Dedicated to

Paweł & Filip

M. H.-S.

Tadeusz & Madzia

N. H.-K.

.

This book presents the real life experiences of
Niusia Horowitz-Karakulska

that train

will not depart

from my memory

TADEUSZ RÓŻEWICZ, NOŻYK PROFESORA/THE PROFESSOR’S PENKNIFE

Chapter One

28 OCTOBER 1961

The tram approaching Freedom Square (plac Wolności) braked suddenly. The metallic groaning and crunching of its wheels overlapped with the sound of tyres squealing as a delivery van swerved and blocked the tram’s path. In the commotion which ensued inside the tram no one noticed that one of the female passengers had fallen out and landed in the street. The first to see this was the driver of the delivery van who, having caused the accident, leapt out of his seat and – swearing soundly – ran towards the injured woman.

Niusia was not yet fully aware of what had happened. At first, all of her thoughts focused on the dull pain piercing her skull. In order to block it out of her mind, she looked up at the autumnal clouds overhead which threatened to unleash a real downpour.

“I do hope it won’t rain,” she sighed and shut her eyes, in response to another wave of acute pain. She could still hear voices all around her as a small crowd of onlookers began to gather. People were getting off the tram, asking whether the woman lying in the street might be drunk. She didn’t look like the sort of person who’d be drinking to excess in the middle of an ordinary day. She was wearing a smart, pale-lilac woollen coat, her hair nicely combed and her face finely made up, making her look like the wife of a lawyer, doctor or an engineer.

“Someone best call an ambulance,” a woman with a shawl wrapped round her head said, looking at a nearby phone booth. A sensible suggestion, but that was it. Neither the woman nor anyone else surrounding the tram moved an inch. Only the van driver bent down to check if he could feel the woman’s pulse by grabbing her wrist.

“The tram tracks are all crooked on this stretch of the route,” an elderly man holding a briefcase noted, then looked at the tram driver who was standing there, looking on and wondering whether he should be calling for an ambulance or staying with his tram car. This dilemma was dispelled by a young lad, wearing a navy-blue hat with light blue trimming, who was the only one savvy enough to run for the phone box. The elderly man went on,

“Someone should do something about those crooked rails! Replace them or put up signs warning drivers not to brake here. There’s no doors on these damned trams!”

Niusia was too weak to pay much attention or take part in this discussion. She became slightly animated when her daughter’s face emerged from the crowd – she’d forgotten that Madzia was travelling with her, and now looking down at her injured mother with terrified eyes as wide as saucers. Niusia saw Madzia grabbing her nanny’s hand tightly and that was enough for the injured woman to know the child was fine and that there was no need to worry. Niusia closed her eyes again and tried not to think about what had happened and what might come next. She could no longer pay attention to the noises being made by passengers who seemed more upset about the incident than she was herself. In time, her attention was drawn to the noise of an ambulance siren echoing in the distance. When that died down, she opened her eyes to find a man wearing a white nursing outfit bending over her.

“Get back everyone!” he roared, crouching beside the injured woman, pleased to find she seemed to be able to focus on him with a lucid gaze. “What’s happened here?” he asked, gently feeling around her head and looking for any signs of bleeding.

“She fell from the tram car,” a woman standing nearby answered.

“How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?” he asked Niusia.

“My head...”

“Try not to move. We’ll take you to hospital, get you checked out. Make sure you’re not concussed.”

“Get on with it before the woman catches a cold lying there on that street! What a bloody cold day!” a local woman croaked, pushing through the crowd, keen to see what was going on before it was all over.

People began stepping aside, letting the ambulance crew through as it approached, carrying a stretcher. Niusia tried to lift herself up, but the ambulance crew stopped her struggling and lifted her onto something which resembled a canvas army bed. There was no need for them to strain their muscles – their patient did not weigh much. She was as light as a feather, something they appreciated as they began carrying her towards the ambulance. Although Niusia was nearing 30 and had given birth to Madzia a few years back, she was still slim and looked a lot younger than the age indicated on her personal ID card. Lying on that stretcher, she resembled a small, rather baffled and lost little girl.

People began scattering once the ambulance roared off toward Siemiradzka Street, its sirens blaring as it raced towards nearby emergency rooms. Although the road beneath the ambulance was uneven, Niusia sighed with relief as the van wheels bounced along it. She was relieved to be off that street – crowds always filled her with a sense of unease and caused occasional attacks of panic. She did her best to avoid all public gatherings and official events – the only ones she was unable to skip were the regular 1st of May demonstrations. She was forced to march along with everyone else in town, parading before stands set up in the streets for governing party officials to pose and look down from at passing crowds. Party officials had no idea what it meant to be herded together and squeezed so tightly you could hear human bones crunching and cracking beneath people’s skins. They had no idea what it felt like to struggle for a single breath, like an out of water fish, especially when you’re a small child forced into a cattle wagon with lots of strangers, mostly adults, all trying to stay alive.

The ambulance bounced along the cobblestone roads, forcing Niusia to forget the past and focus on the present, a momentary lapse in remembering she was grateful for. The past was not a place she ever wanted to return to. The drive lasted only a few minutes, and as soon as she was delivered to the emergency room a doctor looked her over, checking her head carefully, then asked whether she was feeling queasy or light-headed. Only then did he allow her to sit up.

“Wait a moment, you are Niusia,” said a second medic who’d been called in to help examine the patient. With a broad smile he asked, “How are things with Tadeusz?”

“He’s fine. It’s his birthday today,” Niusia answered as if it mattered at all under the current circumstances.

This was when she realised she was missing her shopping bag, the one containing her husband’s favourite cognac, brought especially from Armenia by a friend of the family. She didn’t want Tadeusz to discover the gift ahead of time, so she’d kept it hidden at work until today. A female colleague working at the same beauty salon on Szewska Street joked that the cognac must have been a bribe she’d received from a wife of one of the black market traders who travelled from near and far to undergo Niusia’s beauty treatments – seeing as she was the best around in dressing women’s hair with henna and waxing eyebrows.

‘Tough...’ Niusia thought to herself, wondering whether someone had stolen the bag or whether it had been kept safe by her daughter’s nanny. She hoped Madzia and the nanny were now safely home, telling her husband all about the accident. Although that was unlikely – her husband was meant to be staying behind late at the surgery, for he’d said he was going to be receiving more patients than normal. Niusia was also scheduled that evening to attend a fashion gala at the Grand Hotel in order to prepare models’ faces and hairdos before they went strolling along the catwalks.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go. Time for me to get back to work,” she announced, rising from the hospital bed.

She couldn’t afford just to lie around all day. Not when the latest Polish Fashion collections were due to go on show at the Grand in a couple of hours. She’d promised her boss she would do all the make up and hair and had bought some new eyeliner pencils especially for the occasion. This was so she could emphasise the models’ beautiful eyes.

Niusia was looking forward to seeing all that season’s latest fashions on display, having heard new miniskirt and jacket designs based on those by Coco Chanel were due to be put on show. She was hoping to pick up some clothes for herself directly from the manufacturers, knowing the Polish Fashion store would only offer them up to their most wealthy and prestigious clients.

“It’s out of the question, you’re not going anywhere,” a doctor told her sharply. “We need to X-ray your skull and make sure nothing serious is amiss.”

Her husband’s colleague nodded in agreement and smiled kindly, saying,

“I’ll call Tadeusz and tell him you’re safe with us. If the tests come out all clear, he will take you home. As to your work, you must rest up for a few days, no stressing or straining. Sister Jadzia will take good care of you here. I’ll come see you later, but for now I have to check on my other patients. Be hopeful, chin up!” he said, then paused at the door. “No, forget that, don’t move your chin, or your head. Best keep that still for now. Right?”

Before Niusia could protest, the man was gone out the door. The whitewashed walls were cut in half all around by a light blue strip of protective paint. Niusia stared at that intently, worrying about how they would manage without her at work. Once Tadeusz showed up, she would insist he contact the owner of her beauty salon – someone would have to be found to replace her at work.

There was nothing else for it... Niusia sighed, glancing at the grey blanket covering her bed. The cool glow of the strip-light overhead fell upon it, the long lightbulb buzzing angrily as if it was about to expire.

Before the noise could start to annoy her, the door opened and nurse Jadzia entered. The young woman was pushing a wheelchair and approached Niusia’s bed with it.

“Sorry about the smell,” the nurse said, smiling. “Another nurse tripped and poured a whole bottle of disinfectant all over my gown. I didn’t have time to change before having to wheel you now to the X-ray room,” she explained to a patient who had to have been well connected in order to be admitted into the X-ray room so quickly and without waiting in line.

Niusia glanced at the nurse with the expert eye of a beautician and realised the young woman’s complexion could do with some cleaning and moisturising. She was about to invite the nurse to come see her at her salon sometime soon, but then the girl began helping her into the wheelchair, adjusting the backrest and once again apologising for the way her apron smelled.

“Don’t you worry, the smell is not that bad,” Niusia replied as she was being wheeled down an apparently endless corridor, the nurse chattering away without pausing for thought,

“You’re right, it now stinks more of burnt milk,” she added, adjusting her white apron. “They keep cooking things up in our rest room. When the milk boils over, hardly anyone ever wants to clean the cooker afterwards.”

This last observation gave Niusia food for thought.

“Now that is odd, because I can’t smell a thing and I normally have a very acute sense of smell,” she said, wondering to herself and recalling how good she was at recognising whatever brand of perfume her clients were wearing any time she came close to them at work. She could tell the fragrances apart and name the brands without fail, and at times could even correctly guess what the women had cooked up for dinner at home – their clothes often smelled of the food they’d been preparing the same day they visited Niusia’s beauty salon.

“I can’t smell a thing...” she sighed, puzzled.

The nurse now looked at Niusia a little more carefully as she tried to push her through the swinging doors leading towards the X-ray department as gently as she could. Inside, a woman dressed in a protective apron was getting the scanner ready. This was taking some time, as she was struggling to tighten one of the screws fitted to the machine. Niusia lay back on a bed, patiently waiting for the technician to exit, leaving her alone with the X-rays.

Once the scan was completed, Niusia lifted herself back into the wheelchair and waited for the young nurse to return. Through a set of parted doors she then saw a doctor walking down the corridor, accompanied by her husband. Seeing her, Tadeusz began running towards his wife. The closer he got, the more obvious the fear in his eyes became.

“Ted, it’s ok, I’m fine,” she said, though her words did not seem to ease his worry at all, judging by the expression on his face.

“We’ll have the results of the scan in a second, then all will be clear,” the two of them heard a doctor saying from a neighbouring office.

Tadeusz gave his wife a careful look over and asked if she was not in any pain.

“Not so much now. But there is one thing which has me puzzled... I think I’ve lost my sense of smell.”

Niusia then tried to smell the insides of her wrists, where she always applied her favourite perfumes. She couldn’t smell a thing, and was unsure if this was because she was so used to the aroma of her own fragrance, or something else.

“Give me something to smell,” she demanded and Tadeusz began going through his pockets to pick out anything which might have any sort of unique aroma.

The first thing he came across was a packet of cigarettes, which made his wife smile.

“That’s it! I knew I was missing something. Give me one of those!” she begged and tried standing up out of the wheelchair.

“That’s out of the question,” he said and forced his wife back down into her seat. “No smoking here. Just hold one of these up to your nose to see if you can smell it.”

She took a cigarette and closed her eyes before bringing it close to her nose.

“I can’t smell the tobacco,” she admitted, turning to face the door and the doctor which had appeared in it.

“I have good news,” the man announced. “Nothing amiss with your X-rays. Come, we can have a chat in my study. Tadeusz, I haven’t seen you in ages and your wife tells me today is your birthday! We should have a little cognac. As for you, Niusia, I must insist you have nothing stronger than tea. Oh, and you can walk by yourself now, no need for those wheels any more.”

Niusia nodded and got out of the wheelchair and followed her husband out the scanner room. They went next door where, upon a small, white-topped metal table by a window the doctor set out some glasses which he then filled with Napoleon brandy from a bottle which had been opened earlier.

“I am however worried about Niusia and her inability to smell things,” Tadeusz said.

“Damn it!” the doctor exclaimed. “What about your sense of taste?”

“How would I know, I haven’t eaten anything since I fell out of that tram.”

The doctor turned to a glass cabinet and took from it a large pill which he handed to Niusia.

“Please suck on that and tell me what you think it tastes of.”

Niusia put the pill into her mouth and waited for its flavour to reveal itself. Nothing of the sort happened. She couldn’t even tell if the coating was bitter or sweet. The two doctors looked at each other intently.

“We need to go consult with a neurologist,” Tadeusz decided, taking the initiative.

“You’re right. There may be some damage there we cannot see in the X-rays,” the doctor confirmed, reaching for the bottle and pouring the honey-gold liquid into two glasses. “Some damage is irreparable, when it comes to nerve endings and networks.”

He looked tenderly at Niusia, but she didn’t seem shocked or saddened by the possibility. Not just because too many things had happened in so short a time. Nor because she was just thinking now about needing to get back to work. The truth was concealed elsewhere.

“Might be a good thing too...” she finally announced, staring at the two men who seemed surprised by her reaction. “I will finally be able to apply heat treatments to warts, which stink so.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows, then the cognac glass to his lips once more, and did not stop drinking until the glass was empty.

“I don’t understand,” he said and looked in all seriousness at his patient, expecting some sort of explanation.

“Do you know how human skin stinks when it is burnt? Oh, it’s utterly unbearable. You remember, honey, during a demonstration at my beauty school, when that man was showing us how warts are removed using heat, I almost passed out? I’ll never forget that. We went as a group, to his offices on Karmelicka Street, close to the city square. The other girls were pushing and shoving to get closer to get a better look, but as soon as I could smell that stink I had to sneak out into the corridor by the stairs. I sat down to stop myself falling down that staircase.”

The doctor nodded and began conversing with Tadeusz who was now reciting various terms in Latin, trying to work out what might be wrong with his wife and how best to diagnose it. They were no longer paying her any attention as she began looking out the window at the first drops of rain falling against the windowsill outside. In her thoughts, she was now far from that hospital and the swaying trees which surrounded it, the wind blowing yellow and red leaves from their branches. She was back in a dirty, stuffy railway carriage designed for shipping cattle, filled with women struggling to breathe in air filled with the stink of human excrement.

‘It was almost impossible to breathe in there.... I couldn’t wait to hear once more the magical fairytales mom used to tell me. I wanted her to wave her wand and thus help me slip through the gaps in the wooden planks the walls of the carriage were made of...’ Niusia thought to herself, various images of the past flashing up now in her mind’s eye.

It was dark by the time the cargo train arrived at the Auschwitz-Birkenau camp railway platform. Niusia was clutching her mother’s hand once the cargo doors slid open and someone started screaming orders that they were to instantly get out. Dogs were barking and howling, leaping about as if rabid, trying to tear free of their handlers, all dressed in SS uniforms. Niusia might have been frightened if it wasn’t for the queasiness she felt as a wave of air floating in from the camp hit her nostrils once the wagon doors were opened. It was filled with the stink of burning bodies, the very same smell which turned her stomach the day she attended that training session in treating skin conditions using searing treatments.

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Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One. 28 October 1961

Niusia’a Story. The house smelled of yeast cake and fried liver

Chapter Two. December 1939

Niusia’a Story. Fear smells of damp canine fur

Chapter Three. March 1941–October 1942

Niusia’a Story. The Aryan Side smelled of food

Chapter Four. February 1943–April 1944

Niusia’a Story. Paradise smells of real soup and Schindler’s perfumes

Chapter Five. October–November 1944

Niusia’a Story. The salty taste of tears and sweet taste of revenge

Chapter Six. November 1944–May 1945

Niusia’a Story. Freedom tastes like loneliness

Chapter Seven. May 1945–June 1949

Niusia’a Story. Love has no smell. It is

Chapter Eight. February 1993–January 1994

Niusia’a Story. The Taste of Life

Afterword

Acknowledgements

Bibliography

Footnotes

Book Info

Cover design
Karolina Żelazińska-Sobiech

Cover image
author’s archive

Photos from Niusia Horowitz-Karakulska’s personal collection and Prof. Aleksander Skotnicki’s "Przedwojenni Krakowianie" archives

Lead editor
Monika Koch

Editing
Anna Rudnicka

Proofing (Polish)
Teresa Zielińska
Aleksandra Kubis

Copyright © by Magdalena Huzarska-Szumiec, Bronisława Karakulska, 2024
Copyright © for the English translation by Marek Kazmierski, 2024
Copyright © for this edition by Wielka Litera Sp. z o.o., Warszawa 2024

ISBN 978-83-8360-064-2

Wielka Litera Sp. z o.o.
ul. Wiertnicza 36
02-952 Warszawa

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