22 Britannia Road (8 page)

Silvana studies the packets, their rich designs, the showy flowers they promise.

‘Herbs,’ she says. ‘I’d like to plant herbs.’

She searches the bright packets, looking for an illustration of a delicate white flower.

‘Do they have
czosnek?
’

Janusz frowns. ‘Garlic? No, I don’t think so. The English don’t like strong flavours. But how about mint? Or parsley? That grows well here.’

Silvana is distracted by Aurek, who has picked up a brown paper packet of beans and is rattling it against his ear. He begins to hum and dance, twirling around, tapping a rhythm on the wooden floors, grinning at the sound the dry seeds make. People are beginning to stare.

‘Come on,’ says Silvana, taking the packet from him gently. ‘Stop making all that noise.’

‘Do you want to choose some flower seeds?’ Janusz asks him. ‘You can help in the garden too.’

Aurek shakes his head. He waves his arms slowly and sways. ‘Trees,’ he croons. ‘I want trees.’

Silvana can see Janusz is confused by the boy’s behaviour, so she leads Aurek outside and waits in the street while Janusz pays for the seeds. By the time Janusz joins them, he has a smile on his face again and the earlier red flush of embarrassment in his cheeks has gone.

‘Let’s look in the jewellery shop,’ he says, taking Silvana by the arm. He wants to buy her a wedding ring, but the salesman tells him there is a national shortage. Too many weddings going on and not enough gold. Silver, yes, but not gold.

‘We’re already married,’ Janusz tells the salesman. ‘This is our son.’ He takes Aurek by the shoulders. ‘Surely you must have a gold wedding ring you can sell us. Can I see the manager, please?’

The manager is a long-faced man with a dirty shirt collar and worn cuffs. He comes out of his office shaking his head with a kind of weary patience that suggests they are not the only people who have asked him for the impossible that day.

Janusz explains again that they are married. Silvana stands beside him, trying to look like a good wife, clutching her wicker shopping basket to her as though it’s a velvet evening bag. She watches the manager’s polite disinterest in their marital history, Janusz’s confusion when the man tries to sell them a watch instead.

‘We’ll wait,’ Silvana says as they step out onto the pavement. ‘I don’t mind waiting. I don’t really need a ring.’

She sees the stiff set of Janusz’s mouth and knows she has said the wrong thing.

‘I really don’t mind,’ she says, pressing her hand into his. ‘I have you and Aurek. All I want is that. Let’s go home.’

Walking up Britannia Road, they pass a parade of women kneeling outside their front doors as if on prayer mats, heads bent towards their stone steps. Their aproned hips swing in almost perfect unison as they buff their steps to a shine. It’s a sight that makes Silvana feel awkward, all those backs turned to her as she walks past.

‘Morning,’ calls Doris when they stop outside their home.

‘You’ve got to polish your steps,’ she explains, standing up. ‘It’s a matter of pride around here. You need a donkey stone. Don’t ask me why it’s called that. All I know is how you keep your front door shows how you keep your home. You don’t want everybody thinking they’re better than you, do you?’

Silvana nods uncertainly. ‘Donkey stone?’

‘Put your hand out. That’s it.’

Silvana turns the stone over, examining it as if she has been handed a piece of rock from Mars.

‘Come on then, you have a go.’

Silvana kneels and rubs the stone against the step. It’s a pleasant movement, the stone running circles over the step, an ice skater tracing patterns in the ice. Even the noise is like the sound of skates cutting through watery ice, a soft crunch and a whoosh as it glides in arcs under her hand.

Doris runs her fingertips over the step.

‘Well. You did a good job there. That’s one thing you can say. Don’t you worry, dearie. You’ll soon fit in. Keep the stone. Look after it. It’s a good one.’

Janusz slips his arm around Silvana’s waist.

‘My wife has always been very house-proud,’ he says to Doris.

Silvana looks sideways at him. Had she really? She can’t remember, but she’s pleased to hear him talk like this.

‘We lived in Warsaw before the war, you see. A beautiful city. It was known as the Paris of the east.’

‘Was it now?’ says Doris. She laughs loudly. ‘Well, Ipswich is in the east too, but I don’t think it’s quite gay
Paree
. I’m glad I saw you in any case. Gilbert told me to tell you there are jobs for women going at one of the textile factories by the canal. All you’ve got to do is sew in a straight line. I thought of you, Sylvia. You should get down there quick.’

‘Me?’

‘Well, yes. It’s a good job. Not like the munitions factories I had to work in during the war. See this yellow colour on my face?’ She turns her cheek briefly to Silvana and it’s true: there is a dirty yellow tint to her skin. ‘That’s from filling shells. I cover it up with a bit of
panstick but it’s still there. I did my bit for the war effort. Nobody can say I didn’t.’

‘It’s very kind of you to help us,’ says Janusz. ‘Very kind. Aurek will be going to school soon and we have been thinking about finding work for my wife. We’ll go down to the factory today.’

Silvana can’t remember any conversations about finding her a job.

‘School?’ she says, and feels her legs go weak. ‘Aurek has to go to school?’

Silvana

Silvana loved the early summer evenings in Warsaw. Janusz came home from work and they ate together quickly, Janusz telling her about his day while she listened and nodded and enjoyed feeling like a perfect urban wife. Afterwards they went out into the streets and walked in the park, feeding the ducks on the pond and watching children pushing their wooden sailing boats out on the green water before their nannies took them home.

One night they stayed longer than usual. It was a hot night and Silvana didn’t feel like going back to the flat, so they sat on a park bench and watched the dusk sky deepen to violet and then a greeny blue before the street lights were lit and it was dark.

The animals in the menagerie began to call, weaving fretful paths through sawdust bedding. Monkeys howled and chattered in their cages. Clouds of moths circled the street lights. Silvana felt restless. The doctor had told her that the birth was not far off, a week at most. She was filled with energy and wanted to walk.

A group of women in feathered hats walked past and looked at Janusz. They put their hands across their lipsticked mouths and whispered to each other. Silvana gripped Janusz’s hand and pretended not to notice them.

The park at night was different – like wading out from the shallows into suddenly cold, deep water that pressed on your chest. Silvana noticed men sitting on benches where no one had been before. Even in the shadows of the magnolia trees behind them, Silvana could see some of them were holding hands. Ahead of her a woman took the arm of a man and walked away into the trees.

When Silvana and Janusz got home they didn’t speak. They climbed the narrow staircase to their flat and, once inside, Janusz guided Silvana to the bedroom. He sat her on the bed and she watched him take off his clothes, unbuckling his trouser belt, pulling his shirt off over his head.

She had never seen him naked. Their courting days had been in fields and woodland and their lovemaking had always involved creased clothes and a fear of being discovered. Since they had married, Silvana had felt unsure of the new legitimacy of their lives together. She was careful to look away when Janusz undressed at night and made sure she was always in bed first, under the safety of the bedcovers. Tonight, though, was different.

‘Wait,’ she said as he moved towards her. ‘Stay there. I want to look at you.’

She got up and walked around him, studying him, touching him with her fingertips, like an artist slowly exploring the shadows and curves of a sculpture. Janusz caught hold of her hands and pulled her to him.

‘Now you,’ he breathed. ‘Let me see you.’

Silently Silvana took hold of her collar and unbuttoned it. She let her dress slip to the floor.

‘You’re beautiful,’ Janusz whispered, and ran his hands over her belly as if he were polishing its domed surface.

When they climbed into bed, Silvana felt as though she could make more babies. That the one in her belly could be joined by another. She was too big and heavy to lie on her back, so she knelt on all fours. Silvana felt an urgent, deeper love for Janusz than she had ever felt before. She bowed her head and imagined the dark world inside herself where the child must be, curled under her cathedral ribs. Then she was swept away from her thoughts and there was only Janusz and the unstoppable, silent language of their love.

By the time she woke the next day, Janusz had already left for work. The bed sheets were wet and twisted around her. She unravelled them and tried to work out why she was lying in such dampness. Then the pain hit her. A sudden hurt like a rope pulled tight around her hips. The baby was coming. It must be. The pain faded and she
struggled out of bed, reaching for her clothes. The doctor’s house was a couple of blocks away and she was sure she could get there if she went slowly.

She dressed and left the flat, edging down the narrow staircase, hands pressed against the wall. When she got to the landing, the rope tightened again. She let out a groan of pain, a low, animal noise she didn’t recognize as her own voice. She leaned against the wall, sweat beading on her forehead. She’d never make it to the doctor. When the pain lessened enough for her to think again, she knocked on an apartment door. A woman answered, a crowd of small brown dogs yapping around her feet. They rushed into the corridor and began nipping at Silvana’s heels.

‘Come here!’ the women yelled at the dogs, trying to usher them back inside. A man came out behind her, asking what all the noise was.

‘My God,’ he said on seeing Silvana. ‘You’re the girl from upstairs, aren’t you? Are you all right?’

Silvana fell forwards into his arms. Here she was, bigger than a house and moaning like a cow and he wanted to know if she was all right. ‘I’m fine,’ she managed to reply before the pain across her belly tightened and she doubled over.

After a while the pain was all there was. Silvana forgot she was giving birth; she believed she was fighting for her life. And then, just as she had begun to welcome the idea of death, her body began to call her back.

‘I need to push,’ she told the woman. ‘Oh my God, I need to push.’

‘Already? The doctor’s not here yet. Can’t you wait?’

Silvana shook her head. She began to moan.

‘Get on the bed,’ said the woman. ‘Get on the bed. The doctor won’t want to see you on the floor.’

Silvana batted the woman away. ‘I can’t,’ she panted. ‘I don’t want to. Leave me alone.’

With her eyes tight shut, crouching in the corner of the room, she gave a long, drawn-out moan and felt heat burn through her. She screamed. Then, just as she could bear no more, a sense of relief flooded her. When she opened her eyes and looked down, a blood-smeared infant lay between her trembling legs. Her body convulsed
and she felt the urge to push again. Was there another child? Twins? She cried out in fear.

‘It’s the afterbirth,’ the woman said sharply. She leaned over and Silvana felt her hands pushing down hard on her belly. Silvana tried to reach for the baby but the pain made her cry out and she closed her eyes tight. Then came a second warm rush of relief, and she sat back on the floor, exhausted.

She was aware of the baby being lifted in a sheet, of being helped into bed, of someone wiping a cool cloth across her forehead. She heard the woman fussing about her sheets being stained, a man’s voice telling the woman to be quiet and the sound of dogs barking in another room, and then she slept briefly, absolutely spent.

When she woke, the pillows were plumped under her head and beside her, swaddled in a blanket, was her son.

She studied his face. He kept his eyes tight shut, his eyelids creased and purple, as if he didn’t want to see what the world had to offer him. A feeling of awe crowded her lungs and took her breath away. She felt suddenly afraid of the silent creature in her arms. It was such a tiny thing, a screwed-up, boiled red scrap of a beginning, but she knew its strength; that the love she felt already for this stranger could undo her entirely. Was she capable of looking after him? She thought of her mother and the losses she had suffered. What if her son died like her brothers had? What if he were to be ill?

‘Can you take him?’ she asked the woman.

‘Take him?’

‘I don’t know how to care for him. Please. It’s for the best. Take him. I can’t be his mother.’

‘That’s enough of this nonsense,’ said the doctor, coming between Silvana and the woman. He put a hand on Silvana’s forehead. ‘This is your son. He needs you.’

‘Will he live?’ Silvana grabbed the doctor’s sleeve. ‘If there’s something wrong with him I want to know now. I need to know he’ll live …’

‘The boy is well and so are you. All he needs is a good feed.’

But Silvana wanted answers. She tried to push the child into the doctor’s arms.

‘I need to know he’s healthy. My brothers died. It’s in my family. Boys in my family … Please tell me if there’s something wrong with him.’

And then the baby opened his eyes. He unfurled his fists, moving them as though dragging them through water, a drifting movement like pondweed in a slow river. She put her finger against his palm and he closed his own fingers around it. She stroked his face, took off his swaddling clothes and counted his tiny toes. She kissed the soft dip of his skull.

‘My darling,’ she whispered, and was embarrassed by her outburst. How could she have been so crazy? It was obvious. Her life was always going to be about this child. In that room, with the day turning into evening, Silvana lifted the child to her breast and he started to suckle, surprising her with the strength of his grip. She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, but when she looked up again, Janusz was standing beside her.