" I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you." - Psalms 32:8
It was November. The air was crisp, reminding Felix of his time in Germany. That made him feel sick to his stomach, especially because he was riding through the forsaken country now. Him and his father were heading to Poland to visit the famous Oskar Schindler. So far, Felix did not know what to think of Mr. Schindler. He was mysterious and knew that Margeit was a Jew. Was he going to tell his father that his son's lover was a Jew? Someone that the Nazis were targeting. He hoped not. But yet again, he must not have said anything about it because if he did, his father would have tried to pry it out of him by now.
Nothing about meeting Mr. Schindler again felt like a good idea to Felix. He had to leave Amsterdam. Leave Margeit and her family again. He already was gone for three weeks at Westerbrok in late October. And it was clear that nothing about it was getting better. He had heard from the leaders of Westerbrok that the Nazis had different plans for the camp. The Dutch were running it as a refugee camp and wanted it to have the Dutch Hitler Youth running the camp so that they could be seen as supporters of the Third Reich. But the organizer believed that the camp was going to be taken over- which Felix did not like the sound of.
He had seen some terrible things in other refugee camps. He saw men being killed, forced to do hard labor for hours at a time, with little food or water. They wanted to take completely over, get rid of the Jews. Felix had heard about it while he was in Germany. So now, being a "member of the army", he was told things he probably was not supposed to know.
As a guard at the camp, he had to wear the usual black uniform with the red sash on his forearm, with a SS pin on the lapel of his jacket, and the red SS symbol on his cap. He had to keep the people in the camp at bay, trying to keep them calm and give them as much information that he could about the outside world. He was a part of the food transports, which was one of the most heart wrenching jobs in the camp. Though they may have been protected, the refugees were only able to have so much food at a time. He would watch hundreds of families run up the trucks, begging for food and medicine for their families. He watched as other trucks brought out the bodies of the sick and dead from the camp- not knowing where they were going.
The only relief that Felix got from the camps was when he could go to his courters on the outside of the camp, where he had a small room to himself. It had a sturdy mattress, with a small wooden table and dusty window that faced the camp- which Felix hated. He was able to bring several special belongings; in which he brought several black and white pictures of Margeit and her family (his favorite was one with Sully on her second birthday), a small compartment of paper and pens, a candle and lighter gifted to him by his brother, and a Bible. He and Margeit were able to exchange letters while he was away, which also eased the pain.
However, now, on a train to Krakow, Poland where he and his father would be for a week, he had no way of keeping contact with Margeit- unless he tried to contact her father's office in the University. But he knew that would be no good. Mr. Fischer stopped working early on, only going in to collect things from his old secretary, deal with phone calls, or if they needed an extra tutor for the day. So that was a dead end.
Felix leaned against the window of the train compartment, sighing as he watched the meadows roll by, seeing the purple mountains that touched the icy clouds above them. The meadows were covered in bright snow, which reflected what little sun was flashing over the land outside. Margeit would love this. Felix thought to himself, smiling as he thought of her. Their last interaction was over three weeks ago, before he left for Westerbrok. She gave him her father's old Bible, telling him that it would be a good guide while he was away. They held each other for what felt like hours, before he had to get on the black abyss of the camp's food truck. The driver, Alastor, had to honk the horn in order to break them from their trance. They laughed, Felix calling him off before kissing Margeit's cheek and hopping into the truck, trying to keep a smile on his face.
Up in the window, little Sully, who just turned two the day before, was pressed up against the window, waving at him as the truck drove away. They were his family now. They were the anchor that made him want to come home. They were worth the fight. "Oh Lord," Felix prayed silently as he leaned back into his velvet. "Please protect them while I'm away." He glanced around the compartment. His father, who was sitting beside him, was reading some sort of literature book- which reminded him of Margeit. Felix closed, folding his hands. "Please, Father. Protect them."
---
The train stopped with a thump, propelling Felix out of his seat. His father chuckled. "Come on. Don't be so clumsy." Felix got to his feet, wiping his pants. Thanks for the advice. He said to himself as he followed Victor out of the compartment and off the train. The world he was greeted with was nothing like Felix had expected though. The world around him seemed dark- black and white- and there was a since of despair all around him. Families crowded the train station, most with the yellow stars on their jackets, all trying to get on the train.
Beside him, on the other side of the ropes separating those who were getting off the train and who were getting on, a father with his wife and several children was trying to get his family on the train but was getting rejected. He had an older boy, who was holding the hands of his younger brother and sisters (they were twins) while his mother was trying to calm down their crying newborn. Felix made eye contact with the boy, who gave him a look of sorrow. He wasn't any younger than Felix was.
Solemnly, Felix bowed his head, following his father out of the crowded train station and out to a stagecoach that was sitting outside the building. "People like us use buggies here in Prague." His father said pridefully as he climbed on the buggy. People like us. Felix thought. Like we're any better than them. Nonetheless, Felix climbed onto the buggy, sitting beside his father, and they rode out of the station, into the cold, snowy plains.
Felix felt ridiculous riding in a buggy in the cold, but there was nothing that he could do about it. His heard ached for the people waiting in the station- tired, weary, hungry- not getting anywhere and being forced to stand in the freezing cold with their wives and children and grandparents. he said a silent prayer as they rode away from the station, which looked so small from miles away.
Slowly, him and his father made trip into town, where lines of manufacturing facilities flooded the streets. There were people crowding on the sidewalks, and roars of factories and trucks and street sellers filled the air, and most of all, Nazis on every corner. The mix of red and black swarmed the sides of the roads, which did not make Felix feel any better than he already did. The Third Regime invaded Poland September 1st, 1939, and since then, the people of the Poland were on high alert. Thats why there are so many Jews trying to leave. And so many who are unable to escape...
The buggy soon stopped in front of a large, grey industrial building, where Felix could hear thousands of workers yelling at one another, and the clacking of machinery echoed into the streets. Felix followed his father into the humid factory- which felt much better than it did in the snowy wind. And to his surprise, he saw hundreds of workers standing next to machines, watching metal being melted and crushed and reformed into pots and pans. "What does Mr. Schindler specialize in?" Felix muttered to his father as they headed through the main office and up a long, dark staircase.
"Pots and pan. Metal work for the Germans." His father said, pointing at his SS pin. Felix rolled his eyes, and tried to straight up, reusing the same breathing method that Mrs. Fischer taught him so long ago. He fixed his black jacket and pulled off his cap, gazing at the SS symbol embroidered on it with uneasiness. The voice of his father shook him out of his thoughts, however, when a thin man with round black glasses peered through the door that said Eigentümer on it. "Mr. Gunter," He said nervously, fixing his glass, "Its- nice to meet you, sir."
His father reached out his hand, which the man took anxiously. "Nice to meet you as well Mister?"
"Oh. My name is Itzhak Stern. I worked for Mr. Schindler, as his accountant." Mr. Stern shook Victor's hand slowly, before opening the door to him and Felix. "Is this your son?"
"Yes, I'm Felix." Felix shook the man's hand, and instantly noticed something on the left side of his coat. The Star of David- the same one Margeit and her family had to wear. This man was a Jew. Nodding, Mr. Stern led the two men to an oak desk, where Mr. Schindler was sitting, smoking a cigar with a pen in his hand.
"Ah, Mr. Gunter. Pleasure to have you here again. Felix, you as well," Mr. Schindler gestured for the two of them to sit down. "What do you think of my factory so far?"
"It's magnificent," Victor remarked, gazing out the tinted window behind Mr. Schindler. "And just how were you able to pay for so many workers?"
"Easy really. I hired all Jews." Felix felt his jaw drop slightly. "They're much cheaper than Poles." Victor laughed as a young woman appeared beside him, pouring him a glass of what looked like liquor and placing it in front of him. She poured a glass for Schindler and also a glass for Felix, though he knew he wasn't going to drink it. He hated the taste of liquor- his father had him try some over the years- mostly because of the smell. He crinkled his nose, trying to hide the fact that he did not want anything to do with the liquor and gave the woman a small smile. "Mimi?" Mr. Schindler said as she turned to leave the room. "Will you get the list for me?" The woman nodded quickly and disappeared from the room. What list?
"So, this establishment only hires Jews?" Felix said, trying to sound amused as he took a small drink of the liquor. The drink tasted like fire, burning his throat as he swallowed. He wanted to look calm and collected, like he wanted to be there. But he did not want anything to do with this meeting. None at all.
"Why yes, Felix. May I call you Felix?" He said, coping his movements and taking a drink of his liquor. Felix nodded, leaning back in his chair. "As I said, they're much cheaper than Poles. And they're much more efficient workers."
"I'm surprised you'd hire them. With everything going on that is," His father said, laughing slightly.
"That is exactly why I did it. People like them are desperate. They need something to keep them distracted. And it keeps them in Poland." Mr. Schindler explained. Felix came to the conclusion that this man was not any better than the rest of the Nazis. He was the reason why people were not able to leave, because he needed workers for his factory, and supply his people. Felix felt anger raise in him. "In fact, Felix. Would you know anyone who would like to come and work for me? I can provide food and provisions for them."
Felix glared at Schindler. "None that come to mind." Felix still had not forgotten what Mr. Schindler had said to him at the gala, or at least mouthed to him across the room. The words 'I know' still burned in his brain, like a nightmare. If he knew about Margeit, what else did he know? Did he know where Felix worked? Where he and the Fischers lived in Amsterdam. Did he know that he lived with them? That he spent most of his time at their home. What else did he find out at the party? Was he watching them? Felix watched as the man smiled at him, which made his blood boil as the man took another swig of his drink.
"Very well. Mr. Gunter? Would you like a tour of the factory? I would like to talk to Felix privately for a moment. About his endeavors with the Nazis. With his work." Mr. Schindler said calmly, giving Felix a side eye. His father instantly took up the request, following Itzhak Stern out of the office, leaving Felix and Mr. Schindler alone. There was an uncomfortable silence that filled the room as Mr. Schindler emptied his glass and added more to it. How much alcohol could one man drink? Felix thought to himself as folded his hands on his laps. "I'm sure you're wondering why I knew about your sweetheart," Mr. Schindler said abruptly, taking another drink of liquor.
Felix felt himself stiffen uncomfortably. "Yes. I was wondering." Felix tried to sound steady. Mr. Schindler gave him another smile, but this time, it was a genuine smile, one that Mr. Fischer often gave him after their talks.
"I knew her father, Augustus Fischer, when we were younger. You know, he wasn't always from Amsterdam. He was Poland before, he and his wife married here back in 1919. Beautiful wedding. I was only there for the ceremony." Mr. Schindler started, "He moved his family in 1930, when the Third Reich had first taken power. As a precaution, of course." He noticed Felix looking uncomfortable, "Loosen up, son. I won't do anything to them. Augustus and I have been acquittances for a long time. When I asked if you knew anyone, I was thinking you would say them. As I said, I can keep them safe here,"
"Mr. Fischer's been sick lately." Felix said quickly. "He wouldn't be able to make the trip,"
"Oh, well. I can do something else for their struggles then. Money? Work?" Mr. Schindler listed off. Felix shook his head. "I'll do what I have to. I can offer you protection. You're going to need it in these times ahead."
The times ahead? What does he mean by that? Felix felt like his brain was going to explode. Mr. Schindler gulped down the last of the liquor and stood, showing Felix to the door of his office. "Remind me. How do you know my father?"
"Your father and I have been in the business for a while now."
"Why are you hiring Jews?" Felix pressed, as Mr. Schindler opened the door for him. He placed a hand on Felix's shoulder. "What could they possibly do for you?"
"If you saw a dog being crushed under a car, wouldn't you help him?"
---
Mr. Schindler and Victor spent the rest of the afternoon laughing and drinking, which was not a surprise to Felix. The businessman led him and his father to some restaurant down the street, where the three of them- joined with Schindler's secretary, Mimi- talked about politics for roughly three hours. Felix did not understand. Why would someone like Oskar Schindler want to help the Jews? Did he know someone who was Jewish and tried to protect them? Maybe it really was just because they were cheaper to hire. Or maybe he was a genuine person.
Who knows? In times like these, nothing is for certain.
Meanwhile, as Felix's father and Mr. Schindler joked about some sort of Nazi Propaganda, Mimi tapped Felix's shoulder. The brunette girl scooted closer to Felix, pulling something out of her pearly blue handbag and slid it to him under the table. She glared at him, motioning for him to take the item out of her hand. He glanced down, noticing a white piece of paper in her manicured hands- which reminded him of Margeit back home. Felix reached out for the paper, which Mimi quickly placed into his hand and retracked.
Mimi sat up straight, not daring to make eye contact with Felix for the rest of the time. Felix folded open the paper carefully, glancing down to see what was on it. There was loopy handwriting, calligraphy almost, and the letters seemed to burn into Felix's brain.
For your troubles. The note said. And on the bottom, and what looked to be an address was on the bottom. Lipowa 4 Charkow Polen.
Felix glanced back up at Mimi, who was avoiding his gaze. He mouthed, 'What does this mean?' Mimi gave him a glare and rolled her eyes.
'You know German right?' Felix nodded, the anticipation rising in him. She looked back at the paper. 'Read it.'
It took Felix a few moments to try and figure out what the fancy letters said. Felix felt exhausted, wanting to just go home. His eyes were hurting. And everything felt like it was buzzing. The sounds of clinking glass, the laughter of the people around him, and warring gaze of Mimi watching him as he tried to read it. He looked back up at her, who gave him another eye roll and mouthed, 'Plaszow.'
Plaszow? What the hell is that? Felix said to himself. He stuffed the note into his pocket and leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms angrily. What does Plaszow have to do with any of this?