While Still We Live (37 page)

“Shall I take Volterscot?” he asked slowly.

“No, I think he should keep Madame Aleksander company, for I have to go out once more.”

Madame Aleksander gathered Volterscot, protesting with a strange half-smothered whine, in her arms. She held him there, struggling frenziedly, as Sheila pushed the reluctant boy out of the door.

“Please,” Sheila said as they reached the hall.

“As you wish, Pani Sheila,” he said. He looked slowly back at the room, at Madame Aleksander and the violently straining Volterscot, at Sheila. “As you wish,” he said again. He suddenly took the paper and pencil and underscored “Warecka 15” to show that he had indeed understood.

And then his footsteps, no longer lighthearted or clattering, faded into the distance.

Madame Aleksander’s face was drawn with sadness once more. She laid her cheek with its silent tears against the excited head of Volterscot.

“I must go too,” Sheila said. She struck a match and burned all the pieces of paper, being particularly careful that nothing
but fine dust was left of “Warecka 15.” “I’ll be back quite soon,” she promised. She watched the last curling ashes and thought of the lonely boy walking blindly towards the strange address. What kind of people would welcome him? Her heart swelled with pity and affection. It choked her. At last, “I must go,” she repeated in a voice which seemed hardly her own. “I’ll be back soon.”

On sudden impulse she kissed Madame Aleksander’s wet cheek, touched Volterscot under his chin.

Madame Aleksander didn’t speak. She was biting her lip cruelly, her cheek still against Volterscot’s alert ears.

* * *

Hefner greeted her affably. “More than a few minutes,” he observed, “but better than I expected. How did they like their new rags? Did you have a touching scene?”

“Yes,” Sheila said. She let him talk of the victory parade as the car turned south in to Aleje Ujazdowskie, and then southwest into Aleja Szucha. Sheila, seemingly intent on his phrases with a concentration in her brown eyes which obviously pleased him, was thinking of Warecka 15. She was thinking of a boy of twelve, with a new wool scarf round his neck, plodding obediently towards that street; of a boy concealing his unhappiness behind an unconvincing frown. If only she could have told him that he wasn’t just going to hide in a strange house, if only she could have said, “You may eventually join a guerrilla army,” how much more quickly he would have walked. But she hadn’t dared tell him that. He might not reach Warecka 15.

So she listened to the affable young man beside her, fixed her eyes politely on his face, and kept saying to herself, “Please let
him reach Warecka 15. Please, God, let him reach it.”

AT THE MINISTRY OF EDUCATION

Heinrich Dittmar, in a smart grey suit, waited with three uniformed men in a pleasant room. On a large desk were flowers, a huge ashtray of heavy crystal, a silver framed photograph. The chairs were comfortable and decorative. The men seemed in excellent humour. They rose to their feet and saluted her in the Nazi manner. Hefner remained tactfully in the background.

The black-uniformed man with the exaggerated armband brought his heels sharply together, bowed and echoed “Streit!” as Dittmar said “Captain Wolfgang Streit.” He resumed his commanding position at the desk, his elbows on the polished rosewood, his fingertips joining his outspread hands as he waited for the other introductions to be completed.

The man in the green uniform of the Waffen SS brought his heels together as Dittmar said “Captain Hans Greiser.” He bowed and echoed “Greiser!”

The man in grey uniform with a black square and silver embroidered letters on his sleeve brought his heels together. Dittmar said “Herr Josef Engelmann.” Again there was the sharp bow from the waist, again the echo. “Engelmann!”

Sheila inclined her head. She restrained herself in time from a full bow, heel-click and “Braun!” She took the offered chair, feeling as if she were on a stage and each small movement had become magnified into a gesture. She waited, her throat closing treacherously. The short silence probed like a knife at her heart. Fortunately, Dittmar was in a hurry.

“We asked you to come here, Fräulein Braun,” he said quickly, “because you are the only person in Warsaw at the moment who can identify the man we have downstairs. All of us here, in our own way, are interested in that man. We believe he is Kordus. You can help us; for you were examined by Kordus after Colonel Bolt had questioned you, and then escaped.”

“Discharged,” Sheila said. “The first time, I was discharged. The second time I didn’t wait to meet Kordus.”

“Oh, yes! Discharged.” Dittmar’s watchful eyes smiled benevolently. “Anyway, you can help us. This way, Fräulein Braun.”

The three uniforms exchanged glances. Their faces were expressionless as they could do nothing but follow the too quick Dittmar, who was already guiding Sheila out of the door. The short procession went down into the large, well-built cellars. Every inch of space in the enormous, modern building had been turned to use. Partitions had been erected to create more offices out of the cellar rooms. Men in and out of uniform hurried through the long basement corridor, stood
respectfully aside to let pass Dittmar’s personally conducted tour. Sheila was glad of the length of the journey: it gave her time to prepare herself.
Fake
, Hofmeyer had warned her. And now Dittmar had warned her too. “Escaped,” he had said. He had said it purposely, as if trying to trip her up. Perhaps it was only what he thought passed for a sense of humour. But possibly it was a test. What if Dittmar knew that the body in this building was not that of Kordus? What if she said it was Kordus, hoping that would end the search for him? She had been tempted to identify whatever she might see as Kordus. Now she knew that such a clever piece of work was not clever enough. It was all that Dittmar needed to hear in order to condemn her. He still had doubts about her, then. She was glad she knew that, however unpleasant it was. It’s war between you and me, Herr Dittmar, she thought, smiling at him sweetly when he halted at one of the end doors in the cellar. As he swung it open, and led the way into the room so that he could turn and face her as she saw the body, she was already guarding herself against the chance that Hofmeyer had been wrong, that she would really see the body of the man whom the Germans knew as Kordus.

A brilliant, cruel light came from the large naked bulb overhead. The smell was heavy and loathsome. Even after the smell of death in Warsaw streets to which Sheila had become accustomed, the thick, threatening air in this room was too much for her. She turned her head away, and fumbled for a handkerchief.

One of the men behind her said, “Whew! They don’t take long, do they?”

“This will be cleared as soon as Fräulein Braun identifies
them,” Captain Streit’s slow quiet voice said. “Quickly, Fräulein Braun. This way.” His highly polished boots struck the cement floor with self-possessed rhythm. He was taking charge, now. Dittmar was too busy watching her face to worry about that.

She held the handkerchief over her mouth and nose, and followed Streit. Dittmar kept beside her. The others stayed near the door, sacrificing curiosity to comfort.

“Come in and close the door. Don’t want it all down the corridor,” Streit ordered. They obeyed reluctantly.

The first stiff figure, bent into a grotesque angle like a piece of hammered tin, had been thrown on a narrow table. Two other bodies were stretched on the floor.

“Is that Kordus?”

Sheila’s glance flickered over the gashed face, the gouged eye, the earless head. It wasn’t Olszak. In her thankfulness, she almost forgot her mounting sickness.

She shook her head.

“Definitely?”

She nodded.

“Know this?” Streit turned one of the bodies on the ground with the toe of his long black boot.

She nodded. The battered face had a ghastly smile, as if the man had welcomed death when it came.

“And that?” Streit pointed to the third body.

She shook her head.

The heavy door closed behind them.

In the corridor, there was only the smell of Turkish tobacco and talcum powder, of men who were well-dressed and careful of their well-being. In Captain Streit’s office, there was the smell of roses from the vase on the desk. But she still felt ill, still
crushed the damp ball of handkerchief in the palm of her hand.

Dittmar began, “Well, that’s that. Now—”

And then Captain Streit asserted his authority for the second time. He interrupted Dittmar unfeelingly, said quietly but firmly, “You were sure, Fräulein Braun, that the first body was not that of Kordus?”

“I never saw that man before.”

“The Chief Commissioner did question you when you were first arrested by the Poles?”

“First, Colonel Bolt questioned me. Then someone who was called Special Commissioner questioned me. I did not hear his name.”

“That second man was Kordus. What was he like?”

“Medium-height, thin, undistinguished.” By the way Streit had glanced down at a pad on his desk, she guessed that Kordus’ description was already known. But even so, that put Olszak in little danger. There were so many men of medium height who were thin and undistinguished.

“Age?” Streit asked.

Sheila shook her head slowly, helplessly. “Middle-aged,” she said. Streit nodded as much as to say, “That’s what anyone who has seen him tells us.” He pursed his thin lips in annoyance at the undistinguished Kordus.

Dittmar wanted his innings, too. “Who was the man you identified?”

Truthfully she answered him, “He was with the police when Lisa and I were arrested.”

Dittmar’s eyes flickered. He concealed his disappointment well.

“And the third body?”

“No one could recognise that,” Sheila said briefly. The men laughed, shortly, quietly. Sheila was conscious of a slight change in their attitude. The tension eased. The faces were not merely polite now. They smiled, too.

“Well, that’s all, Fräulein Braun,” Streit said. “You were right, Dittmar, the markings inside the man’s clothing saying he was Kordus were either coincidence or purpose.”

Sheila rose, bowed and moved towards the door. She had been dismissed. It was over. She had told the truth throughout. It was over.

“One moment, Fräulein Braun,” Dittmar called and roused a sharp stare from Captain Streit. “After your release from questioning by Kordus, where did you meet Herr Olszak? Remember, you arrived that night at Korytowski’s flat with him.”

“I met him in the street outside. He was going there for a visit.”

“You met him in the street?”

“Yes.” Mild surprise at such a question was in Sheila’s voice.

“Was there another man with him? Someone who looked like that second exhibit downstairs?”

“No. He was alone. He almost knocked me down in the blackout. But there was no one else there at the time.” Dittmar frowned. This time he could not conceal his disappointment. Her mention of the blackout had reminded him that in such conditions she could not be expected to see anyone. He had had his theory nicely developing; now, a blackout made any other questions about that night quite pointless.

“What’s this you’ve got up your sleeve, Dittmar? What’s this about an Olszak?” Streit asked with a pleasant smile. But he and Greiser and Engelmann exchanged an almost imperceptible
glance. “You’re a fine fellow, I must say, after we all agreed to pool our knowledge on the Kordus affair.”

Sheila saw the others watching Dittmar’s sudden, bland smile.

“Oh, this had nothing to do with Kordus,” the man answered coolly. “This is a little question just between me and Fräulein Braun. I never get the chance of seeing her. She’s in Hofmeyer’s department.”

Sheila smiled. She could only hope the smile betrayed none of her nervousness. For now she was convinced that Dittmar had found some cause for suspicion. He was on the right road. He was trying to connect Olszak with Kordus, and Kordus with Hofmeyer. He considered her the hand which would tie the loose ends round Olszak’s neck into a tight, satisfying knot. Why didn’t he make his charges against Hofmeyer? she wondered, and then realised that Hofmeyer’s position with other departments was too assured at the moment for unprovable statements to be made about him. All Dittmar needed was one small piece of proof. One small stone could start an avalanche.

“When did you last see Olszak?” he asked suddenly. Sheila was conscious that the others’ manners were strained. But they didn’t watch her, strangely enough. They were watching Dittmar.

Sheila stared at him, too. “Frankly,” she said with a puzzled frown, “I cannot remember the exact date. Some time during the siege. He came to ask about the Aleksanders.”

“Why?”

“He had just heard that Barbara Aleksander was dead.” Sheila looked at the three men in uniform. “She was burned to
death with nearly two hundred children in one of our big raids.”

They ignored her remark. Hefner, alone, seemed shocked by the idea. “You must be mistaken,” he said sharply, and received a look of disapproval from the others, not for his naïveté but for the fact that he should have spoken at all.

Sheila looked pointedly at her scarred left hand. “I was nearly burned alive, too,” she said. “A dinner engagement saved me.”

“We all run risks, Fräulein Braun,” Streit said coldly, but he looked at her with sudden interest. Something in her emotional outburst was connected with Dittmar. Sheila took a deep breath. The first phase of her attack had been launched. To strike back at Dittmar had been instinctive: this was the only way to defend herself and her friends. At the very least it would serve as a diversion. Subconsciously, Hofmeyer’s remarks about departmental jealousies had linked up with the look on these men’s faces as they had watched Dittmar take the centre of the stage. If she had had time to think it all out, she would never have had the courage to attempt her next move. If she had been a man, she would never have tried it.

She returned Streit’s look with wide brown eyes. “Yes, Captain Streit. I have been running risks willingly for three months now.” She was almost weeping with indignation. “And today I find that all my work during these three months may be sabotaged. Not by the enemy. By someone among us, someone who may want to usurp Herr Hofmeyer’s power.”