April-May, 1946
They were paid no attention by the Czech border police before the train crossed into Poland.
The Czechs seemed more intent on exiting the train than in keeping an eye on its passengers. When they reached the frontier, the locomotive ground to a halt in Czechoslovakian territory, and most of the crew and all the officials left the train. The Czechs trudged past the carriage towards their own country as the train rolled slowly forward onto a siding on the Polish side.
Once across, the exchange of Czech railway personnel for Polish was completed, and Colling watched as a group of a half dozen men climbed the steps into their carriage. They were wearing a ragtag variety of uniforms that seemed to have been pieced together from Russian, German and Polish military and Railway Service origins. They began going from compartment to compartment while the train was held on the siding. All of them were armed with either rifles or circular-drummed Russian submachine guns slung over their shoulders.
When they entered Colling’s and Elizabeth’s compartment, and were greeted by the couple wearing American uniforms and speaking fluent Polish, the Poles’ reaction was enthusiastic. They asked all sorts of questions about the United States, and related stories about friends and relatives who had immigrated to America. One of them pulled out an unlabeled bottle of clear liquid which he identified as vodka, and passed it over to Colling, who made as if drinking, turning it up, but letting little of the liquid pass his lips. Even at that, he coughed as he handed the bottle back. The Poles laughed and circulated the bottle among themselves, and Colling was asked what he thought of Polish vodka. He truthfully told them that he found it stronger than what he was used to, and they laughed again. Colling refused a second pull from the bottle, and noticed that they had not offered Elizabeth any. While he concluded that this must be a mark of their respect; he also realized that the men were glancing appreciatively at Elizabeth, but at the same time their actions toward her were almost shy, and he guessed that none of them had probably encountered a woman as attractive in some time, if ever.
The visit concluded with a cursory examination of the couple’s papers, a dismissal with a wave of Colling’s offer to allow them to search the luggage, and then the group moved on to the next compartment loudly laughing and talking, after wishing them a safe and pleasant journey to Warsaw.
The condition of the railway road-beds in Poland turned out to be no better than anywhere else in Eastern Europe, and in many instances, somewhat worse than what they had experienced thus far. Not only was there constant jolting, swaying and vibrating, with an associated clamor, but in many places there was only a single set of rails, so that they were literally side-tracked for hours at a time, to permit those in charge of the Polish railway, for reasons of their own, to hold the main line open.
Their first-class compartment did not have sleeping accommodations, but since they were the only ones occupying it, they were able to stretch out on the seats and sleep when night fell. They found that the dining car, while still attached to the train, had no cooks or waiters. An old man sat at one end of the car, selling hot tea which an old woman, presumably his wife, was brewing on the stove in the car’s kitchen.
As they reached stations along their route, vendors on their platforms offered apples and pears, sausage, ham, bread and cheese. Colling purchased a selection of these offerings at noon and later in the day. With hot tea from the dining car, they at least did not go hungry.
Almost thirty-six hours after leaving Czechoslovakia, the train pulled into a makeshift terminal on the eastern edge of the city of Warsaw. Colling and Elizabeth were not surprised to hear that the main terminal was undergoing repairs. Transportation to the city center was provided by horse-drawn wagons with makeshift plank seats nailed across their beds. They and several others of the train’s passengers clambered on board one of them, quickly filling it to capacity. When he saw their American uniforms, their driver, with an almost exaggerated show of chivalry, indicated that Elizabeth should ride beside him on the cart’s seat, while Colling was seated directly behind, his legs resting on their piled luggage.
Elizabeth asked to be taken to the Polonia. She and the driver carried on a running conversation about the city as they drove through battered streets filled with work parties of both men and women clearing the rubble of collapsed and shattered buildings.
Colling was surprised that the streets were as busy as they were. There were few motor vehicles, but lots of horse-drawn traffic and crowds of pedestrians. The street-cars seemed to be fully back in operation, clanging away as they rattled along. Colling tapped Elizabeth on the shoulder to point out a shiny bright red double-decker London bus plying its way. The driver explained that the busses were a gift from the British. So far, however, they carried no advertising placards on their sides.
The Hotel Polonia had served as headquarters for the Germans throughout the war, and had by some odd circumstance escaped major damage. It was now filled with foreigners, mostly diplomats from the Allies and neutral nations, as well as opportunists looking for quick and tidy profits in an uncertain political and economic environment.
The lobby of the Polonia was crowded. In walking from the front door to the registration desk, Colling was able to identify over ten different languages being spoken. At the desk, he presented their passports and his travel papers to the clerk while Elizabeth stood by his side. The man smiled at Elizabeth and frowned at Colling. When Colling addressed him in Polish, the clerk’s attitude warmed, and he asked pleasantly if they had reservations.
Colling was about to say no, when Elizabeth interrupted, “Please, yes, you will find them under the name of Collins,…Lieutenant and Mrs. James T. Collins. We are here with the Red Cross.”
The clerk searched in a small file-box and pulled out a card, “Ah, yes, Madame. Here it is. Unfortunately, our accommodations are limited, but we do have one room for you. The management requires now that payment be made in advance. It says you will be staying two weeks. If you will sign the register, please, lieutenant, sir,” he said, turning the registration book to face Colling. As Colling wrote “Lt. and Mrs. Collins,” the clerk continued, “And lieutenant, sir, I must prevail upon you for 14,000 zlotys.”
Colling counted out $140 in U.S. dollars, and reminded himself to ask Elizabeth why she had taken the room for two weeks, when she knew his furlough expired in a little over a week. If they weren’t back in Germany on schedule, he would be likely to lose his stripes and forfeit his pay as well.
The clerk called out, and a bellhop was immediately at their side, lifting their bags. The collar and cuffs of his blue-trimmed gray uniform were threadbare, and it was large for his thin frame. Taking the room key from the desk clerk, he asked Colling and Elizabeth to follow him.
Their room was on the fourth floor. It was in better condition than Colling would have predicted when he registered. It was furnished with a comfortable double bed, two drab over-stuffed chairs, and a writing desk. There was a water closet with an ancient sink and toilet, but no bath. The bellhop provided him with an answer before he could ask, and informed them that the bath was at the end of the corridor.
Colling gave the man a dollar bill as a tip, and closed the door after him. He turned to Elizabeth, “How come you reserved this room for two weeks? I’ve got to be back at the kaserne next Wednesday.”
Elizabeth didn’t answer, but placed her finger over her lips, pointing up at the ceiling light. As Colling looked upwards at the gesture, she answered, “Well, you know, darling, I thought we’d take an extra day or two for ourselves.”
Still pointing, she drew him into the water closet and turned on the faucets full force. She spoke softly directly into his ear, “There are probably listening devices in the room. The Russians have microphones in every room in the Polonia. Try and carry on a normal conversation, but don’t give away any secrets.”
She shut off the water and asked in a cheery voice, “Darling, can we get something to eat? I’m simply starved after that terrible food on the train.”
Looking around their room, he responded, “I suppose they have a restaurant downstairs. Let’s give it a try.”
Elizabeth began chattering about what might be on the restaurant’s menu, while she opened her suitcase and extracted the envelopes of cash, which she stuffed into her purse. Colling took this as a hint, and opened his own bag and pulled out his own money and the Luger. He shoved the Luger into the back of his belt, under his uniform jacket, and put the folded currency and the box of cartridges into his pants pocket. They re-closed their luggage and, before leaving the room, Elizabeth plucked two hairs from her head and looped one around the catches on each of their suitcases, so that if they were opened, the strands of hair would be broken.
In the hallway, she leaned close to him and said in a whisper, “Bringing a gun was not a good idea, my love. If they catch you with it, we’re in trouble.”
He pulled her closer to him and spoke into her ear, “Just a precaution, Liz. I’m keeping it. I’ll find a safe place to hide it, don’t worry.”
Colling was pleasantly surprised to find that the Polonia’s restaurant served excellent food. They started with a Žurek, a traditional Polish mushroom soup, followed by a garden salad. The main course consisted of pork roast, mashed potatoes, and bowls of fresh vegetables from which they served themselves. When they thought they could eat no more, their waiter brought a tray of assorted pastries, from which they selected makowiec, or poppy seed cakes. Colling had not eaten food like this since he had left for college. While Elizabeth knew the Polish words for almost all the dishes, she admitted to Colling that she had not ever tasted most of them.
After they finished eating, Colling suggested he exchange some of their dollars for Polish currency, and the registration clerk directed him to a cashier’s window on the opposite side of the lobby. The banknotes he received in return for his dollars were of simple design and plainly printed, and Colling was told by the cashier that the bills had been provided courtesy of the Russians.
Elizabeth asked if they could see something of the city, and they left the hotel and strolled arm-in-arm among the crowd circling the round plaza close by the Polonia, known to the Polish as a rondo, where Marszawkovska and Jerozolimskie streets intersected. Colling’s American uniform drew stares, especially from the Russian soldiers they passed. One or two, recognizing that he wore officer’s insignia, saluted. Most did not.
One man in British-style uniform with Polish insignia saluted Colling as he approached, then stopped them and greeted them in English. The Polish soldier explained that he had fought with the Polish Brigade attached to the British forces. When he learned they spoke Polish, he began enthusiastically describing his service in Italy, his demobilization and return to Poland after six years as an exile. As they stood talking, a few of the passing throng stopped to listen and add their own comments. Some of them wanted to know if either of the Americans was from Chicago. When Colling told them he was from Wisconsin, which is near Chicago, they all started asking if he knew various of their friends and relatives who lived there. Colling recognized none of the names thrown at him, and politely expressed that he had not heard of any of them, explaining that Chicago has over two million residents. The questioning would probably not have ended if Elizabeth had not interrupted to say that they must return to their hotel. Even then, it took some effort to tear themselves away and return to the Polonia.
As they retraced their steps, a battered black Renault sedan parked on the opposite side of the boulevard, across from the Polonia’s main entrance, caught Colling’s eye. Two men were seated in its front seat. As Colling and Elizabeth crossed the street, Colling glanced towards the car and the man in the passenger seat, whom Colling had observed was watching them intently, quickly looked away. The driver had a newspaper held up in front of his face.
Once in the crowded hotel lobby, Colling spoke softly to Elizabeth as they waited for the elevator, “I think we’re being watched.”
Elizabeth looked cautiously around and asked, “Who?”
“Outside across the street. Two men in a black car.”
The elevator door opened and the operator motioned them in with an impatient, “Come, come.” After telling the man their floor, they rode without speaking until they reached it.
In their room, Elizabeth inspected their bags to see if the strands of hair had been disturbed, and gesturing a caution to Colling not to speak, pointed out that they had been. The two of them quickly surveyed the rest of the room, noting that some of their personal articles seemed to not be in the same positions in which they had been left.
As quietly as possible, Colling moved the chair from the desk and placed it under the light fixture. He then climbed up to get a better look. The room had a high ceiling, so that he had to stretch upwards to look over the rim of the lamp’s broad shade. Elizabeth was correct. A thin wire coiled down around the chain suspending the lamp, and ended in a small black wafer of a microphone.
While he had been standing on the chair, Elizabeth had kept up a vocal one-sided running commentary about their stay in Prague compared to Warsaw, the Polonia’s restaurant, and the elevator operator, while walking noisily around the room. Colling returned the chair to its place under the desk, and nodded his head affirmatively to Elizabeth, pointing up at the light.
On an inspiration, Colling said, “You know what? I wonder if we could get a radio? We might be able to get the Armed Forces Network. Even if we can’t, we might at least get some music.”
Elizabeth replied, “That would be great. I’d love some music.”
The telephone was ancient but did get Colling through to the front desk. He was assured that a radio could be brought to their room, but an additional charge of 100 zlotys per day was necessary. Colling gave his assurance that the extra expense did not present a problem.
While they waited for the radio to arrive, they continued to converse about as many inconsequential subjects as came to mind, but then Colling interjected, “I love you.”
Elizabeth was obviously disconcerted by his statement, and he interpreted her reaction to be due to her being surprised by his sudden change of subject. She recovered quickly, however, and responded, “I love you, too, Jim.”
Colling had just put his arms around her and was kissing her when the bellman knocked on the door. He was carrying a large old-fashioned table radio, which he ceremoniously placed on the desk and after some fuss, managed to plug it in. The bellman turned the apparatus on, and twisted the dial slowly, searching for a clear signal. He was finally rewarded when the voice of a Polish announcer boomed out, giving the weather report for central Poland. Colling thanked him and tipped him 50 zlotys.
When they were alone, Colling adjusted the radio’s dial so that the result was a low-pitched hum, fluctuating occasionally with a shriller tone. He then raised the volume. He motioned Elizabeth closer and speaking softly, said, “I don’t know how well this will work, but maybe it will interfere with their mike.”
“Good grief, it’s annoying!” she said, “I don’t know how long I can stand it.”
“Long enough for us to talk, I hope. Those two guys in the black car outside I am pretty sure are keeping an eye on us. If they’re still there tomorrow, we can be sure of it.”
“So what do you want to do about it?”
“We can’t do much, but I don’t think we’re going to have much luck finding your uncle with the police, or whoever they are, in tow.”
“Since they have a car, I would guess they’re Russian, NKVD, most likely. Word is, that’s who’s got microphones in all these rooms.”
“I’m worried, Liz. We’re being watched, and I think they knew we were coming.”
Her hands clasped over her ears, Elizabeth said, “I don’t think so. This is just the way they do with all foreigners. The Russians don’t trust anyone. Once I get to Red Cross headquarters, everything will be fine. Now please, turn that thing off.”
Colling twisted the dial some more, producing a range of noise, then tuned back to the Warsaw station and reduced the volume. For the consumption of whoever was listening, he said, “Damn. We can’t get A.F.N. I hope this station has some decent music.”
The prospect of someone eavesdropping on them while they had sexual intercourse was at first inhibiting, but they decided that their not doing so might raise suspicions. Remaining as quiet as possible, they began making love, and as things progressed, their intruders were forgotten. Afterwards, when they were lying side by side, sated, Colling began moaning and sighing dramatically. Suppressing a giggle, Elizabeth followed suit. After awhile, they became quiet, and Colling whispered in her ear, “That will give them something to talk about.”
The Renault was still there the following morning when they exited the Polonia. They boarded the street-car that the desk clerk had told them would take them south on Marzalkowska to Red Cross headquarters. Colling looked back to see the black sedan pull from the curb to follow the trolley and watched as it slowly matched their route and speed, confirming without a doubt Colling’s suspicions about the assignment of its two occupants. He glanced at Elizabeth sitting upright beside him. She seemed preoccupied, and he did not mention the car trailing them, or his own apprehensions, which had begun to increase as he evaluated their situation.
The headquarters of the Polish Red Cross in Warsaw had been set up in a large mansion that Colling guessed must have belonged at one time to a wealthy member of Warsaw’s merchant class. The Red Cross flag hung from a pole over the house’s front doors.
In the spacious tiled foyer, a woman receptionist greeted them from behind the Rococo table that served her as a desk. She appeared to Colling to have been expecting their arrival. When Elizabeth asked to speak to the Director, she excused herself and disappeared through a door behind her. She re-emerged a short time later, followed by a tall bearded man. He enthusiastically shook both Elizabeth’s and Colling’s hands, introducing himself as Gregoris Zabiewski, director of the Warsaw office of the Polish Red Cross.
He was wearing a gray Russian-style blouse over trousers of the same color that were tucked into low black boots. The white armband emblazoned with a red cross that he wore was apparently intended to identify him as a Red Cross official. Colling found the costume strikingly reminiscent of official Soviet dress, and wondered whether it was imitation or genuine. Despite his appearance, Zabiewski’s manner was friendly as he greeted them in broken English and conducted them to his office. Elizabeth switched to Polish and informed him that Colling, her “husband,” spoke the language as well.
Elizabeth handed over the letters on American Red Cross stationery that she had shown to Colling in Germany, and indicated to Zabiewski that she had requested of her superiors with the American Red Cross that because of her fluency with the language, that she be permitted to contact the Polish Red Cross on a lower, somewhat unofficial level, regarding assistance that might be provided to it. At the same time, she continued, her husband, Lieutenant Collins, who was with the American occupation government, had been given an inventory of surplus supplies of various sorts that the American Army was willing, at the request of the American Red Cross, to see transferred to assist the Polish Red Cross and the Polish people. Elizabeth was speaking in a formal and precise manner that Colling was not used to hearing her use, and he had the impression that her speech might have been prepared ahead of time, perhaps even rehearsed.
Zabiewski expressed his pleasure at the offer of assistance. Elizabeth asked if she might view the facilities in the Warsaw area that were operated by Zabiewski’s office, and he responded that he would personally conduct them on such a tour. Colling was somewhat surprised when Elizabeth told Zabiewski that her husband would probably make better use of his time by comparing his inventory against the list of needs that her superiors had informed her would be provided by the Warsaw headquarters. She would accompany Zabiewski by herself to visit the local Red Cross operations.
Zabiewski saw to it that Colling was ensconced at a desk in a tiny office and provided with a sheaf of papers listing items that the Polish Red Cross was supposed to need, and which it was presumed that the Americans could provide.
Colling pulled out the notebook that he had carried in his suitcase from Germany, and began to make a show of comparing it with the list he had been given. He used a pencil that he found in the desk drawer to check off items in his inventory and make cryptic notes in the margins of Zabiewski’s list. He made enough entries so he felt it would look as if his efforts were genuine, and laid down the pencil. He stood up, stretched and went to the one window in the room. It looked out over a courtyard that he estimated was at the rear of the mansion. He began pacing, both with the intent of relieving his boredom and having some exercise. At some point he looked up at the high ceiling and observed the crystal chandelier that hung from its center. It had apparently been converted to electricity since its original installation, and Colling circled, examining the wires that twined down the ornate gilt chain attaching it to the ceiling. A nudge of curiosity caused him to pull the desk under the light and climb up for a closer look. He found that he was still not close enough, and placed the chair on top of the desk. Playing the acrobat, he was finally at eye level with the chandelier, and saw what he had suspected he would find. He carefully replaced the desk and chair as he had found them.
He estimated that at least two hours had passed since he had entered the room, and he was seated in the chair, leaning back, his feet on the desk, when Elizabeth came through the door. She greeted him, but before she could say more, he placed his finger to his lips and pointed to the light. She looked up and her eyes widened, then she nodded her head in acknowledgement of his cautionary gesture.
“Mr. Zabiewski is very nice,” she said brightly, “I mentioned I would like to find my uncle, and he said he would provide his car.”
“Can he help you locate where he is?” asked Colling cautiously, wary even though Elizabeth seemed to have no compunction about someone listening in on their conversation.
“He said he would do what he could, but everything is in such turmoil these days.”
Gathering up his notebook and Zabiewski’s lists, Colling nodded towards the door and said, “Let me take these lists back to him. There are some things we have on hand and in sufficient quantity, but most things we don’t have or can’t spare.”
Colling said the same thing to Zabiewski when they met him in his office and Colling handed him the list of the director’s requests. Colling apologetically explained that approval from Heidelberg remained necessary, but that he had marked those items that he believed were in Army warehouses. He would seek the needed authorizations once he had returned to Germany. Zabiewski appeared to take Colling at his word, saying he would make arrangements for transportation of the goods to Warsaw from the Polish frontier.
Zabiewski offered to have his driver return them to the Polonia, but Elizabeth declined, saying she enjoyed riding the streetcar and taking in the sights. Zabiewski commented that Warsaw was once much more beautiful than one would believe from its present appearance, and expressed his belief that it would not be long before the city was restored to its former self.
Instead of boarding a streetcar at the nearest stop, Colling and Elizabeth walked along, his arm around her waist, to all appearances two young Americans without a care in the world, enjoying the warm Spring day. In truth, they were engaged in an earnest discussion, although their facial expressions did not betray it. They both were aware of the black Renault that doggedly followed.
Smiling all the while, Colling spoke through his teeth, “Are you sure this plan is a good one.”
She hissed back at him, “Of course. If you will just calm down, everything will be alright.”
“But this guy Zabiewski looks like a Russian commissar; he has a mike planted in his own building to eavesdrop on us; and you think you can trust him to help you get your uncle out?”
“Things will work out. Just wait and see. Zabiewski is Polish and he doesn’t like the Russians very much. He warned me about the Russians putting microphones everywhere, including in Red Cross headquarters.”
Even though Colling continued to argue, Elizabeth also continued to respond that his fears were unfounded. When Elizabeth told him she did not want to discuss it further, Colling decided it was useless to persist in trying to convince her. When he saw the streetcar with their number at a stop ahead of them, he led her to the line of people waiting to board. The trolley was crowded, and they had to stand in the aisle, struggling to stay upright in the swaying carriage. The Renault followed in their wake. They stepped down from the streetcar on the far side of the rondo near the Polonia and walked the circular sidewalk to the hotel. The black sedan drove past them and pulled to a stop in the side street beside the hotel, positioned so as to have a view of both the side and main entrances to the building.
Instead of immediately entering the Polonia, Colling pointed to a cluster of tables arrayed on the sidewalk across the street, and pulled Elizabeth by the arm, suggesting they have something to eat. They took seats at one of the small tables that appeared to have been recently repainted. They ordered sandwiches and tea from the stooped waiter who came to serve them. With the combination of street noise and the chattering conversations at the tables around them, Colling felt confident that they could not be overheard.
“Elizabeth, do you really think Zabiewski can be trusted to help you find your uncle?”
“Oh, Jim, not again. Would you please not worry so much. I don’t need Zabiewski to find my uncle. I know exactly where he is.”
“Does the fact that you haven’t told Zabiewski that mean that you do have some doubts about how far you can trust him?”
“Well, something did tell me keep that little piece of information to myself. But we do need the Red Cross to get us a car to go get him. So as far as that’s concerned, I do have to trust him. There’s no way around it. And besides, we’re set up for just getting on the train to Prague with my uncle and going there. Our identity papers won’t let us do anything else.”
Their food came and they continued their discussion while they ate. As Colling took a sip of warm tea from the glass that the waiter had brought, he noticed a man wearing a black leather jacket approach the table behind Elizabeth, and lean over to whisper something to the man and woman seated there. The couple suddenly stood up and left the table, leaving half their meal unfinished. The man then sat down and pulled out a newspaper. When the waiter approached him, he ordered tea, and Colling realized that his conversation with Elizabeth could be easily overhead.
Elizabeth was starting to speak when he changed the subject by observing what a fine day it was. Without demonstrating any surprise at the sudden shift, Elizabeth agreed with him. Colling then leaned across and took her hand and told Elizabeth that he loved her, both for the benefit of the man at the next table, and because he enjoyed saying the words. She smiled and silently mouthed the words, “I love you, too.”
They finished eating, and Colling asked the waiter to bring their bill. He paid, and as they walked past the black-jacketed man, Elizabeth glanced down at him, then turned her head away as he stared back at her over his newspaper. She said nothing to Colling as they crossed the street to the Polonia.
When they reached their room, Elizabeth turned on the radio and adjusted the dial until the sounds of a symphony orchestra filled the room. She raised the volume, and turned to Colling. He sensed her nervousness and placed his hands on her shoulders, pulling her close to him.
She whispered in his ear, “That man at the café. I saw Zabiewski talking to him today. He didn’t see me. It was at an orphanage we visited. I was talking to one of the nurses when I saw the two of them together outside.”
“So now are you going to believe me?”
She took a step back and said softly, “We need to get new papers.”
“Do you have a way to do that?” he asked.
“I think so. But we’re going to have to get away from the men who are watching us.”
They both jumped as there was a loud knock at the door. Colling opened it to reveal a dark-haired man in a white suit, who began speaking rapidly in a loud voice. Colling shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he did not understand what he was saying, when the man brushed past him and turned off the radio with an emphatic twist of its dial.
Colling asked, “Excuse me, sir, but what are you doing?”
“I am shutting off the musica, senhor,” he responded irately.
Suddenly realizing what effect the noise that they had been creating with the radio must have been having on the other hotel guests, Colling apologized, then introduced himself and Elizabeth as “Lieutenant and Mrs. Collins.” The intruder’s demeanor changed dramatically when Elizabeth smiled at him and acknowledged Colling’s introduction, and he stepped forward stiffly, bowed and taking her hand, kissed it.
“João Mendoza Espinoza de Cahinas, à suas ordens, senhora.”
Elizabeth graciously thanked Senhor Mendoza and asked if he spoke English or Polish.
Mendoza