“My blood runs cold at the risks you are taking,” Yussef said worriedly. “Risks with our lives as well. The Chechen mobs are animals.”
“I haven’t mentioned your names to anybody,” Jeffrey countered. “And I am convinced the people I spoke with are on our side.”
To his surprise, Yussef did not disagree. Instead, he searched Jeffrey’s face with a probing gaze. “I see you truly believe this.”
“With all my heart,” Jeffrey replied. “I am certain that they are allies to your cause.”
Ivona said something sharply in Russian. Yussef did not respond. Instead, he kept his gaze centered on Jeffrey. “I cannot tell if your bravery comes only from innocence, or if you are truly guided by a greater hand.”
Jeffrey could not help but grin. “Both come in handy. At least I can sleep at night.”
“In four days Bishop Michael is visiting here to meet with fellow Ukrainian priests. He will help in setting up home churches, taking care of problems, serving Mass, christening newborns. He must hear of this.”
“Give him my regards,” Jeffrey said. “He is a good man.”
“So are you, Jeffrey Sinclair,” Yussef replied, “though what you have done is touched by the brush of madness.”
“I don’t think so.”
“No, this much is clear, that you believe strongly in what you have done.” Yussef pondered this a moment longer, then went on, “I would ask you something.”
“Anything.”
“Though I remain troubled by what you have done,” he went on. “I wish to speak on something else while you are still here with us. I have thought much on what you have said to me about faith, and there is much I do not understand.”
“I’d be happy to help you any way I can,” Jeffrey replied. “But for answers to many questions you simply have to turn to the Father.”
“You make that sound so simple.”
“It is and it isn’t.” Jeffrey tried hard to overcome Ivona’s cryptic, singsong dullness with heartfelt sincerity. “To make the turning called repentance, to admit to past errors and sins, to ask for Christ’s gift of salvation, is probably the hardest step a man can take. But the gift of salvation, and the growing wisdom which comes through prayer and daily Bible study, is there for anyone who asks.”
Yussef’s brow remained furrowed with the effort of concentration. “And God speaks with you?”
“He does,” Jeffrey replied. “Only not always in words.”
“You have visions?”
“No.” Jeffrey was surprised by the absolute clarity that filled the moment. He looked about the room and knew he would never forget any of it—not the smell of old smoke and unwashed bodies, nor the filth cluttering the floor, nor the taste of the air, nor the stubble on his companion’s cheeks, nor the sense of divine presence that presided over it all. “But when I feel the Spirit, then sometimes I can read God’s Word and know that it continues to live for me here. Today.”
“The way you say this,” Yussef shook his head. “You make it sound possible.”
“A person is either willing to listen to God or he is not,” Jeffrey said. “If he is, he will hear.”
“Yes? You can be so sure of this? That I will have such a gift as well?”
Jeffrey nodded. “Sometimes the most powerful of messages cannot be placed into words at all.”
“Yes? And then how can the impossible be stated?”
“With love,” Jeffrey replied simply, awash in the reality of faith. “And the gift of peace that surpasses all understanding.”
“I wonder if what you feel is truly peace,” Yussef countered, “or just a resignation.”
“I think it would probably depend on whether the Spirit of God was at work, or just my imagination,” Jeffrey replied.
“A worthy answer. So tell me. How do you ever know the difference?”
“Only from within,” Jeffrey replied definitely. “Only by personal experience. Only if you go and try for yourself.” He paused, then offered, “You could try praying with me. It’s the only way you’ll know if God is trying to speak to you right here, right now.”
Yussef shook his head. “I’m not ready yet for that.”
“For myself,” Jeffrey replied, “I’ve found that to be the best time to act.”
Chapter 29
When the flame of his homecoming had cooled to warm embers, when he could bear to loosen his embrace for an instant, when the painful release within his heart had soothed to a murmur, when he finally could accept that he was truly home and truly with Katya and truly held by arms who craved him more than anything else in the entire world, Jeffrey lay with his head nestled in her lap, his face turned upward so as to search deep into her eyes. And he loved her with the fullness of a gradual awakening.
They joined for a kiss, a lingering vow beyond words, a tasting of each other’s love with their lips. The fullness of the moment left them silent for a time, until there was again the time for heart to know heart through words as well as eyes and touch and taste.
He stirred and asked, “What is your earliest memory?”
She cocked her head to one side. “Where do you come up with these questions?”
He gave an easy shrug. “I just want to know.”
“Know what?”
“Everything.” He reached up to caress her cheek. “I want to know everything, Katya. I want to know how you think when I can’t see your thoughts on your face. I want to hear your heart speak to God. I want to know how you became this person I love.”
Her touch was as gentle as the sighing music of her words. “I have missed you so much.”
He sifted the silk of her hair with gentle fingers. “I want to know you, Katya. I want to fill myself with your love and your words and your touch, so that when I go away somewhere, I can take all these memories with me and keep me warm.”
Katya held him with a strength meant to weld them together, and said, “Cherries.”
“What?”
“My first memory is of getting dizzy on candied cherries.”
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. “Do you remember me telling you about Chacha Linka?”
“The old woman who kept you when your mother went back to work. Sure. She taught you Polish.”
“She was a real Polish country woman. Her days always started before dawn, and everything in her kitchen was homemade. She had a cellar full of canned mushrooms and jams and pickles and vegetables. Her house always smelled of fresh bread. I can’t go into a bakery without being back at, oh, I must have been around two, holding myself erect with one hand on a chair leg, surrounded by the smell of baking bread.”
Jeffrey let one finger trace its way around a perfect ear, then down the line of her neck. “I wish I had known you then.”
“Chacha Linka kept this enormous jar on her kitchen counter, filled to the brim with fresh cherries floating in pure grain alcohol and sugar,” Katya went on. “The adults would eat them for dessert, sometimes a couple with afternoon tea.”
“Pure grain alcohol.” Jeffrey smiled. “Must have packed quite a wallop.”
“It did for me. Sometimes Chacha Linka gave me one to suck on when I was teething. I still remember rubbing that cherry back and forth across my gums, and how good it felt.” She looked down at him, the little girl in her reaching across the years to gaze at him through Katya’s grown-up eyes. “Sometimes I told her I had a toothache when I really was okay.”
Jeffrey backed off in feigned shock. “You didn’t.”
She gave a little girl’s solemn nod. “They tasted so good, those cherries, and I knew she wouldn’t just let me have one. So I pretended.”
“You fibbed,” he corrected.
The two-year-old Katya thought about it for a moment, decided, “Only a little bit.”
* * *
“You absolutely must return,” Alexander declared over breakfast the following morning. “And at the first possible moment.”
The
old gentleman was up and about, but at a pace markedly reduced from his earlier days. Still, Jeffrey was immensely pleased at his friend’s evident improvement. In the days since Jeffrey’s departure his color had improved, his voice had gathered strength, his gaze had become more alert, his hands had steadied. The doctor had expressed satisfaction with his progress and predicted that he should be able to return to a relatively normal, if somewhat reduced, routine within six weeks.
Katya had insisted that Jeffrey take this morning time alone with Alexander; the old gentleman had been so looking forward to seeing him again. Jeffrey had complained about being apart from her even for that long, but not too loudly.
“This was not exactly what I had hoped to hear,” Jeffrey replied.
Alexander’s gaze showed a glimmer of humor. “You must take solace from the fact that you and Katya shall have the rest of your lives to enjoy each other’s company, then be prepared to go when and where the call is made.”
Jeffrey reached across the table, poured each of them a fresh cup of coffee. “You really think it’s that important.”
“I know that it may be important, yes. Here you are, back from your first venture into what for you were two unknown territories. And if your descriptions are correct, you have come upon a number of world-class finds. And only because of the efforts of this one young Ukrainian and his aunt.”
“All true,” Jeffrey agreed.
“So your new ally finds himself in a position where he urgently requires your assistance,” Alexander went on. “Of course you must return. And immediately. Certainly no later than the end of the week. You are building powerful alliances, Jeffrey. Go. They need you. Upon such actions a lifetime’s trust is founded.”
“Do you think there is any real hope that they will find this treasure of theirs?”
Alexander waved the subject aside. “That is immaterial. What matters, my young friend, is that this search is important to them. They are trying. They request your help. I urge you to give it to them. Immediately.”
“Markov will be pleased to hear he’s receiving such prompt attention,” Jeffrey said. “It has been an interesting project.”
Alexander shrugged. “A one-time deal, quite removed from our normal activities. That the gentleman agreed to my rather exorbitant fee without a whimper is surprising, but there is no accounting for the impulses of these royals. No, my young friend, the potential for future business rests not with the likes of Markov, but rather with your scruffy Ukrainian. I agree wholeheartedly with Gregor. This young man is indeed a find.”
“Well, I’ll talk to Katya about it this afternoon,” Jeffrey promised. “There shouldn’t be any problem about my traveling so soon. She figured out last night that I had to go back.”
“Of course she did. You have found a woman who matches intelligence with a very keen perception. A worthy combination.”
Jeffrey gave his friend a frank inspection. “It’s great to see you looking so well again.”
“Thank you, Jeffrey. Yes, it has been a long struggle, and far from an easy one. But I do feel as though the worst is behind me. For the moment, at least.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It is most distressing to confront the time pressures set by an ailment for which there is no cure,” Alexander replied.
Jeffrey knew a keening fear. “I thought the doctors said everything was all right.”
“I was not speaking of an affliction in the traditional sense,” Alexander answered. “No, I meant the ultimate of ailments for those privileged to lead a full life—old age.”
“We’ve been through this before,” Jeffrey pointed out.
“Spare me the record-keeping when I am attempting to unburden myself,” Alexander replied sharply.
“I don’t like to hear you talk about this,” Jeffrey complained. “It really makes me uncomfortable.”
“Not half so much as it does me, I assure you. But despite our mutual loathing for the topic, we shall nonetheless have discussions. I insist upon it.”
“You can’t expect me to sit here and listen to you talk about growing old and whatever comes next—”
“Death, my boy. Death. You might as well say it. We all knock at death’s door sooner or later.”
“Alexander, can we please stop this?”
“Death is not my concern. Not any longer. Not now, when I have come to know the Savior’s eternal blessing. No, what I find most distressing is a possible slow descent into permanent ill health. That prospect, I must confess, absolutely terrifies me. As far as death goes, I have busied myself seeking a peace with Almighty God. Although I admit to more confusion than illumination, I still feel a solace that is far beyond anything I could ever have offered myself. This is most reassuring, both when thinking of what lies beyond death’s door and when wondering at this path I have chosen for my latter days.”
Alexander crossed arms determinedly over his chest. “I do not intend to slide reluctantly into old age. I shall march into it vigorously, taking these last years of life with great strides and departing with a wealth of fanfare and farewells.”
“From what you said a moment ago,” Jeffrey replied, “I thought it was out with the wheelchair and shawls.”
“Tears,” Alexander doggedly continued, a warning in his visage. “I should like a few tears at my passage. Enough to know there remain at least a few true friends who shall remember my name with fondness and miss me at least a little.”
“And a nurse,” Jeffrey continued just as stubbornly. “A battle-ax with the face of a gargoyle, the sort of nurse old-timers get when they can’t manage a sterling beauty.”
“I shall thank you to never refer to me as an old-timer,” Alexander snapped. “Not ever again.”
“A nurse built like a tank and dressed in a starched white bunny cap, support hose, and marching boots,” Jeffrey persisted. “Voice like a foghorn. Good for getting through when you lose your hearing aid.”
“Are you quite through?”
Jeffrey subsided. “You scared me back there.”
The old gentleman permitted the bleakness to show. “At least you were frightened here in a well-lit room, with a comfortable chair and a friend to keep the shadows at bay. My own fears arrive in the dead of night, when loneliness drapes itself around me like a shroud and my prayers exit as dust from my mouth to blow listlessly through my heart’s empty chambers.”
Alexander inspected Jeffrey gravely. “I shall need to share these fears with you from time to time. Bringing them out in the open, you see, helps mightily.”
Jeffrey nodded his assent, not trusting his voice just then.
A hint of the old fire returned. “And I shall expect you to answer with your jabs and jests, young friend. Continue to remind me of the folly of self-pity.”
He cleared his throat, managed, “I’ll try.”
“Splendid. Far be it from me to spend my remaining hours planning the one celebration which I know in utter certainty that I shall not be allowed to attend.” Alexander tasted his coffee, said, “One other item which I have found most remarkable during this entire period is how vivid my recollections have become.”
Jeffrey found immense pleasure in changing the subject. “Gregor said the very same thing.”
“Did he, now. When was that?”
“While he was here in London.”
“And what was it that he found so riveting about his past?”
“He was recalling your escape from Poland after the war,” Jeffrey replied.
Gray eyes sparkled brilliantly. “Did he, indeed?”
Jeffrey nodded. “Could I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“I was wondering what happened when you disappeared like that toward the end of the war.”
“That is just like Gregor. He knows the story well, unless his memory is fading with age.”
“His memory is fine. He was involved,” Jeffrey hesitated, then finished, “in another story.”
Alexander sobered. “Zosha?”
“Yes.”
Alexander sat in reverie for a long moment, then drew the present back into focus and asked, “It was hard for him, going back to the grave site?”
Jeffrey nodded. “But he was glad he did it.”
“That is good. I would not like to think I asked him back to London, then forced upon him yet another painful duty. So. What did he tell you of those days?”
Jeffrey related the story. “I was wondering what happened when you disappeared for so many months before returning home. All he said was that, with the Red Army’s arrival, one by one the AK soldiers began to vanish.”
“Indeed they did.” Alexander settled back in his chair, his gaze centering upon the distance of vivid memories. “Our officers said nothing outright. It was all still too new, and the full extent of our betrayal during the Warsaw Uprising was as yet unknown. The Germans remained our primary enemy, and although they had been pushed from Polish soil, the battle for Berlin still raged. But within a few days the evidence was too stark; we were forced to accept that the Russians had begun eliminating the Polish Underground’s survivors.
“I decided, along with three of my closest friends, that we needed to beat them at their own game. The Soviets had begun recruiting Poles to join them in the battle for Berlin. We signed on, under false names, for Red Army training.”
Alexander’s voice held a mere shadow of his former strength, yet some of the old determination and drive came alive through his recollections. “After just eleven days of the most rudimentary training imaginable,” Alexander continued, “we heard that we were to be shipped to the front. My friends and I realized that we were meant to serve as nothing more than cannon fodder. So using that most universal of Soviet currencies, vodka, we bribed our way into the tank training school. We hoped that those six weeks of further training would be enough to see us through in safety until the end of the war.
“But it was not to be. The conditions at the camp were horrid, worse than anything I had known since my imprisonment at Auschwitz. Our food was watery gruel for breakfast, gruel for lunch, and gruel for dinner, served with whatever insects and filth happened to land in the pots while it was being cooked. Our second week, the entire camp refused to eat a particularly bad breakfast. There was no discussion; the food was simply inedible. We were then marched out onto the parade ground, where the commanding officer accused us of mutiny and ordered that every tenth man be taken off and shot.
Winter Palace Page 24
