Anja covered her mouth, she stood aghast while thoughts swam wildly through her head, she hadn’t even thought about going with them. Why hadn’t she thought about going with them? Could she really stand to go? Could she really stand not to go?
“We want you to,” a tiny voice floated through the air, landing on Anja’s ears. “We’ll miss you,” Evie said as she rushed forward, grabbing hold of her legs.
The boys nodded.
”We want you to go, we really, really, really want you to go with us,” Lukas pleaded.
“We do Anja,” Erich added.
She looked away, wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeves. Everything became quiet and they all stood looking at one another, thinking, hoping, wondering.
The silence was suddenly broken by loud voices outside the cellar door.
“Oh my God! Thomas! You have to get out of here! Take the children! Take the children,” Anja said frantically, pushing them toward the opening to the tunnel. The boys leaned in to give Anja rushed hugs. Evie refused to let go, and had to be pried away. Thomas motioned for them to go ahead of him and the boys carried Evie off into the tunnel. He turned back, grabbing Anja by the hand.
“You have to come with us now,” he glanced nervously toward the base of the stairs while he spoke, “I don’t think you have a choice anymore.”
“Don’t you see?" she said, her voice broken by emotion. “Now my only choice is to stay.”
Thomas looked at her sadly, realizing she had a point, it would be far too dangerous to allow whoever was out there to come nosing around in the cellar after they’d gone. Anja would have to divert their attention. He hated that he felt like he was sending her off like a sheep to the slaughter, but he knew the reality, he knew he couldn’t take her place, he knew it was her that would have to stay. He tried to smile, but his smile was so weak and strained, it only helped to exaggerate his true feelings of disappointment and sadness.
Anja knew what he was thinking, “Thomas, be sensible, please. Please think of the children.” She took his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. “And don’t worry about me. I can handle those boys.”
He nodded stoically as he pulled Anja toward him. The voices outside the cellar door were growing louder. Anja gave Thomas a rushed kiss on the side of his lips, then pushed him away and watched him disappear into the darkness. The opening was quickly covered with the same piece of wood that had been put back in place many times by her own father, forty some years ago. She smiled at the thought of him, her kind, generous, self-sacrificing father, and a rush of calm washed over her.
“Hello! Hello!” A gruff voice shouted into the cellar. “Who’s down there?”
Anja stopped to take a few deep breaths, brushed through her hair with her fingers, dusted off the front of her jacket and walked toward the stairwell, ready to face whatever waited for her at the top of the steps.
Chapter 32
My eyes flew open, fluttering as they tried to adjust to the bright glow that filtered through the clouds outside my window. Snowflakes dropped lazily from somewhere overhead and the mounds of powdery snow intensified the blinding light. Cords and cables were strung along the side of my bed connecting me to a series of monitors that hummed and beeped in a soothing, rhythmic pattern. A tube exited the skin at my wrist and draped across the top of the bed to a liquid filled bag that hung over my head. I felt a slight discomfort at the insertion point and longed to reach over to fuss with it.
I soon realized I was not alone. Someone sat quietly in a chair in the corner, against the back wall, somewhat camouflaged by a long row of storage cupboards. Leaning forward, his attention was directed into the heavy crease of a worn paperback.
Marko?
I called out his name but the room remained silent. I wanted to raise my hand or move my fingers to somehow get his attention but found that I couldn’t. I stared intensely in his direction hoping I might force him to raise his head and take notice. He finally looked up. His eyes became wide, his cheeks pulled back and the book fell from his hands as he pushed himself out of the chair. He came to my bedside, leaning over me, the sides of my pillow sank into the mattress as the weight of his palms pushed into it. His face was only inches from mine, it seemed to be coming closer, then closer still, I squinted fearing a collision. He smiled warmly as his image started to blur, I struggled to retain focus but eventually lost the strength to keep my eyes open. I thought I felt his warm, grip on my hand. I thought I could hear his voice, “You’re awake, you’re awake!”
The next time I opened my eyes the room was dark and the snow fell against a blue-black sky. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window, I looked small and insignificant under the dull white linens that covered the bed. My face seemed thinner, my hair longer and messier than I would have liked. The chair where I thought Marko had been sitting was empty.
A small woman in white glided purposefully into the room, the friction of her stockings created a light rustling beneath her dress as she moved. She shook the bag of fluid that hung overhead and reviewed the paper tape hanging from one of the monitors. The back of her hand was placed briefly on my forehead and her full, red lips formed a warm, compassionate smile. She pulled the drooping flowers from the vase that sat on my nightstand, dropped them carelessly into the trash, then slipped back into the hallway.
March 10, 1984
The sun held to the edge of a bright blue sky, its shimmering rays filled the space below the trees with scraggly shadows. The garden was still covered in patches of dry, dirty snow and daffodil starts peeked shyly through the mud. The bushes looked overgrown and weeds filled the planters. It must have been a rough winter. Anja never would’ve allowed her garden to look so unkempt.
Our building looked smaller, different. Come to think of it, everything on the street looked different. It gave me the same impression I’d had when I once returned to my childhood home several years after I’d moved away. I knew it to be the same house but at the same time wondered how it could be the same house. It didn’t so much look different, but rather felt different. But was it different, or was it me that had changed? Was it me that had become the stranger? Time has a way of changing everything. It changed the country roads and pastures where I‘d spent my youthful summer days and now time had changed my street, my building, the garden, and the way I felt about them. I wanted to feel nostalgic, I wanted to be excited about going home, but Thomas was right, you can never really go back home.
I climbed the stairs, and pulled the door toward me. It felt at once both comfortable and foreign. I passed the mailboxes expecting mine to be overflowing, but there was nothing there. I paused briefly to wonder if someone had stopped delivery for me or if it had all just been stolen, then decided, for once, I really didn’t care. I walked the length of hallway, slowly, quietly hoping not to attract attention, invite interaction. I needed time to readjust to my new, old life.
My apartment was still, the air was filled with the sweet but disgustingly stale odor that all old buildings have, a smell that you don’t notice unless you’ve been away. The sun filtered through the windows illuminating the millions of tiny dust particles that floated in its glare and covered the flat surfaces of my furniture. I stood at the entry, the room seemed so lifeless, so uninviting. Everything I had been so anxious to return to, everything I thought I had treasured suddenly felt like someone else’s junk. I sat my bags on the table and backed out the door. I needed to see Anja, we hadn’t been in contact the entire time I was in the hospital. I missed her.
I came to her door with some apprehension, raising my hand to ring the bell, I stopped short of pushing the button. What if Anja didn’t want to see me? Why hadn’t she tried to see me while I was gone, why hadn’t she tried to call the hospital, sent flowers, a note, something, anything? My hand lurched forward, pushing my finger into the button, the bell sounded inside her apartment.
Footsteps crossed the room and I felt a rush of excitement, there was so much to talk about. I
could hear the lock disconnect, then the knob rotate. The door was pulled into the room and an unfamiliar face thrust through the opening. The face was attached to a short, stocky man with dark, wavy hair, wearing nothing but a thin, silky robe. He did little to hide his irritation. “Can I help you?” he asked in a slow, condescending tone.
I tried to understand why he was speaking so slowly, then realized I must have certainly looked as confused as I felt. He cleared his throat. His neck extended as he pushed his face forward, staring at me over his glasses, “I don’t have all day here.”
I looked back to reexamine the apartment number. “This is still 1A, isn’t it?”
“Ahh, okay, okay,” he said smiling as he opened the door a bit wider. “You must be looking for Anja? Ana, no, Anja, it’s Anja, right?”
I nodded slowly.
“Well, I should probably tell you then,” he pulled his robe together at the neck suddenly remembering what he’d worn to the door, “I was assigned her apartment months ago when they realized she wasn’t coming back.”
“What? What are you talking about?” I looked past him into the apartment, the familiar gold-green brocade that covered the walls immediately catching my eye. I always told Anja to get rid of that stuff, it was so dated. She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t get rid of anything her parents had left behind, her couch, her imported end tables and antique dining set, things she frequently boasted had survived two world wars.
The things that left her with the only remaining link she had to her family peeked out helplessly from under open newspapers, dirty laundry, and half filled glasses covered with tiny drops of condensation. Her gold, velveteen blackout drapes were still pulled together and the tall, thin slice of mid-morning sun that snuck through them was all that lit the room.
My eyes were pulled to the kitchen where the sun came easily through the thin, linen curtains and landed on a pile of unwashed dishes. The kitchen tile had been smeared with streaks of what looked like tomato soup, the same soup that slopped over a pan at the edge of the stove and ran down the front of it. “But… why… why do you have her things?” I asked.
He jerked his head back, his face grew tight and he pushed his forefinger toward my lips, “Shhht!” He glanced quickly around the hallway, then took my arm with his hand and pulled me closer. Leaning forward, his lips practically touching the hair covering my ear, he continued out of the corner of his mouth. “She hasn’t been seen since the day that girl was shot.”
AFTERWORD
A few months after I returned from the hospital there was an unexpected knock on my door. I pulled it open reluctantly, leaving the chain across the top. Peter stood in the hallway looking uneasily toward the front entrance. Spring had been upon us for several weeks yet he still insisted on wearing more outer clothing than was required. “I want to talk to you about Anja,” he whispered through the small space between the door and its frame.
I slowly removed the chain and let him inside. He stood awkwardly in the entryway and had to be invited farther into the room.
“Do you mind?” he asked as he started to remove his cap and unwrap his scarf.
I shook my head and watched him repeat the process of systematically removing his layers then piling them in a great mound on one of my chairs.
“She made me promise to get a hold of you.”
I nodded. As nervous as I was to see Peter standing in my living room, I was dying to know what had become of my good friend. He glanced around then leaned closer so he could continue to speak quietly.
The morning when I saw Peter on the sidewalk, he’d been on his way over to see Anja. He hadn’t heard anything from her since the night he’d stopped by and wanted to make sure everything was all right. As he got closer to the building, he couldn’t help but notice the number of undercover police lurking on the street and in the garden. He rightfully feared the reason they were there had something to do with Anja and the girl. He approached them casually, playing ignorant and hoping to find out what they were doing. In the middle of the conversation there was some sort of commotion on the street, he said the police alerted and fled from the garden. He followed after them for several blocks convinced Anja had been intercepted trying to get away with Evie. When he realized it was actually me the police had detained, he hurried back to Anja’s apartment. She wasn’t there.
His next inclination was to check the cellar. He raced to the back of the building but was stopped short when he collided with more police in the alleyway. He said he was feeling quite anxious and upset and must have appeared suspicious. They questioned his motives and told him he would need to report to the police station, Peter argued with them loudly and refused to go. “I can imagine that must have been about the time you were shot,” he said soberly. “They got a call on one of their radios and took off in the direction of the sirens.”
Peter finally got into the cellar and found Anja near the landing, he tried to warn her that the police might soon return but she lingered, as though a force was pulling her, keeping her there. He felt he had finally convinced her to go upstairs when a figure emerged from the back of the cellar. It was Thomas. Peter’s face lit up, “I can’t tell you what it was like to see him after all these years, to see that he was still alive, still alive and doing so…” he nodded and swallowed hard, his mouth pressed flat.
“But… how do you know Thomas?”
“Well, of course I know Thomas. Why wouldn’t I? We grew up together.”
I gasped and shook my head in disbelief.
“I thought Anja would have told you,” Peter said, ”Thomas and I go way back, as a matter of fact, he and his family were the reason I started working for the Resistance in the first place.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he nodded, “while he and his parents were hiding in Anja’s place, Thomas introduced me to her father.”
“I can’t believe it,” I said, “all this time I thought you were working with the police. I honestly thought you were the one that had told the police what we were doing.”
Peter laughed and shook his head, “Young lady, it would be a cold day in hell before I told the police anything.”
For months I had blamed Peter for Anja’s disappearance and imagined what I would say to him if I ever happened to see him again. I was shocked to learn that I had gotten everything about him so wrong. “Peter,” I said, “I feel horrible that I’ve been thinking such terrible things about you all this time.”
“No, no, I understand,” he said, “I should have made it a point to get a hold of you sooner.
“Yes, Peter, please, you must tell me what happened to Anja.”
“Of course, of course, the entire reason I am here.” A slow smile crossed his face and his pupils seemed to grow larger. “Well, it seems that my little Annochka followed her heart.”
I shook my head, not entirely sure what he was trying to tell me.
”Don’t you see?” He grabbed me by the arms and lowered himself so that his face was level with mine, “She went with Thomas and the children!”
“What?” I could feel my throat becoming small and my arms covering over with goose bumps. “Are you serious, Peter, are you serious?”
He nodded, “And she wanted you to know you were right.” His eyebrows rose up and down slyly reminding me of Anja and making his words come across as hers, “You can change fate my dear, you can change fate.”
Life Will Have its Way
Live with a steady superiority over life - don't be afraid of misfortune, and do not yearn after happiness; it is after all, all the same: the bitter doesn't last forever, and the sweet never fills the cup to overflowing.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn
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Life Will Have Its Way Page 14
