“Good. Now, we run more than a dozen soup kitchens across the city, and each one is constantly asking for more supplies. We don’t have the budget to keep up with demand, and even if we did, we can’t get the resources. Our phones ring constantly, so you can help us manage the constant requests, but I should warn you. You will become very accustomed to disappointing people in this job.” Matylda looked at me expectantly. I nodded hastily.
“That’s okay. I can talk on the phone.”
“Good. Almost all of my team find themselves juggling two roles, and one of those roles is most definitely unsanctioned by the city. And even though you are aware of this, you must never speak about it outside this office, or even inside this office when the door is open—one never knows who is listening. Working alongside our team, you will inevitably overhear things, but Sara is determined that you not engage with that other side of our work, so mind your own business. Do you understand?”
“I do,” I croaked again. “I mean, I will.”
And then she was gone, bustling off to another office, slamming the door behind her. I looked at Sara, who hid a smile.
“That is our Matylda. You’ll get used to her.”
“She is terrifying.”
“She is wonderful. She is simply obsessed with her mission.”
“Since I am allowed to ask you about the other business when the door is closed,” I said suddenly, “can you tell me what happened to the orphans, the ones at your apartment?”
Sara sat behind her desk and smiled sadly.
“I wish I could tell you otherwise, but we ran out of options, and they had to go back into the ghetto.”
“No!” I gasped. I had thought about those children often since that night, but I had assumed they were somewhere safe, hopefully eating good food and growing well. The thought of them enduring the ordeal of traveling through the sewers only to be sent right back made my chest hurt.
“I know. It is very upsetting. The safe houses were compromised so there was just nowhere for them to go.”
“Couldn’t they have stayed with you?”
“No, Elz·bieta. That would not have been safe for anyone. We tried everything we could, but in the end, we really had no choice but to smuggle them back to the Jewish side of the wall.”
“Will you try to get them out again?”
“Just as soon as we have somewhere for them to go, but that’s going to take some time to organize. Now, enough of that. You have work to do. Come over here so I can explain what needs to be done.”
I tried to make sense of the mess on Sara’s desk. And the phone did ring constantly: by the end of that first day, I began to understand the scope of the need and the struggle on our side of the ghetto wall, as well. It felt good to help Sara out with those endless calls, even though Matylda was right—I was constantly deflecting impossible requests.
But still, the day flew by, and then several more like it, and soon Sara told me that she was going to be out of the office for several hours each day from then on.
“Probably no need to mention to your parents that I will not be with you in the office all of the time, but I really need to resume my normal work schedule. There will always be other social workers here, even if Matylda and I are out in the field.”
“Where are you going?” I asked her.
“Matylda and I and some of the other nurses conduct public-health checks as part of our work. The Germans are particularly concerned about typhus, so they allow us to go to places where others cannot go.”
“You go into the ghetto?” I asked, eyes wide.
“Yes. Six days a week.”
“What do you do in there?”
“I check for typhus.”
“But...”
“Jews are no more prone to typhus than anyone else. If you crowd any huge group of people into a tiny space and cut off access to running water and soap, you will get typhus.”
“So...could you get it?”
“I have been inoculated against it.”
“And can you help the Jews? Can you inoculate them?”
“We do what we can, Elz·bieta. It is not much, but we do what we can.”
I was completely fascinated with Sara’s other work. Over the next few weeks, whenever the door was closed, I would bombard her with questions about the things she had seen and done. She was usually vague, but that didn’t stop me asking.
* * *
I would meet Sara in the apartment lobby at seven in the morning, and then we would take the tram across town. We would work together in the office for an hour or more, and she would assign the administrative tasks for the day.
When I had first decided to press Sara to involve me in her work, I’d been entertaining much grander aspirations, but as time passed, I became grateful that what Sara had me doing was so much less dangerous. Every time I went home and sat at the kitchen table with Truda, she asked me about my day, and I gradually realized it was a blessing to be able to tell the truth. I still wanted to help the Jews—but my bravado had quickly faded away.
Matylda continued to terrify me. She had no time for pleasantries, and she was always moving. She would barge into Sara’s office unannounced several times a day, usually to bark, “Where is Sara?”
I would squeak out an answer, and Matylda would growl and spin on her heel. I’d hear her barking at the poor woman in the next office, and sometimes in the office after that. After a while, I realized that when Matylda came looking for Sara, it was because she had found another family in desperate need of help—often another small child in need of a home. Sara was absolutely correct: the entire team was desperate and determined and devoted, but Matylda was obsessed.
“She has single-handedly rescued hundreds of children. It was she who organized my pass so that I could travel through the ghetto checkpoints, and often when I visit a family to see if I can help with the child, it is because she has heard of their circumstances. She even organized the entire network to care for the children we have rescued, and she keeps detailed records so that when the war is over, we can reunite children with their families. She is the brightest, bravest woman I have ever met, and I wish I could be half the person she is,” Sara told me one day.
Despite Sara’s obvious admiration for Matylda, I sensed that there was a tension to their relationship. More than once, I had heard Sara and Matylda arguing in whispers in the corridor or in Matylda’s office, and sometimes during these heated arguments, I heard my name. Given Matylda’s general lack of warmth toward me, I came to assume that she had allowed Sara to recruit me only reluctantly.
I made it a point to be as helpful as I could around the office, but this only seemed to increase the frequency and intensity of the squabbles.