The Tuesday after my date with the Kommandant, I leave work at the end of the day and head toward the market square. It is early August with the kind of stifling hot weather that comes to Kraków for just a few days each summer. The pavement seems to liquefy under the late afternoon sun. Flies swarm around bags of garbage left out for pickup. I wrinkle my nose at the stench and try not to breathe too deeply as I pass.

Checking to make sure I have not been followed, I cross the square to the café where we usually meet. Underneath one of the bright yellow umbrellas that shields the tables from the sun, sits Alek. I am surprised to find him alone. “Marek had some business to take care of,” he says as I sit down. I nod, though his explanation seems strange; I have seldom seen one man without the other. I wonder if things are more dangerous for them now, and whether they feel it is safer not to be in the same place at the same time.

“So how are you?” Alek asks. I notice that his face is darker and the skin around his nose is peeling, as though he has spent time outdoors since our last meeting.

I hesitate. Though I do not doubt the sincerity of his question, I am uncertain how to answer. How am I as Emma, missing and worrying about my husband and parents? How am I as Anna, keeping up appearances while working at Nazi headquarters for the Kommandant, and trying to ignore the growing attraction between us? The answer in either case, I suppose, is “tired and sad and worried.” But as a Jew, I am far better off than most, and I know I have no business complaining. “Fine,” I reply at last.

Alek smiles gently, unfooled by my response. “I hear your mother is doing better.” I nod. Krysia told me a few days earlier that my mother’s fever has broken and she is now able to stand. No thanks to you, I cannot help thinking. “Perhaps in a few weeks or months we will be able to help her and your father,” he adds.

“Perhaps,” I reply without emotion. Once the promise of his words would have filled me with joy, but I am too afraid to get my hopes up anymore. In a few weeks, the situation in the ghetto could have changed completely. Who knew what would or would not be possible then?

“How has work been?”

“Okay. Actually I’m glad that you called me.” I tell him then about the Kommandant’s trip to Berlin and a few meetings I have seen on the schedule that might be significant.

“Anything else?” he asks when I finish. I shake my head. “Thank you for the information. We already knew most of that, but it’s still helpful.”

“Certainly,” I reply, glad to have finally offered something that was marginally of use.

“Emma, I can’t stay long, so let me get to the point. I called you here for a reason. There is something else we need to ask you to do.” He has dared to use my real name in public, I realize. The request must be serious.

“Of course, anything.” I am unsure what more I have to offer.

He raises his hand. “Don’t say that until you’ve heard me out. Emma, for several months now, we have had reason to believe from other sources that there are major Nazi plans afoot related to the Jews in the Kraków ghetto. We have tried to get specific information about where, when, how. But all of our contacts, even our best sources, have come up empty. If we can find out what is going to happen, perhaps we can stop it or at least create delays. We need information urgently.” I nod, swallowing hard. If their best sources could not get information, what is it Alek thinks I can do? He continues, “If there truly is something going on, some plans about to be set in motion, Richwalder will know about it.”

“But he doesn’t…” I start to say that the Kommandant does not involve himself in Jewish affairs, then stop. The map I saw during the delegation visit clearly indicates otherwise.

“I know the good Kommandant doesn’t usually dirty his hands in Jewish matters,” Alek replies bitterly. I nod. I can see the hypocrisy in the Kommandant’s role, overseeing the enslavement of the Jews from a distance, not looking closely enough to acknowledge the everyday atrocities that are taking place. “But if something major is to occur, it cannot happen without passing across your boss’s desk and getting his stamp of approval. You are our only hope for finding out what that is.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Have you noticed anything unusual in Richwalder’s office?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.” I have access to almost everything in the Kommandant’s office. He does not even have a private safe. “The only things that come in that I have not seen are the classified cable traffic, but there hasn’t been much of that lately.”

Alek strokes his goatee. “Then it is as I thought. He must keep papers at home.”

“He does have a home office,” I offer. Alek looks at me strangely, as if wondering how I know that. “Sometimes the Kommandant has me pack a briefcase of work for him to take home at night,” I explain quickly.

Alek pauses for several seconds. “Emma, there is something you can do.”

Something else, I want to say; I am already helping. “Yes?”

“I can hardly bring myself to ask…”

“I’ll do anything I can to help.” But even as I say this, I am filled with dread.

“I know that. But this is different from anything you, or any of us, have done before.” He looks me squarely in the eyes. “You have to find a way to get into the Kommandant’s home study.”

“I can do that,” I reply quickly.

“Not so fast—you must listen to me carefully.” I have never heard Alek sound so serious before. “This is not a case of merely going into an office at Wawel to snatch some passes and leaving again.” Merely, I think, remembering my first terrifying foray into Krich’s office. I wonder to myself if Alek has any idea how difficult that was. He continues, “You are going to have to get into Richwalder’s study and look around. We’re not sure exactly what it is you will be looking for. Correspondence, memos, directives, possibly. Anything having to do with future plans for the Jews. This will not be easy,” he cautions again. “Richwalder is a notoriously private man, and these are not the type of documents he would leave lying about. We’re talking drawers, file cabinets, that sort of thing. You must be extremely careful.” I nod. We both know what will happen to me and many others if I get caught.

“I can do it,” I repeat. There is a confidence in my voice that I do not recognize. “He…trusts me.”

“Yes, we know,” Alek says. “That is why we have asked you.” It occurs to me then that I may not be the resistance movement’s only spy at Wawel. There may be someone else there, perhaps even observing me. Of course, I laugh inwardly. This is war. No one is to be trusted.

Suddenly I am overwhelmed by everything that is happening. “I have to go,” I say, standing to leave.

Alek reaches up and grabs my hand. “I know this will not be easy for you.”

Easy, I think. Easy is a concept from another lifetime. “It’s all right,” I reply, though nothing could be further from the truth. I look down at him. “Just one question—does Jacob know about this?”

He shakes his head. “Only that you are working for the Kommandant. He’s mad enough about that since he didn’t want you getting involved in the first place. I haven’t told him about this latest assignment.”

“Good. Promise me that you won’t tell him?”

“I swear it. Your husband will never know.” Looking into his unblinking, solemn, eyes I know he can be trusted not to say anything. “He’s worried enough as it is.”

“Thank you.” I pull my hand away and start to turn.

“Emma, one last thing.” I turn back toward him. “Time is of the essence. If you find something, anything that you think might be important, don’t wait for our Tuesday meetings. Send word through Krysia and we’ll find a way to get the information from you.”

“I understand.” I turn again to leave, feeling Alek’s eyes still on me as I walk away.

Several meters across the square, as I cross through the archway of the cloth hall, a voice explodes behind me. “Anna!” I freeze, terrified that someone has recognized me. Then I realize that the speaker has used my pseudonym; this is someone who knows Anna, not Emma. I turn to find that the shrill, nasal tone belongs to Malgorzata.

“Hello,” I reply, trying to smile. Hoping to cut off any questions she might ask, I gesture to her bag. “Doing some after-work shopping?”

But Malgorzata is not easily distracted. “Who was that?” she asks, and I can tell by the direction in which she jerks her head that she has seen me with Alek.

“I don’t know what you’re—” I begin.

“You don’t have to play coy with me, Anna,” Malgorzata interrupts. “I saw you having coffee with that handsome young man.”

“Oh, that.” I wave my hand, trying to sound casual.

“Don’t worry,” she winks, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “I won’t say a word to the Kommandant.” Yet I know that was exactly what she would do, if he ever gave her half a chance.

“That’s Stefan,” I fib quickly. “He’s an old friend of my aunt Krysia’s.”

“Oh.” I can tell from the way her voice goes flat that she accepts my explanation, and is disappointed that there isn’t more to the story.

“Well, it’s a long trip home,” I say. “I must get going. Dobry wieczor, Malgorzata.”

“Dobry wieczor, Anna.”

Knowing that Malgorzata will watch my retreat, I try to walk rather normally across the square. I turn the corner onto Anna Street and stop, feeling as though I might be ill. Malgorzata had seen me with Alek. Thank goodness she is stupid enough to believe my story. But it might not have been Malgorzata. It could have been one of the officers from Wawel who had spotted me, I think, leaning against the side of a building. Or worse, the Kommandant himself. We have gotten entirely too cavalier about these meetings. My identity, our plans, could all go up in smoke, just like that. And they mustn’t, I tell myself. Not now, when we have so much to lose.

I intended to head directly home after my meeting with Alek, but instead I find myself instead cutting south from the city center toward the river. The towpath by the water is crowded with pleasure-seekers this warm August evening: young couples, strolling as Jacob and I once had, children running ahead of their mothers to chase the birds. I walk past them, barely seeing, my mind wrapped up in what Alek has asked me to do. Get into the Kommandant’s personal study to find out what is going to happen to the Jews. This was not a simple matter of slipping into an office and grabbing some papers. I would have to go to the Kommandant’s apartment repeatedly, become familiar with his desk and study, and learn what he keeps there. Unlike my forays into Krich’s office for blank passes, Alek could give me no key or secret code to gain access when the Kommandant is not home, and breaking in was out of the question. No, I would have to go to the Kommandant’s apartment deliberately, find some pretext for spending time there with him. It would not be difficult; I know that the Kommandant likes my company and would invite me over if given a hint that I would accept. Perhaps if we have dinner and some wine, and then when he is asleep…

I stop walking, freezing in the middle of the path. Stay at the Kommandant’s apartment at night, perhaps even sleep with him…is that what Alek is really asking me to do? I picture his grave expression as he described how I would have to get the passes. No wonder he cautioned me against agreeing to the task too readily. He wants me to become intimate with another man and betray my husband. Suddenly I cannot breathe. There is no way I can be unfaithful to Jacob. It is impossible.

Jacob. His sweet face appears in my mind. He will never know, Alek promised. I had not known the full meaning of his words at the time, but now their impact hits me like a rock. Betray my husband, lie to him. If this were somehow to happen, it would be a secret forever between us. And if he did somehow find out…I shiver.

“No!” I say loudly. Passersby, who are making their way around where I stand motionless in the middle of the path, turn to look at me. “No,” I repeat under my breath. I walk to a bench by the river’s edge, still thinking about Jacob. What would he do if the situation was reversed? Jacob believes in this cause, I realize, perhaps even more than in us. Otherwise he would be here with me instead of underground with the resistance. And I would not be faced with this dilemma.

Enough, I think. There is no point despairing over what could have been. And this is not Jacob’s decision. He did not even want you involved with the resistance, I remind myself. But it is too late for that now. Anyway, this is not about Jacob, I know, or even about me and Jacob. It is about me. I am here, alone, and the decision is mine. Or was. Suddenly I regret having accepted the assignment so readily. Alek had given me the choice and I could have said no. But there had been something in his expression and tone of voice that I had not seen or heard before, a kind of muted desperation that said I was the only one who could possibly get close enough to this man to do what needed to be done.

But this is not just any man, I remind myself. The Kommandant is a Nazi. I suddenly picture the Gestapo shooting the rabbi’s wife, Lukasz’s pregnant mother, in the doorway in the ghetto. I see Lukasz standing over her as she lay dying on the ground, her head wreathed in blood. The Nazis killed her and they have killed so many others. And the Kommandant is one of them. And now, to show him affection…? My stomach turns.

Even as these dreadful thoughts run through my mind, though, I think again that getting close to him would not be hard. Since the Kommandant’s return from Berlin, it has been impossible to ignore the fact that he is attracted to me. I sometimes wonder if it goes beyond physical attraction and he has actual feelings for me, despite the fact that I am one of his subordinates and, in his eyes, a lowly Pole. Until now, I have deliberately kept him at arm’s length. The Kommandant is polite, even if he is a Nazi, and I know that he would not take improprieties with me uninvited. It would take time, of course, to make him believe that the attraction is mutual and real. But with the right encouragement…

Stop! a voice inside my head shouts. This is madness. The magnitude of what I am contemplating crashes down upon me. I cannot do it. I lean over the water. Who are you? I demand of my reflection. The image does not answer, but asks back: what is it that matters most? My family, I think, without hesitation. My husband and my parents. The answer has not changed.

A siren erupts on the far side of the river then, breaking me from my thoughts. I look up; the place where I have stopped is exactly parallel to where the ghetto sits, several blocks back from the far bank. My parents. With every passing day they spend in the ghetto, their situation is becoming bleaker, their chances more remote. Every day they become sicker and weaker and at greater risk for deportation or worse. Every day people like them are dying, or being killed by the Nazis. That’s why Alek has asked me to do this. He needs me to get this information so that the movement can try to save my parents and the other Jews in the ghetto. To get close to the killers so that we can try to stop the killing. I can do this; I can help.

Even as my resolve strengthens, my nagging doubts persist. How will I be able to convince the Kommandant that I really like him? Will I be able to go through with becoming intimate with a man such as him? Perhaps it will not even come to that, I tell myself. Maybe I will be able to find the information without letting things get that far. It is a lie that I desperately want to believe. But whether I do or not is of no consequence. My mind is made up: if there is any chance that my actions might help my family, I have to try. Jacob will never have to know. Perhaps, I venture, something I discover might actually bring him back to me sooner. Lifting my chin, I turn and begin the long walk home.