Push Not the River

by James Conroyd Martin

  “Yes, I agree. Anna Maria has, however, a predilection for fantasy. It is her chief failing. She read too much as a child, I think.”

  Neither Jan nor Anna spoke.

  “It’s the most amazing thing, Stelnicki. My wife has imagined that I have been behind the terrible things that have befallen her. Can you imagine? . . . Why, now I can only guess that it was her lack of faith in me that must have taken you away from whatever heroic deeds you are about these days.”

  Anna squirmed in her chair. Jan could only wonder at her protracted silence.

  “And you have assured her—”

  “That I am innocent? On my father’s grave, I have! It pains me to the quick to have her think and give voice to such things. But, alas, she has listened to reason. We are a family once again.”

  “I see.”

  “I will not let Anna Maria wander off into danger again. She shall stay under my wing. You see, Stelnicki, we will be happy.”

  Anna stood now, and both Jan and Antoni turned to her. “That is not possible, Antoni.” Her voice was soft but even.

  “Anna, dearest, to find your tongue only to say such things! This is talk of the moment and talk not meant for others’ ears.”

  “I won’t have you stay in this house.”

  “I am your husband, and do remember that the house is Zofia’s.”

  “Then it is I who will not stay!”

  “To do what?” Antoni was losing his patience. “To run off with him? A soldier? To disgrace your aunt’s name? Your father’s memory?”

  The mention of her father seemed to startle Anna. Her head tilted in her husband’s direction, green fire in her eyes. She could not bring herself to words.

  “I’ve told you!” Antoni continued. “I’ve explained.”

  “What?” Jan pressed. “What has he explained, Anna?”

  Antoni turned on Jan. “You’ve worn out your welcome, Stelnicki. But go ahead, Anna Maria, tell him. And when you’ve been told, Stelnicki, you are to disappear from our lives. Go back to playing soldier.”

  Anna stared at Antoni. Jan couldn’t read the emotion playing out on her face. What was this that she kept so subdued? Anger? Then she turned her back to both of them.

  “Anna Maria?” Her husband was affecting a loving tone. “Tell Stelnicki.”

  With her back to them and her words bereft of emotion, she said, “He says that he was the one who sent the Poles.”

  Jan took a moment for it to sink in. If it were true, it meant that Antoni had saved Anna’s life. It was a dizzying thought. No wonder Anna seemed so torn. She, like him, wanted nothing more than to have done with Antoni Grawlinski.

  “I most certainly did send the Poles,” Antoni was saying. “The Russians were kidnappers who meant to ransom my wife.”

  “Kidnappers? Why?” Jan asked. “What proof is there of that?”

  “Proof? Who needs proof, Stelnicki? Evidently I was tried and found guilty without any proof.”

  “Anna,” Jan asked, “do you believe it?”

  Anna did not turn around. A long moment passed. Anna’s answer came as a mere whisper: “Perhaps . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Listen to me, Anna Maria,” Antoni said as he moved toward her, reaching for her arm.

  Later, Jan’s memory would replay that move as one that hinted violence, but for now there was no time to interpret, only time to act.

  Jan took three quick, precise steps and struck his fist flush into Antoni Grawlinski’s face.

  45

  ANNA LAY SLEEPLESS. SHE COULD hear what seemed a hundred servants milling about in the street beneath her windows. Inside, Zofia’s guests danced and made merry. The orchestra had abandoned the processional-like polonaises and stately minuets of the early evening for rousing mazurkas and polkas. The effervescent laughter had swollen, too, to a near riotous din punctuated by high shrieks and an occasional tinkling crash of what Anna supposed must be her aunt’s crystal glassware.

  The disturbance downstairs was not the only reason sleep would not come. The duel was a mere thirty-six hours away. Someone would die, and there was no calling it off. When men set such things, Anna knew, neither God nor nature can dissuade them. Antoni had been shamed into making the challenge. He had had no recourse. He had gained consciousness only to look up from the floor to Anna to Jan to Countess Gronska to the several servants in the room. He took it all in, his gaze going back inexorably to Jan, his voice croaking out, “When?”

  And so it had been set. Mid-morning Thursday in a patch of forest outside Praga. Pistols. Jan and Antoni were each to have two men attending. No one else was to be present, as these things were not sanctioned, hadn’t been for decades. Jan or Antoni would likely be killed. Perhaps both.

  What had made Jan strike Antoni? She remembered that he could be rash. At the pond he had let anger get the best of him when he thought she had believed Zofia’s account that he had made advances to her, tearing her blouse. Oh, yes, he had been angry enough to leave Anna there.

  Where was her husband now? He had not insisted on staying at the Gronskis’, not after such a scene. Anna wondered at first if he might run away, but she suspected that his desire to be a magnate kept him in Warsaw even if his bond of honor did not.

  At midnight Anna pulled herself out of bed, drawing on a blue wrap. Lutisha had cautioned her to stay in bed, but her dark thoughts and the sounds of merriment made her restless. The whole house seemed to vibrate with music and voices. She wanted to take just a quick look from the balcony.

  She had seen Zofia only briefly after the duel had been set. Her cousin’s reaction had been impossible to read. Anna had been certain that she would cancel her party, that it was quite inappropriate under the circumstances. Evidently, however, such a notion had not occurred to Zofia.

  Neither had it occurred to Zofia to invite Anna to her party. Anna put it down to the fact that she was now a full six months along. Expecting women were not to be seen socially, of course. Still, Zofia was not one to obey custom.

  It took little more than opening her door for Anna to realize why she had not been included among the guests. As she took a half-step into the hallway, a young woman raced by, followed by an old man with great bushy whiskers of white, yet hair as black as ebony. The woman stopped at the balcony, allowing the man to catch up to her. When he did, she danced a delicate sidestep and dipped her body to escape his grasp. The woman then turned and started to race back toward the stairhead—but stopped in her tracks at the sight of Anna.

  “Oops!” she blurted. “Excuse me, I hope we didn’t disturb you.” Her highly powdered wig was tilting to the side and the curls were coming undone. Her orange ball gown with its many flounces of pale green was so disheveled that one of her breasts was exposed.

  “Caught you, you twit!” The old man’s arms encircled the woman’s thin waist from behind.

  “Stop it, fool!” she said. “Are you as blind as you are old?”

  He noticed Anna now and smiled stupidly.

  “You are Zofia’s cousin, are you not?” the woman asked, nonchalantly adjusting her bodice.

  Anna could only stare as the woman pattered on with one silly comment after another. A beauty patch, too large to be attractive, hung precariously on her white cheek, like a wart. Her lip paint had been so smeared that her moving mouth looked aslant, as if it would slide off her face at any moment.

  The old man had come to attention with all the aplomb and charm he could muster. “Good evening, my lady,” he said, to comic effect. “It is a lovely party. Will you not join it?”

  Before Anna could think of some excuse, the woman drove both of her elbows backward, into the man’s appreciable paunch. Caught off guard as he was, he released her and fell into a coughing spasm.

  The woman took the opportunity to escape and disappeared down the stairway, singing some inane French parlor song as she went.

  The old man straightened, collecting himself. He eyed Anna uncertainly, his black toupee askew on hi
s head, like a dead raven. He smiled oddly and Anna sensed—horrified—that he was about to transfer his affection to her.

  She immediately tucked in the folds of her wrap above her protruding stomach so that he could see her condition. The effect was not lost on the man despite his drunkenness.

  His eyes enlarged slightly and he suddenly stiffened. “Madame,” he said in a slur that he no doubt thought dignified, “will you be so good as to excuse me now? I go to rejoin the divertissement.”

  Seconds later Anna was watching the black hairpiece descending the stairs in quick little jolts.

  Anna was not ready to retreat. She walked out onto the balcony, at first keeping her distance from the rail so as to reduce the likelihood of being seen. Only half of the candles on the huge chandelier had been lighted so that the main hall of the Gronski home was bathed in semi-darkness. Emboldened by the dimness, Anna moved to the railing. Below was a tapestry of Satan’s sprung to life. All the condemned of Warsaw were here this night, it seemed, lounging and cavorting on the steps, on the carpet, on the bare marble. Those still dancing would trip and tumble over those reclining. Anna recognized a number of these people, some half dressed, as undoubtedly noble. It seemed a paradox.

  Anna wondered where Aunt Stella might be found. How could she allow this?

  She caught sight then of the plump Charlotte Sic. As on the occasion when she had met her—on the way to the Royal Castle—the French princess was bedecked in a glittering array of diamonds: a tiara set into her high golden wig, long pendant earrings, and her fabulous three-tier necklace. This time she wore nothing else above the waist.

  Anna blinked in disbelief. And either she let out a little cry, or the princess merely sensed someone’s eyes on her from above because she looked up suddenly, her eyes narrowing in appraisal of Anna.

  As Fate would have it, a Mazurka came to an end at that moment so that when Charlotte called out for everyone to look above, she was heard quite distinctly. “Zofia!” she exclaimed, with the seasoned air of an actress. “You didn’t tell me you had invested in statuary!”

  The woman was pointing at her now. Anna’s instinct was to run, but her feet would not move.

  “Why, that’s no statue,” sang some woman who had taken Charlotte literally.

  “Why, then,” said the princess, “if it is no statue, it must be a vision, and all in blue. Zofia, come quickly! Damn, where is she? We are being visited by the Virgin herself and in the months before she gave birth!”

  Anna would not wait to see if Zofia were one of those souls below pushing their way from other rooms to see what the commotion was about. Her heart pumped a terrible heat into her face. Then the hellish laughter at last loosened her from her spot at the railing and she raced back to her room.

  What had possessed Princess Sic to speak to her like that? She had been nice to Anna previously. Perhaps Zofia had found some way to make Charlotte regret having told Anna about the liquor business Antoni wanted to set up at Sochaczew.

  The party continued until dawn.

  At mid-morning the next day, a man Anna had never met was shown into the upstairs sitting room.

  “I am Count Paweł Potecki, Countess Grawlinska.”

  Anna nodded, wondering what business he had with her. He possessed a sturdy frame, good features, black curly hair.

  “Zofia has spoken so often of you,” he said. “I am so glad to finally meet you.”

  “Thank you.” Anna could think of little to say. She had never heard Zofia speak of him. What was this man about?

  The man glanced at Lutisha, who had stayed after ushering him in and played now at dusting the furniture. Anna immediately realized that he was hesitant to speak in front of a servant.

  “Would you leave us now, Lutisha?” Anna asked. “I will ring should I need you.”

  The large woman bristled at the request, her eyes momentarily daring to question. Anna’s cool stare, however, was unwavering and the servant left the room, but not without leaving the door open wide. No doubt the servant had heard much in recent weeks. Anna suspected that she hovered nearby, ready to play protectress.

  Anna and the count looked at each other and laughed.

  “She is a treasure,” he said.

  “No doubt she thinks I should be closeted as my term goes on. But I don’t know what the household would do without her.”

  The count grew serious. “Countess Grawlinska, I—”

  “Countess Berezowska,” Anna corrected, “please call me by my family name, not my married one. I no longer consider myself married.”

  His eyes opened a bit at the distinction, but he acceded with a nod. “As you wish. Countess, Zofia has asked me to speak with you about last night.”

  “Oh?”

  “She is heartbroken about how everything seemed to get out of hand.”

  “I see. Tell me, Count Potecki, were you present?”

  “No, I just now rode into the city.”

  “Oh.” Somehow Anna could not imagine him present. She sensed him to be a man of some character.

  “But I understand it got a little lively.”

  “Is that how my cousin put it? She hardly does it justice.”

  “Oh, she’s quite ashamed. I am to intercede on her behalf. Some comments were made about you, I take it.”

  “Oh, they were silly, drunken things said by a silly, drunken woman.”

  “You will forgive your cousin, then?”

  Anna thought a few moments while the count patiently waited. “Count Potecki,” she said at last, with an air of resignation, “I am not in a position to excuse my cousin. Zofia is not accountable to me. I am for the time being but a guest in the Gronski home.”

  “Then you bear her no ill feelings?”

  “How could I? Zofia and her parents have done so much for me. And perhaps her father would be here today to discipline her if it hadn’t been for me and a day long ago when I chose not to obey my aunt and uncle. No, I can’t judge. I only wish . . .”

  “I know,” the count said. “Zofia is at once a weak and wild creature. She’s like an untamable bird from the tropics. All the primary colors, you know? But her intentions are good, Countess, and her love for you runs deep. She would do anything for you. Sometimes we must accept those we love as they are, rather than attempt to make them over.”

  “You mean rather than tame them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you are right.” Anna instinctively knew then the Count Paweł Potecki was in love with Zofia, and that he must often have occasion to excuse her for much. Love, Anna thought, now there is a power.

  The count stood to leave. “Then I may tell Zofia that nothing has changed between the two of you?”

  Anna smiled. “Yes.” She could not say why she was so trusting of one of Zofia’s associates, but it was so.

  The count kissed her hand. “I wish you a strong child, Countess, strong and healthy.”

  “And if it is a girl?”

  He laughed. “Girls, I sometimes think, need more strength than boys.”

  After he left, Anna sat in thought. He was to tell Zofia that nothing had changed between Anna and her cousin. She wanted to laugh. Why, even if they were to live, God-willing, into their old age, they were worlds apart. Things most certainly had changed.

  46

  JAN WAS UP LONG BEFORE dawn. His body felt heavy, his mind cloudy. He had slept little that night. He had needed all his rest in order to be quick in every way this morning. Now, despite his avoidance of liquor the night before, he still felt compromised by the lack of sleep and lingering fatigue. Had Grawlinski gotten a good night’s rest?

  As he shaved, Jan watched himself closely in the mirror. The thought occurred to him that this might be the last time he shaved. He tried to put it out of his mind.

  He was confident in his skills as a marksman. He had practiced regularly at the farm and kept up with pistol practice and fencing at the university. One never knew when one of his class might be calle
d on to lead in war. What about Antoni? Could he shoot worth a damn?

  Jan had never dueled before. Did Antoni have any experience? What was it like to kill someone? Would he be able to do it? More and more, it looked as though Poland would have to fight to keep her independence. Her continuing steps toward a democracy were not taken lightly by Prussia or Austria or Russia, neighbors that had already raised arms against her in the recent past. The next time he would be in the thick of it, he knew, and killing would—for a time—be a way of life. How he knew this, he wasn’t sure, but he already saw himself in battles, fighting for his country, his heritage.

  But to kill someone in a duel? To kill Grawlinski? That was different. And yet, could he allow Antoni to live? Was he the threat to Anna that she thought? He remembered the very moment he had struck Antoni. And he had to be truthful with himself. What had driven him was not fear that Anna was at that moment in any real danger from Antoni. He could admit to himself now that it was the crushing disappointment that Antoni might be innocent.

  From that, it had come to this, he thought. And what if Antoni were the better shot?

  His housekeeper knocked at the door with the news that his friends Józef and Artur had arrived. They were to be his seconds.

  “Bread and coffee for three?” she asked.

  “No, Wanda, something more substantial. An omelette, perhaps, a huge omelette with sausage or ham—no, both!”

  The woman turned to hurry down to the kitchen, smiling at the break in the routine. She knew nothing about the duel.

  Countess Stella Gronska seated herself in the downstairs reception room with her niece and daughter. There they would await the outcome of the duel between Antoni Grawlinski and Jan Stelnicki. Both Anna and Zofia averted their eyes each time she looked at them. The tension in the air was palpable. What had transpired between them? There was the party, of course. The countess fumed at the thought of it. The house was still not back in order. And so many broken crystal wineglasses!