Magda fished out her fake identification, and Natalia and Ula presented theirs. The guard told Natalia to raise her arms, and he frisked her. Then, in Polish, he asked whether she spoke German. Natalia shook her head.
Blood rushed to Magda’s head, and she felt dizzy. When the guesthouse owner burst outside, her insides jumped. His bushy mustache quivered. His beady eyes darted to the women and the soldiers.
“There you are, ladies!” He opened his arms, as if to herd the group of women in. “These are the girls I told you about,” he said to the soldier with Natalia. “They’re cooking the meal this evening for your officers.”
The second soldier tilted his helmet back, dark-brown eyes having long alighted on Magda with interest. He beckoned for Magda’s papers and examined them. Magda had to look away. His chiseled features made him exceptionally handsome, and there was something warm and lively about him. He seemed completely misplaced in this war, in his uniform. He should be playing soccer, or tennis, going out with girls, falling in love…
“Anna Gąsienica.” He looked up at her, still holding the identity papers. He smiled quickly, one eye narrowing as he looked at her face. “You speak German?”
She smiled stupidly.
“How did the other guy fare?”
She waited patiently, still pretending not to understand. “Your nose.” He touched his eye. “And that.”
Magda flushed. She cleared her throat. She raised her arms and looked down at the ground.
He chuckled, uncertain.
“Come on,” Natalia said, pushing past them. “We’re late as it is.”
The soldier handed Magda her papers back.
She stuffed them into her pocket and followed the owner and her friends up the stoop, still holding her breath. They entered the guesthouse through a spacious dining hall with wood-paneled ceilings. The scent of lemon oil was layered atop the lingering stink of stale beer and boiled sauerkraut.
The kitchen was at the back. Despite the residue of smells, it was neat and clean, meaning nothing had been prepared. There was a relatively large serving hatch that left the women unprotected should they need to speak to one another but would also help them to overhear the discussions. Their commander had warned them of this but had also delighted at the layout. Natalia would filter the Ukrainian information from the representatives of the Ukrainian Legion and their guards. Magda spoke German and would focus on what the Germans had to say. Ula was the only authentic Pollack to add to their cover. In either case, they were well-suited to the mission.
“How many are coming?” Ula asked the owner. She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and surveyed the workspace.
“Eighteen, maybe twenty.” The man’s nervousness grated on Magda’s own.
“And who are they?” Natalia asked.
“All lower ranks. The higher command wouldn’t risk coming this close to enemy lines. The Germans are meeting with a few officers from the Ukrainian Legion. The legion’s been helping the Nazis. They don’t want the Soviets to win, of course. Everyone’s pretty high strung. I wouldn’t be surprised if my guesthouse goes up in flames tonight. Your commander assured me that with you girls, it would not.”
“Uh-huh.” Ula inhaled and blew out a puff of smoke just to the left of the guesthouse owner’s face, then shot Magda a look. The man talked too much. “And you know all of this how?”
His cheeks reddened. “My, uh, my nephew joined the legion. We’re originally from Ukraine, see, and he thought…well, it doesn’t matter. Either way, he referred them all to me, and I—”
Natalia put her hands on her hips. “Our commander vetted you, but do tell us why you don’t support the Nazis yourself.”
His chin quivered. “The Germans have no…” He shrugged. “Scruples. I had a friend…” He looked pleadingly at the women, as if begging them to keep a secret. “He was Jewish.” He pointed to the countryside beyond the back of the house before turning back to them. “There was a village. A dozen or so families. They’re all gone now.”
Magda stepped forward, raised herself on tiptoe to be at his eye level. “And what did you do to help this Jew friend of yours?”
The man raised his palms and shook his head. “I couldn’t do anything before. You understand? Nothing. What could I do? But I’ve called you here now, haven’t I? To finally put an end to it?”
“We’ll see about that.” Magda moved her foot in her boot. Just to assure herself the revolver was still strapped to her calf.
There was nothing special about making spaetzle. Magda mixed the flour and eggs with water, let the dough stand a few minutes, and then pressed handfuls of mixture through the ricer and into a pot of boiling water. When they floated to the top, she fished them out with a rusted slotted spoon and piled them into a big bowl that sat on top of the oven.
Natalia worked on the cabbage rolls filled with barley and herbs. Ula pounded horse meat with a tenderizer that she would roast with the little lard they had. For soup, they had wild leek and potato.
The owner carried in a box of bottles. Beer and schnapps. The potions that would loosen and liquify tongues, at the very least among the patrols that would be here to protect the delegation, the ones who were more likely to give something away.
The three women were resolved to dislike the guesthouse owner, but that resolve melted when he arrived from the cellar with a few sausages and potatoes for them to boil for their own meal.
“What about dessert?” Natalia asked, after they had eaten.
Magda leaned back. “Dessert? Really?” She frowned at the sensation rising in her.
Ula stood and went to one of the cupboards. She reached in and removed a tin, opening it up and inhaling deeply. “I found some poppy seeds.”
Natalia huffed. “I don’t have butter, remember? I can’t bake a poppy-seed strudel without butter, and you need the lard.”
Magda, still fighting the tightening in her chest, pointed to a crate beneath one
