The Children's War (186 page)

“What?”

“Clearing the mines. They have the equipment and maybe even maps— although maybe not, the way they hightailed it out of there. In any case, we’ll let them in to clear up the mess they left, and then they’ll have to clear out.”

“Will they do that?”

“Katerina will make sure of it. She was furious about that. She’ll make sure of it.”

“Who else is negotiating?”

“Konrad. He’s in charge of defense. And someone to take the minutes.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah, that’ll probably be it.” Zosia looked up at the trees overhead. They would probably be meeting about now, in the city, in Kraków, or as it was called now, Krakau. It would be warmer there, and they could sip tea as they debated the terms of a new peace.

Peace. What a word for it! If only.

55

“A
H, FRAU KALISCHER,
so we meet again!” The elderly man stood and greeted Katerina, clicking his heels and bowing slightly.

Katerina nodded to him and to the assembled mass of negotiators and advisers, most of whom were already standing, but some of whom were too boorish and uncultured to know to stand for a lady. The man who had greeted her was Herr Kolisch. They had initially met during the negotiations after the 1970 invasion attempt. After that, she had encountered him infrequently as they had occasionally met to discuss topics of interest to both sides and to exchange information about prisoners and dead soldiers.

Katerina scanned the other faces in the room. There were some she did not know, and of those, many had a look of curiosity or contempt. So, this was the enemy! An old woman! How could they possible expect to negotiate seriously about military matters with a woman? She recognized but did not react to Ryszard’s presence. Good! He was moving up in the world. A few more years and he would truly be well placed.

The negotiations were entirely political: Ryszard’s attendance was an indication not of his position in the government, nor of his rank in the Party, but rather of a certain indefinable presence in the hierarchy of current and future policymakers and powers-that-be. If he plays his cards right and has a bit of luck, thought Katerina humorously, we might make him Führer yet. She wasn’t sure of what use that would be, but that was a bridge that could be crossed after it was built. She made sure she was not looking at him as she allowed herself a short laugh of pleasure. She probably wouldn’t live to see it, but it would be such a wonderful irony!

“Frau Kalischer, what do you find so amusing?” Herr Kolisch asked obsequiously.

“Just the number of negotiators you bring with you each time. So many brave men against one frail woman and her lone adviser.
Przeciwko kilku myslom . . . co nie nowe.”

“What’s that?” Herr Kolisch asked suspiciously.

“The last line of an old poem. Roughly it goes: ‘Enormous armies, brave generals, secret police: Against whom are they ranged? Against a few ideas . . . which is nothing new.’ ”

Herr Kolisch scowled. “It shows how we honor you.”

“Honor us with our land and our freedom,” Katerina replied to put an end to the stupid pleasantries. They sat down and the Germans arranged themselves according to rank at the table. She and Konrad and their recording secretary on one side, a row of Nazis on the other, each with an adviser or two in tow. Ryszard sat behind a man who was only two places away from Herr Kolisch. Very, very good. And quite a fast move since his arrival in Berlin. But Ryszard was good at what he did; if he survived, he could go far. Maybe Führer wasn’t out of the question.

Yes, he’s good at his job, takes it seriously, not like that flighty sister of his, Katerina mused. Of Alex’s six children, Ryszard and Zosia were the gems, shining brilliantly among a bright and brave group. Ryszard had applied himself steadily and patiently over the years to building up his position. Zosia had seemed to take an almost opposite approach, skittering from one job to the other, always doing excellent work, always on the verge of disaster. Perhaps it was frustration at being a woman in a man’s world. She could never infiltrate the way Ryszard had done, could never have placed herself as anything more than someone’s wife—and she would have none of that. So, she had followed in her mentor’s footsteps and taken to assassinations. Would her next step be to chair the Council? Or run for a position in the government in exile? It would suit her well and she would do a good job. Katerina nodded to herself, yes, that should be Zosia’s career path. But first she needed to settle down, needed to spend more time away from that husband who seemed to cause her so much emotional turmoil.

Marriage! That was the problem. Men expected so much of their wives, they never provided them with unquestioning support the way dutiful wives did, the way Kasia did for Ryszard or Anna had for Alex. Husbands rarely even managed to be a neutral influence; rather they were usually a hindrance—demanding of their wife’s time, jealous of her commitments. No, a woman with an agenda simply could not marry. Look at herself! Look at what had happened with Marysia! Zosia should never have married, certainly should never have remarried. She had too much of a future to waste it on a man. Maybe, though, they could work around her marriage; keep those two separated. They needed to be apart, it was better for both of them, and he could be put to good use in England, where he was currently underutilized. He was at home there, he understood those soulless people—he’d be perfect for the job of fostering more cooperation. Besides, it would keep those two out of trouble with each other, give Zosia a chance to mature into a responsible position, give him a chance to find whatever it was he was so desperately seeking . . .

Katerina allowed her thoughts and plans to play in her head a few seconds
longer as Konrad poured a glass of water for her, then she brusquely cast aside all secondary thoughts and turned to the business at hand.

56

A
S SOON AS
PETER
RETURNED
to the encampment, he went to see Olek. He waited by his bedside until the boy awoke, and he was the one who broke the news to Olek about his legs.

“What about higher up?” Olek asked, glancing downward in fear.

“I’ve been told that’s fine.”

Olek laughed.“Hey, then it’s all okay!” he joked nervously.

Peter recognized the bravado and responded appropriately. Each day thereafter, he made a point of visiting Olek frequently, waiting for the right moment to help him through the difficult realization of what had happened to him. After a few days Olek was moved back into Marysia’s apartment, and again Peter visited. Olek was laid out on the couch, Peter sat in a chair, and they drank cups of tea and discussed work and the weather and the state of the world and how everybody in the encampment and the partisan camps were faring. Neither Peter nor Olek mentioned the pathetic stumps that hid beneath the sheet thrown over a metal frame, until at last Peter ventured to ask, “Are you going to keep working as the cipher clerk?”

“I don’t think I have much choice,” Olek admitted ruefully. “Just as well I learned a sit-down skill, eh?”

“Yeah. You’ll make a valuable contribution.” Peter glanced down at Irena, who slept in the crook of his arm, and it almost seemed he was speaking to her.

“Thanks for teaching me all that stuff.”

“You’re welcome. I guess I did too good a job though.” Marysia’s cat, Siwa, rubbed against his legs and then jumped onto his lap.

“How so?”

“Well, you stole my job.” Peter laughed. He shifted Irena a bit to make more room for Siwa and absently began stroking the feline’s fur. “Now they got me running errands in London.”

“At least you can run,” Olek said without bitterness. He paused and looked hard at Peter’s legs. “Tell me the truth, did you ever envy my undamaged legs?”

Peter looked away, down at the floor. The truth, hmm, that was difficult. Finally he looked back at Olek and said, “Yes. Yours and everyone else’s.”

“Well, I guess the shoe is on the other foot now!” Olek laughed hoarsely at his own joke.

“I’m sorry about that,” Peter said without specifying whether he was referring
to his previous envy or to Olek’s current predicament. Both, he supposed. Siwa purred noisily, Irena snored quietly.

“I was so sure I was going to come out of all this untouched,” Olek said as if in confession.

So was I, Peter thought, but decided that was not much consolation. None of them felt vulnerable, otherwise they could never face the dawn.

“I have these horrible nightmares about it,” Olek whispered as if embarrassed. “Do you still have those terrible dreams?”

Peter shook his head. “No. Nothing since Irena was born. I’ve even had some normal dreams, the sort I remember from years ago.” He supposed he had Irena’s birth to thank for the sudden shift, but he could not ignore the thought that her birth had coincided with his first killing, and he wondered if the stabbing of the boy and the shooting of the soldiers rather than the joyful birth of his child was what had brought him peace. Or possibly it was having seen his torturer in the flesh as a mere, and very petty, mortal. “I haven’t told anyone yet—I guess out of superstition.”

Olek snorted. “So, even that. Shit, I always thought you were the fucked-up one. Now look who’s all messed up!” Olek’s voice grew unsteady and he added softly, “I’m only twenty-two, what am I going to do?”

“You’ll cope, Olek. You’ll be an inspiration,” Peter replied softly.

“An
inspiration?
Oh, jeez, Peter, I expected better than that from you!” Olek groaned. “Did you find any of your experiences inspiring?”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Peter said apologetically.

“Do you think you’re a better man for having suffered them?”

Peter shook his head.“No. I’m less than what I was. There was no value to my suffering, there never will be. It was pointless. As pointless as you losing your legs. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have resorted to idiotic platitudes.”

“Or if you did feel the need to say something stupid, you should have said, ‘Shit happens.’ ”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it all up.” He continued to chuckle as he thought about all the people who had somehow implied that there had to be a point to it all. Not least, himself. And when he could find no redemption in the evil he had experienced, then he had looked for his own guilt. Something, anything, to explain it! But here was Olek, a lad of twenty-two, summing it up so nicely. Shit happens!

“I guess I’m off guard duty anyway,” Olek said.

“Gives you more time for other things.”

“I’ll need it! Shit, when you left me alone in that office, I was swamped! I had no idea how much work was involved. You always made me feel so good about my abilities, I thought it would be trivial, but it wasn’t!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you.”

Olek laughed. “The day you stop apologizing for being kind is the day I’ll know you’re okay again.”

Peter bit his lip and looked away, embarrassed.

“You know what else?” Olek said. “When they give me my medal—I want you to have it.”

“Why?”

“You deserve it more than me.”

“No, I don’t. I haven’t done anything.”

“Yes, you have, and it’s about time someone tells you that. I haven’t heard one person say they appreciated the sacrifices you made. Not one. Maybe because they can’t see the injury, maybe we’ve just been at war too long and lost all semblance of civility. I don’t know. But what I do know is that you gave up a lot, voluntarily. You chose to fight for what you thought was right and you paid a very high price, and I think someone ought to say thank you.”

“Olek, I—”

“Don’t insult me by saying no!” Olek ordered, then clearly determined to change the subject before Peter could object, he asked, “Do you think she’ll still want me?”

“Stefi?”

“Yeah.”

“Has she heard the news?”

“Yes, so I’m told, but I haven’t talked to her directly. Do you think she’ll want to tie herself down with a cripple?”

“I don’t know,” Peter replied honestly. “You’re both very young. If it wasn’t serious, then it won’t last, no matter what happened or didn’t happen.”

“Oh, it’s serious. I love her.”

“Does she love you?”

“I think so. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“Give her time before you do that. Make sure you’ve settled into your new life—you know, with all the changes your injuries will entail. You want to make sure that if she says yes, she says it for the right reasons.”

“Why else would she say yes?” Olek asked with determined naÔvetó.

Peter fell silent as he tried to think of a polite way of phrasing things.

“Do you think,” Olek preempted Peter’s reply, “that your wife said yes for the wrong reasons?”

“Just possibly.”

“Enough said!”Olek responded with humorous severity.“I’ll heed your warning!”

Peter laughed at the thought that at least his marriage could serve as an example of how
not
to do it. His thoughts drifted to Zosia, and Joanna, and Irena. He scratched absentmindedly behind Siwa’s ear, and she stretched and rolled luxuriously in response, falling off his lap as a consequence. She landed on her feet, looked arrogantly miffed, and walked off as if that had been her intent all along. Peter shifted Irena and stretched his arm to get the blood flowing again, then leaned forward and kissed Irena’s forehead. Maybe he was wrong, he thought, maybe they had done it right.

“I’m going to ask her,” Olek said suddenly.

“Ask what? Who?” Peter asked, having forgotten what they had even been talking about.

“Stefi. I’m going to ask her to marry me as soon as she returns from Berlin.”

“So you’re not going to take my advice.”

“I don’t want to wait. Besides, I was just thinking about you and my aunt, and even if she did say yes for the wrong reasons, I think it has worked out for you.”

“You do?” Peter asked, amazed.

“Yeah.” Olek smiled. “You obviously love each other. So you get on each other’s nerves, who doesn’t?”

“Obviously?” Peter asked, wondering at how the conversation was suddenly about his marriage.

“Yeah, obviously. Don’t believe all that shit about things being perfect with my uncle Adam.” Olek shook his head knowingly. “I think a bit of history got rewritten after his death.”

“Really?” Peter asked, amused. He was afraid to pursue the subject for fear of appearing—what was the word, catty? But if Olek insisted on telling him these things . . .

Olek did. He spent nearly an hour tearing apart his uncle’s personality, dissecting his aunt’s previous marriage, and generally making Peter feel really quite good. “God, the noise they would make! I mean, you think you two argue? At least there’s no hitting!”

“He hit her?”

“Oh, no! Never! But that didn’t stop her from hitting him. Throwing things. My grandmother said she was a spoiled brat. But she doesn’t do that anymore, does she?”

Peter shook his head.“No, not with me.” He remembered the one time he had caught Zosia’s hand in midair, angrily warning her that he would not be hit. The look on her face. Her denial that she was intending to strike him.“Not with me.”

“Anyway,” Olek concluded, his voice suddenly shifting from cheerfully confidential to serious,“now that I’ve told you all that, I want you to tell me something.”

“What?” Peter asked cautiously.

“What do you know about what happened to my mother? And my father?”

“The day I first arrived, Zosia told me both your parents were dead . . .”

“Please, don’t give me the old song and dance. I’m old enough to know.”

“Have you asked your grandmother about this?”

Olek shook his head. “She won’t talk about my mother. Not at all.”

Peter sighed. He remembered what it had been like to remain in ignorance about his own parents, and with that in mind, he came to a decision. He told Olek everything he knew; he told him that there was no reason to suspect his father was dead, that nobody knew who he was, that his mother had kept it a close secret. He told Olek what they knew about his mother’s disappearance and the details of the police report. “It looks like she blackmailed someone—perhaps
your father—in order to get enough money to go to America, so you would be safe. After that, she either told someone about the money or the person she blackmailed decided to get it back. Maybe she increased her demands and that made him violent.”

Olek looked stunned but said, “I thought it was something like that.”

“You realize what this all means?”

Olek nodded. “Yeah, it might have been my father who killed my mother.” His eyes drifted to the picture of her on the wall. “She was a good woman. Some people say some awful stuff about her, but she was really good to me. She really cared. If I ever find out who it was, Peter, would you kill him for me? I won’t be able to, not now, not like this, but you could.”