Warsaw Read Online Free PDF

Council and black market smugglers
alike. The teenager had shown a keen nerve and acumen for business over the
past year as he took it upon himself to get the best deal for what little
valuables the family had left to sell. Where Solomon had once tucked his baby
boy in and read to him, it was now one of the father and son's small pleasures
when Kolya read to his weak-sighted father in the evening. More than his wife
and daughter it was Kolya who an ailing Solomon derived the most pride and
happiness from. Unlike him his son's mettle had hardened at misfortune. Kolya,
seeing the faint expression of satisfaction in his father's eyes, grinned back.
    There was no one incident or reason that could explain away
Solomon Rubenstein's atrophy. Partly it was all the false hopes that had toyed
with and then lacerated his heart - that the Poles or French would resist, that
Britain would come to their aid, that things couldn't get any worse. So too the
once respected patriarch had tormented himself with guilt. Wasn't he
responsible for not having got his family out of Warsaw? Halina had tried to
comfort him and argue, "Where would we have gone? Sooner or later we would
have ended up here, or Lodz," but her words proved little or no
consolation for the doctor. There was even a period when Solomon knew himself
to be suffering from a number of symptoms of depression, but still the
stultifying blackness spread, like a virus, throughout the capillaries of his
soul. His sleep patterns swung between insomnia and then, for the next month or
two, he would spend all day sleeping. At first Halina tried to eliminate her
husband's detachment by encouraging him to practise medicine again. She spread
the word and offered her husband's services for free (while hoping that she
would be able to make the neighbours pay eventually). He duly received a number
of patients. But what could he do for all the malnourished and terminally ill
children? Where was his pharmacy? Did they think he was a miracle worker? More
and more he couldn't concentrate or remember things that were standard to the
profession. He soon felt even more useless and was vexed that his wife had
forced him into doing it. They needed to look after themselves now. It was
selfish, but true.
      Halina Rubenstein
had all but given up on her husband of late in terms of him returning to the
proud man he used to be. She would still nag and sometimes even hit him in
order to provoke a reaction, or she would sometimes break down and cry upon him
hoping that if he too broke down then he might be able to have a break-through
and come to his senses - but her husband was all but dead to the world most of
the time. They had murdered him. She felt guilty about it but she hoped that
someone, something (God?), would murder them all or imprison them in the
ghetto. They would all get their comeuppance. They must.
    One can only imagine her terror and hate then when one of
"them" stood before Halina, smiling, in her own home. Why was he
here? Was he on his own? Was he with Jessica? If so, why? - she questioned to
the stamp of her galloping heart.
    "The soldier helped me home with this food Mama. It's
okay."
    "It's okay!" Halina half says to herself, half
ignoring the fact as to why her daughter has such a large amount of food. Shock
was now thankfully displacing terror. But the hysterics would come later that
evening, complaining in bed to her dormant husband.
    Thomas, embarrassed, remained standing in the doorway.
During the awkward silence which ensued he surveyed the room. The Rubenstein’s
were somewhat privileged in the ghetto, if one may be permitted to use such a
term. The average room in the Warsaw ghetto housed six people; the Rubenstein's
were a family of four and possessed a sizeable living room/kitchen as well as
another room which served as the parent's bedroom, a storage space and a
cupboard for a toilet (that was where the bucket could be found). A dining
table, covered with a yellowing bed sheet,