As he repeated these numbers slowly, he extracted a small piece of paper from an inside pocket and handed it over to her with a gesture of silence. On it was a third number: 6-2136. Underneath was written “Emergency only. Leave message if unable to reach me.” Sheila concentrated on the figures. So Hofmeyer had another refuge. The two telephones at this address belonged to district number 4. But the special telephone, coming under district 6, was in another part of the city. She handed the sheet of paper back to him.
“Cigarette?” he asked and opened his case. She took one, still memorising the numbers, and watched him strike a match.
“What were the numbers?” he asked.
“Business number: 4-3210. Special number: 4-6636.” Very special number: 6-2136; 6-2136...
They both watched the piece of paper curl into a grey tissue, watched Hofmeyer’s pencil chop it up until all that remained in the ashtray was a fine powder.
“Talking of the Poles,” Hofmeyer said suddenly, “how are your specially chosen friends?”
“I wanted to ask you about them. Frankly, I am worried. I understood that you wanted me to live with Madame Aleksander meanwhile?”
“That was the plan. Stay close beside her and meet her friends.”
“She is recovering from her illness. And she wants to leave Warsaw. She talks continually of going back to Korytów and looking for the children.”
“But she can’t, for then you will have no excuse for staying where you are. Your patient work all this summer will be quite undone. Are you convinced that you can’t persuade her to stay?”
“I have already tried. Tactfully. For invalids are always suspicious. They lie in bed and brood. If I persuade her too much, she may even turn against me. If she insists on going to Korytów, shall I accompany her?”
“Out of the question. Absolutely not.” Hofmeyer rose with one of his surprisingly quick movements, and searched for an atlas among the reference books. He opened it at Central Poland. “Out of the question, Fräulein Braun. See here. Korytów is too insignificant to be marked in this map, but roughly that is its position. Here. Just south of Lowicz. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes.”
“The line between German Poland and Occupied Poland, or the Government General, will run through that district. The proclamation of the partition of Poland will be published tomorrow. It will be put into effect by the twenty-eighth of October. If the Aleksander woman is allowed to return to Korytów, she may be in the incorporated part of Poland. And that means that she would have no contact with her important friends left in Warsaw. She would be quite useless to you for our purposes. You see, the western part of Poland, from the Carpathians just west of Zakopane in the south to the East Prussian border in the north, will become part of Germany. All property is ours. The Poles will be killed or kept for serf labour. That part of the country will be made completely German, this time. And there will be no communication allowed between German Poland and Occupied Poland. If Madame Aleksander were cut off from us here in Warsaw by going to Korytów you would lose your one asset. She will be entirely eliminated if Korytów lies west of the boundary line between German Poland and Occupied Poland. Her lands will be needed for German settlers from the Baltic States. She may be executed for treason. She may be shipped in a cattle truck to Germany, or to the north-eastern plains of Poland where the weather will take care of those not strong enough to labour for us. So, until we know the definite boundary line of the partition of Poland, she must be kept in Warsaw. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Herr Hofmeyer.”
“Let me see the assets you have in Madame Aleksander,” Hofmeyer was saying as if he were counting the good points in a horse at a fair. “She has one son in diplomatic circles, another who had many friends in government service, a brother who has the trust of the Warsaw University faculty, a cousin who is a general, another who is a bishop, another was a member of that band of parliamentary fools they called a Sejm. Yes, it was a powerful family, and its name still carries respect among the Poles.”
Sheila stared, fascinated. She hadn’t known all that. “Her daughter-in-law comes of a great commercial clan, I believe,” she said, remembering the ill-fated Eugenia. “It owned many big businesses and shops throughout Poland.”
“Yes, a powerful family. That was why I wanted you to win their trust. For our office has two functions. One is to be in contact with people who might hear important news and unwittingly supply us with it. The other is to try and persuade some Poles to work with our Government General. That would always help us initially. Later when their usefulness to us was over, they could be disposed of like the other Poles.”
Hofmeyer was pacing the room, now. His whole performance was convincing. It was cold, callous and calculating. Whoever was interested in the concealed dictaphone would only find two worried Germans shaping their plans to bring honour to themselves and power to their Reich.
Hofmeyer stopped his pacing, abruptly. “I have an idea, but I must discuss it with another department first. If they approve it, then you will make a quick journey to Korytów and bring back the children to Madame Aleksander and Warsaw. That will make you a heroine in Polish eyes, and your position will be assured. You can invent the difficulties you had to face. Actually, from this other department I hope to get facilities to make your journey there very simple. I shall ’phone you tomorrow, and give you instructions.”
“The ’phone wasn’t working this morning. I think it’s probably going to be out of order for some days.”
“Nonsense, Fräulein Braun. Do you think that we shall leave that excellent district, which has been less destroyed than any other, unrequisitioned? And naturally if our officers and officials are going to take over those apartments, we shall certainly see all repairs are done there before other districts. You are now living under your country’s rule, Fräulein Braun, and not under slipshod English methods. I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that our workmen have already started on their job in that quarter, while you were absent.”
Sheila said meekly, “Yes, Herr Hofmeyer,” and watched Hofmeyer’s grave wink. That last sentence had seemed peculiar in many ways. Why had he chosen to add the unnecessary “while you were absent” phrase? And why nod as emphasis to the “you”? He was staring so fixedly now at the bookcases that she realised he was trying to warn her of something by the association of ideas. She looked at the bookshelves, too, and she thought of a dictaphone. That was it: the workmen might install a dictaphone. The walls had ears. In her simpleminded way she had thought that only meant the walls here. Now Hofmeyer, who had sensed her mistake, was trying to warn her. He was watching her face, and he now showed the relief of a man who had remembered in time to give an added caution, and who saw that it had been accepted.
“You had better return to the Aleksander woman now, and stay with her until you hear from me. Tell her about your new position here: say that I am a friend of the Poles. Arouse no suspicion. Find out, meanwhile, what you can about the members of her family.”
Sheila rose. Hofmeyer was already on his way to the study to answer an insistent telephone bell. “Heilitler!” he snapped, his hands deep in his pockets.
“’tler,” echoed Sheila obediently, and closed the library door.
She clutched her handbag firmly as she walked down Marszalkowska, turned left along Jerozolimskie Street. For inside the bag was her only security now: her identification and membership card for the Auslands-Organisation with the faint stamp across its surface reading special service. After that conversation for the benefit of a dictaphone, Anna Braun was no longer a mere name on a piece of paper.
21
CASIMIR
Inside the living-room of Stevens’ flat, Madame Aleksander and Casimir were waiting. The kerosene which Casimir had “found” now burned in a lamp which he had “discovered.” Madame Aleksander sat with her legs wrapped in a blanket. Casimir sat at her feet, directing the terrier as it tried to walk backwards on its hind legs. Madame Aleks
ander was smiling at the dog’s anxious eyes.
“I feel better each hour, Sheila,” she said as the girl entered. “Casimir has been telling me long stories. And he has been teaching the dog a new trick and it’s trying so hard to please. Just look at it!”
Sheila felt happier as she heard the new note in Madame Aleksander’s voice. The dull, dead tone had gone. She was indeed better, much better.
“I’ll soon be able to leave for Korytów,” she was saying happily. “Casimir is determined to come with me to protect me.”
Sheila bent down to pat the dog as it scratched impatiently for notice at her legs.
“We’ve found a name for him,” Casimir said proudly. “He’s a Scottish dog, so Madame Aleksander said we must give him a Scots name. He’s Volterscot.”
“Walter Scott,” Madame said with a smile. “I had to read his novels when I was learning English.”
“Volterscot!” Casimir called and snapped his fingers. The dog cocked his ears and twisted his head to the side. He panted his smile. “See,” Casimir said with delight, “he knows his name!” Volterscot wagged his tail happily, took Casimir’s forefinger gently between his teeth and paraded before the boy, proudly leading his hand back and forward.
“Volterscot is showing that he owns you, Casimir,” Sheila said. “If I had a nice bone, he would have it.” Volterscot deserved more than that, she thought, as she looked at Casimir’s face, young once more, and then at Madame Aleksander watching the boy and dog together.
“I’ll get him one. Somehow,” Casimir said, and leaped to his feet with all the unnecessary violence of a boy of twelve. “And there’s our supper to find, too. Have you three zlotys? Prices are awful high, now.”
Sheila counted out five zlotys. Almost seven shillings, she calculated quickly. She always seemed to translate money into English values. “Take good care,” she called after him, but he was already out of the door with a last wave of his hand. Volterscot looked at the two women as if to excuse himself, and darted after Casimir.
“Volterscot, the almost human,” Sheila said, and tried to look as if she felt like making a joke.
Madame Aleksander was watching her keenly. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“Yes. No.”
“That sounds very mixed.” Madame Aleksander looked as if she would like to hear more about Sheila’s afternoon.
Sheila said quickly, “And what have you been doing, besides getting up against my orders? I must be a very bad nurse, if my patient will not obey me.”
“Casimir helped me into this room. It was he who tucked this blanket round my legs. He’s a nice boy, Sheila. I’ve got very fond of him. And then we just sat and talked, and three hours disappeared.”
“I am sorry I was so long.”
“Nonsense. You need more fresh air. You’ve lost the colour in your cheeks. But I’m glad you’ve stopped putting that horrid red stuff on your lips.”
Sheila looked at herself critically in the small mirror over the bookcase. She wondered where she had lost that lipstick. Nowadays, everything got lost, and one never seemed to be able to remember where things had been put. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but finding something to eat and disguising it as food.
“Pale. But interesting, I hope,” she admitted.
“And we had three visitors. There was a man about the electric lights. And there was a man to see if the ’phone could be put into order.”
Sheila’s fingers stopped twisting the curls into a pattern over her brow. She turned away from the mirror. “Really? That’s good.” She looked nervously at the walls. Where did they hide those damned things?
“They told me that we should have running water soon. Men are working at the pipes day and night.”
“Good. And who was the third visitor?”
“Mr. Stevens. He came to collect the typewriter. He is going away.”
“So soon?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?” Well, the Germans hadn’t lost much time in getting rid of the neutrals. She felt twice as depressed. Parting from friends always made her feel as if she had lost something of herself: as each one went, a gap was left.
“Yes. He and another American and a Swedish gentleman called Schlott. It seems Mr. Schlott had his business here, but the Germans have taken a dislike to him and he must leave, too. Mr. Stevens is going to be a correspondent in Switzerland for an American newspaper. It is a better job than his old one. Isn’t that splendid?”
“Yes.”
“Sheila, couldn’t you go with him? Can’t you pretend you are an American?”
Sheila looked shrewdly at the blue eyes, too bright in the white face. So Steve had enlisted Madame Aleksander’s help. “And what about a passport?”
“You could have lost it in the siege. Russell Stevens said he and his American friend would vouch for you. The Germans seem eager to get rid of neutrals. Perhaps they don’t want them to see how they are going to treat us.”
“I’m staying here.” Sheila touched Madame Aleksander’s shoulder lightly.
“You must not think only of me. You must think of yourself, Sheila,” Madame Aleksander said gently. She took Sheila’s hand and held it. “I can always go to Edward’s flat. I feel I should have taken you and Casimir there, anyhow. I wonder why Edward and Michal were so insistent that I shouldn’t go there?”
“Wasn’t it bombed?” Sheila asked, her eyes on the wall in front of her.
“He didn’t tell me! What about his manuscript?” Madame Aleksander was nervous again. Her voice was raised, her eyes were troubled. Sheila was sorry she had mentioned anything about the flat; and yet she had had to stop any speculation about Michal Olszak.
“Oh, I don’t think the whole place was destroyed. And you know Uncle Edward. He would save his book first of all.”
“Yes,” Madame Aleksander agreed. She relaxed again, but she was still worried. Her thin hands plucked at the fold of blanket on her lap.
“Why don’t you go back to bed? When Casimir brings back our supper, I’ll cook it and bring it to you on a tray. And I’ll read to you.” She looked at the pile of American magazines which Steve had left behind, and wondered what story she might find suitable tonight. Madame Aleksander’s taste ran to stories about New England villages, or about ranches in the West, or about plantations in the South. These were her escape from the ruins of Warsaw, perhaps because her life at peaceful Korytów had been a composite of all three.
“Casimir...” Madame Aleksander mused. “Sheila, do you know anything at all about him?”
“Only what I’ve guessed. I think his family were refugees from the west.”
“Tonight he told me a little, a very little and yet so much. His mother had long black hair. When she was brushing it, it fell beneath her waist.”
“How did you find that out?”
“I was brushing my hair. He was watching me in silence, standing over there at the bedroom door with this blanket over his arm. Then he said that.”
There was a silence. At last Madame Aleksander said, “I am going to take him to live with us at Korytów. I think I’ll try to leave tomorrow, or the day after. The sooner, the better. I never feel really well again until I get there.”
“You must first get official permission.”
“Permission? Korytów is only about forty miles away!”
“It is impossible to travel even five miles without the proper identification papers and a letter of permission. I saw the queue today outside the German Kommandantur: people waiting for permission. Sometimes it takes days.”
“Nothing but waiting,” Madame Aleksander said with rising anger. “First, we waited for the war, then for news, then for bombs, then for help, then for food and water. We waited to be killed, we waited for word from our families, we waited for the Germans to take over the city. We do nothing but wait. And there’s still more waiting to be done: waiting for the Nazis to be driven back into their own country. But a lot of us here won’t sit arou
nd and wait for that day. We didn’t in 1916. After the first shock of this defeat is over, I know there will be men who will—”
“Madame Aleksander, if you want to be strong enough to travel, you must rest.” Sheila glanced nervously at the walls. “I thought I heard Casimir,” she said more quietly.
“Oh, he couldn’t be back so quickly. It takes him at least two hours to reach the end of a queue on a lucky day. I’ve timed him. I used to worry about him when the Germans first appeared on the streets. He said he would—”
Sheila spilled the pile of magazines which she had been examining.
“Sheila, I think you need to rest. How selfish I am, always speaking of my own worries. You are missing England, aren’t you? If you really won’t go with the American, I am going to speak to Michal about you, and he will be able to plan something. I have great confidence in him. He’s very clever, and he knows so many—”
“I am all right,” Sheila said quickly. “I think I’m hungry, that’s all. It seems a long time since supper yesterday. Now do go to bed. Let me help you.”
“If anyone comes asking at this house who you are, do you know what I’m going to say?”
Sheila shook her head. She could only hope it would be nothing that would incriminate Madame Aleksander.
“I shall say you are Barbara.”
“Barbara.” It was the first time they had mentioned her name.
“Who is to know but our family and friends? And no Pole will tell.” Her face looked happier, now. “It’s a very good idea of mine,” she said firmly. “I can’t imagine why I didn’t think of it before.” She unfolded the blanket and rose slowly. She looked round the room and forced herself to talk of everyday things. “Tomorrow we shall clean this place thoroughly. I do wish we had Maria here. She is so good at making things shine.”
Sheila’s amazed look turned to one of amusement. Madame Aleksander didn’t believe anything was well done unless she had at least superintended it, herself. Wars may change ways of thinking, but they don’t change instincts. Sheila looked at her hands, roughened by so much cleaning and scrubbing. She began to laugh.
While Still We Live Page 26
