“Was I?” Stevens demanded indignantly.
Sheila said, “Just the foreigner’s usual holier-than-thou. I know, Steve: I have had attacks of it myself. I suppose we mostly believe ‘my country, right or wrong,’ whether it’s cooking recipes or social systems we are discussing. What we have been brought up with always seems more sensible than what is different.”
“The foreigner visiting any country is a rarity if he doesn’t criticise and think ‘At home, we had...or did...’” Korytowski said.
Stevens watched Olszak’s strange smile. “I got into this through a very simple statement. I said, and I still say, that Adam Wisniewski’s out of place.”
Sheila thought, perhaps I shouldn’t have defended Adam. Then Steve might have stopped harping on this subject... But she couldn’t resist saying, partly to find out Olszak’s verdict, “A damned fascist.” Steve looked at her angrily. By her tone and face he saw she didn’t believe him. Wisniewski had watched her plenty in the meeting, and that last look she had given him hadn’t been particularly short or cold, either. Damn Wisniewski. What was he doing here anyway?
“All right, then,” Stevens said. “He is a damn fascist. I said it before, and I’ll keep on saying it.”
Olszak watched him keenly, and then looked at Sheila. “I am going to shock you both,” he said with mock seriousness. “I never pay much attention to a young man’s politics, as long as he doesn’t specialise in cruelty or violence. He makes, if there is any good in him, at least one major change before he reaches the dangerous age, before his convictions harden. What is more, I am in revolt against the recent fashion of attaching so much weight to political ideology. For the last fifty years, we have paid too much attention to political differences, just as we used to pay too much attention to religious differences. Nowadays the word Communist or Fascist rouses the same emotions as Protestant and Catholic once caused. If these religious factions can learn to live together by giving up all persecution and forms of torture, it is quite possible that a future world will see many forms of political ideology living and working side by side. We will have that as soon as politics and politicians become adult. If the Church has found that the Inquisition and St. Bartholomew’s Day are not necessary for maintaining its authority, politics too can achieve that perspective by giving up concentration camps and murder. If Adam Wisniewski believed that one nation alone should be master of the world, even if he believed that nation should be our own Poland, I would fight him to the death. But his love of Poland only means freedom for the Poles, freedom for everyone, to live in their own houses, to till their own fields, to ride over their own roads with no foreigner to interfere or command. He is a nationalist, but not a fascist. For a fascist is one who uses a political ideology to grab more power for his country, his Party, and of course for himself. He is identified completely with his Party, and it in turn is identified with the State. He can tolerate no differences of opinion for that very reason.”
Mr. Olszak’s voice had become grimly serious while he talked. As the Britisher and American remained silent, he went on, “Adam Wisniewski and I have disagreed in politics in the past. Yet he trusts me in our common fight. I would be a lesser man if I could not trust him. Our differences were merely ones of having and not having. In the past, he and his friends wanted to keep what they had. I and my friends wanted more than we had. On their side it was fear, on ours it was envy. That is how mean politics can be. But today, with German bombs and soldiers to level rich and poor homes, to make us one in suffering, our differences seem petty. Nothing matters now but the freedom we have all lost.”
Neither Stevens nor Sheila spoke yet.
“When a conqueror lives in your cities, destroys, mutilates, kills, you will know then what I mean,” Olszak said and fell silent too.
Stevens kicked aside a piece of plaster. “I don’t need that experience. I guess you’re right. At least, you always sound as if you were right.”
Olszak smiled, a strangely gentle smile. “With age men lose their hair, their teeth, their eyesight, their strength. Their only compensation is their experience. If they have lived without achieving that then their lives have been quite useless.” He turned to Sheila. “You understood all that was said at the meeting?”
“Yes. I’ve learned a lot of Polish in the last few weeks. I had to.”
“Good.” To Stevens he said, “You remember the meeting quite clearly?”
“Yes. I won’t forget it.”
“Good. I have a job for you to do. The Germans will round up all foreigners when they arrive. Unless the neutral foreigners have established business here, the Germans will certainly send them out of the country. And they will see that they get safely but of the country. They don’t want any extra witnesses here of their treatment of the Poles. I want a full report of that meeting to reach our friends in the outside world. The only way in which there would be no possibility of the Germans intercepting such a message would be if it travelled out of the country safely locked up in a neutral brain.”
“Then I am not to stay here?” Stevens’ face was a study in disappointment.
Olszak was pleased. He gripped the American’s shoulder. “You are the only neutral, so far, who is in our organisation. This would be a major service which you would render us. Coded messages sent by radio would be too dangerous in this case: that is how important it is. And although the German will give you safe-conduct, there will be plenty of danger. You’ll need to use your wits all the time. They’ll have spies well disguised. I’ll give you full instructions later. Meanwhile, don’t forget what you saw and heard today.”
“And after that?” Stevens was still disappointed.
“There will be another job for you to do...and then, another, and another. We work our good men very hard.”
“And where will I be?”
“Wherever it does the Germans most harm.”
Stevens smiled grimly. “All right,” he said, “that suits me. But what about Sheila? She can’t stay here pretending to be a Pole. She has only got to speak and the Germans will know at once she is a foreigner.”
“We’ve thought of that.” And we’ve made our plans, the voice implied. Mr. Olszak turned to Sheila. “I’ve heard from your uncle. He was not very pleased to hear that you were still in Warsaw. He thinks you are a nuisance to us.”
“What did you reply?” Sheila asked. She wondered why she should feel so upset at the idea that she might have to leave Poland after all. There had been hours in the last few weeks when she had been miserably homesick. Now she knew she still wanted to stay. Madame Aleksander needed her: Madame Aleksander who once had so many children round her, who now had none.
“I waited to hear your answer before I replied.”
Sheila brushed back the hair from her forehead. There were little beads of perspiration under the curls. “Have I been a nuisance?” she asked.
Olszak shook his head slowly.
“Then I shall stay. Madame Aleksander...”
Olszak and Korytowski exchanged glances. Uncle Edward was smiling happily.
“I’m on the side of her uncle,” Stevens said quickly. “She has already done her job here. She should leave. Or else, she’ll spend the rest of the war in a concentration camp—if she’s lucky.” His voice was harsh.
“But Steve, I’ve lived through the bombardment and siege. The war may last only another year. Once the Siegfried Line is cracked there will be nothing to stop us reaching Berlin.”
Steve tightened his lips. “What you need is a firm hand, my lady,” he said.
Olszak said quietly, “Yes, she already has done more than enough—if that phrase is valid in time of war. But remember, she won’t have the neutral’s prerogative to leave on a train, as you will have. She must go by underground. Until a safe route has been established, I do not want to risk sending her. She would be better waiting here. As I said, we have thought of that. We will give her a name and story that the Germans won’t think of questioning. An
d she can go on living in your flat, Stevens. Madame Aleksander will join her there. It will all fit into the story we have prepared for the Germans. She will be as safe as anyone can be under the Germans. Safer than many.”
Sheila avoided Steve’s angry eyes. “What’s my new name?” she asked quickly. The meeting had given her hope and courage. It only needed Mr. Olszak’s latest suggestion to end completely the sense of frustration and uselessness of the last few days. Perhaps there were other things she could do, as well as look after Madame Aleksander. She looked at Olszak and saw he had half guessed her thoughts.
“Perhaps I could be of some use?” she suggested hesitatingly, without waiting for Olszak’s answer.
Mr. Olszak only smiled. But she knew him, by this time. If he needed her help, he would make use of her.
He said, “You’ll find Mr. Hofmeyer next door. From now on, you are under his advice and orders. He has your papers and life story all ready. He has enlarged considerably on the name of Anna Braun, which he first found for you in an embarrassing moment with the man Henryk. Stevens was right when he said you couldn’t be disguised as a Polish girl, so we have kept your old story of being a German girl who adopted the identity of Sheila Matthews. If the Germans question you, refer them to Mr. Hofmeyer whose secretary you have now become. That and the police records of August 31 will be enough to keep you safe. Now, I shall give Stevens his instructions if you will have a talk with Mr. Hofmeyer. I may not see you again for quite, some time. Meanwhile, good luck.”
Sheila smiled wholeheartedly. He would never have taken all this trouble about me if he hadn’t hoped to give me some job to do, she thought happily. She felt as if a very high compliment indeed had been paid her. As she closed the door carefully behind her, Olszak was saying, “Now about your Swedish friend... We find nothing against him. I think his best plan would be to...” How miserable, she thought, Mr. Olszak would be if there were no plans left to be invented. She was still smiling as she entered the large living-room.
Mr. Hofmeyer was reading peacefully at the desk. The candle stub gave a deep yellow light which rounded out the lines on his face, softened its furrows. He removed his horn-rimmed glasses, stuffed them into the breast pocket of his neat, dark suit and came to meet her with his quick, light step. She seemed to be standing again in the music room at Korytów, listening to these footsteps in the hall. In the dining-room, the Aleksanders and their friends sat round a table rich with food and wine and silver. It was little Teresa’s first grown-up party. The children outside had played round the American’s car. The gaily dressed women from the village had brought their songs and laughter and friendly curiosity to the windows of the big house. The evening sky was slate blue. There was the lingering warmth of a summer’s day to carry the sweetness of flowers and trees into the softly lighted rooms.
It couldn’t be only a month ago. It couldn’t, Sheila thought, as she took Hofmeyer’s outstretched hand. It wasn’t possible so much could have happened in one month. But the boarded window, the dust gritting under her heels, the torn plaster, the guttering candle were there to prove the nightmare was a reality. There was no awakening, no escape from this dream.
Mr. Hofmeyer was speaking in English. Sheila knew by this time that it wasn’t a foreign language to him: his hesitancy was due to the fact that he had used English so little in many years. To serve his country, this man had been willing to renounce it. Living with foreigners, Hofmeyer had become one of them. Even the square-shaped head with its bristling white hair, or the way he bowed with his wheels together and made a little speech of welcome, was now quite un-English. She wondered if he were ever really happy, or was his happiness a sense of having accomplished a difficult task well?
“I am under your orders, Herr Hofmeyer,” she said, and sat on the nearest chair.
“Yes, Fräulein Braun.” He smiled as if to himself, and turned back to the papers he had been reading at the desk. “Here are the necessary documents. First of all, birth certificate. That gave us the greatest difficulty of all your papers: it had to be a blend of fact and fiction. We had to find a real man called Braun who lived in Munich and was killed in the last war. We found one called Ludwig Braun.” Mr. Hofmeyer repeated the name slowly as if to emphasise it in her memory. He was to do that with all the names and dates he mentioned, quietly, insistently. Sheila found herself repeating the name to herself quite naturally.
Mr. Hofmeyer’s clear voice went on, “Ludwig Braun had a wife Frieda, who married a year after his death and went to live in Cologne. She died two years ago. The Brauns did not have any children, so I have given you a birth certificate showing you were born six months after their marriage. Its date is the 15th May, 1916. For good middle-class reasons, your birth was kept secret from Frieda Braun’s ultra-respectable family. She boarded you out temporarily with a retired governess. Before Mrs. Braun had found courage to reveal your existence to her family, her husband had been killed and she herself was thinking of a second marriage. Naturally she had less courage, then, to own you. But Mrs. Braun found, even after she was successfully married for a second time, that confession grows more difficult with postponement. So when Mrs. Braun, now Mrs. Mühlmann, went to live in Cologne, you were still living with the governess. She was a Miss Thelma Leigh who had retired in the city where she had spent thirty years and had become a naturalised German. That is actual fact, by the way. She is a friend of mine and now lives in Switzerland. She already has received instructions about the little girl whom she looked after in Munich. Her address there was Theresienstrasse, 25. You lived very quietly with her until you were sixteen. Miss Leigh tutored you, for she didn’t want to send you to a State school and yet the money which Mrs. Braun, now Mrs. Mühlmann, sent her each quarter was insufficient to pay for a private school. In this way, you did not have school friends and grew up almost unknown in Munich. Like many governesses, Miss Leigh was a snob and wouldn’t let you mix with the neighbourhood children. Miss Leigh was your constant companion. That was your simple life until you were sixteen, and you followed her through museums and art galleries obediently.”
Mr. Hofmeyer brought a small red book across to her. “Baedeker. He has a fine chapter on Munich. I understand that is the city you know best in Germany?”
Sheila nodded. She knew it well.
“Good. Then all you have to do is to refresh your memory. Don’t be worried about that part of the story. Any girl who has been away from her native town for almost ten years is not photographically clear about its details. All you need to do is to memorise the streets round your old home and the chief shopping centres. Remember what you can of the English Park and the old Pinakothek Museum.”
Sheila nodded again.
“Anna Braun left Munich when she was sixteen. That was in 1932, the year before the Nazis came to power. Miss Leigh wanted her to finish her education abroad, to learn languages, so that some day, when Miss Leigh was dead, Anna Braun could earn money in a ladylike manner. By this time your mother had stopped paying the small allowance to Miss Leigh, and the governess had informally adopted you. So Miss Leigh arranged for you to go to England, where she had been born and still had some relatives. You travelled third class, and spent a quiet year with a dull English family. Their name was Carson and they stayed just outside of London. You can pick any district you know. You were teaching their daughter Margaret to speak German in exchange for room and board. At the end of that year, when you were about to return to Munich, Miss Leigh had lost her last savings in the depression; she had to become a governess once again with a family in Switzerland, this time. You were offered a temporary position, well paid, as a governess in a London household. Your employer was a Mrs. Bowman of Eaton Square. As things grew more difficult in Europe, you thought you must stay in a secure position. Mrs. Bowman helped you become a foreign correspondent in a business firm which exported to Germany. For the sake of being able to continue your position in this business firm and for the sake of future promotion, you wanted to beco
me a naturalised British subject. Your mother’s selfishness had given you no pleasure in the name Braun, so you even chose an English name, Sheila Matthews. Your security was assured. You were highly thought of in your firm, whose name was Matheson, Walters and Crieff.”
Hofmeyer ignored Sheila’s upraised eyebrows. He pointed to a thin dark blue book and some papers on the desk. “There are the citizenship documents, the legal papers for your change of name, and your subsequent passport. They are excellent copies. You need have no fear about any suspicion rising from them.”
Hofmeyer didn’t wait for any questions. He went on, “You had, of course, been little interested in politics during all this period. You were much too intent on trying to fight for yourself in a world where you had neither influence nor money nor a recognised name. Then the AO—the Auslands-Organisation—approached you. As the AO has some ten million Germans throughout the world organised in all grades of treachery towards their adopted countries, you are perfectly safe in maintaining that you agreed eventually to help your Fatherland. I can testify to that. For when you were visiting Miss Leigh in Switzerland, in 1938, I was in Switzerland too. I met you, and through my connections with the AO working in Poland, I decided the form of your service in that organisation. You returned to London, and we corresponded. You sent me several pieces of requested information which verified my opinion of your ability. Then in the winter of 1938–1939, you met Andrew Aleksander and had many enjoyable evenings together. You wrote me that he wanted you to visit his family. He thought you were English, of course, on account of your name, of your business connections in an old established British firm, and of your accent. Thanks to Miss Leigh’s early teaching, you had an excellent English voice. This summer when I was searching for a reliable secretary to replace Margareta Koch, I decided that you must be brought to Warsaw. I ordered you to resurrect the Aleksander invitation, and you arrived here welcomed as an English girl. Everything went according to plan, except that a careless member of our AO here betrayed me and drove me into hiding. You were arrested, released pending further investigation, rearrested along with Elzbieta Dittmar, and escaped during an air raid. Since then, you have been waiting until I can open my business house here again, and then you will begin working with me. And that is the story of Anna Braun who became Sheila Matthews.”
While Still We Live Page 22
