Homeland (50 page)

The image of the family celebration gave Wladyslaw a twinge of envy and longing. He said, ‘I wish your sister all happiness.’

‘Thank you.’ A rare smile lit Rafalski’s austere face. ‘It’s extraordinary, but she’s marrying an old friend of mine from military college. They met in Paris.
Such a small world. But then it’s bound to be, I suppose, when you live abroad.’

Billy and Annie gave Wladyslaw a lift back to the village in Billy’s new acquisition, a tall-sided van painted chocolate brown with the name of a Taunton baker and the legend
Bread
– Cakes – Pastries
in spindly cream lettering on three sides. Because of its dodgy clutch Billy had beaten the baker down and got it at a bargain price.

Stopping outside the Bennetts’ house, Billy said, ‘Sure you don’t want us to wait and take you to the station?’

‘Thank you, but I am OK to walk.’

They got out and Annie gave Wladyslaw a farewell kiss. ‘You’ve been a wonder,’ she said. Then, as Billy went to the back of the van to collect Wladyslaw’s kitbag, she
said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on Stan and Flor.’

‘And on Billy too, eh?’

She laughed. ‘Looks like I’ll have to.’

Billy dropped the kitbag onto the ground and said, ‘Not too late to change your mind, Johnnie. Stay and make your fortune with me. Won’t find too many withy farms in
Canada.’

‘I’m not sure this makes me so sad.’

‘All that skill gone to waste.’

Billy looked as though he was going to slap Wladyslaw on the shoulder, only to change his mind and thrust out his hand. Swinging up into the van, barely waiting for Annie to climb in the other
side, he fired the engine with a roar. ‘Bye, Johnnie. Watch out for the wolves, eh?’

The door was answered by Mrs Bennett, her eyes dull, her face etched with weariness. ‘Oh, it’s you, Wladyslaw,’ she said on a note of relief.

‘I wondered if it was possible, for just a few minutes, to say goodbye.’

She looked at his kitbag, she put a hand to her forehead in a gesture of forgetfulness. ‘Oh goodness, it’s today that you’re leaving, isn’t it? Yes, of course.’ She
stood back hastily. ‘Come in, Wladyslaw. He’d hate to miss you. He’s been asking after you.’

Entering the hall, Wladyslaw became aware of other people in the house: the rustle of a newspaper followed by the low murmur of a man’s voice; from the kitchen the muted rattle of a
cooking pot. Passing the living room, he saw a young woman glance up anxiously from her chair and knew from photographs that it was the daughter. From another chair a man’s head craned into
view to stare at him and Wladyslaw guessed it was the son-in-law. Moving on, he heard a woman speak in the kitchen and a second one answer.

Mrs Bennett started to lead the way upstairs, only to pause on the first step and ask, ‘When were you last here, Wladyslaw? Was it Friday?’

‘It was Saturday.’

‘Ah yes,’ she said, climbing again. ‘Well, he’s had a couple of better nights since then.’

‘Yes?’ said Wladyslaw in a tone that echoed hope with hope.

‘His breathing doesn’t seem to trouble him so much. And the fever’s finally gone down.’

‘I am very glad.’

At the far side of the landing she stopped outside the half-open door. ‘He still gets very tired, though.’

‘I will not stay too long.’

She hesitated, as if to say more, but thought better of it.

The room was flooded with light. The doctor lay propped up in bed, his head turned towards the window, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. Even as Wladyslaw waited by the door he could
hear the rasp of his breathing.

Mrs Bennett bent over the bed. ‘Darling? Wladyslaw’s here.’

For a moment the doctor didn’t seem to hear. Then he cried hoarsely, ‘Wladyslaw!’ and turned to look for him.

‘Hello, Doctor.’

‘You’re here! On your way to the station!’

Wladyslaw took his outstretched hand and pressed it warmly between his own before pulling up a chair. As he sat down he tried not to notice how much flesh had gone from the doctor’s face,
and how poor was his colour.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get to the cemetery, Wladyslaw. How did it go?’

‘It was very fine. A soldier’s burial.’

‘I’m so glad. And there was a Catholic priest?’

‘Yes. It was agreed that Jozef died from the shock of war, which is not so much of a—’ With a rotation of his hand Wladyslaw searched for the lost word. ‘What is the sin
beyond saving?’

‘A mortal sin?’

‘Exactly! It was a lesser sin than this.’

‘So there were proper prayers, that’s the important thing.’

‘Yes.’

‘And who was there?’

‘His two lady godmothers from the camp. The administrators and senior officers. And six comrades from his regiment. Also Billy.’

‘Ah. He came, did he?’

‘With Annie Bentham.’

‘They’re together, are they, those two?’

‘I think for sure. Billy smiles early in the morning. He says good things about everyone, even Polacks. Yes, I think they are together.’

‘Well, he’ll do all right with Annie. More than all right.’ Bennett coughed long and low; his chest heaved with the effort of regaining his breath. When he spoke again, it was
in short bursts, on snatches of exhaled air. ‘And you, Wladyslaw? Don’t forget that London isn’t so far away . . . You must come and visit us often . . . You know you’ll
always be welcome . . . to stay here with Marjorie and me. Any time at all. Why don’t you come in a couple of weeks? The wild flowers will be out by then. All the summer birds will have
arrived . . . wagtails and warblers and buntings and . . .’ The names of the other birds seemed to escape him, he lost momentum. ‘Yes, it’s really quite magical in May.
You’d hardly recognise the place. And today isn’t such a bad start, is it?’ He turned his head towards the window. ‘A bit of warmth in the air at last.’

‘Doctor, I must tell you – I have finally decided to try for Canada.’

Bennett turned back. ‘Canada?’

‘Please, do not think it is for any bad reasons. It is not that I wish to leave this country so much. It has been a good place for me. Everyone had been most kind. It is more that I feel
it would be better to try for somewhere new.’

‘So . . . you won’t be taking up the college place in London?’

‘No. I am going to apply instead for this course in Toronto where it is possible to study English and work for teaching qualifications at the same time. I go for my visa next
week.’

‘Teaching, Wladyslaw!’

‘Yes!’ He laughed. ‘I think in my heart I always wished to be a teacher.’

‘Well, for what it’s worth, I always thought so too. All those ideas of yours. All that talk about the purposes of education. I think there was no escaping it.’

‘It is possible they will not like my ideas, of course.’

‘Maybe so. But just stick to your guns. Don’t let them put you off too easily.’

‘I will try my best.’

Bennett said, ‘We’ll be sorry to see you go, Wladyslaw. More than sorry. But you must go to Canada. You must make the most of your opportunities.’

‘It is not just the opportunity, Doctor. It is also a matter of geography. To be a long way from Poland is better for me, I think. If I cannot go back, then it is better to be far away in
a new country where everything is different and new. Here the war is still too close.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you know, when I arrived in England, I travelled through Athelney on the train, through water on each side like an ocean. I told you once, I think?’

‘Yes, you did.’

‘Well, my leg was in bad shape then. Full of infection. I thought that I would lose it finally. I thought the doctors would take one look and—’ He made a short scything motion
with the edge of his hand. ‘But one doctor at the military hospital, he said, no, let’s try one more time with this fellow, and I thought then, if I keep my leg I will have no reason to
complain in my life again. So when I leave on the train today, when I pass through the ocean once more, with my leg in one piece, and with my life and my health, I will resume my journey without
complaint.’

Bennett gripped his hand. ‘Go safely, Wladyslaw.’

‘I will write often.’

‘Go now or you’ll miss your train.’

‘I thank you for everything you have done for me, Doctor.’

‘Goodbye, Wladyslaw.’ Suddenly the doctor seemed desperately tired. With a lift of one hand, a sketchy wave, he turned his head towards the window and closed his eyes. By the time
Wladyslaw reached the door he had slipped into a deep, unhealthy-looking sleep.

Wladyslaw did not allow himself time to stop or think until he had said goodbye to Mrs Bennett and hurried away into the road. Then his vision blurred, his throat seized, and he almost walked
into the hedge. Stopping, he cried, ‘My friend, my friend . . .’

Eventually he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and walked on. He barely noticed the figure bicycling towards him until she was quite close. It was Stella. She braked and dismounted in
front of him.

‘I was coming to find you,’ she said.

‘Well, here I am.’ Not knowing what else to say, aware that his eyes were still damp, he started on his way again.

She turned her bicycle round and walked beside him. ‘You’ve been to see the Doctor?’

‘Yes.’

‘How is he today?’

‘Not good.’

She gave a soft groan of dismay. ‘I thought – we all thought he was getting better.’

Wladyslaw did not believe in offering false hope. He said, ‘He will not get better.’

Stella faltered and covered her face with one hand. He waited attentively while she found a handkerchief and blew her nose, then they walked on again in silence. After a time she said, ‘I
was very sorry about your friend, Wladyslaw. I would have written but . . .’

‘Sure.’

‘I know my uncle didn’t help, making those accusations, but he didn’t mean it on purpose, you know. He really didn’t. He was just – overcome.’

Unable to offer any useful response to this, Wladyslaw said, ‘I wish to say that I am sorry about your cousin also.’

‘Thank you.’ She added in a tone of resignation, ‘I thought I was the one person who could persuade him to drive slower and drink less. But I couldn’t. The Doctor said no
one could, and I’m trying very hard to believe he’s right.’

A tractor came round a corner and they pulled in to the side.

When it had passed Stella cast him a thoughtful glance. ‘I wanted to ask you something, Wladyslaw.’

‘Of course. But I am leaving today, Stella. I am leaving now.’

‘Yes, I know. That’s why I came. You see, I wanted to ask if I could write to you.’

The combination of grief and surprise had lowered his defences. Despite everything, he found his heart lifting. ‘Stella . . . I don’t see . . . why . . .’

‘I so want us to keep in touch.’

He said bluntly, ‘I’m going to Canada.’

But she seemed to know about that as well. ‘Oh, but I’d love to hear about it,’ she said warmly. ‘I’d love to know how you’re getting on.’ Then, more
tentatively: ‘And, well . . . there are things I wanted to say, Wladyslaw . . . to explain. Things I can’t explain now.’

He came to a stop, and Stella stopped as well. Gazing at her clear eyes, her bright hair, her open face, he remembered all too vividly why he had fallen in love with her.

‘Stella, it is a good thought, but it is not necessary. What is past is past. My heart is mended,’ he lied. ‘I will always think of you in friendship and wish you all good
fortune for the future.’ He took her hand and kissed it formally.

She stepped closer to him, and the bicycle lurched precariously. ‘For the sake of friendship then, Wladyslaw – let me write. It would mean so much to me.’

He could find no argument to that, and perhaps he didn’t want to. He smiled at her. ‘So long as you don’t try and correct my English.’

She said, ‘It’s a promise.’ Then, gesturing for him to rest his kitbag on the saddle, she allowed him to take charge of the bicycle, and they walked through the village and
down to the station, talking of Canada.

F
OLLOWING THE
Soviet invasion of eastern Poland in 1939, some 1.6 million Poles were deported to prisons and forced labour camps in the Soviet Union. Of
these, roughly 500,000 were civilians taken from their homes. The remainder consisted of captured soldiers, political prisoners and those caught attempting to flee the country. Within a year, half
were dead.

In July 1941, soon after Germany’s attack on Russia began, the Soviet Union agreed to grant amnesty to Polish prisoners and slave labourers, and subsequently to allow for the formation of
a Polish army on Soviet soil. Only 115,000 men and dependants reached the new army, however, partly because so many Poles had already perished, partly because the Russians broke their word and
failed to release large numbers from the camps. When the Russians proved reluctant to feed and equip the new army, the exiled Polish government, with Churchill’s support, negotiated the
army’s evacuation to Persia and thence to the Middle East, to serve under the British.

At the end of the war, only 310 of those who had emerged from the Soviet Union to join the Polish Second Corps opted to return to Soviet-dominated Poland.