While Still We Live (72 page)

The rhythm of the train wheels changed. There were movements in the corridor as some passengers prepared to descend at the old frontier town of Bogumin to catch the Breslau express.

A young lieutenant glanced into their compartment as he passed leisurely along the corridor. His face was familiar, and he had recognised her. She could feel he knew her. Sheila
looked abruptly away, fear and worry once more churning inside her, and pretended to watch the station into which the train was now sliding slowly. Slowly it stopped. Impatiently she watched the passengers who dismounted, made their goodbyes, joined other groups. She searched desperately for the known face. And then, as she saw the man’s slight figure walking confidently across the rails towards the waiting Breslau train, she remembered, and remembering, she could have cried out in relief. The man dressed as a German lieutenant had been at that Zakopane inn to meet Aunt Valeria. He had been nameless and uncommunicative. She had met him only once. He had been there for instructions, Aunt Valeria had said. Now she could guess what these had been: the young man was to proceed into Germany itself. She watched the slim shoulders with amazement and admiration. They moved so confidently, so calmly into the German express; somehow his assurance comforted her and gave her added courage.

She could smile now at her alarm. Frontiers, even in peacetime, had always worried her. If she hadn’t been so nervous she might have recognised him sooner, and saved herself an unpleasant three minutes. And yet the man seemed so altered, so different, that she probably wouldn’t have recognised him easily, in any case. She leaned more comfortably against the arm-rest in her corner of the compartment. It was comforting to know that people could merge so successfully into a new background. And it was comforting to think that another friend had been so near her on this journey. First, the porter at Zakopane. Now this young “German,” whose journey had been arranged to coincide with hers. She began to wonder if this kind of supervision was going to follow her all the way to
Vienna. Adam had said the journey would be safe: he certainly had made his arrangements.

She saw that the colonel was watching her. Her muscles tightened. Her right thumb pressed against the wedding ring which Madame Olszak had given her as a farewell present. (“It brought me much happiness,” the faded voice had said, and the cold lips had kissed her gently.) She waited tensely.

“Going on manoeuvres,” the colonel said, and Sheila relaxed once more. He nodded towards the neat, double line of soldiers waiting patiently on the platform. They carried skis and other winter equipment. “Fine body of men,” he added. “Eh, Lilienkron?”

Lilienkron agreed. Sheila found herself watching the platform too. So many uniforms, she thought bitterly, so many. The colonel looked with satisfaction at the numerous officers who paced about the station to keep warm in the cold wind.

It was then that she saw the two officers who were striding along the length of the train. The taller of them had turned his face boldly towards the carriages. He was looking for someone, his eyes keen, his face intent. For a moment, as he drew level with her, his brown eyes looked deeply into hers. Sheila’s thumb tightened again on her ring. Her right hand clenched. She felt she had turned to stone. Then the officers’ steady pace carried them out of sight. She began to breathe again. Adam, dear God in Heaven, Adam... How could you? How could you do anything so wild, so mad? She didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or to cry.

The colonel’s voice was saying, “We build good soldiers. No doubt about that Eh, Lilienkron?”

Again Lilienkron agreed.

Sheila was smiling now, her hands smoothing her gloves on her lap, her eyes watching the colonel. He took the smile as one of approval, and nodded graciously.

“Leaving at last,” Dr. Lilienkron said in relief, as the train’s wheels groaned and strained. “Any more delays on this line, and I shall never reach Vienna in time for that meeting.”

The faces in the station seemed to be moving past the window. Sheila saw Adam and his companion salute another officer smartly as they were about to leave the station. Above them, the giant swastika, taut in the cold afternoon wind, stretched its crooked arms. Sheila, her eyes on Adam as he paused for a moment to look at the departing train, kept her face expressionless. The imposing colonel couldn’t hear her heart singing.

Lilienkron had looked at her sharply. Then he was searching for some report in his hideously bright briefcase to interest the colonel. The two men read and talked intermittently until it was time for dinner. Rather surprisingly, it was the colonel who insisted that they should have the pleasure of her company.

The journey became stereotyped. It was like any journey in an express train across Europe on any winter holiday. Except that everyone spoke German. Except that all the younger men were in uniform, and all the newspapers and menus and notices were in a thick black script.

* * *

At Brno, the colonel departed. To the very end, Sheila was glad to note, he had never got her name correctly once. Dr. Lilienkron’s introduction had been a masterly study in ambiguity.

* * *

At Vienna, the silent doctor made his farewell.

“Someone is meeting you?” he asked politely, as they joined the straggling stream of weary travellers.

Sheila noticed the tall, thin man with a green tie who had marked down the doctor and his companion and was now waiting for them to separate. “Yes,” she said. “My brother-in-law.”

Dr. Lilienkron left her as vaguely as he had met her. The tall, thin man’s choice of welcoming phrase was what she had expected. She answered as she had been taught. His handshake was firm, friendly, comforting. The second stage of the journey was over.

* * *

Three days later, two nuns left Vienna. They travelled south towards Italy. In the manner of nuns, they were quiet, gently sad, and yet somehow contented. In comparison, their fellow travellers seemed overexcited, rudely energetic, violently unhappy. At the frontier, their few earthly belongings were easily examined. Their papers were in correct order.

“Sometimes it seems a waste,” the younger customs official remarked as his eyes followed the two nuns departing from his table. “That young one...”

The older official shook his head. “Sometimes, I think they are the lucky ones,” he said wearily, and turned his attention to an argumentative Rumanian.

In the local Italian train, the two nuns sat silently amid the general uproar of a third-class carriage. Children clambered over the wooden seats. Peasants hugged their large bundles on their knees. A young man played disjointed tunes on a concertina. A girl with heavy black hair, a black shawl and long jet earrings sang in a harsh sharp voice. A baby cried on
one high sustained note. A fat goose waddled down the centre passage. Hens clucked noisily from wicker baskets. The carriage smelled of human bodies, sounded with high exclamations and denunciations. Scolding and laughter, garlic and sour red wine filled the air.

The older nun smiled tolerantly. But the younger nun seemed oblivious to everything around her. Only her eyes were alive in her face, and the thoughts that filled them were far removed from these surroundings. Once the older nun had touched the scarred left hand beside her, and pointed to the neatly husbanded field with its row of cypress trees, black in the faint winter sunlight. “A country at peace,” she said comfortingly.

The younger nun roused herself politely. Obediently, she looked. Peace, she was thinking, and yet only the pretence of peace. There was no real peace, anywhere, until there was peace everywhere. How long until then? She wondered, her eyes fixed on the cold blue winter sky. How long? Never too long, Adam had said. Sheila smiled sadly: she was going to learn the meaning of patience. She had learned fear, and sorrow, and hatred, and love. Patience was still to be learned. At least, she had already discovered that there was no use in trying to avoid these realities. Life was a hard school: the sooner you accepted that, the sooner you learned.

The older nun beside her shook her head. They were all like that, those who got out...silent, brooding, unseeing. Poor things, it was as if they had left their hearts and minds in the hell from which their bodies had escaped. It was as if they were ashamed that they had escaped, at all.

She pointed to the sunset, deepening suddenly, “Eh!
Com’é bella!
” she said.

NEVER TOO LONG

Uncle Matthews pushed aside the forgotten cup of coffee and rested his elbows on the tablecloth which he had liberally sprinkled with cigarette ash. Sheila’s voice had ended, and her hands played with the rose petal in the finger bowl. Even if Uncle Matthews’ housekeeper could only give them a carefully rationed menu, at least the candles and the best crystal and all the other table trimmings had been set forth for the prodigal’s return.

“Well,” Uncle Matthews said at last. “Interesting story.”

Sheila looked at the serious face opposite her, always grim in repose in spite of the pink cheeks, blue eyes, and white hair. “You don’t quite believe it,” she said with a smile.

“Why not? It’s interesting, but not unusual. I’ve heard more incredible tales than that in the last four weeks.”

Sheila raised an eyebrow, and her uncle laughed suddenly at the expression on her face. “You don’t quite believe that,” he
challenged.

She remembered Mr. Olszak and his friends. “Why not?” she echoed, imitating her uncle’s voice.

“I don’t want to hurry you, but there’s a couple of chaps I’d like you to meet tomorrow. While the details you’ve given me are still fresh in your head. Do you feel up to seeing them?”

“Of course. Are they British?”

“One is. The other is Polish.”

Suddenly Sheila felt pleased. “Do you think what I have to tell could possibly be of some use?” she asked eagerly.

Uncle Matthews suppressed a smile. “Possibly,” he said, and lit another cigarette.

“I wish,” she said abruptly, “I do wish I could really have been of some use.”

He took a long time to extinguish the match.

“I mean,” she went on, “when I had a chance to do something... In Warsaw. Just when I was getting into that Gestapo circle... If I hadn’t gone to Korytów to warn the village, if I hadn’t met Reymont and his men, if—”

“Too many ifs,” said Uncle Matthews quietly. “You wouldn’t have lasted very long in that Gestapo circle, as you call it. You’d need a couple of years’ training first for that kind of work. Personally, I don’t think you did so badly. Olszak doesn’t think so, anyway. I had a message from him yesterday.”

“Yes?” Sheila’s eyes widened impatiently.

“He sent you his love.”

“He didn’t!”

“Well, words to that effect. He thinks you saved him.”

“Oh...if I hadn’t found out about Dittmar...then I suppose someone else would have.”

“Would they?” Uncle Matthews was smiling openly now. “By the way, I like that fellow Stevens. Good man. Works hard.”

Sheila smiled. “Yes,” she said warmly.

“He’s engaged to be married, you know.”

“Steve?” Sheila studied the woven water-lily on the white tablecloth. What right had she to be so surprised? She smiled, and then laughed at herself. “I’m so glad,” she said. “I hope she’s as nice as Steve deserves.”

“Pretty girl. American. Writes for some newspaper.” There was a pause. “Any other news?” Sheila hoped her voice sounded disinterested.

“We made a short advance yesterday against the Siegfried Line.”

“Uncle Matthews!”

“Be careful of that finger bowl. It spills quite easily.” And then he relented. “Your husband is well. He has gone further east now. Madame Aleksander is well. Mr. Hofmeyer is well; and doing remarkably good business. In fact, so far things have been going nicely for all of them. Olszak’s organisation is building up slowly and surely. He isn’t trying for any spectacular successes just now. He’s preparing for the future. Clever fellow, Olszak.”

“Yes.” Sheila could agree about that. Farther east, she was thinking. She must get hold of a map, a nice detailed map. She waited patiently, hoping for some more crumbs of good news. But that was all she was to be allowed.

“One point we’d better discuss before you start seeing people again. You know, of course, that no one must learn how you lived, or what you’ve been doing, or how you travelled out of
Poland to Italy.”

“Of course.”

“Also, Sheila, I think it better for you to keep your old name, Matthews. Wisniewski is on the German records as having been killed in Warsaw towards the end of the siege. We want to keep him officially dead. So, until the war ends, you had just better remain Miss Matthews. Agreed?”

Sheila looked strangely at him. She seemed to be trying to say something, without succeeding very well.

“Couldn’t we invent a name?” she suggested at last.

“What’s wrong with Matthews?” said her uncle in amusement. “It was good enough for you for more than twenty years.”

“It isn’t the Matthews part that worries me.” She half-smiled. “Unless, of course, you don’t mind introducing us to your friends as Miss Matthews and son.”

Uncle Matthews stared at her. All his amusement had gone.

“Or Miss Matthews and daughter,” Sheila added quietly. “You never can tell about such things, I believe.”

Uncle Matthews still said nothing. It was the only time in her life, Sheila thought, that she had ever succeeded in surprising him.

He recovered quickly. “And that,” he was saying as if to himself, “was the real reason why we managed to get you out of Poland.”

Sheila didn’t deny it.

Uncle Matthews suddenly laughed. “I thought it was because of my pressure on Olszak. Olszak thought it was all a matter of security. Your husband thought it was to ensure your safety. You weren’t thinking anywhere along our lines, were you?”

“No,” Sheila answered.

Uncle Matthews laughed again. There is no joke which a Scotsman enjoys more than a pleasant one against himself.

Sheila smiled. “Well, that’s a relief, Uncle Matthews. I wasn’t quite sure whether you’d rage like a bull or roar like a lion.”