“It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?” Lucya said. In the cold interior of the church, her breath immediately condensed into a misty fog.
Eli jotted notes onto a pad, looked up and said, “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Sikorska.”
“Lucya, please.”
“Would you like to see the damage to the roof?” Father Jaworski asked.
Eli pointed to a grouping of buckets on the floor in the western transept. “Is that the only area?”
“We think so. It’s the only spot where we’ve observed snow and water coming in.”
“Do you mind if my construction foreman takes a walk around your church and makes some notes?”
“Please,” Father Jaworski said, extending his arm.
“Our church has been here almost two hundred years,” Lucya said. “It’s a solidly built church, but the bombs fell close by. We also lost some precious relics in the air raids.” She pointed to a ceramic statue of the Blessed Virgin lying on the floor. “She’s a beauty, over a hundred years old.” She sighed. “She fell from her platform and cracked across her midsection. You can see there are plaster chips lying all about. We’re trying to enlist the services of an experienced sculptor to put her back together. The statue of our patron saint was also damaged, but we think he’s beyond repair.”
Eli walked into a small chapel where the damaged statue lay on its side. “This is indeed a beautiful work of art,” he said.
Lucya smiled. “We feel the same way. The parishioners who regularly come to offer their prayers to her and seek her guidance miss her the most.”
“Have you found a sculptor to perform the repairs?”
She shook her head. “None that we could afford.”
Eli nodded. “I know one.”
The construction foreman returned to the room with a grim expression. “Eli, this western wall is in trouble. Load-bearing masonry has been destroyed. We would have to scaffold it from the outside and replace substantially all the brickwork in the southwest corner. Four men, six brick loads, plaster, wooden struts, four to six weeks, depending on the weather. You’re talking twenty-five thousand to thirty thousand zloty.”
Eli saw the color drain out of Lucya’s face. “Tomasz,” Eli said, “can we finish it in time for Christmas?”
The foreman threw up his hands. “That’s three and a half weeks, Eli. It’s impossible.”
“These are good people, Tomasz. I want their church open for Christmas. Can we get enough of the work done to make it safe and keep the weather out? Take the crew off the Strodza Crossing.”
“But, Mr. Rosen,” Lucya protested, “we cannot afford the repairs. It would be months, maybe years, before we…”
Eli waved his hand from side to side and interrupted. “We’ll work it out. Don’t worry. Let’s get it done, Tomasz.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, Maximilian appeared at the brickyard. “I’m here to pick up the financial books and records,” he said. “Globočnik’s orders, you know.”
“Guess where I was this morning, Maximilian?
He shrugged. “How on earth would I know?”
“I was at the Church of Saint Peter the Apostle.”
Maximilian emitted a nervous laugh. “Ugh. That place is really busted up, isn’t it? I don’t know if they could ever get it right. Probably a waste of time to bother. They’d be better off tearing it down and building a brand new one. More modern and nicer.”
“Is that why you took a twelve thousand five hundred zloty deposit?”
“They told you that? Really? You believe them?”
Eli nodded and showed him the receipt.
“Oh, now I remember. I was going to turn the order in, but everything went crazy in October and I got appointed to my prestigious position at Nazi headquarters and that took up all my time and the whole thing about this crappy little church slipped my mind.”
“I see. So now, Maximilian, you may consider this a reminder. Rosen and Sons is going to repair the crappy little church. Turn over the deposit.”
Maximilian hung his head. “I can’t. It’s gone.”
“You spent their money?”
“I’ve had a lot of expenses with the German hierarchy. They expect stuff. You have to grease a palm every now and again.”
“You have to make good on that deposit, Maximilian. Go get the money and bring it in.”
“I can’t do it. There’s no way I can raise that kind of money. Listen, give me a break. I’m your ambassador with the SS. I’m watching out for your family. You’re still here doing business while others are getting sent away. You still have your houses. No one bothers your wife when other women are being snatched off the street. Let’s call it a prepayment for my protective services. You don’t want me to be your enemy; you want me to secure your future, and I can do it, I swear. It’s a nasty climate out there, I don’t have to tell you.”
“Get out.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LUBLIN, POLAND
DECEMBER 1939
WEEK 12 OF THE NAZI OCCUPATION
Construction noise—the music of hammers, saws and tradesmen shouting to each other—greeted Eli as he entered the church. Sounds like progress, he thought. Christmas is coming.
“Lucya, I’d like to introduce my brother, Louis Rosen. I brought him over to look at the broken statue.”
Her lower lip protruded sorrowfully. “She used to be so beautiful, the grandest figure in the church. But now she breaks my heart.”
Eli nodded in concurrence. “Louis knows art and I’d like him to take a look, if that’s all right.”
“Sure.”
Lucya stood to the side and watched them. Louis and Eli were a study in contrasts, like black-and-white keys on a piano. Where Eli was stocky and powerful, Louis’s body was thin and smooth. Eli’s face was ruddy, a working man’s face. Louis, in his black suit and wide-brimmed hat, had a gentle, pasty white complexion beneath his bushy beard. Eli was rough and to the point. Louis was contemplative and patient. The Rosen brothers—contrasts to be sure, but put them together and they produced sweet music on the same keyboard.
Louis bent over the broken sculpture and softly ran his index finger over the severed edges. He gently lifted the fragments, deliberating how and if they could be reassembled. Finally, he looked up and nodded. “I can do the restoration. It will take time, but this lovely work can and should be restored. This is a priceless piece.”
“I’m afraid we have no funds for repairs at the present time,” Lucya said. “We’ve spent all of our money on the church reconstruction.”
“So I understand,” Louis said. “When may I begin?”
“But I said…”
Louis smiled and gently waved her off. “Please, allow me the privilege of working on this precious piece of religious art. Let’s preserve it. Especially now, at a time when religion is under assault.”
Brushing away a tear, Lucya said, “May God bless you for your generosity. I don’t know what to say, Mr. Rosen.”
“Just say ‘You may begin right away.’ We don’t want to lose any of these broken pieces. I am eager to start.”