Three days later, Hozea returned to Ewa’s workshop. The authorities had allowed her to retain most of her workforce since she was now producing outfits for the Nazis.

“Your children are looked after and safe,” he said calmly.

Ewa let out a sigh of relief and glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Most of the workers were staring at her stunning visitor.

“When can I join your outfit?” Ewa cleared her throat and asked.

“Tonight! I will come around eight.”

“Isn’t that late?” Ewa felt somewhat uneasy about being seen with a stranger at night.

“Not in my line of work.” He grinned, gave a two-finger salute, turned, and walked away.

As he strolled past them, smiling and nodding at each worker, they subtly adjusted their postures, feeling special under his attention.

There was a knock at the door around eight. He was putting on another suit. Ewa did not invite him inside as he did not fit in the environment.

“Is it safe at this hour? I have to be back as well, you know.”

“Don’t worry. My men will be escorting you,” he reassured her.

“Are you a member of the Council?” asked Ewa.

“No,” he replied.

“A smuggler?”

“Not exactly,” he tilted his head both ways as if undecided about his answer.

“Despite the mystery surrounding the man, Ewa felt secure in his company. He was greeted by everybody on their way, including the ghetto policemen.

After an hour’s walk, they turned into a well-lit alley, and the sound of music and laughter filled the air.

He suddenly stopped and whispered in her ear, “I run a nightclub at night and kill Nazis during the daytime.

As they entered the club, everyone shouted, “Hozea!” lifting their glasses to greet him. Beautiful women were seated at every table, trying their best to please the customers. A lovely blonde sang a passionate Polish song with a five-man band playing the instruments behind her.

She had never been to a nightclub, and he led her, arm in arm, to his office.

“You surprise me.” She said as she sat down after the long walk.

“Drink?” he asked, raising his brows.

“No, thank you.”

“I thought so. I made some apple juice for you. It’s pretty good.”

He poured whisky for himself and handed her the apple juice. Then, he lit a cigarette and took a deep puff as he settled in his chair.

“Your Polish is pretty good, and your confident mannerism will help you get around the social circles in the Aryan area and even in the German sections.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Aha! You are repeating the exact words my husband once spoke to me. Is this the only matter he discussed with you?”

“He was involved deeper than that. He was one of the brains behind our movement; he was one of its founders.”

She was at a loss for words. “I will have one of those, please.” She pointed at the glass in Hozea’s hand.

He made her a light drink.

“When do I get to kill Nazis?”

“And, don’t give me a desk job.” She added after taking a sip.

“You start one hour from now,” he grinned. “Time is not on our side. We are being eliminated by the thousands every day.”

Ewa noticed his lack of emotions once again while narrating a tragic fact. Yet she could not help but be impressed by his confidence in the outcomes of his plans and his resolve to get things done. He was a leader, and she now understood why Symeon got along with him.

“You will settle on the Aryan side as Mrs. Zofia Nowak. Your husband, Aureliusz Nowak, is a physician taking up residence there. So, the two of you are supposed to shift into a house that members of their underground already occupy. Our doctor is a seasoned member of the Polish resistance and has close links with the Polish Home Army. We will need his help to get arms and coordinate with the Home Army in our future operations. You, Mrs. Nowak, will deliver the weapons to us.”

“Your husband had already given me the documents related to the preparation of an alternative identity for you when required. You will get your documents, Zofia Nowak, as you cross over to the other side and will get to meet your husband soon. Not the deceased one, hopefully.”

“Sick man.” Ewa thought, but she preferred to keep silent to stay focused on the matters.

“What do I tell my family, and what should they say if anyone enquires about me?”

“So the drink has not gotten to your head yet,” he chuckled.

“That’s bad because you will get out of here appearing drunk and excited about what we are supposed to have done in my private office during this time. I will kiss you goodbye as I settle a brawl inside my club.”

He seemed serene and relishing his smoke and drink. His tanned face looked like that of an ancient statue of a Greek warrior in the faint light. He had his eyes locked on her but his mind was racing to answer the puzzles he was throwing at it. A sip of whiskey or a drag from the cigarette was the reward he would give his mind when it gave a good solution.

“Your escort is going to rob you and strangle you to death. Some will witness the heinous crime from their windows. Don’t be very loud to wake the whole town.”

“You will proceed to the sewers, your escort will disappear, and two senior members of the ghetto police will call Urjasz and his wife to identify the body before the police dispose of it.”

Ewa was startled, but before she could speak, Hozea said, “Yes! Them too.”

“The body?” Ewa was concerned.

“There is no body.”

Suddenly, there was shouting and sounds of a fight in the bar.

“Time to go.” Hozea stood up, and before he opened the door, he suddenly turned around, lifted Ewa with one arm, grabbed her hair, and held back her head. He kissed her roughly on the lips and neck.

Then he opened the door, and the two came out slightly out of breath; Ewa blushed and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. At the club entrance, as she was about to step out, he kissed her, gently this time, and said goodbye.

Ewa was dazed and felt a tinge of guilt about immersing herself in the intimate encounter with equal voracity.

However, what followed got her out of her trance. Without warning, the escort started to strangle her with his muffler and push her behind a large waste bin, where her attacker let her go. He asked her to remove her coat and shoes while another man hiding behind the bin spoke Polish and told her to follow him.

They waded through a complex of sewers before resurfacing on the Aryan side in the early hours. There, they walked through the shadows for about ten minutes before reaching their destination in a small street.

The man opened the door with a key and asked Ewa to take a quick bath and change into the clothes on the bedroom couch.

When she came out of the bedroom, another man was waiting for her in the living room.

“Hello, Mrs Nowak. I am Borys, your husband’s assistant in the clinic. He is waiting for an early breakfast at The Kura Restaurant before you search for a house. The place is just around the block; you can’t miss it. And oh yes, he wanted me to give you these.”

He left an envelope on the fireplace as he left.

“Zofia Nowak,” it read. She looked at herself in the mirror: blonde hair, blue eyes; she could pass as a Pole. “Hello, Zofia Nowak! Unleash hell on the Nazis and their collaborators!” she murmured to herself in Polish.