The Children's War (107 page)

Alex and Anna exchanged a significant glance but did not interrupt.

“After Adam, I know I won’t ever fall in love again,” Zosia sighed. As she watched the snow swirling around, she said to herself, “God, I miss him so.” She blinked back some tears and brought her gaze to rest upon her mother’s face. “But I know life has to go on—so I have to see to more practical needs.”

“Practical needs,” Ryszard repeated disdainfully.

“Yes. Some of us can’t leave everything to our wife to handle!” Zosia returned angrily. She rubbed her neck, then her eyes. “He wants it so much, and it really doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. I don’t want to hurt him, not after I said yes. I
mean, if I back out now, he’ll see it as a betrayal. He’ll think I’ve deliberately tried to humiliate him, and . . .”

“And what?” Alex asked.

“And, and, and . . . ,” Zosia stammered, wondering if she really wanted to confide so much.

“And what?” Anna pressed.

“And if he thinks that, then he’ll never speak out on our behalf!”

“Oh, Zosiu! Marriage is a holy sacrament! How could you use it as a propaganda tool?” Anna groaned.

Zosia’s eyes strayed from her parents to Ryszard and back again. “It will not be the first time in history that a marriage is contracted for reasons other than pure love,” she stated dryly, “nor will it be the last.”

Anna shook her head, disconcerted once again by the children she had raised.

Alex smiled.“No one could say you’re not devoted to the cause, little one.”

“Zosiu, it’s your life,” Anna pleaded. “I don’t know about him, but you take marriage seriously. You can’t afford to marry someone you don’t love—even if it seems practical. Even if it means he’ll refuse to help us.”

“But all my hard work will be wasted!” Zosia wailed. “I can’t back out now!” Before Alex or Anna could reply, Ryszard said, “She won’t cancel it, Mom, no matter what you say. No matter what she says. Our little Zosienka is in love!”

“I am not,” Zosia whispered, but her voice was unsteady.

36

“R
YSZARD!
S
O GOOD
to see you! Are Kasia and the children here?” Marysia asked as she welcomed him into her flat.

They embraced and he kissed her three times. “They’ll be along later, closer to the big day,” he answered, then turned his attention to the other two guests as he lit himself a cigarette.

“Hey, that’s not allowed here,” Katerina chided.

Ryszard walked over to her, embraced her, and kissed her cheek. “And is my auntie Katje going to plunge her little dagger in my neck for bad behavior?” he whispered.

As Katerina fended off his arms with ill-tempered impatience, Wanda chimed in, “Ryszard, it’s hard enough to keep discipline here, why do you insist on being so difficult? You know the ventilation can’t cope if we all smoke.”

“Then don’t,” he snapped.

“And it would help if you stuck to speaking German with the staff,” Wanda added. “You haven’t spoken a word of it since your arrival!”

Ryszard raised his eyebrows at her. “I speak enough of it out there. Now, are we going to get down to business or are you ladies too intent on your bitching?”

“Please, let’s sit down,” Marysia suggested, gesturing toward her dining table and the four glasses of vodka she had poured out. As they seated themselves, she began, “We think we’ve found a couple who could work in your household when you’re in Berlin.” She handed Ryszard two files. “She says her mother is ill and they shouldn’t go, but it’s your call. Look at their files, interview them, and let us know.”

“Anyone would be fine,” Ryszard remarked, as he leafed through the pages. He looked up at his listeners and grinned malevolently. “Though, what we should do is save Zosia before it’s too late and use her husband-to-be. After all, he’s experienced!”

“No!” Wanda snapped angrily.

“No,” Katerina agreed.

“It was a joke,” Marysia explained, somewhat perplexed. Then she turned to Ryszard. “Wasn’t it?”

He shrugged. “I thought so. I thought you wouldn’t want to lose him. I’ve heard he’s turned out to be reasonably useful.”

“Who said that?” Wanda asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Tadek, of all people. Said you got a highly trained, highly intelligent analyst quite cheap—free in fact! If only he weren’t . . .” Ryszard declined to elaborate.

“Useful or not, he mustn’t leave this place,” Wanda explained.“He’s one of the few people here who knows your undercover identity, and we still haven’t been able to vet him properly. He’s a security risk!”

“Pff. I must admit I was stunned when I saw him in Göringstadt. It just didn’t seem like you to clear something like that.”

“I didn’t,” Wanda replied acerbically. “It was that sister of yours acting on her own again.”

“So I heard. I also heard you reprimanded her so severely that she followed orders for what? Two whole months afterwards?”

“I was hoping maybe you could get through to her. You’re the only one with any sense in that crazy family of yours.”

“Ah, it’s that impetuous English blood in our veins,” Ryszard suggested humorously.

Katerina laughed, but Wanda did not. “Zosia’s got some harebrained scheme and now your father is behind her as well . . .” Ryszard’s gaze wandered around the room as Wanda fulminated. His eyes lit upon Julia’s picture mounted on the wall, and he discreetly stared at it for some time. That long, dark hair, those passionate eyes. He sighed silently and brought his attention back to Wanda as she was saying, “I want to finally put a stop to this nonsense. I’m not going to give the clearance for him to leave here. No more trips out. None!”

“That’s
your
prerogative, isn’t it?” Ryszard asked Katerina.

Katerina sipped her vodka, eyeing the three of them.“In the final analysis, yes.
I’ve heard Wanda’s arguments, and I’m convinced she’s right. I just wanted to hear what you had to say before I made my decision. I assume you agree with her.”

“What about the rest of the Council, don’t they get a say?” Marysia huffed. “People here won’t like it that you’re trying to stop Zosia from doing something which could be very, very useful for us.”

“They don’t need to even know about it,” Wanda retorted.

“What do you think, Ryszard?” Katerina asked. “After all, you’re the one at greatest risk.”

“Ach, the closer I get to Führer, the less I’m able to care.” Ryszard laughed. He leaned back in his seat and sent a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

“Do you really think that’s a possibility?” Marysia asked.

“Yes.” Ryszard laughed hoarsely and ended up coughing. “After all, I have a phenomenal political machine backing me up, don’t I? All unquestioningly loyal, too. Much better than the measly mafias my competitors can muster.” He laughed again at the concept of the entire Home Army as his personal entourage.

Wanda rolled her eyes impatiently, and Katerina prodded, “Well, what about this stupid idea of Zosia’s. You’ve met this man, what do you think about him?”

“About him? He’s a wreck, he drinks too much, he’s moody, unpleasant, and rude. And I think Zosia’s making a big mistake. But if you want to know what I think about the idea of using him, that’s quite different.”

“Then what do you think about it?” Marysia asked.

What did he think? Ryszard reflected on the long debate he had had with Zosia after their discussion in Göringstadt. She had convinced him of nothing, but then, upon returning home, Kasia had spoken quietly for no more than ten minutes and had completely changed his mind. His eyes strayed up to Julia’s picture again. If only Julia had had Kasia’s sense. He brought his attention back to Katerina and said,“He poses no particular danger to me.”

Katerina raised her eyebrows in surprise. Wanda looked ready to object, but Ryszard raised a hand to silence her. “He may or may not be loyal to us, but the one thing I know for sure is, he’s in love with Zosia, and for as long as that lasts, he’ll do whatever she tells him.”

“How can you be so sure?” Marysia asked.

“You don’t understand what they did to him. He doesn’t either. But I do. They made him afraid of freedom. So afraid that he would never leave. The fact that he left anyway shows a remarkable strength of will, but it also left him . . .” Ryszard paused, trying to find the easiest way to express the concept. “It left him seeking another prison, one to satisfy that fear they burned into his brain. His love for Zosia is that prison. He’s bound to her by more than affection, he needs her, and he’ll do anything to satisfy that need. So, if you want to use him, all I can say is, the sooner the better.”

“But what if he loses control of himself? Like he did in Göringstadt?” Katerina asked.

“That wasn’t losing control. He knew there was no real danger.” Ryszard
leaned forward, looked at each of them in turn. “I’ll tell you this: he survived eight years slaving away for them. Eight years of abuse, months of torture, and he never once hit back! Now, that’s control.”

“Controlled or not, he’s not going,” Wanda insisted. “I don’t trust him. I don’t know what it is, but he’s hiding something.”

“Maybe,” Ryszard agreed.

“None of us have perfect lives,” Marysia noted, then turning to Katerina, said, “So you see, Ryszard is not against it. I think you ought to throw the idea out to the encampment. See what they say. I think you’ll see that Zosia’s idea is generally supported.”

Katerina pursed her lips. “I’m not going to take any votes, Marysia, but you, Wanda, should remember that the final decision is mine.”

“I don’t like the way the rest of the Council isn’t being consulted,” Marysia commented.

Katerina waved her hand in annoyance. “Wanda’s security, you’re vice chair, that’s sufficient consultation! Now, Ryszard, since you aren’t adamantly opposed to Zosia’s plan, maybe you could do some research for me. I was wondering if you could check Halifax out a bit further.” She pushed a thick file toward him. “Study his record and talk with him. Your impressions will be useful.”

Ryszard accepted the folder wearily. He opened it and scanned the one-page summary at the front.“Hah! So, that’s why he’s familiar!” Ryszard laughed.

“Why?” Marysia asked.

Ryszard tapped the paper. “This place in Breslau he was at—he must have been one of Lederman’s pets.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You know, I vaguely remember him showing me some English prisoner . . .”

“Did he look like Peter?” Wanda asked.

Ryszard shrugged. “He was covered in filth, starved, and half-dead the time I saw him up close—he could have been anyone.” He looked back down at the paper. “I suppose I must have seen him at the Vogels’ the time I was there.”

“Zosia said she thought she saw him there,” Marysia commented.

“Did that man look like Peter?” Wanda asked Ryszard.

Again Ryszard shrugged. “Exhausted, pale, coughing up his lungs. Same sort of hair though, face . . .” He screwed up his eyes as he thought. “Sorry, I didn’t bother to memorize it. He hardly merited attention.”

“But you think he is genuine?” Marysia pressed.

“Oh, I’ve never doubted that he’s genuine. He’s far too fucked-up to be acting!” Ryszard laughed. “Though what that says about his motives for coming here or his loyalty to us, I can’t say. All I can do is repeat: whatever his motives might have been, he’s now bound to Zosia by love, and as long as that lasts, we own him.”

“I don’t trust him,” Wanda repeated. “He’s hiding something.”

“You don’t trust him because he’s English,” Ryszard snapped. “Just like the hard time everyone gave my father.”

Katerina patted the air with her hands, as if calming children. “Maybe when you talk with him, Ryszard, you’ll learn more.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

It took several days before Ryszard managed to stumble across Peter as he was heading out on one of his walks. He invited himself along and Peter reluctantly agreed. The two men walked in uncomfortable silence as Ryszard led the way along one of his favorite boyhood routes up snow-covered inclines and down steep, icy slopes with the intention of eventually reaching a small waterfall.

Ryszard enjoyed the climb and the brisk air. It had been a long time since he had been home, and he missed the mountains in winter. He stopped and stretched and turned to say something, but saw that Peter had fallen some distance behind. Ryszard crossed his arms and waited, tapping his fingers impatiently against the wool of his coat. He listened to Peter’s labored gasps and studied the frozen sweat on his cheeks as Peter climbed the last few icy steps up the slope. “Do you need to stop?” Ryszard asked brusquely.

Peter took a deep breath, said, “I’m all right, we can . . .” There was a long pause as he stared into the distance, breathing heavily, then he pointed toward some rocks nearby. “If you don’t mind,” he muttered.

They sat in silence, or almost silence. Ryszard scanned the dark branches of the pines and wondered how he was going to initiate a conversation, all the while trying to ignore the way Peter was sitting there, his eyes squeezed shut, gasping with pain. “What is it?” Ryszard was finally driven to ask.

Peter dropped his head so that Ryszard could no longer see his face. “My legs,” he finally stammered. “I don’t usually climb when it’s so icy.”

“Ach, sorry. I didn’t realize that you were that weak.”

Peter looked up at that. “It’s not weakness,” he whispered angrily.

Ryszard shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I’m ready to move on.”