I Forgive You

Note: Explores themes of betrayal, indoctrination, and the consequences of wartime. People should neither take pride in nor bear guilt for the actions of their ancestors, because they did not choose them.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Maria and I were on our way home from school, our sagging bags patched too many times, carried on shoulders that had grown too skinny, trudging on the dusty paved streets that lay in a sorry state. The streets were riddled with potholes and cracked debris, collapsing buildings of broken concrete and shattered glass reaching up to the grey, smoke-choked sky on skeletal foundations. That was Poland in 1941.

Contrary to the somber atmosphere of our surroundings, I was cheerfully skipping ahead, balancing on pieces of concrete on my tiptoes as I imitated our new German teacher, Frau König. “Nein nein. Not ‘kot’, but katze. Say ‘Kat-ze’ No Polish!” Maria smiled, laughing quietly, “Oh, but Frau König, now we are in Poland, not katze-land!” She pitched her voice high, squeaky. I quickly smothered a laugh as we turned around the corner, giving a nod and a partial bow to the German officers dressed in grey-green with the Ordnungspolizei insignia.

The Ordnungspolizei , or the ‘Order Police’ were feared throughout the region. If we didn’t greet them, show deference or displease them in any way, they could round us up for punishment. Or they could also do so out of spite. Either way, we skirted past them like mice, quiet and quick footed, tense like a wound spring. All laughter had faded away to a somber mood as we remembered our situation, brought back to mind by the sight of them.

Just as we were almost past them, we heard the sharp bark of the officers

“Halt! Papieres!”

We froze, bone-deep fear gnawing at our insides as a chill shivered through our petrified forms. Did we do anything wrong? Oh no… My breath quickened, and it got harder to breathe. No, calm down Katarzyna, this is just a customary identification check. To root out the parasitic Jews. This is for the good of us all. I turned stiffly, my racing heart calmed a little. “Of course, Officer.”

I rooted through my half-empty bag, pulling out a small olive green booklet—my Kennkarte, or identity papers. Maria and I handed over the worn papers, flinching at the cold brush of their leather gloves. As we pulled back, I couldn’t help but notice pistols hanging by their belts, glinting in the grey afternoon light.

We watched them inspect our papers, hearts thudding, biting our lips as an officer turned Maria’s Kennkarte before shoving them roughly back at us, with a grunt of “Alles klar.” All clear.

Fumbling, I hastily received my Kennkarte, dropping it back into our bags. Beside me, Maria scrambled in a panic as her Kennkarte fell to the dusty floor. The officer glared at her, “Idiot!” That sent Maria into a nervous panic, stuttering apologies as she scrambled to pick the booklet up.

“My deepest apologies, Officer” I muttered quickly, helping Maria shove the papers into the bag before we hurried off, backs ramrod straight, hands shaking nervously as we turned around the bend, the Order Police disappearing from sight. This is for our good. This is for our good. I chanted nervously to myself.

The moment we were alone, I let myself sag down on a large piece of concrete rubble that lined the streets. I let out a relieved chuckle, glancing back anxiously. “That was close.”

Maria nodded in agreement, suddenly looking all pale and wan. None of us felt like laughing or smiling anymore. Instead, we trudged back to our street, keeping to the small back alleys where rubble dust lay thickly, littered with rusted beams and warped metal scorched black. Then, Maria, spinning on her dusty black heel, turned to face me. Her face was as serious as I have ever seen, eyes wide and solemn.

“Katarzyna.”

“Yes?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

I paused, momentarily surprised. What could this be about? Maria was my best friend for as long as I could remember. We trusted each other with….everything, didn’t we? What was one more secret? I hesitated, before answering. “Of course, Maria. You can trust me.”

Maria shifted from foot to foot, unable to meet my eyes. “Katarzyna…I..I am Jewish.”

How? What? Why? A million questions and thoughts sent off a storm in my mind, but the one that burned brightest was the one that hurt the most: Maria had lied.

To me, to the authorities, to everyone.

“How? How did you get away with it?”

“You aren’t…mad at me?”

I remained silent, waiting.

Maria shuffled, ill at ease. “Back then, when the Germans first came, my family didn’t register as Jewish. See, religion was very hush-hush at home. No official records or anything. Then we had the Kennkarte forged. I’m sorry Katarzyna for lying…can you forgive me?”

I kept quiet, before murmuring, “Let’s just go home. It’s getting late.”

Maria nodded curtly, her face falling a little. We fell into step as we continued on our route, but the sense of trust and camaraderie was dissolved, the air between us charged with tense, crackling lightning.

The teacher said that Jews were why we starved. Why the soldiers died. Why Father never came home. But Maria was different, wasn't she?

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the cracked linoleum ceiling, Maria’s confession mulling in my head, echoing over and over again, loud then soft, loud then soft. Then the law. Anybody to know of Jews who didn’t turn in would be prosecuted. Any aid given to them will be considered a criminal offense. The list went on and on.

But Maria was my friend. Maria is not my enemy. Jews are my enemy. Maria is Jew. So is she my enemy? Should I report her? But I promised. But the law. I felt like I was breaking into two. The law, which we obey and abide by. Maria, my friend who trusted me. But we needed the money. The Gestapo were cruel. Maria was like my sister.

At that moment, I never hated Maria more in my life. Before, my life was simple, as a law-abiding student. She was putting everything at stake. My friend, confidant, a parasite to the Empire. I needed to report this. I could, should, must report her. Because otherwise, I might be denounced, and punishment would rain down on me.

The Gestapo came a week later. The morning was drizzly, raindrops stingingly cold as I watched the uniformed men in dark coats barge into the house that used to be full of warmth, laughter, now dark and silent. Then noise erupted in there, full of anguished screams, and suddenly, I missed the silence. My heart was tearing into two. I wrung my hands as sobs filled the air, the area crowding with curious onlookers before hurrying away the moment they saw the Gestapo, dressed in dark coats, brimmed hats brought low.

First came Pan Kowalski, red faced and spitting as he was dragged out and thrown into the car. Then out Pani Kowalska went, hysterical as she clutched onto a blue porcelain vase—a family heirloom. They, who were like family to me, were being dragged away. And with each centimeter they were dragged, each cry that pierced my heart, each tear and the brutal ruthlessness of the Gestapo, my heart broke a little more, splintering into a million shards of fragile glass.

This was right, wasn’t it? I wasn’t so sure anymore. Then the Gestapo delivered the final, shattering blow. Maria was dragged away, at gunpoint, her arms gripped so tightly by the hateful gloved hands that turned her skin red and raw. The rain mingled with her tears, as mine dripped down from my cheeks.

And right before she disappeared into the dark interior of the car, she raised her eyes to mine, one last time, tears streaming into salty raindrops as she whispered, voice cracking, sobbing.

“Katarzyna…I…I forgive you.”

The door of the car slammed shut, Maria and her family gone, as I stood alone in the rain, cheeks streaked with tears, hands grasping the precious amount of cash that meant nothing at all.

And in the end, I wondered: What does it mean to be human? Is it obedience to the authorities? Or forgiveness? Or is it hate and love and so many things? I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know now.

But I did know that I never saw Maria again.