable distance. Colling assured him that the fare would be paid.
It took a little more than an hour to reach the neighborhood Elizabeth was seeking. She had given the driver no specific address, but when he announced that they were in Potok, Elizabeth asked to be left on the nearest street corner. They stood for a moment while Elizabeth looked around. The few passers-by looked at them curiously as they walked past them. A middle-aged woman pushing a small cart paused for a moment while negotiating the curb, and Elizabeth stopped her and asked if she knew where the bicycle shop of Mishkie Oblieska might be located. The woman, clearly surprised that this well-dressed foreigner was speaking to her in Polish, nodded and replied that Oblieska’s shop was on the next street. Colling and Elizabeth both thanked the woman and followed the direction in which she had pointed.
No sign identified the bicycle shop, but it was not difficult to pick it out on the street, because several battered bicycles were propped under its one large dirty window. Double doors stood open beside the window, and Colling guessed that at one time the place might have been used as a garage. Inside the entrance, a man was bent over a bicycle held upside down in a rack specially built for the purpose. Another man, apparently the bicycle’s owner, was watching the mechanic work, and asking questions. Colling and Elizabeth stepped to one side of the doors and stood quietly, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The customer noticed them and tapped the other man’s shoulder and nodded in their direction when he looked up.
Speaking Polish, Colling said, “Please finish with this man’s vehicle. We are in no hurry.”
The mechanic looked at them curiously, said something to the bicycle’s owner, and turned back to his work. The customer continued to eye Colling and Elizabeth until the shop owner stated that he was finished with the repairs. He pulled the bike from the support and gently dropped it wheels first, letting it bounce down onto the floor. The bicycle’s owner mounted it and pedaled for a few feet, testing it. He voiced his satisfaction with the repairs and paid the mechanic a price that appeared to have been previously agreed.
When the customer had departed, Elizabeth stepped forward and asked if she might be speaking to Mishkie Oblieska.
“Who wishes to know this?” the mechanic replied.
“Someone who knew Sosabowski,” she replied.
The man nodded, “Would that be Colonel Davisson?”
“The very one, sir,” replied Elizabeth.
“I am Oblieska. Come into my office.”
The shop’s office was dingy, lit only by one bare low-wattage bulb hanging from the ceiling. Oblieska moved a box from a chair so that Elizabeth would have a place to sit. When she hesitated, he took a rag from his back pocket and wiped off the seat. When Elizabeth was seated, she said, “I need to speak with Davisson’s friend.”
“Why?” asked Oblieska.
“We need documents. We have money,” she replied.
“If you have money, you are either British or Americans.”
Colling, tired of the cat-and-mouse game, answered, “Americans.”
Oblieska raised his eyebrows and looked at Colling. “Why should Americans need documents. Just show your passports.”
Elizabeth interjected, “We need documents for some others who are not fortunate enough to have U.S. passports.”
“How much money do you have?” asked Oblieska.
“Enough,” replied Elizabeth.
Oblieska smiled, appearing to size up Colling, then he said, “Yes, all right. Let me close up the shop and I will find Davisson’s friend for you.”
The Pole left them for a moment to shut and padlock the shop’s double doors. He then came back into the office and turned off all the lights, leaving Colling and Elizabeth standing in the dark. “Wait here. I will return in a short while,” he said, just before slipping out the front door and locking it behind him.
Colling tried the door, and found that it did not open from the inside.
“Well, if he’s gone to get the NKVD, we’ve had it,” he commented. Elizabeth did not respond.
A half-hour elapsed before they saw Oblieska outside the door of the shop, then the key turned in the lock and he stepped into the room. Gesturing for them to follow him, he led them out into the street, and after locking the shop once again, he asked them to come with him. They crept along the narrow dark street until light could be seen coming from an open doorway. Oblieska ushered them inside, and they saw that the place was a tavern. It appeared to be empty, with the exception of a lone bartender who watched them from behind a makeshift bar made of rough planks that ran the length of one wall of the room. Oblieska pointed to the rear of the tavern and whispered that the man they wanted to see was waiting for them there, behind a partition that screened off the rear of the establishment. Oblieska then seated himself near the entrance.
The man sitting primly at a table behind the partition smiled at them and asked them to join him. Colling could see that he was wearing an expensive-looking gray suit under his open topcoat. Without being asked, the bartender brought three small glasses of beer and then returned to his place behind the bar.
The well-dressed man took a sip from his glass, then said, “I am Tomek. I am a friend of Colonel Davisson’s. I will not ask your names, that is best. I understand you wish documents.”
“Yes, for ourselves and three others,” said Elizabeth.
Colling was surprised at the request. He had not expected that she would want papers for anyone other than her uncle.
Tomek continued, “Are these three others men or women?”
“All men.”
“And these are to be Polish documents?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, “We will also need travel papers for Prague, by rail.” To Colling’s surprise, she handed Tomek what he realized were extra copies of their passport photos. Tomek opened a briefcase that sat on the floor beside his chair and dropped the pictures inside.
“Do you have photographs of the others?” he asked.
“No. Use those of any middle-aged men. No one in Poland looks like they used to, anyway.”
Tomek nodded his understanding, then said, “I understand you have American dollars.”
“Yes,?
?? said Elizabeth, “How much will be necessary?”
“If you can give me, say, two hundred dollars now, and two hundred more when I deliver the documents, that should be sufficient.”
Elizabeth opened her purse and without revealing its contents, appeared to be counting. She eventually withdrew some folded bills and handed them to Tomek. He quickly leafed through them and appeared satisfied that he had been given the amount he had requested, and tucked the money into his coat pocket.
“Where are you staying?” he asked.
Elizabeth hesitated, then answered, “The Polonia.”
Tomek inquired of Elizabeth, “Do you know the restaurant Treskie that is on the rondo across from the hotel?”
Colling replied first, “Yes, we have passed it when walking.”
Tomek looked surprised, then said smiling, “Ah…the young American does speak after all. I was of the impression that the lady was in charge.”
Embarrassed and angry, Colling did not respond, and Tomek looked at Elizabeth, “I will meet you tomorrow at the Treskie at 1700. I will have the papers then.” He stood and nodded at them.
Taking this as a cue, Colling and Elizabeth also stood, then turned and walked out of the tavern, leaving Tomek watching their departure. Oblieska met them at the door and accompanied them until they had reached his shop.
Colling asked what was available as transportation to take them back to the center of Warsaw, adding that he would be willing to pay if Oblieska knew of someone who had a cart or a carriage. The Pole told them to wait while he went to talk to a friend, and shortly thereafter, a horse-drawn cart appeared with Oblieska seated beside the driver. After a short discussion and agreement about the fee, the man drove them to the city’s center. They asked to be dropped on Marszawkovska a few blocks from the Polonia, and walked the remainder of the distance.
The two men in the black sedan were still where they had last seen them. One appeared to be sleeping while the other was indifferent to them as they strolled past.
A folded piece of paper was tucked above Colling’s “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door to their room. It was a message from Zabiewski, informing her that there were several Red Cross officials to whom she had not yet spoken who wished to meet her. An appointment had been arranged for 9:30 the next morning; his car and driver would pick her up at 9:00. While Colling continued to wonder why Elizabeth had arranged for documents for three men, he did not ask her for an explanation.
Over breakfast in the busy hotel restaurant, Colling reminded Elizabeth that they would have to return the Mendozas’ clothes, and convinced her that it would be a good idea to assume the appearance of ordinary Poles once they left Warsaw. He told her he would make it seem as if he were remaining at the Polonia, perhaps to forestall additional searches of their room, and attempt to slip out and see if he could purchase suitable attire.
They made a show of saying goodbye outside the hotel when Elizabeth left with Zabiewski’s driver, and Colling returned to their room. The maid was in the final stages of making up the bed when he walked in. He sat in one of the easy chairs, reading an old issue of Time that he had packed in his suitcase in Germany, as the maid finished her work. He then waited an additional half-hour to see if anyone would intrude. He opened his notebook on the desk and turned on the radio. He hoped that his eavesdroppers would assume he was working and become less vigilant.
Leaving his uniform jacket behind, Colling slipped out into the corridor and used the stairwell at one end to reach the ground floor. He discovered that the stairs led further down, into the hotel basement. At mid-morning, the Polonia’s staff seemed to be occupied with cleaning guests’ rooms and he did not encounter anyone in the utility areas under the building.
Colling found a set of faded blue coveralls hanging from a peg, under which stood a pair of rubber boots that seemed to go with them. The coveralls were of a size that allowed them to fit his own clothing with ease. The boots could not be pulled on over his shoes, so he removed the brown Army oxfords and hid them on the back of the shelf above the peg that had held the overalls. In the process, he found a dirty slouch cap that he pulled on as a further addition to his disguise. The rubber boots were a little large for him, and made walking slightly clumsy, but he guessed that they would serve his purpose. To complete the picture, he decided to use a handcart he found standing beside the stairway leading upward to what he surmised was the street.
The stairway did lead from the basement to the sidewalk, and Colling blinked at the sunlight as he came out into the sun. The black Renault had been moved from its usual spot, and was at the curb not twenty feet from him. The car’s driver turned from his newspaper to glance at him, and then, without any indication of interest, returned to what he had been doing. Colling realized he had been holding his breath, and he let it escape as he hurried off pushing the handcart. He did not look back.
After he turned the nearest corner, he stopped a woman passing by and asked where the closest street market was. She gave him directions, and as she did so, he was able to orient himself and realized that he had emerged from the Polonia on Poznanska Street. As he thought about the Renault’s new location, which did not have a view of the hotel’s front entrance, he concluded that either the surveillance was being conducted from two identical vehicles, or the effort to watch him was not considered to be of any great importance..
The market was set up in a street that had been cleared between high piles of rubble on both of its sides. Some vendors had set up canopies over rough tables displaying their goods, others operated from blankets and tarpaulins laid on the ground. Colling spotted several racks from which clothes were hanging, and headed in their direction. He found the proprietor of the largest selection to be an old man who was doing a good business, but seemed to love to haggle. It took some time for Colling to select the items he wanted. He could not remove the coveralls to try on the men’s items, so that he had to hold up them up to himself to get some idea of their possible fit. He had to do the same when it came to picking items that would fit Elizabeth.
He bought a worn suit for himself, together with two extra shirts and another pair of trousers, a pair of shoes that he guessed were German military issue, and some well-worn underwear and socks. The shoes had seen a lot of use, but they had new soles and fitted well.
Buying clothes for Elizabeth was a more difficult task. Colling ended up choosing two dresses and a light coat to serve as her primary articles of clothing. When he set aside several pairs of old-fashioned underwear that resembled what Colling had heard called “Bloomers,” the old man snickered. However, when Colling showed him his roll of zlotys, he became very accommodating, and suggested additional items of women’s underwear, stockings, and kerchiefs to cover the hair. Colling was uncertain as to Elizabeth’s shoe size, so he selected three pairs of slightly different sizes that he estimated would fit her, taking care to chose the sturdiest that were available.
Playing the old man’s game, Colling objected vigorously to the asking price, the old proprietor’s face lit up, and he bargained with gusto. When they had finally agreed on what was to be paid, in a gesture of magnanimity the old man provided a large canvas bag in which Colling might carry his purchases. As Colling was counting zlotys into his hand, the old man asked what part of Poland he was from, since he did not recognize Colling’s accent. Colling told him he was from Pomerania, and the clothes were for he and his wife, and they were leaving soon for their home village, now that the Germans had been driven out. The old man seemed satisfied with the explanation and wished Colling a safe journey.
The men in the black car paid no attention to Colling when he slipped back into the Polonia, but there were several staff members in the room where Colling had found the overalls. He decided that boldness was the best course, and after replacing the handcart where he had found it, he removed the boots and coveralls and put them away as if it were something he did every day. He retrieved and put on his own shoes, and then, hoisting
the bag of clothes onto his back, climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. None of the hotel personnel spoke to him or acted as if they had seen anything out of the ordinary.
The radio was still blaring when he entered their room. He dumped out the clothes on the bed, and sorted his into one pile, and Elizabeth’s into another. He then tried on the suit and extra trousers. They fit, even though they were slightly loose, but he had noticed that five years of limited nutrition had resulted in most people in Poland having clothes that were too large for them.
Keeping out one change of clothing, Colling packed the remainder of the newly-purchased clothes into his suitcase, making sure his Luger and money were safely hidden, then shoved the case into the bottom of the wardrobe. He fidgeted until Elizabeth returned at mid-afternoon. She gave him a running commentary on the Red Cross people she had met, praising Zabiewski effusively, telling him how the Director would be providing them his own car to take them to Poznan so she could locate her uncle.
As she spoke, Elizabeth began going through the women’s items, slowly shaking her head as she examined them. She held up a pair of the Bloomers and gave him with a quizzical look. He gestured for her to try on the shoes, and was pleased when she indicated that all three pairs would do, although one pair seemed to fit better than the others. After she selected what she would need to wear, he helped her pack everything else into her case. They then stuffed their uniforms and other American clothes into the canvas bag. They hid their United States passports and Colling’s Army identity card and travel orders in the secret compartment in Colling’s suitcase.
Shortly before 5:00 P.M., they put on their borrowed Brazilian attire and strolled through the Polonia’s lobby and out the front doors. Out of the corner of his eye, Colling noticed that the Renault was parked once again where its occupants could view the hotel’s main entrance. Colling and Elizabeth started circling the rondo towards the Treskie Restaurant. The black sedan did not move, and Colling was certain that they had once again not been noticed.
Half way around the circular plaza, Colling’s shoulder was tapped, startling him so that he jumped. He turned, as did Elizabeth, to see Tomek walking close behind them. The Pole hissed at them to keep walking, then he passed them and turned into a narrow passageway, motioning with a nod of his head for them to follow. Tomek gestured them past him as he kept an eye on the alley’s entrance. When it appeared that no one was behind them, he stepped closer and pulled out a large manila envelope that he handed to Elizabeth.
“I think these should do.”
Elizabeth examined the documents, opening each of the identity books in turn. She handed Colling one, and he found it to be his own. The familiar photo she had taken at Frau Bergheim’s farm stared back at him. Somehow, he thought it looked to be a younger man.
Elizabeth pronounced the papers satisfactory, and handed Tomek $200. He smiled and said, “I think perhaps you might add one hundred more, please. I found my expenses have outrun my original estimate.”
Without comment, Elizabeth fished a hundred-dollar bill from her purse. Tomek’s eyes widened at the denomination, but then he placed it with the other money and put it in his inside coat pocket. “Goodbye, and good luck,” he said, and hurried out of the alley.
Colling and Elizabeth decided to continue on to the Treskie. Most of its tables were unoccupied, since the Warsaw custom was to eat much later in the evening. In order that their waiter would not discern anything unusual, they ordered coffee, accompanied by fruit and pastry. When they had finished, they strolled arm-in-arm back to the Polonia. The Renault had not moved.
Colling attempted to return the Mendozas’ clothing, but when he knocked on their door, there was no answer. He ultimately put everything on hangers from the wardrobe in his and Elizabeth’s room and wrote out a note to the maid to return them to the Mendozas’ room.
Taking time to examine his new identity papers more closely, Colling learned that his name would be Jan Tadeusz Woznica. Elizabeth’s was Elzbieta Jadwicka Woznica. Woznica was a machinist who had been working in the Skoda works in Czechoslovakia, and had been born in a small village near Koszalin. Elizabeth was his wife; her papers showed that she had worked as a laborer in the same factory as her husband. The travel authorization to Prague was accompanied by a letter offering employment from a tool and die firm in Czechoslovakia. The couple was returning to paid employment in the newly-rejuvenated Czech industry for a period of one year, when they would be required to return to Poland. Colling had new respect for Tomek. The man was very thorough.
As soon as it was dark, they dressed in the clothes he had bought in the flea market. With Colling carrying his suitcase and the canvas bag, and Elizabeth her own, they used the stairs to descend to the basement. The hotel staff that Colling had encountered when he returned was gone. They climbed the flight of stairs to the outside door, and Colling opened it a crack. The Renault was not parked on the side street. He opened the door slightly wider and peered around it. He could not see the car and guessed it was still parked closer to the main entrance, and that the two men in it had probably decided that Colling and Elizabeth were unlikely to leave their room for the remainder of the night.
Colling told Elizabeth that he would be waiting for her around the first corner to their right, and that she should delay ten minutes before following him. He then slipped out of the door and walked quickly away.
It seemed to him that more than ten minutes passed before Elizabeth joined him. They looked back to see if they were being followed, saw no one, and then set off for the closest street-car stop. They asked directions for the railway depot, and were told which street-car would take them there.
The terminal was bustling with activity, and Colling asked Elizabeth to wait for him while he disposed of the bag containing their uniforms. She picked a place to one side and he left her sitting on their two suitcases.
He found the railway baggage facility was as makeshift an affair as the terminal itself. A large wire cage had been built on a wooden frame and filled with shelves made of planks that were stacked with trunks, suitcases, bags and parcels of all shapes and sizes. Colling filled out a tag with the name Janos Krepeska, and addressed it to the central train station in Prague. He then attached it to the canvas bag and paid for it to be shipped as addressed. He had serious doubts that he would ever see it again.
He rejoined Elizabeth and they proceeded to the ticket windows. As they slowly worked their way to the head of the line, he asked, “Two for Poznan, right?”
“No. Kracow. Two for Kracow.”
Silently vowing he would never be surprised by anything Elizabeth did ever again, Colling asked for two one-way tickets to Krakow, third-class.