The Children's War (122 page)

Elspeth smiled. It was unclear whether she believed him or simply enjoyed his groveling. Whichever, it seemed to work as an aphrodisiac, and she lay back down in the bed and indicated that she would allow him to show the sincerity of his words.

From another world Zosia’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I’m sorry I pushed you. I didn’t mean to.”

He glanced over at her. She was still facing away from him. Had she really said something or had he dreamed it? “I’m sorry, too.”

“About what?” she asked dreamily.

“All of it. I love you.” He got up on an elbow to look at her and perhaps start again, but she had closed her eyes and seemed to be falling asleep.

He lay back in the bed and thought again of Elspeth. He remembered how in the throes of passion she would push him away the moment she no longer wanted his attention, careless of any emotional or physical involvement he may have had at the time. She was sated; what else was there? As he yielded to her demand for oral sex, she had been driven into paroxysms of pleasure, and then suddenly, her back still arched, her eyes still tightly shut, she had rudely shoved her hand into his face to indicate he should stop.

He had sat on his heels and watched her from his odd perspective as she settled into a breathless afterglow. It was like watching someone else’s life—a documentary on television, perhaps—he was so detached from her and what he was doing. Then, as the force of her passion was spent, she reached out toward him, pulled his body on top of hers. As he lay on her, she noticed he was not excited, not ready for the next obvious step, and she was surprised. Her surprise was more telling than the immediate anger that followed. Of course she was angry— a desire was not going to be instantaneously fulfilled—but surprised? Yes, surprised because she had no real concept of his independence, of the fact that what pleased her did not automatically excite him. At the time it had not seemed at all strange to him. In fact, at the time, he remembered thinking that he had been stupid for not foreseeing her desire and preparing himself accordingly. At the time, she had owned him.

He turned his head to look at his wife. Zosia was wrong: it was not collaboration, it was just sick. Not only what had been done to his life, but what had been done to Elspeth’s and Karl’s as well. They all suffered from a sickness.

Gently he tugged at Zosia’s shoulder. She resisted him, moaning slightly, but eventually she rolled onto her back, her eyes still closed, apparently asleep. He kissed her and began whispering in her ear how much he loved her. He stroked back the unruly locks that struggled to break free from her grease-bound hair, he let his lips brush across her cheeks as he reminded her of how she had saved not only his life but his soul. “Please, Zosiu, come to me again. I need you, I love you,” he pleaded quietly.

Her eyes fluttered open and she opened her arms to him and he fell into her embrace.

* * *

He awoke to music. Somewhere, someone was playing a piano. He held his eyes shut for a moment and half-dreamed that his mother was alive and demonstrating how to play a piece. She had been surprisingly good at the piano; perhaps in a different world she would have had a career as a musician. The music continued, and he awoke completely, aware that he was at Ryszard’s, aware that Zosia slept next to him and that it was the middle of the afternoon. He smiled at his sleeping wife and replayed the last few minutes of their passion. Her reactions had been genuine, he was fairly sure of that, and he was enormously relieved. She had, at last, forgiven him, or at least she had managed to put his affair with Elspeth out of her mind long enough to enjoy his attentions.

Quietly, so as not to awaken her, he climbed out of the bed and dressed, then went down the stairs to see who was playing. At the entrance to the music room he paused and watched as Kasia’s hands swept swiftly across the keys. If he had even for a moment contemplated trying to play their piano, the thought was completely swept from his mind by this demonstration of her expertise. As he stood there, Joanna and Genia joined him in the doorway, one child on each side of him. They listened in silence and then, when Kasia had finished the piece, they all applauded.

“Mommy’s teaching me how to play,” Genia informed him proudly.

“I wish I could learn,” Joanna sighed.

“I can teach you a bit, while you’re here,” Kasia offered, still glowing from the applause, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else to help you once you’ve gone home.”

Not surprisingly Joanna turned to her father. She looked up expectantly. “Can you teach me, Dad?”

He looked away from her toward the piano, then shifted his gaze uneasily out the window. “I don’t know how, honey.”

The lie was obvious to Kasia. She smiled gently and asked, “Who taught you?”

He bit his lip, deciding whether to admit his lie, then answered, “My mother. I didn’t get a chance to learn much before she was arrested. After that, I didn’t see a piano until I was at the Vogels.”

Understandingly Kasia offered, “You don’t need to know much to help Joanna begin.”

He studied his hands, flexing his fingers. “My hands hurt,” he said, hoping Kasia would excuse him from trying.

But it wasn’t Kasia, it was Joanna who tugged on his sleeve. “Please, Dad! Please play something. Then you can teach me when we’re back home!”

He glanced nervously from Kasia to Genia and back. Kasia was so talented, he would feel humiliated if he tried to reconstruct what he knew in front of her. She understood his hesitation, and saying, “Come along, Genia, there’s something we must do outside,” she led her daughter away and left him alone with Joanna.

Joanna looked up at him expectantly. “Please!” she begged.

“I’ll try, honey.” He walked over to the piano and studied the keys. “It’s been a
long time, just give me a moment,” he explained to her as she stood eagerly at his side. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what to do, but all he heard was Elspeth’s voice:
If you ever touch my piano again . . . I will have my husband break your fingers.
He breathed deeply trying to purge her from his mind and began playing the Chopin polonaise. He didn’t get far before he got so confused he had to stop, but Joanna was nonetheless impressed.

She jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “Oh, you can play! That was marvelous!” she enthused, apparently unaware that he had managed no more than a few bars. “Do you know anything else?”

He smiled at her enthusiasm, and then, out of the depths of his memory, he recalled something. His left hand played a series of triplets while his right moved through a simple melody of two-note chords that switched gently from one key into another, repeating the theme almost hypnotically. It was simple, far too simple to be considered real music, but it was nevertheless charming and relaxing in its poignant lack of sophistication.

Joanna stood with her mouth open, stunned by the tune. “That’s so pretty! Where did it come from?”

“I made it up, sweetheart. When I was a boy,” he explained, blushing at her approval.

“What’s it called?”

He shrugged.

“Call it ‘Nick’s Song,’ ” Zosia’s voice suggested from the doorway.

He jumped up, knocking over the piano bench as he did so. He looked at it with a feeling of distaste. Just like with Elspeth. Would he never escape her baleful influence?

“I wish you wouldn’t react to my presence like that.”

“You just surprised me.” He righted the bench.

“Can you play something else?” Zosia asked.

He stared at her in shock.

With a mixture of sarcasm and sadness, Zosia guessed, “Your dear Frau Vogel again?”

There was no point in denying it; he could construct no other plausible explanation. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Just go ahead and play for Joanna,” Zosia replied, shaking her head slightly. “I have things to do.”

She left and Joanna turned back toward her father. “What did Mom mean?”

“Huh?”

“Why did she call it ‘Nick’s Song’?”

“That was my name, when I was a boy.”

“Can you play more?” Joanna pressed, oblivious to the way he stared at the empty doorway.

Why had he hurt Zosia like that? Why couldn’t he forgive her Elspeth’s sins? There was no easy answer, and he put the question away to turn back to his
daughter and answer her question.“How about you sit here and I show you how to play a melody?”

Joanna grinned from ear to ear and immediately clambered up onto the piano bench.

50

“I
THINK
I
HAVE
an idea for getting Magdalena over here,” Kasia said over her cup of coffee. Ryszard had just left for work, and the three remaining adults had settled into their morning ritual of relaxing and chatting before beginning the day’s work. Kasia had deliberately waited until Ryszard was gone since she had not told her husband about Peter and Elspeth. She was sure he would use the information badly, so she had opted for silence. Her husband’s attitude toward Peter puzzled her. Initially, when he was an unknown quantity, Ryszard’s caution was understandable and she had shared it, but once Peter had proved himself in Hamburg, she had warmed to Zosia’s husband. Nevertheless, Ryszard had been almost fanatical in his denunciation of “that man” during their entire visit to the encampment. He had grumbled ceaselessly to everyone: his wife, his parents, his friends, and even Zosia. Kasia had once questioned Ryszard why he was so determinedly negative about Peter, but she had not received a coherent answer.

She noticed Zosia and Peter were looking at her expectantly. “Oh!” She stirred herself. With each pregnancy it seemed to get worse—this absentmindedness. She could barely remember what it had been like with Stefi—that was so long ago—but even then, she was fairly sure that there had been weeks, or was it months, when she had had trouble keeping track of what she was doing. With Pawel and Andrzej, she had been so busy with her other children that she had blamed that for her inability to concentrate, but with Jan and Genia, there had been others around to help, and then it had been clear that her thoughts were anything but clear. As if her brain were leaking out of her ears, she remembered thinking. And now it was happening again.

“What’s your idea?” Peter prompted.

“Oh!” Kasia repeated, surprised that she had once again drifted. What was her idea? With an effort, she collected her thoughts. “The girl who watches Magdalena is from a local household. She comes in early in the morning and leaves in the evening to go home. She’s only fifteen and doing it as part of some training scheme for her youth league. Anyway, she spends as much time as possible in the park—I think she hates being inside with Elspeth and Uwe.”

“No surprise there,” Peter commented.

“Indeed. I think Elspeth tries to get her to nurse Uwe, so she just takes the
baby for walks to get away. Anyway, I thought maybe I could get Pawel to flirt with her and strike up a relationship. He could then suggest that she leave the baby here at our house so they could spend time together. Since we’re known to that family and quite respectable, there should be no problem. If they establish a routine, you could conceivably see her every day until you leave.”

“Would Pawel do such a thing?” Peter asked.

“Of course, if he’s ordered,” Zosia answered. “He’s a professional.”

Peter looked to Kasia for an answer.

She nodded. “I can ask. He’ll view it as a useful opportunity to refine his skills.”

“Ask?”
Zosia repeated, incredulous.

“Yes, Colonel,” Kasia answered patiently. “I’m not as well trained at giving orders as you are. I’m afraid I have to ask my children for favors.”

Zosia snorted but did not comment further.

They set their plan into action that very afternoon. Pawel accompanied Kasia on her walk through the park with Zosia in servile tow. Kasia spotted the young lady and, on the pretense of saying hello to the baby, introduced herself and her son Paul to the nanny, whose name was Liesel. Kasia chatted quite amiably about the Vogels to reassure the girl that they were indeed friends while Pawel made a point of engaging her with his eyes and smiling most approvingly. Liesel carefully noted Kasia’s expensive clothing, the presence of a servant, Paul’s fine build and handsome features, and smiled shyly in return.

Pawel managed to stumble across the young lady an hour or so later; this time he was alone and he invited her to have an ice cream. Liesel was quite amenable to any company; she was bored to tears with her job and the child, and she found this charming young man quite intriguing. She had carefully noted his last name and had determined to learn later that evening all she could about his family.

The next day, having discovered that her new friend was not only from a respectable family but a highly placed and wealthy one, she scanned the park in forlorn hope. He would never reappear, never be interested in a nobody like her. She should have smiled more, should have laughed less loudly! Oh, darn, why had she talked so much! She should have listened with rapt attention! Magdalena cried and Liesel shoved a bottle into her hands and hissed at her to shut up. Where was Paul? Would he come to the park today?

To her utter amazement, she saw him strolling. Not only that, he was smiling and walking toward her. It was as if a dream had come true! She had herself married with eight children and two or three servants before he even said hello. Frau Traugutt, the beautiful wife of a government minister! A grand house, servants to order about, and not one, but two cars! When Paul suggested that perhaps they could leave the baby at his house—Frau Vogel would never be the wiser— Liesel happily agreed and they walked in that direction together. She handed Magdalena over to the slovenly servant she had seen the day before, passed on a few instructions, and without looking back, tripped off happily with Paul.

Zosia held the little girl in her arms, somewhat stunned by it all. Kasia stood nearby, and they both waited for Magdalena to wail at being left completely alone with strangers, but instead the child wrapped her arms around Zosia’s neck and hugged her.

“She doesn’t seem afraid,” Zosia ventured.

“Maybe she doesn’t see enough of anyone to feel at home anywhere,” Kasia suggested. Zosia handed Kasia the child and she hugged Kasia as well.

“Peter,” Zosia called, “I think you can come in now.”

“Already?” he asked quietly from the doorway. He had remained out of sight so that the nanny would not see him and report his presence to anyone, but also the three of them had guessed that Magdalena might be wild with fright and was more likely to calm down with women rather than a strange man. Pitching his voice as softly as he could, he asked tentatively,“Madzia?”

The little girl looked at him, curious and unafraid. When Kasia moved to hand her to him, Magdalena put out her arms and went naturally into his. Peter held her and hugged her and stroked her hair, saying her name over and over again. Her willingness to grab on to anyone, her determination to find a protector, tore at his heart. He had abandoned her without even knowing what he was doing, and now she was as alone in the world as he had ever been. “Oh, my little girl,” he almost sobbed, “my lonely little girl. How can I undo my mistakes?”

Kasia excused herself, and Zosia and Peter spent the afternoon getting to know the little girl. They tried all the standard games and rhymes and songs to see if she recognized anything, but she greeted each offering as if it were completely new. She was quick though, and during the afternoon Zosia taught her how to clap her hands, and with their enthusiastic encouragement, her ability to walk improved markedly. Peter watched with a growing sense of guilt and frustration as he realized that no one had taught the child anything, that she probably spent her time alone in a playpen or strapped into a carriage, making her way alone in the world with only the necessities shoved at her at the appropriate times.

Without thinking, he lit a cigarette. Zosia looked up from the finger game she had been playing with Madzia and snapped, “Put that thing out. It’s hard on the baby—both of them.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, and went to the ashtray to stub the cigarette out.

“It’s bad enough in here already without you adding to it,” Zosia continued peevishly.“No matter how many times I tell you, you always forget!”

“I said I was sorry,” he emphasized as he ground the end into the tray.

As if on cue the baby began coughing, one of those baby coughs that rack the entire body. Zosia picked her up and cuddled her while she coughed, then suggested, “We should feed her something. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Genia and Joanna came in for their meal as well, and as they sat down at the table, Joanna pointed at the baby and asked, “Who is that?”

“Her name’s Magdalena. She’s . . .” Peter was going to say something innocuous,
such as a neighbor’s child or just visiting, but the words stuck in his throat. Could he deny his daughter?

He looked up at Zosia, and they carried out a silent discussion, then Zosia said, “Go ahead.”

“Come with me, sweetie,” he said as he picked up Joanna. “I need to talk alone with you for a few minutes.”

Genia watched, glancing at her aunt for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. She shrugged; used to secrets as she was, she knew it was not her place to ask, and besides, she’d get Joanna to tell her later!

Peter retreated into the sitting room with Joanna and sat down with her on his lap. “Do you remember what I told you about my life before I came to Szaflary?”

Joanna nodded.

“You know, I lived and worked in a house near here. The people who were my . . .” He sighed, started again. “The lady who gave me orders was named Elspeth. She visited here a few days ago. Do you remember?”

Joanna nodded again.

“For nearly three years, she told me what to do, and I did it, because I had to, because I was . . . because I had to.”

“I understand,” Joanna said helpfully.

“Well, one day, she told me to behave as if I were her husband.”

“Did you?”

He nodded. “Yes, and I did with her what husbands do with their wives. We had to be very careful, because such games are illegal, and if anyone had found out, I would have been arrested and killed.”

“Did you want to play this game?” Joanna was used to dangerous games and to people giving and taking orders. None of it was really surprising.

“No, but I did. And as a result Elspeth had a baby. That’s the baby in the kitchen. She’s my daughter.” He paused but Joanna did not interrupt. “We have to keep it very secret though; you can’t tell anyone else. Not even Genia. Do you understand?”

Joanna nodded solemnly. “I swear, Dad, I’ll keep it secret.”

“Good. You understand what I did? Do you have any questions?” He felt that if she was going to chide him for his behavior, he’d prefer to get it over with.

“Does this mean she’s my sister?” Joanna asked gleefully.

“I guess so, honey,” he responded, relieved. “She’s your secret sister.”

Joanna grinned. “I have a sister! A secret sister!” she giggled. Genia had all those brothers and Stefi, but she had a
secret
sister!

They returned to the kitchen, and Joanna grinned at Genia, bursting with her news. But she had solemnly sworn to keep the secret, and she would do so because, as her mother put it, she was a professional.

Pawel continued seeing Liesel, indicating to his uncle, “You owe me for this, big time!” as he headed out the door yet again. Within a week, they had arranged
that Liesel would come straight to their house to drop off the baby so that Pawel did not have to locate her in the park each day. Magdalena quickly established herself as a member of the household, and eventually even Ryszard became aware that the Vogels’ child was visiting with inexplicable regularity. He was finally driven to ask Kasia what was going on, and she explained the situation to him as they lay next to each other in bed.

The next morning, Ryszard snickered when he saw Peter and commented, “I should have guessed.” Ryszard surprised Kasia by not saying anything more, though one evening when Pawel groaned in the presence of the four adults about how tedious Liesel was, his father snapped, “Get used to it. Lie and smile and smile and lie. You’ll never be able to be yourself out there. Not until we’re free.”

Feeling somewhat sorry for Pawel, who looked stunned by the rebuke, Peter changed the subject by asking, “And when do you think that will be?”