The Children's War (196 page)

“Forgive me for having learned my lessons well. Is it a deal?”

Ryszard nodded. “Sure. Just don’t waste this opportunity.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can get a lot more than permission to come home out of this stuff. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“A promotion, at least. Or a Council seat. You have the skills and experience—they should have chosen you by now.” Ryszard lit another cigarette, then said into the silence, “The only reason you haven’t been put forward is that you’re
a foreigner. Just like my dad. He had to fight for his place every step of the way. Even now he pretty much works alone.”

“How could I get a Council seat? I thought the representatives were democratically elected.”

Richard sputtered. “Believe what you want, but think about it. The elections must be conducted in absolute secrecy. Do you really think they’re free and fair?”

“I was under that impression.”

“Well, even if they are, how do you think the voters get the information on the candidates?”

“The Underground press.”

“Which is?”

“Run by the Council,” Peter concluded. A Council seat, that would be nice. That would shove all the shit they had doled out to him right back up their noses. As he thought of the possibilities, he began to smile. “Will you help me get there? I need papers and permits. Something impressive, so I won’t be searched.”

Ryszard thought for a moment. “Yeah, I can manage that for you. After all, I guess I owe you a favor.”

“How so?”

Ryszard glanced into Peter’s face, then waved away the question. “Just guarantee-that our people will eventually get the information, no matter what.”

“No problem.”

“You know, my handlers are going to be very annoyed with me if it gets out that I’m doing this on the side.”

“I thought you were in a position to tell them what to do.”

“I am. That annoys them as well.”

“Well, I’ve always felt that if your own side doesn’t want to shoot you at some point in your career, you must be doing something wrong.”

Ryszard laughed heartily. “So, I guess you’ve been doing things right all along!”

67

“A
REN’T YOU GOING TO WARN THEM
you’re coming?” Barbara asked rather worriedly. Only an hour ago, she had received a communiquó that indicated Szaflary was still ignorant of his plans.

“No, they’ll just tell me to stay put,” Peter responded. She looked concerned, so he added, “Don’t worry, I’m sure when they hear what I have to say, they’ll have much better things to be angry at me about.”

“Be careful.” She gave him a brief kiss.

“I will. And I hope you two have a good life.”

“We will. Take care.” Mark could barely hide his elation at Peter’s departure, but he gave it a brave attempt.

Peter grabbed his bags, went down the steps, and climbed into the waiting taxi that would ferry him to the airport. Ryszard had decided the safest course was to fly Peter to Kraków himself. He said he had some business to conduct there in any case, and so he could carry the incriminating documents and computer, which in his possession would no longer be incriminating, and Peter could assume the role of his aide, using Stefan’s papers. The English Underground had obligingly altered the photograph, and Stefan would get to spend the time holed up in Ryszard’s hotel room with a bottle of whiskey and an amiable companion until his papers wended their way back to him.

In Kraków, Ryszard planned to make a quick visit to an office and then return to Berlin, while Peter planned to take local transit through to Neu Sandez and then on to the village. Local travel was usually unhindered, and Peter felt he could manage that part of the journey without help. Once he reached the village, he would contact one of the border entry guides and convince him or her to escort him in. He would explain he had been issued an urgent summons and would express surprise that they were not expecting him. They knew him, they would give him no trouble. The trouble would come later, with the Council, and for that he was well prepared.

“I can go it alone from here,” Peter said to the woman who had walked him across the border. She had radioed their presence and made sure that he was not accidentally shot at. Once inside, they had managed to catch a ride most of the way, and now that the truck had to drop them off, he saw no reason for her to continue with him. “We’re inside the internal borders and they know me personally here, so there shouldn’t be any problem.”

“Okay, but be careful,” she warned. “After all, we weren’t expecting you, so if there has been some miscommunication, they might not be expecting you here either.”

“It’s all right.” He was touched by her concern and the extra effort she had gone through to see him all the way inside. “They’re used to me walking around this area all the time. They won’t shoot at me.”

“Farewell then.” She waved good-bye.

He sighed with relief. It had gone terribly smoothly, taking only two days to work his way from Kraków into the mountains, and his story had not been questioned at all. As he walked along, he thought that it should probably worry him that he had slipped in so easily while unexpected, even if they did know him, even if he was generally trusted. Border security clearly needed a bit of reorganizing.

Once he was sure his guide was well out of sight, he changed his direction toward Joanna’s grave. When he reached it, he cleared away the snow and contemplated it for a few minutes, thinking of his happy little girl and how her brief
life had been so cruelly destroyed. Then he smiled at her memory, and asking her forgiveness and blessing for what he was doing, he dug into the snow behind the stone and buried his treasure. It would be the obvious place for them to look, but he did not care. It would not go that far, but indeed, if anything untoward did happen, he wanted them to find the information. He had to admit, at least to himself and Joanna, that his entire presentation would be a bluff. If they did not give him what he wanted, if they arrested him, even if they shot him for treason, he still wanted them to have the information. They would find it here easily enough.

He said a casual hello to the guard at the entrance and went into the bunker, heading immediately to his apartment before talking to anybody else. He needed to discuss everything with Zosia, and besides, he did not want to draw attention to his presence until she knew what was going on.

The place was empty and neither Zosia nor Irena was in sight. It was also clean and organized. He walked through the room as though entering a stranger’s house. On a bookshelf, Zosia’s files had carefully been arranged using specially made dividers, each tagged with a subject and date. A thick blanket was spread on the floor, on top of a rug, to make a soft playing surface for the baby. Little toys and a mirror were heaped into a small pile at the corner of the blanket, ready for the baby’s use. The refrigerator contained fresh food, the cupboards were well stocked. Suspiciously he looked at the dish-drying rack: one coffee cup, one dish, one set of silverware. If Zosia had acquired a roommate, he was marvelously discreet.

Peter went into the bedroom and scanned the clothes: his remained where he had left them, Zosia’s filled the other spaces, and the drawers that had once been Joanna’s now held Irena’s tiny things. Nervously, he opened the small wooden box in which Zosia stored her jewelry. Neither her wedding ring nor the necklace he had given her was inside. Her stiletto and silver ring were also missing. He stared at the nearly empty box and felt both relieved and ashamed of himself for checking up on her. He returned to the main room and opened the cabinet drawer. The diaries and his letters were still there, though the letters had been bound with ribbon into a folder.

He picked up the folder and studied the neat handiwork. What could it mean? Apparently Zosia had overcome her depression after Joanna’s death, but even so, where had she found the time, with a baby to care for, to do such things? It was so unlike her! As he stood there wondering, a bit of something sticking out from under the couch caught his eye. He set down the letters and went over to the couch. He reached underneath and pulled out a guitar case, then unfastened the locks and opened it. Inside was a guitar and an envelope addressed to him. He opened the envelope; inside was a note from Arieka.

I talked to your father-in-law (as I now know he is) and he told me about what had happened. I can’t begin to express my sorrow. Even
though I never met your little girl, I cried for days. When I learned you were still alive, I wanted to send you something. I remembered how much you liked playing my guitar that night after the show and I wanted to send it to you as a sort of remembrance, but I was advised that it would be better to send money and have one bought there. So, I’m hoping that is what happens. If my instructions are followed, you should get this letter along with an instrument. I’ve enclosed some instructions for various chords. I’m sure you’ll be able to work out the rest.

Do take care, and maybe someday I’ll visit (though I doubt I could blend into the crowd!).

Your friend, Arieka

He strummed his fingers along the strings and thought of that distant land. And of his friend there. He read the note again and then tucked it all away back under the couch. Somebody had carefully followed her instructions. He wondered if it had been Zosia.

He went to Marysia’s door and knocked. Olek’s voice yelled at him to come in.

“Where’s Zosia?” Peter asked immediately.

“On an assignment. What are you doing here?”

“Ah, I’ll explain eventually. Where’s Irena?”

“With the colonel.” Olek used his aunt’s title, clearly indicating that she was at work.

“With Zosia?” Peter repeated, momentarily shocked to think of his child in such circumstances.

“Yeah, she’s nursing, so she doesn’t want to be away from Irena any longer than necessary. She took Stefi with her to watch Irena during the few hours that she’s actually doing her job.”

“Stefi’s back from Berlin?”

“Yeah, said she needed a break and wanted to get on with her training with the colonel.”

“Stefi’s under Zosia’s tutelage?” Peter asked, amazed.

“Yes. Been so for years,” Olek answered proudly.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Why should it?” Olek asked, genuinely confused.

“No reason.” Peter shook his head at his own naÔvetó. He sometimes forgot that Olek, like Zosia and Barbara, had been raised from birth in this strange killorbe-killed world. Not his choice, not the choice of his parents, just the way it was.

“If our women want to do something other than stay here and be helpful,” Olek volunteered, “they have very little option but to follow that route. They can’t get well placed in Nazi society, except sometimes as the secretary of somebody
body important; so, they contribute in their own way, and that frees the men for other jobs.”

“Yes, of course.” Peter felt rather foolish that Olek needed to tutor him. It all made sense and Peter had long ago accepted the logic of it, but he still sometimes made snap judgments based upon his conventional upbringing, and on those occasions he realized that he looked rather provincial to people raised without such traditional prejudices.

“At least the able-bodied men,” Olek added dejectedly.

Peter nodded in commiseration. “Where’s your grandmother?”

“Oh, she’s busy nowadays. You know, with the Council.”

“More than before?”

“Oh, you probably haven’t heard. Katerina resigned after the invasion. Said she had enough, said she kept thinking about her sister. Whatever that means. My grandmother was elected chair.”

“Goodness! Well, congratulate her for me when you see her. Do you know when Zosia will be back?”

“I think Stefi said tomorrow morning. There’s a full Council meeting at ten so she’ll probably try to be back for that.”

“Ten. Okay. I’ll be back to chat, but I’ve got to arrange something.” Peter waved and was out the door. There would be no time to consult with Zosia; maybe it would be for the best.