While Still We Live (65 page)

“Not when he heard of the sickness here. Wouldn’t sleep in the straw of the barn. Queer man. Kind of mad.”

“Did he say why he had come here?”

“Looking for his wife. Kind of mad.”

“You were willing to shelter a stranger? You know it is against the law to shelter a stranger?”

“This is an inn. Any man can stay here if his papers are in order, and he’s willing to pay for a bed.”

“But you didn’t rent him a room. You offered him straw in a barn,” Hefner’s voice was pleased. He liked the way in which he had handled the examination of this peasant.

“There were no more rooms for him. Katarzyna Hulka was lying dead in one. The fellow with the smashed leg was groaning in another. And in the last room was Katarzyna Hulka’s daughter, very sick. She’s recovering now, as you see.”

“So you were going to rent a stranger some straw in the barn, if he could pay for it. Is that it?”

“Aye. But, when he heard of the sickness, he wouldn’t stay.”

“Another lie,” Hefner said.

“I’m not so sure,” Winkler broke in once more, but this time his voice had overemphasised politeness. He had probably given Hefner a look to match his tone. For there was a short silence. And when it was broken, it was Winkler who spoke.

“Where did this man Ryng go, when he left here?”

Tomasz didn’t reply.

“Where was he going? What directions did he ask you? Where was he going?” Each sentence became louder. “We shall take six hostages, unless you tell us
where he was going
.”

Tomasz hesitated. “Nowe Miasto,” he mumbled.

“Louder!”

“Nowe Miasto.”

Two pairs of marching feet entered the inn. A new voice said, “Nothing to report, Herr Hauptmann.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, Herr Hauptmann.”

The pause which followed was more terrifying to Sheila than Winkler’s anger had been. This is the crisis, she thought. This is the point where they either accept or disbelieve our story.

“One moment.” It was Winkler again. “You have a patient here. Let me see this patient.”

Sheila pressed her hands together, covering the left one with the palm of the right. She kept her back to the door, her eyes on Zygmunt. What did Winkler expect to find here? A man with his face bandaged, an unwilling captive? Herr Hauptmann Winkler must have a very low opinion of the Poles. Did he really believe they were stupid? Or did he believe that the Poles kept their prisoners, to torture more information out of them, like the Nazis? That was the extraordinary thing about cruelty; first you might practise it for the ends it achieved; then you
practised it because you had developed a taste for it; then you began to believe everyone practised it, that it was the normal way to deal with people; then eventually, when your power started slipping, you would begin to be afraid that people might do as you had done unto them, because you believed that was the way all people behaved. Captain Winkler was at the third stage, expecting cruelty as the normal state of man. She wondered when all the Captain Winklers would reach the fourth stage. That would be a very pleasant stage to observe.

Behind her, Winkler’s voice said, “Take off that covering. Let me see this leg.”

She realised just in time that he was talking to her. She pulled the mat obediently aside. The Nazi advanced a pace to stand beside her. He looked down at the blood-soaked bandages round the stump of leg.

Over his shoulder he called to Hefner, “Come in. Come in. It’s amputation all right.” His half-derisive tone implied, “And not typhus!”

Hefner entered the room only far enough to identify the man in the bed.

“No,” he said, “that isn’t Ryng.”

Sheila heard his quick footsteps suddenly leave. Winkler still remained. He was staring round the room.

“Lot of blood on the floor.”

“He bled a lot,” Sheila said thickly. She sat down again. Her knees were treacherous now as well as her stomach. I’m going to be sick again, she thought. She turned her eyes away from the blood as she pulled the mat gently back over Zygmunt’s ghastly leg. She stared at Kati’s framed communion certificate which now hung over the bullet which had lodged in the wall. The one
which had been aimed for her had been dug carefully out of the floor. Perhaps there was another which they had overlooked in their hurry. It certainly, wouldn’t escape Winkler’s sharp eye.

She moistened her lips, and remembered to stop looking at the communion certificate. The moment of waiting seemed interminable. She was clutching her hands together, pressing her knees together, biting her teeth together. Her jaw felt rigid, her neck corded...

And then with a last glance at the bed and the white-faced man lying so inert and helpless, Captain Winkler turned on his heel. His footsteps rang on the bare floor. For once they were not ominous. For once they announced a reprieve. Sheila took Zygmunt’s hand. He knew how she was feeling at this unbelievable moment, for the corners of his mouth were trying to smile. Not yet...wait don’t rejoice too quickly, she thought. But it was impossible to repress the feeling of relief, of triumph which suddenly intoxicated her.

From the front room, came Winkler’s voice. “A waste of time.”

“A drink first,” Winkler said. “Questioning is dry work.”

“Let’s get back to Nowe Miasto. You’ll have a better drink there.”

“What—Herr Hefner refusing a drink on the house?” Winkler was laughing. “This is indeed a surprise.”

“Let us get back.” Hefner didn’t wait for further argument. He was already outside the house.

Winkler followed him, amused and superior, but conceding that drinks in this dump might not be worth swallowing. Their footsteps became silence. The car’s engine roared into life. Soon it, too, was gone. The quiet village square heard only the sound of uneven voices praying in the church.

* * *

Kati came into the room.

Sheila rose quickly and gave her the chair beside Zygmunt. “How’s your rib?” she asked softly. “Better go back to bed.”

Kati shook her head. Her face had lost all its strong, natural colour. She was still weak. But she was looking at Zygmunt, and Zygmunt was looking at her.

Sheila moved to the door. Tomasz was standing at the front entrance of the inn, talking seriously to some of the older children who had grouped round him.

“That’s your orders,” he said to them and dismissed them with a thump on the nearest shoulder, as Sheila approached. He beckoned her to follow him into the front room.

It was large, low-ceilinged, oak-beamed. Bands of painted flowers had been stencilled along its white walls. One of the gable-walls of the house formed the end wall of this room. Along it there was an open fireplace with an enormous log resting over a heap of accumulated ashes. Opposite the fireplace was the bar—a large, solid sideboard with open shelves and doorless cupboards. On either side of the door was a long narrow table with side benches. Across from the door was a shallow stretch of window with potted plants along its broad sill, and under the trailing green leaves was a third table and the usual benches.

Sheila crossed to the fireplace and rested her head against its rough grey stone.

She drew a deep breath. “We managed it,” she said quietly. “We managed it, but they’ll come back.”

“Aye, they’ll come back when they can’t find their man at Nowe Miasto. And the second visit won’t be so easy for us.
But first, they’ve to reach Nowe Miasto, and then they’ve to search for him.” His grim, heavily lined face relaxed. “Think I’ll lower that drink the captain’s friend wouldn’t let him have.” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Dog’s blood,” he said, “I never thought to God and all the Holy Saints that I’d live through that one.” He moved over to the sideboard. There was the sound of heavy glass being set down on solid wood. His voice altered. “Now, what’s this?” he asked.

“What?” Sheila replied dully. The sense of excitement and relief had gone. Now there was more planning to do, more efforts to make, before the Germans came back. She crossed over to the window, and kneeling on the bench, looked out into the rough road which led to the main highway. This was the way they would come back, bringing more men to search and question efficiently. Perhaps they would send a medical officer first, to find out if there was an epidemic brewing; and that meant the bodies in the coffins would be thoroughly examined.

“They’ll
have
to be burned,” she said.

“Eh?” Tomasz was standing at the table beside her now, holding something out to her.

She took the flask. “The bodies,” she said heavily. “Either they must be burned or we must bury them secretly out of the village and say that we burned them in case of typhus.” She looked wearily down at the flask in her hand. “What’s this?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking. Never saw it before in my life. It was stuck over on that shelf beside the best brandy we have.”

Sheila looked at the curiously carved top of the flask. “What a peculiar cap,” she said involuntarily. She studied its simple, bold and yet unusual design. And then she looked up at Tomasz.

“Never saw it before,” he repeated stubbornly.

She said quickly, “Peter got drunk last night after he had some liquor out of Dittmar’s flask.”

Tomasz still looked at her without understanding.

“Dittmar called himself Ryng,” she explained.

He was staring now. He took the flask out of her hand and strode into the hall with that strange, loping walk of his. “Kati! Kati!”

When he came back, he said. “This is Ryng’s flask. He must have put it there without anyone knowing.”

“Yes...” To give a message. He had put it there secretly, beside the best brandy which friend Hefner would choose to drink, just in case any accident should happen to him. She examined the top of the flask again: its very distinction made her believe that this guess was right. The flask might be one that German agents carried with them, to identify themselves when necessary. If Hefner had found it...

She said very slowly, “Yes, to give a message. To tell them that he had stayed here.”

Neither spoke for a moment. The feeling of danger once more flooded into the room.

Then at last, “I’ll have that drink later,” Tomasz said. “I’ve lost the taste for it. And I’m just remembering we have much still to do. I’m thinking that the angels have been on our side this time.”

“Yes.” She remembered Winkler’s heavy joke:
What—Herr Hefner refusing a drink on the house?
“Yes. I’ve never felt so much like going down on my knees and praying, in all my life.”

“We’ll do our praying standing up until we finish this job.” Tomasz was grim, grey-faced once more. “I’ve sent one of the boys over to the church to tell the people, when the service is
ended, that they’re to gather here. The other boys are back standing guard on the main road. They’ll give us warning if any Germans appear. When everyone comes over here, we’ll plan what to do. The priest will help us. He will know. Then, let all the Germans come. Dwór’s ready for them!”

Then he added, not unkindly, “But we don’t know what to do with you. You cannot stay. The Germans would hear from your voice that you are a foreigner. You must leave. But how? Peter was your guide, and he is dead. Zak could have shown you the way, but he too is gone. I know the way, but I must stay here. The village...”

“Yes, you must stay here. Winkler and Hefner will expect to see you when they return.” Sheila looked up at the man’s brooding face. “Don’t worry, Tomasz. I shall leave. But I couldn’t travel by the Nowe Miasto route anyway. Hefner knows about it; that is why he was there. He traced the old lady with her dog. So neither you nor Peter nor Zak would be any use to me now. I shall have to take another route.”

“You can go back to the forest and wait for instructions.”

“No, I won’t go back to the forest.”

The man stared at her in surprise. The vehemence which she had suddenly shown startled him. Well, everyone had their likes and dislikes, everyone had their own idea about things. If she wouldn’t go back to the forest, she wouldn’t go back to the forest. And that was that.

“What’s wrong with the forest?” he asked defensively. No one was going to talk against the forest to him. She’s got nice soft eyes, he thought; they smile and cry all at once. So she liked the forest. She had nothing against it, after all. “All right,” he said gruffly, and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Outside there was the sound of distant feet. There were voices, too. The church service must be over. The people were coming to the inn.

Sheila sat down on the bench, put her elbows on the table, covered her face with her hands. How soon must she leave? And for where? She suddenly felt so alone that her thoughts were stifled. Uncle Matthews would say, “No good giving up hope, while you’ve still one breath to draw.” But somehow this was one time when Uncle Matthews’ advice didn’t sound so very true. The villagers’ voices were raised now. They at least were happy. They at least could rejoice over their victory. She wished she could be like them, letting whatever the next day would bring take care of itself. She shook her head angrily, trying to force logic back into her thoughts.

The Germans would spend some hours at Nowe Miasto, searching or waiting for Dittmar. Then they would make inquiries at the villages on the way to Nowe Miasto from here. Then they would gather enough me to strike fear into the heart of Dwór. And then they’d come back. This evening? No, more likely tomorrow morning would be the time of their coming. Tonight, in the darkness, she would have to set off. Perhaps one of the children could guide her for the first few miles to the east, and then, after that, she would just keep going east. Eventually she might reach the Russian part of occupied Poland. The Russians weren’t at war with Britain. Perhaps they’d help her. All she could do was to try. The Russians weren’t the Germans. They hadn’t been treating the people of Eastern Poland in the way the Nazis had dealt with their half of the country. Yes, all she could do was to try. She sighed. Mr. Olszak would be more alarmed than amused if he knew how much she missed him at
this moment.

She heard the priest’s voice now. For a moment she wondered why the villagers hadn’t come into the inn as Tomasz had suggested. They had gathered outside, instead. There had been a babel of voices; there had been a feeling of relief, even of joy. Now they were listening out there to the priest’s even tones, instructing them, advising them. The priest finished, and Tomasz was speaking once more. And then there was a third voice, strong and confident. Sheila lifted her face from her hands. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t... People were moving now; there was a blur of voices and footsteps. The door of the front room opened.