Pani Jadwiga was in the shelter. They had all gone down to the ground floor already. Or rather, to the shelter. Pani Jadwiga said they had gone down and told us: “Come over, you’re most welcome, really, come over; only it’s a cellar. Anyway, Stasio will be coming right away.”
Pan Stanisław, Stasio, was on duty. He was guarding the roof. With others. He came down right away. At any rate, not too long afterward.
“We lie on the roof in case anything should happen and keep watch with wet rags.”
“In case of fire.”
Pan Stanisław got the bright idea that we should try to stay on the ground floor. They had a neighbor, an elderly woman who lived alone, Pani Rybkowska. She had two rooms and a kitchen on the ground floor. She herself was staying in the shelter. She’d been there for a long time already. She was very frightened.
“We’ll arrange it right away!” And he rushed off.
“Good, it’s taken care of, she agrees, come over. Come on over!”
The building at 21 Wilcza was five stories high. And it had a sunken courtyard. So being on the ground floor in such a building wasn’t the worst alternative. Especially since there was an apartment. For us. And a shelter is a shelter.
Another thing about the height of buildings. The best part of being here, in southern Śródmieście, was precisely this: it was the tallest district in Warsaw. The buildings were five, six, seven stories high. And even higher. Often solidly built. The streets were narrow. Or, rather, crowded together. In general, southern Śródmieście was the largest district in the uprising. In length and width. No, I’m exaggerating. And I’m not justified in dividing Śródmieście into two centers. After all, they communicated with each other.
In Śródmieście — in general, throughout it — there was one more characteristic feature. There were drafts of civilian labor. Not exactly roundups but such that — in case of need — passersby were stopped and half commanded, half requested to do such and such. And told it was for two or three hours. So everyone went gladly. Generally, such requests weren’t refused. Although it’s not safe to speak of everyone. At that time practically everything was done. But since there were an awful lot of people, probably more than 200,000, no one asked me to do anything. And so I lazed about in private.
One more thing. In Śródmieście there was an extraordinary mixture of civilians and partisans. There were many who sported armbands. Various semi-partisans. Intermediate positions. A tendency to “free enterprise.” In short — variety.
Pani Jadwiga told us right away that at the beginning she’d sewed huge quantities of underwear, forage caps, and other uniform parts.
We returned to Nowogrodzka with our encouraging news. Swen also came back with encouraging news. They had found Danka on Żurawia. With the Szu. family. She’d been renting a room from them. Except that by now they were really in the cellar. Not on their third (I think, third) floor. Danka comes there but she’s a liaison officer in the Home Army. So she sits in a cellar and broadcasts and receives. And it’s close by. Also on Żurawia, I think. Zbyszek remained with her. He’s going to enlist. Or rather — they’re going to accept him. If there are enough weapons. It seems there were. Because there were captured ones, too. Also, from the parachute drops. Not as many as were needed. But it was really beginning to amount to something. The weapons, that is. It seems there were a lot of people there, too. New volunteers to replace those who had died. Because the front was across the water at an angle… I remind you — Mokotów, Czerniaków, Żoliborz were ours. After the fall of Praga and then of Ochota, Powązki, and Wola, for a long time the situation in terms of terrain was encouraging. But let’s not exaggerate — already after a week something was not right.
Let’s return to our story. Swen, too, had also practically “settled in” already with the Szu. family. That is, in the cellar. He stayed with us awhile longer on Nowogrodzka. We were still able to eat something here, perhaps get something to drink, too. But probably that’s wrong. We drank wine on Chmielna Street. After the sewers. Because they had some. Another Bertha or a bomb must have landed somewhere. Because again Father was suddenly covered in powder. This time it was blue. There was a pharmacy nearby. Or a soap factory. It was hit. Straight into the bluing for laundry. And again it fell on him. Again laughter. Cleaning. Washing. I also recall our daily eating of soup. And I think I was the one who found a hair. Hers. In the soup. But I could be confusing her with someone else’s sister who looked like Miecio’s wife, at some other, also dangerous, time. Also in the soup.
So, forward to Wilcza! Swen to Żurawia. And thus we entered a new phase. Topographic-residential.
The first thing we did — on Wilcza, at Pani Rybkowska’s — was build a stove. A more solid one this time. Made of several bricks. Held together with clay. With a grate in the center. And an ash pan. Zocha started cooking something right away. I don’t know, could it be that our stove fell apart right away, before it dried, and we built it again? Pani Rybkowska was more afraid than curious. We met her only on the second or third day.
We got plenty of sleep. Because there was a lot of room. In front of the windows there was a bin for something or other. Near the bin was a water barrel. In case of fire. On the left, a gate. On the right, a wall with a hole in it. Into 7 Krucza Street. Because there was a latrine and water there. The wall was gray: cat-colored. The whole building was the same color. One more detaiclass="underline" opposite us, a little to the left, squeezed into a corner, stood Pani Trafna’s little house. Pani Trafna was a Jew, according to what Zocha told me afterward. I don’t know if they knew each other before or not. She and Pani Trafna. We became friends. Quickly. As people did in those days.
On the first or second night I was on duty. In our courtyard. 21 Wilcza. There was one other person with me. Stanisław was also there for a long time. He was smoking. And Father was there. They stood around. Talked. So did I. We stood on the mounds, in the little valleys, on the boards of the excavations. At night you can sense the terrain without visual preconceptions. The moon was shining. It was waxing. For the second time already. Clear nights. At least without any fires close by. It was very warm throughout the night, so I wore only soft shoes without socks (where could one get socks? — a luxury), trousers, and a shirt. A light one. Perhaps because of the moonlight.
Swen arrived on the second day. We sat there for a while with Halina. The three of us. In the front room with the sofa. The one with the window right there opposite the water barrel. Maybe we played something. Maybe I read something. Maybe Swen did, too. I’m almost positive that I wrote something. But I’m less clear about remembering this. Or so it seems to me. But no. It was precisely here that I finally wrote that play about the shelter. Still on the paper from the desk at Podwale, corner of Kapitulna.
Maybe it was then that the cow began bellowing. Started firing. It was certainly close by. Because when the second one bellowed we ran downstairs just as we were, not completely dressed, without shoes on and (somehow) in socks. They were next door. We flew down — an understatement. One turn of the banister into a flying squat! And we were in the cellar. Just as on Rybaki Street.
Swen took me over to his place. To show me where it was. Then, I think, to Zbyszek’s. Zbyszek had been inducted already. To the Kiliński Battalion because the Home Army had no room. Nearby. On one of the streets between Żurawia and Hoża. Or was it Wilcza? From Krucza to Three Crosses Square. We entered the ground floor.