And at once everyone started coming out from all the cellars, vaults, holes.
Onto the streets!
Not mourning. Nor a holiday. Who knows what. Everything at once. Simply the population crawling out onto the surface.
And we went out, too. The whole cellar. Onto Krucza. There was such congestion already on Krucza that you could scarcely squeeze past. But who was in a hurry? Our whole clan walked out: Halina, Zocha, Stacha, Father, Swen (because he’d come), and I, and Pani Trafna with her pocketbook under her arm. Truly, it was a holiday. Why deny it? We walked with the crowd. And we passed a crowd of people going in the opposite direction.
The crowd poured out of all the gates, courtyards, rubble, openings, and side streets. There was no lack of rubble. All of Krucza was barricaded, dug up. Covered with rubble and crowds. And sunshine, too. And the quiet, sprinkled with the local commotion of emerging “onto the city.” On the corner, acquaintances, both close and casual, met. Passed each other. Chatted. Stood for a while. Looked at the sky. Everyone — men and women. On the corner of Nowogrodzka we ran into Irena P. with her mother and her aunts, too, I think. There were excavations here, too. Barricades. We stopped. We were talking about something and looking upward. And suddenly way, way up in the blue sky Swen and I saw two storks flying. October 1? I pointed them out; the others looked and said nothing; they kept on talking. Then immediately goodbye and onward. With the crowd past Aleje, or rather up to Aleje by way of the underground passageway.
We were drawn to Chmielna, to our old junk. In general we were drawn to walk — to walk — to look — to check. There was such a commotion and confusion of impressions; and those crowds, and the sun; and because there was silence and so many things along the way, the crowding, passing others, that I don’t remember what came next. We dropped in at 32 Chmielna. That I know. Inside the gate. The annex was standing. I remember that already at the gate we saw that our annex was standing. We saw the second floor. The third. And the fourth. Ours. And our windows. Undamaged. Open. Hooked back. As we had left them. We ran upstairs. Everything was bathed in sunlight, in the dry heat, in transparent light. The cats weren’t there. Because yes — everything was there. Unchanged. The cats’ food, too. Where are the cats? We run downstairs to the janitor. The janitor tells us that one day someone observed the cats going out through the window onto the roof and they never came back. They all stayed at Chmielna. Only Swen and I went farther, to the square, to Szpitalna and, via some other street, left to Jasna. Because through Napoleon (Partisans) Square. Right after the square things became horrible.
And got worse. Ruins after ruins. Mounds after mounds. I don’t know what we expected. After all, it was known, I think, that these stubs of Krucza or Wilcza — were just that and nothing more. But still something here and there — half a building, one and a half buildings. So that they no longer held any meaning.
Anyway. It was certainly what Adam said when I told him about that day: “Because suddenly a return to normality, and suddenly there’s no city, no buildings, well… despair…”
Yes, that’s it exactly, that this is finally peace. The end. Everything over. Two hundred thousand people lying under the ruins. Along with Warsaw.
It was probably the worst on Jasna. We were walking on monstrous mounds of rubble. Now high. Now low. Here it was empty. And suddenly Swen started crying. At the top of his voice. For the whole street to hear. It tore me apart. Anyway, I howled, too. Maybe a little more quietly. We reached Dąbrowski Square. Ruins on all four sides and in the center. And emptiness. And that sky. With a concealed echo. Because it was sundown. And something was firing somewhere. In the Saxon Gardens. And again silence. We turned back. The firing began again. During the night there were some operations. But not large ones.
The morning of October 2, 1944, everything grew quiet. This time for good. Capitulation. The end of the uprising. Announced. Starting today everyone is to leave. By October 9 it has to be empty. The entire city. The partisans are laying down their arms. People capable of working will be transported to the Reich. Invalids and sole guardians of children will be transported throughout the Generalgouvernement. It seems the sun wasn’t exceptionally bright that day since we ran outside quickly: Zocha, Father, Halina, Swen, and I, this time to Piękna — just so as to be closer to Marszałkowska, to get there faster, to check the first people who were leaving, it was all somehow dull. It was hard to speak about the first people who were leaving here. Marszałkowska, if you looked to the right, was swarming. People… people… in line… already waiting. Already up to the exit, with bundles, in family groups. Marszałkowska was dug up, blocked off. With barricades, ditches. So the crowd assembled on the other side across from us. My eye caught the sign “Imperial” (cinema) above the crowd and in the crowd I noticed Wawa. Wearing an enormous hat. We looked to the left: The crowd here had already spread out across the entire width of the street. We walked up to the intersection of Marszałkowska, Koszykowska, and Śniadeckich along our edge, from our side. One exit was right here, from here across Śniadeckich to Polytechnic Square. And the other was via Aleje or Towarowa to Zawisza Square. Crowds were approaching from farther along Marszałkowska from the Church of the Savior. From Koszykowa, on the left, even greater crowds. They all had either packed in together with several groups of really poor people on Śniadeckich and were moving about there slowly or standing in place, teeming, swarming about, or looking around, running about, dashing back and forth just as we did, or they were returning from Mokotów Field, from the garden plots, with beets, carrots, parsnips, pumpkins, armfuls of freshness, and those leaves, aromas, colors, and a greedy haste to carry them to one’s own pot in order to cook them as quickly as possible and devour them! The first time! Such a long time since something like this; these parades from Mokotów Field kept growing larger and larger; people were running, yanking, carrying, cooking, eating, and again running, yanking, and eating, just to remain here for at least a couple of days more, to rest up a bit, eat, and only then walk out.
A lot of people, already loaded down for the journey, were milling about at the main departure point. They sat on bundles. Searched for relatives. The remaining ones. Who were lost. Who had promised to appear. Valises. Children. Some lay down in entire camps. As if for a night’s stay. At the Koszykowa—Śniadeckich intersection. In the very center, at the confluence of the five streets, was a large bomb crater, surrounded, people sitting everywhere. Right. The truth. About those bomb craters. Every so often I recall something important by appearance or sound.
The entire departure went slowly. And resembled a gathering for the Last Judgment. I think it was right then and there that we decided to leave on the second day, October 3. There was no reason to delay. What will be, will be. Perhaps it won’t be so bad. It’s clear that they’ll take us all to work in the Reich. If only not to the west. And not to a Bauer (infamous slaving away and starvation):
On a Bauer howls a dog
Fed on slops meant for a hog.
And for dinner tripe in a bowl
To make him bark at every Pole.
oj… lala lala-la-la
tra-lala-lala-la-la
alalalalalala-lala
alalala-lala-lala…
We were supposed to leave together. Pani Jadwiga and Pan Stanisław. The entire Wi. family, with their children, Józia, the mother, Jadzia. All of us. Pani Trafna. Zocha knew about Pani Trafna. And the Woj. couple also knew that she was a Jew. Many Jews were supposed to leave with the Poles as non-Jews. Others, if they wanted to, remained behind in the ruins. But in general Jews trusted Varsovians at that time. The situation, after all, made it easier to trust, not to recognize, and not to think about it.