While Still We Live (2 page)

Madame Aleksander had tried to make her voice sound normal, but the attempt wasn’t so successful as her smile. Perhaps she knew there were not going to be any more afternoon talks—neither today, nor tomorrow, nor any other day.

Barbara had sensed that, too. “Sheila is almost ready,” she tried.

“It is unbelievable, isn’t it?” Sheila said hurriedly. “I really must apologise for being such a persistent guest. I came for three weeks, and I stayed more than two months. I don’t think I realised that until I looked at a calendar, today.”

“It is our fault. We enjoyed your visit so much, that we have kept you too long.” Madame Aleksander’s English was grammatically perfect. There was a slight twist in the accent which added to the charm of her low voice. “But you will have to leave tonight, Sheila, if not for your own comfort, then certainly for your own safety. Edward is very gloomy. He has stopped all work on his book.”

“Then the news
is
serious!” Barbara exclaimed.

“Be serious, yourself, Barbara.” There was an edge to Madame Aleksander’s usually calm voice. Barbara was chastened. When you are twenty-one, it is difficult not to make a joke, not to try to make people smile. She sat on the arm of the chair and placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder. Sheila, watching than together, thought how comic it was, but in a charming way, to see such a strong family resemblance. But then, Sheila told herself with a touch of private bitterness, that was only because she herself had no family. Except Uncle Matthews, of course, and he scarcely counted: he was much too busy. There wasn’t much in common between him and her—not even a nose. With the Aleksanders, it was so different. Barbara was a younger,
more enthusiastic Madame Aleksander. Teresa was a miniature Barbara. Even Aunt Marta had the same wide-set blue eyes, broad brow, straight eyebrows, short nose, round chin. So had Andrew, the second oldest son, who lived in Warsaw. So had Uncle Edward. Only Stefan and Stanislaw, the eldest son, were different. Stefan was black-haired, brown-eyed, with the thin high nose of his dead father’s portrait. Stanislaw was the image of his father, Sheila had heard: he was the only Aleksander whom Sheila hadn’t met. He was a diplomat married to a rich wife. And as Aunt Marta said frequently, “What between watching military attachés with one eye, and his wife’s international antics with the other, it’s small wonder that Stanislaw had little time to look in our direction nowadays.”

Madame Aleksander broke the silence. “Well, it’s all arranged. Andrew is coming here, this evening. That nice young American friend of his, Mr. Stevens, is bringing him down in his car.”

Barbara’s face lighted. “It will be almost a party, mother! Is Andrew coming to say goodbye to Sheila? Couldn’t he have seen her as she passed through Warsaw?” She was laughing as Sheila’s face reddened.

“Andrew,” Madame Aleksander said slowly, “is coming to say goodbye to us all. He joins his regiment tonight at ten. They leave Warsaw at dawn.”

When the girls didn’t speak, but remained staring at her, Madame Aleksander said, “Sheila is to travel back with Mr. Stevens and Andrew to Warsaw. Uncle Edward and Mr. Stevens will see that she catches the midnight express from Warsaw.”

She rose abruptly. She was once more the capable mistress of the house, her eyes on the watch which was pinned to her blouse, her mind already calculating the amounts and varieties
of food and drink available at such short notice. “They’ll be here at six o’clock and must leave by eight. We haven’t long.” She frowned, as she considered the time it would take to prepare the food. And then, brusquely, “Sheila, do see that everything’s packed. And don’t place your passport at the bottom of a suitcase. Barbara, run to the village, and tell them your brother is coming. We shall need help for Maria and Zofia in the kitchen. And ask everyone to come to the house later this evening. There will be plenty to eat and drink. When you’ve done that, come right back, for I need your help in the storeroom and with the linen and silver.”

Barbara paused as she left the room. “Shall we invite the schoolmaster to dinner?” Her voice was too casual.

“I don’t think it’s necessary. He was here last week.” Her mother’s voice was equally casual, but the straight eyebrows were straighter. As Barbara’s footsteps descended the staircase, Madame Aleksander looked uncertainly at Sheila.

“Sometimes,” she said unwillingly, “I worry about Barbara.”

“I don’t think you need to, Madame Aleksander.” Sheila smiled as warmly as she could.

“You don’t?” Madame Aleksander’s blue eyes were searching her face.

“I really mean what I said.”

There was a slight pause.

Then, “Do you like that young schoolmaster?” Madame Aleksander asked slowly.

“Yes. I like Jan Reska.”

“Aunt Marta doesn’t. She says he is a radical.”

“I think all the nicest old men I’ve met were radicals when they were young.”

“But it seems so odd, Sheila, to bury yourself in a little village like this if you have talent.”

Sheila, watching the anxious face, thought: You yourself do a very good job of burying, Madame Aleksander. She said, “Jan Reska was a farmer’s son. He hasn’t been able to free himself of his love of the land. That’s why he chooses to teach in a country village.”

Madame Aleksander nodded. She looked as if she could understand and believe that. Suddenly she raised her hands in a quick gesture to her face. “Oh, how dreadful... I nearly forgot. Sheila, would you hurry after Barbara? Tell her to visit Kawka’s house. His mother is very ill. I want to know how she is. And if Father Mazur is there, tell Barbara to invite him to dine with us.” She paused, and then added: “Tell her to invite Jan Reska, too.”

* * *

Sheila hurried down the curving staircase and through the square entrance hall. Behind her was the kitchen, the smell of spiced fruit newly bottled, Maria’s voice raised in anger. Zofia’s weeping followed Sheila out of doors into the warm air. As she crossed the shaded veranda, with its four white pillars rising to support the overhanging roof, and descended the shallow steps, hot to the touch of her thin shoes, she was thinking how strange it was that one servant should be so arrogant with another. Madame Aleksander ruled the kitchen with a firm hand, but she never reduced Zofia to wailing. Maria could, and frequently did.

Sheila hesitated on the sandy surface of the drive. Barbara had probably taken the short cut, past the small west wing of the house, past the stables and the duckpond. My friend Wanda
was there, sitting under the shade of a willow that wept into the dark water. A yellow kerchief hid her tightly plaited hair, her bare legs were straight and wide apart before her, like a ballet girl on a Degas canvas. One of the geese hissed angrily at the running Sheila. “Boo to you,” she called in English over her shoulder. Wanda looked up from her knitting, and her face crinkled. She didn’t understand, but she laughed, anyway. Sheila gave the child a wave of her hand, as she passed through the line of linden trees and entered the path which edged Kawka’s long, narrow stretch of land. His was the first house in the straight row of rye-thatched cottages which formed the village of Korytów.

She saw Kawka and his wife and his sister, working half-way up the field. And then, just as she was wondering if her hesitating attempts to speak Polish would be understood by them, or if they wouldn’t object to hearing some German instead, she saw Barbara. And with Barbara was the schoolmaster. They were standing under one of the broad linden trees. They waved, as if they had noticed her indecision. She went forward slowly, thankful that it had been she, and not Aunt Marta, who had found them standing hand-in-hand so openly. But as she saw the numbed, helpless look in their eyes, she knew that the time for discretion was past. Time was too short. They knew it.

“Jan cannot come,” Barbara replied to Sheila’s message from Madame Aleksander. “He leaves within the hour. The call came this morning. Just a piece of paper handed silently into his house. That was all.”

Sheila didn’t know what to say. Anything seemed trite. She looked at Reska. He had the strong body, the quiet, large-boned face of a countryman. The sweat still glistened on his throat.
His hands and forearms were covered with harvest dust. He had been working with Kawka. He had chosen to help on that piece of land because it lay nearest to the manor house, and he had desperately hoped to see Barbara, or Sheila, or even Teresa, to give them the news of his going.

His blue eyes were fixed on the horizon, as if he could see the German waves ready to roll over these plains. “I wonder just how many men they really have,” he said softly, almost to himself. “There’s been so much bluster and talk.” Then he smiled as if to cheer the anxious girls, and the hard line of his high cheekbones and strong chin softened.

“If things were desperate, I’m sure the Polish armies would be fully mobilised and at the frontier now,” Sheila said hopefully.

“It’s a long frontier.” Reska’s voice was not dejected, only philosophic. “And we have been mustering the troops slowly, almost secretly. We are far from being mobilised. The democracies have asked us to give the Germans no excuse for attack, so we leave ourselves vulnerable in trying to keep the peace. Personally, I think we would have been wiser to have mobilised weeks ago. If the Germans don’t find an excuse, they invent one.”

Sheila suddenly felt she shouldn’t be here with them. Hurriedly she said, “I’ll go down to Kawka’s house. Father Mazur will understand me if I talk German, won’t he?”

Barbara nodded.

To Reska, Sheila spoke the Polish goodbye phrases, which she had been mastering in the last few days. He bowed with unexpected grace, and gave a neat reply which embraced Poland, her allies, his good wishes for her safe journey to London, his hope to see her again in Poland once victory was
won. He raised her hand, and kissed the cuff of her sleeve.

By the time she left Kawka’s house, Barbara was waiting alone for her under the linden tree. Neither of them appeared aware of the heavy tears on Barbara’s cheeks. Sheila found herself staring at the western horizon as Reska had done.

THE LAST DINNER PARTY

Andrew Aleksander and Mr. Stevens had arrived. The car had driven up in a swirl of warm dust, Teresa and Stefan had rushed outside, the stable dogs had barked, the ducks and geese had added their contribution of noise from the pond. In the kitchen, women’s high voices had subsided with their hurrying footsteps. Everything was ready.

In her room, Sheila pretended to make a last search through the drawers of the dressing table. She was increasingly nervous about going downstairs. She persuaded herself that she must give Andrew and his friend time to meet the family. One drawer, forgotten in its smallness, roused a vague suspicion. She crossed over to the little rosewood writing desk. She was right. She had almost left her diary. Small wonder that she had forgotten it: she hadn’t entered a thing in it for weeks. In London, where she had always been so busy, she had yet managed to keep an account of what she had done each day. Here, there had never
seemed to be any time for writing a diary. She smiled at that. Diaries must be for lonely people.

She opened the book, crossing over to the window to have better light to read. What had she been doing one year ago today? That was always amusing to find out
August 30, 1938...
The Sudeten question. Enrollment in a class for voluntary nursing. An appointment with a newspaper editor, in the hope of being accepted as a very minor member of his staff... Not a very good entry... The Sudeten question was now solving itself in Danzig. The voluntary nursing hadn’t been much of a success—why did other people not turn sick at the sight of blood? As for the newspaper job...too many would-be correspondents, too few openings.

A movement from the clump of bushes near the American’s car caught her eye. There was a glimpse of white loose sleeve, as an arm grabbed a small, tow-headed boy, and pulled him back into the thick shrubbery. There was a giggle; children’s voices trying to be subdued and not succeeding; and once more the head of the boy struggling into view. This time, he evaded the arm, and dashed towards the running-board. By standing on tiptoe, he could just see over the edge of the open car.

“Red,” he squeaked excitedly over his shoulder. He stared inside once more, his small hands clutching the car’s side tightly. “Leather!” he added. There was a flurry of excitement in the bushes. Yellow-topped Wanda darted forward, followed by an older girl in the wide-sleeved blouse. Then Felix appeared, charging round from the stable end of the house with a yell like a factory whistle. The children vanished. Felix, growling into his long moustache, searched in the bushes. But the birds had indeed flown. My friend Wanda’s high laugh sounded
from the straggling pinewoods beyond.

Sheila laughed too, and Felix looked up. He had dressed himself in his best clothes—tight, black trousers tucked into tight, high boots; a sleeveless jacket over a clean, white shirt—and he had combed his few remaining hairs into a toothy parting.

“Felix, you do look handsome,” Sheila called down, and won a broad gap of a smile.

“The young lady is ready to leave?”

“Yes.” Sheila heard the sound of galloping horses. They were coming from the east, but the pine woods which hid the children also blocked any clear view.

“That is sad. Everyone is going away. All the young people, once more.” He stood shaking his upturned head.

The hoof beats struck the road, and two horses swept into the driveway. Sheila held her breath. The horses reared as they were tightly reined in, stood erect on their quivering haunches for a long moment, and then dropped their forefeet slowly to the ground. A white-haired man dismounted and gave the reins over to Felix. But the dark young man in uniform still sat on his horse. He was looking up at Sheila with sufficient interest to freeze the smile on her lips into self-consciousness. She drew back half a pace. Then, with a smart salute to the tip of his smart cap, the officer vaulted lightly off his horse, threw the reins over Felix’s waiting arm, and followed the older man into the house.