Kommandant's Girl. Pam Jenoff

“The General Government is full of vipers who, for all of their lip service to the ideals of the Reich, would gladly stab me in the back while shaking my hand.” His voice is lower now. “As such, I need a personal assistant who is discreet, versatile and, above all, loyal. You are not just my assistant, but my eyes and ears.” He stops, standing squarely before me once more. His eyes lock squarely with mine. “Do you understand?”

      “Y-yes, Herr Kommandant,” I stammer, marveling over the fact that he thinks I am loyal.

      “Good. I chose you not only because you are exceptionally smart and speak German, but because I sense that you can be trusted.”

      “Thank you, Herr Kommandant.” Trust. My stomach twists.

      He continues pacing again. “Every morning you and I will meet to go over my schedule and any tasks I would like you to complete that day. For now, you can simply catch up on the backlog of correspondence. I have not had a personal assistant for more than a month, and I did not want anyone else to handle it.” I wonder then what became of my predecessor. “And as you discerned from Colonel Diedrichson, you are not to open any correspondence marked ‘confidential.’ Understood?” I nod. “Good. You have been given the highest clearance for a Pole, but there are still some things that are off-limits.” My heart sinks. Confidential correspondence would undoubtedly contain the information most valuable to the resistance.

      “I will ask Colonel Diedrichson to stop by to see you later this morning. He can provide you with whatever you need, including guidance in my absence.” The Kommandant turns and walks toward his desk then, and I realize that I have been dismissed. I stand and turn to leave. “Anna,” he calls when I am at the door. I face him again. He is looking at me intensely, his expression deadly serious. “My door is always open to you.”

      “Thank you, Herr Kommandant.” I retreat to the anteroom and collapse into my chair, shaking.

      My first day of work at headquarters passes quickly after my meeting with the Kommandant. I spend the remainder of the morning opening the mail until Colonel Diedrichson returns to take me around the executive offices and introduce me to the staff. I can tell by the way that the secretaries and aides seem to be sizing me up that my arrival as the Kommandant’s personal assistant has aroused great interest. Finally, Diedrichson takes me to the security office, where I am given a building pass. On our way back to the Kommandant’s office we pass another set of large oak doors marked with a brass seal.

      “The governor’s office,” Diedrichson says solemnly without stopping. His voice sounds almost reverent.

      I spend the afternoon reorganizing file drawers in the anteroom. The files are in such complete disarray that it seems hard to believe that my predecessor left only a month ago. The librarian in me takes over, dividing the files first geographically, one section for Kraków and another for each of the outlying regions. Two hours later, I am finished, but I still have not seen any documents that seem significant. I wonder if the Kommandant receives materials through other channels.

      I do not see the Kommandant for the remainder of that day. At five o’clock, I gather my belongings and walk to the bus stop. Once on the bus, I slump in my seat, my throbbing head pressed against the window. I am exhausted, more so from nerves than anything else. But I have made it through my first day.

      I barely walk through the front door of Krysia’s and set down my things when Lukasz wraps himself around my knees. “He missed you all day today,” Krysia says as I pick him up and carry him upstairs. “I took him to the park and tried to play with him, but he just kept looking for you.”

      We walk into the parlor. Sitting down, I hold the child back from me a few inches and brush his blond curls from his face. His eyes dart back and forth frantically and his grip on my arms tightens, as though afraid I am leaving again. The poor child has seen so many people he trusted walk through the front door and never come back. “Shh,” I coo, drawing him close again and rocking him back and forth. “I have to go away during the day sometimes, kochana, but I will always come back at night. Always.” His grip unrelenting, he buries his head in my shoulder, still not uttering a sound.

      “How was it?” Krysia asks a few hours later, when we have finished supper and carried our mugs of coffee to the study. I had eaten with Lukasz still wrapped around my neck and had only been able to put him to bed once he had fallen soundly asleep in my arms.

      “Not so very bad,” I answer carefully. How could I tell her the truth, that it was both horrible and yet strangely exciting at the same time? I hated being among the Nazis, but it was somehow thrilling to work in such a grand office in Wawel Castle. And then there was Kommandant Richwalder. The air felt electrified when he was present. But he is a Nazi, and to feel anything other than hatred and disgust … a wave of shame washes over me. After an awkward pause, I fetch my bag and show Krysia the pass Colonel Diedrichson had obtained for me from the security office.