While Still We Live

by Helen Macinnes

  “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.

  It was Adam.

  37

  WEDDING

  He closed the door firmly behind him, shutting out the curious faces of Zofia and Tomasz and Kati.

  He looked at her gravely. “Men have been shot for less,” he said. His voice was serious, his face set. And then, as he watched her eyes widen, there was the beginning of a smile. He crossed over to her swiftly. His hands were leading her round the table. He pulled the red handkerchief off her hair, and rumpled its curls back into life.

  “Sheila,” he said. “Sheila...”

  She smiled with all her heart. She laughed. Life was simple and easy and wonderful once more. Now she could walk not only to the Russian border, she could find her way alone to Vladivostok.

  Between kisses he was saying, “I told her to wait... She said she would... And then she left in the darkness... Rebel.”

  She struggled free to protest, “Adam, you know I didn’t want to go.”

  He was serious again, and this time his face and voice were gentle. “Yes, I know.” He kissed her once more.

  She suddenly noticed her hand as it touched his shoulder. She remembered her appearance.

  “Oh Adam!” And then as he looked at her in surprise, “I should have known you would come. You always see me when I’m...”

  “When you are what, darling?” But he knew what she meant, for he was smiling now.

  She had to smile, too. “Why can’t you see me just once in my prettiest dress?” she asked ruefully, and unfastened the shawl from her waist.

  He was laughing. He pointed to the stained peasant clothes which he now wore and said, “I don’t look much of a bargain in these things, do I?”

  “Wading through ditches...milking goats—” she went on, but he silenced her with his arms, holding her so tightly that there was no more breath left in her lungs, and the rest of her words became a gasp.

  He searched for a scrap of handkerchief in his pocket. He cleaned her face gently. “Why did you leave the forest?”

  “You know why, Adam.” Her eyes met his steadily.

  He spoke very quietly now. “That was the only reason?”

  “It was the only reason.”

  He was wiping her hands. He kissed them each in turn.

  “That was what I wanted to hear,” he said.

  She tried to speak. I love you, I adore you, I love you, Adam. I never want to leave you, but if I must I shall wait forever and ever. But all she did was to put her arms round his neck and kiss him.

  “After I stopped cursing Olszak, all I could think was that perhaps you...” His voice hesitated. He wasn’t sure of himself, any more. He looked at her uncertainly, pleadingly. There was a sadness, a sincerity in his face which twisted her heart.

  “You do love me, Adam,” she said gently.

  “I more than love you, Sheila. You know that, too.”

  “Yes. I know that.”

  “As I know that you love me?”

  “Yes. I love you, Adam.”

  “Forever?”

  “Forever.”

  “That is all that matters.”

  She nodded. It was all that mattered.

  * * *

  Kati entered, preceded by a timid knock, and then by a second, more urgent rap on the door. She looked apologetically towards Wisniewski. He and the fair-haired girl were standing so close together, talking so earnestly and sadly that she was afraid to speak.

  “Yes?” the Chief asked impatiently without looking at her.

  “Father Brys and the first of the men have got back from the burial,” Kati replied.

  Zofia, her neck straining to see past Kati, had tried to edge into the room too. But Kati’s broad shoulders and outstretched arm blocked the way.

  “Father Brys wants to know where the meeting is to be,” Kati added.

  “I see.” Adam turned to come slowly to the door, his arm still round Sheila. “In here, I suppose.” Zofia was looking very impressed as she stood aside to let Sheila enter the hall.

  “Tell the other men, as they arrive, to come here,” Adam said to the round-eyed village woman. “And we shall all need a hot meal before we leave again.” Zofia nodded her head and bustled away, well-pleased at having been given some commands to dole out. To Kati he said, “Tell Zygmunt I’ll come and see him before the meeting starts. If he isn’t asleep.”

  “No, he’s been waiting for you to come. Captain—” Kati was unexpectedly slow, hesitating. “Do you think you could have him back in camp, please?”

  “He is badly injured.”

  “That’s what he keeps saying: a one-legged man is no use for the camp. And he is lying there, just miserable, not caring whether he gets well or not.”

  “I see.” There was a pause in which Kati’s unhappy, strained eyes watched Wisniewski’s face constantly. “We’ll find some job for him to do, out of camp. Perhaps as our key man, here. You would like that, wouldn’t you, Kati?”

  “Yes. That’s what we used to talk about all the time—about having this war over and the Germans away and all of us living the way we w
ant to live, and Zygmunt and me here at the inn. And now he’s got the chance to be at the inn. And he doesn’t want it. He wants to go back to the camp. To finish his job, he says.”

  “He could do an excellent job here, Kati, now that Zak and your mother and Peter have gone.”

  Kati looked unhappily at Wisniewski. “Could you make that job seem important? Sort of dangerous?”

  “Yes.” He repressed a smile. “If that will help, it will be very important and very dangerous.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Kati hurried along the hall with her news. Sheila watched her go.

  “What’s wrong, Sheila?”

  “I was just wishing.”

  “What were you wishing?”

  “That you’d have a leg amputated.”

  He kissed her quickly. “That’s the only way to silence you, my girl,” he said. “You don’t often say things like that, darling.” She felt more ashamed of her words than any reproof could have made her.

  “No, don’t look like that, Sheila. God knows I’ve thought of enough mad things since I got back to the camp this dawn and Sierakowski told me you had left. Even before then, when we waited in the forest for the Germans to show up, I had thought of them.”

  “Perhaps it would have been easier if we had never met here; I was becoming resigned to everything. Now I am all mixed up, again,” she said sadly.

  “No, Sheila, this way is best. This way, we make our own decisions. We aren’t children to have them made for us. If we aren’t strong enough to make the right one, then we are dishonest—pretending what we want to do is what we ought to do.”

  She nodded.

  “You believe me, Sheila?” he asked anxiously.

  “Yes.” She kissed him to silence his doubts. She tried to smile, to make her voice light. “I’m bad for you, Adam. I make you break too many rules.” She patted the gun in his pocket.

  He smiled and said, “We came here for business, not for pleasure. If you hadn’t broken that rule, yourself, this visit would have been purely a business one.” In spite of his smile, she saw that the journey he had made from the forest to this village must have been a nightmare.