Sheila stared. “Not Steve!” she said. “He’s on our side. He will promise to keep silent. I know he will.”
“Promises are not so binding as dangers shared. Promises are merely good intentions. They are not enough. You see, Miss Matthews, every day and every hour make my plans more real. You’ve seen Warsaw. You know, as I know, that nothing more can be done. We have nothing left, neither light nor water nor food nor medicine nor ammunition. Not even clean air. But although we shall have to capitulate, the battle will go on. As long as we have one ally left in the world outside, we will fight. Even without that ally, we’ll fight. We must. No nation is ever free which lets other nations fight for its freedom.” He regained his calm voice and said, “You see, Miss Matthews?”
“I see.”
“Did Stevens ask any questions about me?”
“Nothing very much.”
Olszak looked almost comical in his sarcastic disbelief. Then he relented. “Don’t worry so much about your American friend. I happen to like him. Why don’t you sit on that couch? It’s comfortable, at least.” He rejected his own longing for sleep, and searched for something to say to this girl whose eyes were still too hard, too bright. She had taken his advice, but she was sitting bolt upright on the couch, resisting its comfort as she resisted consolation. She would keep staring at the boarded window, as if she could still see that sky smothering the city and its suburbs. He could feel its colour in the heat of this room. He thought of the streets across the Vistula. By this time... Well, he thought, what good will worrying do? Either he is alive, or he has been killed. Worrying will do no good.
The silence had become as intolerable as the heat. Olszak moved restlessly. He said, his thoughts still across the river, “You have met Adam Wisniewski, haven’t you?”
At first he thought she hadn’t heard him.
And then she was saying, “Is he dead, too?”
He looked at her curiously. “No,” he said quickly. “He’s alive. At least he was very much alive two hours ago.”
Again there was a pause, and her face was quite expressionless. Then she suddenly bowed her head, and all he could see was the crown of smoothly combed hair.
What’s wrong now? he wondered. He saw her body relax, and he knew that whatever he had said hadn’t been wrong after all. For a moment, he sensed something which he couldn’t explain, couldn’t fit into a logical pattern, and it exasperated him. There were so many tangents to a woman’s way of thinking. Men were simpler. Either they thought in the same or in a parallel direction as you did, or their way of thinking crossed yours at a decided angle. But these women...and the younger they were, the less understandable. Youth in itself was so involved. What was the process of becoming old but a choosing of the essential things, a discarding of too many impulses, a forgetting of too many dreams? How would it feel to be young again and have so many personal emotions cluttering up one’s life? These young people would pity his age, his dry way of living. They would never guess the relief he felt because he had achieved a perspective of life. He was master of his own mind and of his emotions. He depended on no one. He was less vulnerable. He indeed travelled fastest who travelled alone.
Sheila had fallen asleep. Quite unexpectedly, her eyes had closed, her body had slumped forward, and she was unconscious as if an ether mask had been covering her face. She would have been surprised to see the care with which Mr. Olszak straightened her into a more comfortable position and covered her with a blanket. She would have been surprised to see him wait so patiently beside her until morning came, and with morning an exhausted Stevens and a grim-faced Korytowski.
She awakened to hear Steve’s overhearty, “Nice domestic scene.” Mr. Olszak only nodded benignly. He let the other men talk on. They had been unable to speak to Madame Aleksander. Her hospital had been bombed again, and she had been too busy with the remaining nurses moving the survivors from the courtyard, where they had been dragged to safety, into another building.
“I’ll wait until tomorrow,” Korytowski repeated. The lines on his face, thin and white under the soiled bandage round his head, were deeper. His eyes were dark caves; the blue light had gone from them.
The American threw himself on the floor beside the couch. He seemed relieved to have found Sheila so quiet and composed.
They talked spasmodically of the city.
No one mentioned Barbara.
Then Mr. Olszak said to Sheila: “I think you need more sleep. It will be easier next door.”
She knew what that meant. As she left the room, she looked at Steve. Her tired eyes said, “Steve, be careful. Don’t be smart. Be ignorant and careful. And give the right answers.”
He was looking at her too. He saw the expression in her eyes and thought, she’s as unhappy as hell. To the two men he said, as the bedroom door closed quietly, “She must have been very fond of Barbara.”
Edward Korytowski closed his tired eyes, nodded wearily. He was thinking of his sister Teresa. Barbara was the first of them to go. Or was she? What of little Teresa, or Stefan, or Andrew, or of Stanislaw? The longer he postponed breaking the news, the harder it was going to be for him to do it. He ought to have insisted that they search tonight until they had actually seen Teresa. But both he and Stevens had been loath to find her, to tell her. They had welcomed the excuse that the time was well-chosen. And if there hadn’t been that excuse, they would probably have found some other reason. The city was being bludgeoned into unconsciousness, its grip was weakening. Before the end was called, anything could happen. Why not wait until the death of the city? If Teresa or he were still alive then, that would be enough for her to know. If she weren’t alive, then he would have spared her one sorrow more. He looked at Olszak as if for help. Michal would know what ought to be done.
Korytowski rested his head wearily on his arms; his mind had begun to reel as if his emotions had made him drunk. Helpless anger and grief gave way to hate. He could do nothing but hate. Hate the men who had ruined his country, shattered his city, killed his people so ruthlessly. One month ago, they had all been living here in peace; sleeping, eating, working in peace. There had been light and warmth and flowers in the streets, there had been music, there had been people who laughed. There had been families and birthdays and visits to friends. There had been books to read in neat rooms, with only the voices of children playing in the gardens or the singing of the birds to break the quiet. The sky had been dark and cool at night, unclouded blue in daytime. And as he thought of these things, he could do nothing but hate. He had felt this since the first bomb had fallen, but Barbara’s death released it from the secret places of his heart. It was now in command of him. All he could do was to hate. And he hated the Germans all the more for having taught him to hate like this.
Stevens, watching him, felt an upsurge of pity. The gentler you had been in your own life, the harder it was to bear all this violence.
Korytowski suddenly rose from the table. “I must find Teresa. I must tell her,” he said thickly.
“Wait,” advised Olszak, “wait until I can come through the streets with you. I shall go with you to Teresa.”
“Then you would tell her?”
“Yes. Teresa never avoided bad news in all her life. She would prefer to know.”
“Let us go now, then.”
“Shortly, Edward.” Olszak turned to Stevens. “Well, it will soon be over now. Listen to that new barrage since dawn broke... What are you going to do, Stevens?”
“Can’t seem to think about that.”
“Surely you have plans?”
“Thought I had. But now that it’s near the end, I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you go back to America at once? Your Warsaw story will still be news for another week or two. You could tell the people outside how we fought in here. How Warsaw Fell. Exclusive.”
“Shut up, Olszak.” Stevens had risen to his feet and was standing over the Pole. “Shut up. I’m not so much under control these days. Perhaps I don’t wa
nt to be under control. So shut up.”
Mr. Olszak seemed far from offended by the American’s savage tone. The sarcasm was gone from his voice when he said: “But perhaps you could tell them of our mistakes. For we have faced a new kind of warfare, and we didn’t know how to meet it. No country does, unless it has been studying war and war only for the last seven years. Whatever our faults as a nation, we have at least been a willing guinea pig in the cause of humanity. They could be warned in time through us.”
“You mean I should go and give them advice? Me? I’d never stop talking if it would do any good. But you don’t talk a democracy into anything. Each member wants to do his own thinking, his own talking. The people make up their own minds. If you try to rush them, they start yelling holy propaganda. It was the same with the British. They had to argue about Czechoslovakia before they decided Germany was dangerous. And it’s the same with all forms of democratic government in Europe. They are still discussing the war, and voting on it at elections. How can you expect America to be any wiser than countries on Germany’s doorstep?”
Korytowski said suddenly, bitterly, “Then the sacrifice is all in vain. Other countries may be attacked without warning and suffer cruel defeats, because they would not see what happened to us.”
“Not in vain,” Olszak said. “In the end, we’ll win. Even if there are few Poles left, even if all Poland is entirely devastated, there will be other lands where there still are railways and factories and modern housing. By taking the first blow from the German fist when it was strongest, we may have helped to preserve buildings and lives, in other countries. So in the end, we’ll win, for Poland will live in the hearts of men. Or, do you think,” he added with his peculiar smile, looking so innocently at Stevens, “that men will forget us as quickly as they forgot us after we saved Europe from Mohammedanism?”
Stevens didn’t answer.
“You know, I like you. Just as I like that girl next door,” Olszak said unexpectedly. “You both have that same angry, helpless look when you contemplate future injustices which you hope won’t, but which you fear may happen. But let me ask another question. Why should you worry whether your return to your own country would be valuable? Why don’t you just return, take up any new assignment, and go on building your life like millions of other fortunate young men?”
“Hell, no. What do you think I’m made of? Do you think any of the foreigners here, who have been through this, with you, are going to go away to their different countries and turn off these last few weeks like a water faucet? I guess we were all committed permanently when we first decided to stay. We didn’t know it then, but we chose sides, all right.”
“You are decided then? You are going to fight on?”
“We all are. There’s another American here. We’ve talked of getting to England and learning to fly a bomber. There’s a Swede I know. He’s staying in Warsaw, at his job with the American Bank. But he thinks he has enough contacts to be able to smuggle people out of Poland. There’s a Frenchman and an Englishman; they are going to reach their countries by Rumania and then enlist in their air forces. We all want to be on the giving end of a bomber, just for a change. But there isn’t one of us who is going to start tending roses in his own back yard.”
“What is your Swedish friend’s name?”
“Schlott. Gustav Schlott.”
“His idea has certain possibilities. But it needs silence. Tell him to keep absolutely quiet. Has he any Polish friends he can work with in his future enterprise?”
“I guess so.”
“Find out their names. Bring them to me tomorrow. That will be the twenty-seventh of September. Come to Korytowski’s flat at three o’clock in the afternoon. Now where can I get in touch with Schlott if I want to see him? Not at the bank. Preferably some place more private.”
“He’s living here now. If you wait long enough, you’ll see him.”
“God forbid.” There was such an expression of alarm on Olszak’s face that Stevens grinned.
“Some checking-up in order, first?” the American asked innocently.
“You talk too much. What is worse, you think about things which are dangerous. We need friends. But we don’t want friends who are merely interested. If that is the most they can feel for us, then they are a danger to us the moment the Germans take over the city.”
“What are you getting at? If you think I’d give information to a lousy Hun, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” asked Olszak mildly.
“Skip it. Stop ribbing me. My temper is not what it was.”
“Neither is mine,” Olszak said with a touch of steel in his voice.
“What are you getting at?” Stevens said slowly. Incredulously he added, “Don’t you trust me?”
“I can trust no one until he has proven himself. Do you trust me, for that matter?”
“No.”
The two men looked at each other, and then Olszak laughed.
Korytowski, watching the American’s face, said quickly, “Michal, I rarely interfere, but I feel that all our nerves are frayed to breaking point. We know Stevens. He’s a good friend. He’s been fighting with us. What more proof do you want?”
“Only a very little more. But first let me ask, what does Mr. Stevens intend to do with any information he has recently gathered? Not telling it to the Germans is only a negative plan. The Germans don’t always wait for people to tell, or not to tell. Suppose you were in London or New York. Suppose you were at a party and there met a charming woman or a sympathetic old man who deplored Poland’s situation. In your friendship for us, might you not rise to our defence? Might you not say that you knew there were certain men in Poland who were going to fight every attempt at domination? Later in the evening you would find yourself being asked about life in Warsaw before the war, about the people you had known there. Then months later you might learn that Korytowski, or I, or one of the men you used to meet at the flat, had been arrested. For the Germans are logical. If you knew about it, it was only through the people you had known in Warsaw. That’s how it can happen. I know. I’ve seen how they have approached exiled Czechs here, in the last years. Always very innocently, always very sympathetically, and never as Nazi Germans. Even the cleverest man can be duped by these agents. For there are moments when it is hard to keep silent, to keep from denying a lie or from justifying your friends. Yet the only way with these Nazis is to be able to seem callously silent. Can you do it, Stevens?”
The American shook his head slowly. “I’ll never be able to converse again. Damn you, you know I like a good argument.” He laughed ruefully. “I may as well admit now that I said I didn’t trust you because I was mad at you for not trusting me.”
“That’s better,” Korytowski said in relief, and relaxed again. He began pouring drinks into the measuring glass and a shaving mug.
“Here, what’s happened to my best crystal?” Stevens said in surprise, and looked round the room as if he were really seeing it for the first time. He cursed softly and steadily.
“Someone has been drinking a toast,” Olszak said and pointed to the corner of the room where broken wine glasses were scattered. He handed the shaving mug to Stevens. “Do you feel like a toast?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I have a job for you to do. It will put you on the Nazi black list. It makes you one of us, not just a sympathiser but an active member. If things go wrong for you, I must warn you that the American consular representative could do nothing for you. I am giving an invitation to danger.”
Stevens raised the shaving mug. “Goodbye to the bomber,” he said. “I’ll fight your way. On the receiving end.” He began to drink.
“You know what you are giving up?” Olszak asked slowly, raising his drink to his lips.
Stevens looked towards the bedroom. “If she can do it, what’s going to stop me? When did a Limey ever do what a Yank couldn’t?”
The kitchen measuring glass and the shaving mug smashed against the wall and
added their large coarse fragments to the delicate ruin of crystal on the floor.
The bedroom door opened, and a startled Sheila stood there.
“Come in,” Olszak said almost genially, “come in, Sheila. We didn’t need to shoot him.”
Sheila relaxed. She smiled at Olszak. Until now it had always been a very careful “Miss Matthews.” She knew that somehow he was pleased with her.
“What’s that? Shoot who?” Stevens asked with more vehemence than grammar.
Men’s voices and heavy footsteps sounded on the staircase. The tension in the room reappeared. Olszak was already at the door. Korytowski paused to kiss Sheila, and to shake Stevens’ hand.
“Tomorrow afternoon. Three o’clock. Bring Sheila. Your jobs, begin then,” Olszak said softly and left the room.
* * *
“Hello,” Bill said as he entered at the head of the tired group of straggling men. “Who were the two old geezers we passed on the stairs?”
“Looking for Madame Knast,” Stevens said briefly. Sheila’s eyes met his and smiled approvingly. “You’re back early.”
“There’s little to be done. It’s going to be a day of heavy shelling. Most people are making for the cellars. We’ll have to wait until this barrage slackens.”
The others were filing slowly into the room.
“You’ve additional guests,” Schlott said.
Stevens looked at them. “So I see. Well, we have still got a floor here,” he said. “How’s the world outside?”
“Pippa isn’t passing,” Jim said slowly. “God’s not in his heaven.” He opened his jacket and set down a small thin frightened dog on the floor. He fondled the shivering little animal, scratched the ears lying so flat against its head.
“Carried him all the way here,” Schlott said. “He’s crazy. Does he expect us to eat a dog that made friends with us?”
“I didn’t adopt him. He adopted me. What could I do? He wouldn’t be a bad-looking little tyke if he were clean and happy.”
While Still We Live Page 18
