by Sue Gee
On the desk behind him, the phone began to ring. Jan got up and went to answer it, knowing it would be Anna. His parents had his number, too, but they never bothered him here.
‘Tak? Yes?’
‘Jan … have you got very much more to do?’
‘Perhaps another hour or two – why?’
He heard a sigh, quickly suppressed. ‘Nothing – we’d just like to see you, that’s all. Jerzy has been asking for you.’ A hesitation. ‘He said something about a film? That he’d asked if you could take him one day?’
‘Yes, some cowboy thing, I remember. I’ll try next weekend, all right?’
‘Lovely – I’ll tell him.’
‘No, don’t raise his hopes. I may not be able to.’
A pause. ‘I see.’
He could hear the children shrieking in the background. ‘What’s all the noise?’
‘Just bathtime, high spirits. We’ve been rather cooped up today, with the rain. I’ve been telling them stories – and your parents came to tea.’
‘Not more war stories, Anna – you know I don’t like it.’
More shrieks from the bathroom. Anna was calling: ‘Quiet, you two! I’m talking to Tata.’ Then, to Jan: ‘I don’t understand why, I really don’t.’
‘Just – it’s gone. You know what I mean.’
‘But it’s part of their heritage,’ she said slowly. ‘I like to tell them – so do your parents.’ Another hesitation, then: ‘Jan?’
‘Yes? If you want me to come home, I’d better get on.’
‘It’s just that … Ewa kept asking me about how we met, what it was like. If … if we’d had a wonderful love affair.’ He could hear her trying to make light of it.
‘And what did you say?’
‘I told her how happy we were, then. Well, I mean, I didn’t say anything, really, but … we were, weren’t we? When we met, and – and everything …’ She trailed off.
Impossible to equate this hesitant, even awkward wife, who had seemed for a long time to belong only to her children, with the girl he’d wanted almost as soon as he saw her. She’d been laughing with a group of friends, wandering on a blazing afternoon out of the little town and up towards the flowery hillside above the bay.
Everyone had needed to fall in love, then.
‘Jan?’
‘Yes,’ he said, matter of factly.
‘It made me think about it all again – about whether it had to go so wrong. It does seem so sad, such a waste …’
Jan picked up the phone and carried it, trying to reach his cigarettes. They were just too far away.
‘I’ll try and get home earlier,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we can talk about it.’
‘That would be – very nice. Thank you. If – if you could get here before the children are asleep? Just for once.’
He looked at his watch. There was a Sunday evening bus in half an hour. ‘I’ll try.’
‘See you soon, then. You’ve got your umbrella?’
He smiled. ‘Yes, Anna, I’ve got my umbrella. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye.’
Jan put down the receiver and walked back to his desk. He lit a cigarette, quickly, and looked again at the plan on the drawing board. Outside, it began to rain again, pattering hard against the uncurtained windows. He paced up and down, imagining the children and Anna, talking all afternoon about the war.
In the years since he had come here, the war, and Poland itself, had gradually become sealed away into a part of himself he no longer visited – a distant country, like childhood, to which he could never return. It wasn’t just a case of refusing to be like Tomek, and the others in the Club, who went back year after year. Deep down, he did not want to go back, even if it were possible: he didn’t want to revisit the streets and squares of Warsaw which he had grown up in, and seen bombarded into ruins, and almost died for.
The rain was slowing down – if he were going to catch the bus, he should leave now. He stubbed out his cigarette, carefully replaced all the caps on his pens, and covered the plan with a sheet of paper. He switched off the anglepoise lamp, and the long cold strip of neon, and pushed through the swing doors. He walked quickly down the stairs, having a sudden, unbidden flash of memory: Anna, her dark head against his shoulder, her arm round his waist, as they walked in the pine forests high above the bay. Falling in love, if that’s what it had been, had blotted out everything, then.
They sat at the table in their dressing gowns, having their supper. Outside, behind the curtains, the rain had stopped, but every now and then they could hear wet sounds: a dripping gutter, footsteps in the puddles, a car or bicycle swishing down the road. Burek lay dozing again in front of the fire – Dziadek had taken him out, just for a few minutes, and the room smelt of damp dog, and wet hair: the children always had their hair washed on Sunday nights, to start the school week clean. Ewa would be leaving primary school, and going to the convent next year. Her foot swung under the table, back and forth.
‘Mama?’
‘Take your elbows off the table, please.’
‘Sorry. Mama?’
‘And stop swinging your foot.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Mama!’
‘Yes.’
‘Can we have a record player for Christmas?’
‘A record player … whatever next?’
‘So she can listen to her soppy pop songs,’ said Jerzy. ‘I don’t want one.’
‘You don’t have to listen, do you? Not if I have a room to myself.’ Ewa turned her back on him, exaggeratedly. ‘Please, Mama. Please. Everyone’s got one – I wouldn’t have to go to Janet’s all the time, then, would I? Please.’
‘Oh, sssh! We’ll see. I’d have to ask Tata.’ Anna looked at the clock above the fire. ‘He should be home any minute, he said he’d try to be home before bedtime.’ She smiled at them. ‘That’s nice, isn’t it?’
‘You look pretty, Mama,’ said Ewa. ‘Have you put lipstick on, or something?’
‘Just a little. Now – do either of you want any more?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘No, thank you. Mama?’
‘Yes, Jerzy?’
‘In the war … in the war, what happened to Tata exactly?’
‘Oh, Jerzy, I think we’ve talked enough about all that for one day, don’t you?’
‘I do,’ said Ewa. She stretched, knocking her glass and saving it just in time. ‘Can I get down?’
‘Yes, go and brush your hair by the fire, make sure it’s quite dry.’
‘All right.’ She slid off her chair.
‘But Mama …’ Jerzy was frowning, flushed.
Anna reached out a hand. ‘Have you got a temperature? No, I don’t think so, you’re just tired. All this talk – it’s high time you were in bed.’
‘Mama!’ He moved away from her hand. ‘I just want you to tell me one thing, all right? What happened to Tata’s jaw? And what did he get his medal for?’
Anna shook her head. ‘That’s two things. I expect he’ll tell you all about it himself, one day.’
‘Tonight?’
‘No, darling, not tonight, it’s much too late, and – and he doesn’t really like talking about it. Don’t ask him, will you?’
‘You tell me, then.’
‘Oh, Jerzy, do shut up,’ said Ewa from the fire.
‘Shut up yourself! I just want to know, that’s all.’
‘All right, all right, calm down now.’ Anna ran her hands through her hair. ‘Tata was wounded because the little house in the Old Town which they were defending in the Uprising was attacked by the Germans, and Tata killed one of them. He was fired at, and the bullet hit his face. And his friend, who was next to him, was very badly wounded also, and in fact I think almost all the boys in their unit were killed in that attack. Then, later, when everyone was ordered to leave the Old Town, Tata carried the wounded boy all the way through the sewers – perhaps two miles, in the dark, imagine. He was given his medal for bravery then, and for the part he played in the f
ighting later. By that time his poor friend had died.’
Jerzy was silent. Then he said slowly: ‘How did he kill the German? Did he shoot him?’
‘Yes, darling.’
‘And – and what do you mean, he carried his friend through the sewers? I thought sewers were … were full of …’
Anna took a deep breath. ‘Yes. They are. But there was no other way of escape.’
‘But it must have been horrible. Ugh. Ugh.’
‘Do stop talking about it,’ said Ewa, her hairbrush in her lap. ‘It makes me feel sick.’
‘Yes, I think that’s quite enough.’ Anna pushed back her chair, and began to clear away. Jerzy sat deep in thought. Behind Anna, a key turned in the lock on the front door.
‘Tata!’
He came into the room, smiling lightly at them all.
‘All right?’
‘Fine,’ said Anna. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, they’re just off to bed.’
Burek got up from the hearthrug and came over, tail wagging; Jan bent down to pat him. ‘Good boy, good boy.’ He straightened up. ‘Has he been out yet?’
‘Only for a few minutes, with your father.’
‘I’ll take him, then, it’s stopped raining.’
‘Have something to eat first – I’ve saved yours in the oven.’
‘Thank you.’ He pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Well…’
There was a silence, as if with an acquaintance just arrived, whom no one knew quite how to treat.
‘Off you go then, children,’ said Anna. ‘Brush your teeth.’
Jan tapped the table top. ‘I come home to see them, and you shoo them away.’
‘Sorry …’
He shrugged, and there was another silence. Across the table, Jerzy was fiddling with a fork.
‘Tata? In the war …’
Jan frowned.
‘Now that’s enough!’ Anna said sharply. ‘We’ve done far too much talking already. Kiss Tata goodnight, and go to the bathroom – quick!’
Ewa got up and came over, her hair out of the plaits a dark mass spilling over the collar of her dressing gown.
‘Goodnight, Tata.’ She raised her face and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
‘Goodnight, my pretty daughter.’
She blushed. ‘Do I look pretty?’
‘Very.’ He raised her hand, half-mocking, half-serious, and brushed it with his lips. Ewa giggled uncertainly.
‘Goodnight, kochana.’
‘Goodnight, Tata.’ She ran out of the room.
‘Jerzy?’
‘I’ll just go and get your supper, Jan,’ said Anna, and followed Ewa out.
On the other side of the table, Jerzy pushed back his chair and came round. ‘Tata?’
‘Yes?’
‘How strong are you?’
‘Very strong,’ Jan said gravely.
Jerzy looked at him. ‘You must be. Mama said you carried your friend, the one who was wounded, all the way through the sewers. And Dziadek says you escaped from the Germans twice. How did you kill the German …’ He stopped, seeing his father’s face darken.
‘What else has Mama been telling you?’
‘Nothing. Nothing …’
‘You are far too young to hear about such things, and anyway – I don’t like it.’
‘Why?’
Anna appeared in the doorway, tense, carrying a tray. ‘Come on, Jerzy, Tata’s tired now.’
‘I’m not tired,’ Jan said icily. ‘I’m angry.’
‘Oh, Jan, please …’
Jerzy felt his chest begin to tighten, in a dark, uncomfortable way. He coughed, nervously. ‘Sorry …’
‘Go on,’ said Jan irritably. ‘Go to bed. I don’t know what your mother is thinking about, filling your head with all this.’ He got up, not looking at Anna. ‘Come on, Burek, we’re going out.’
Anna set down the tray. ‘But your supper …’
‘I’ll have it later!’ Jan snapped. Still in his overcoat, he went into the hall, feeling on the hook for Burek’s lead. Beside him, the dog thrashed his tail ecstatically. Jan went out with him, banging the door.
‘Oh dear …’ Anna stood at the table, still holding the tray. Steam rose from Jan’s plate, filming the glass beside it.
Jerzy coughed, looking at her. ‘Mama – please don’t cry. I’m sorry …’
‘I’m not crying,’ Anna said unsteadily. ‘And you have nothing to be sorry for.’
‘I didn’t mean to upset him, I didn’t mean it.’
Anna pulled him close. ‘Of course you didn’t, now don’t you cry. Please don’t, darling. Tata’s just very …’
‘Very what?’
‘Very … very something.’ Anna tried to laugh. ‘Come on, no more tears now.’ She passed him a handkerchief, and he blew his nose. From the bathroom, Ewa was calling: ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing!’ Anna patted Jerzy’s face. ‘Teeth! Quick!’
The bathroom was damp, the windows still dripping with steam from the bath, but quite cold now. Jerzy unscrewed the toothpaste cap and brushed, shivering.
‘What did he say?’ asked Ewa.
Jerzy grimaced, and spat. ‘He was cross with Mama.’
‘He’s always cross with her. Don’t worry about it, I expect he’s tired; grown-ups are always tired.’
‘He said he wasn’t …’
Ewa took his toothbrush and put it back in the glass on the shelf. ‘Leave it, forget it. Race you into bed.’
They pounded down the linoleum corridor.
‘Children, children – not so noisy.’ Anna followed them from the kitchen. She had combed back her hair, and wiped off her lipstick. Her nose shone. ‘My goodness, it’s cold in here.’
Ewa leapt into bed, and pulled the blankets up tight. ‘Can’t we have hot-water bottles?’
‘Much too dangerous for children.’
‘Fussy Mama.’ She pulled a face, and burrowed down.
Jerzy climbed into his bed by the window. Anna bent down, straightening the pillows. ‘Goodnight, maleńki.’ She kissed his forehead. ‘Sleep well, and no worries, all right?’
‘All right.’
She tucked him in and moved back to Ewa. ‘Goodnight, darling. Straight to sleep now.’ She felt under the pillow, then went to the door.
Ewa reappeared from beneath the blankets. ‘Mama?’
‘Yes?’
‘Am I really pretty?’
‘Yes,’ Anna said simply. ‘Now, it’s school tomorrow, so no chattering.’ She flicked off the light.
‘Leave it on in the corridor,’ said Jerzy quickly.
‘Of course. See you in the morning.’ She went out, leaving the door ajar.
They lay in the darkness, a long bar of light falling through the gap in the door, across their beds; they listened to her footsteps going slowly down the corridor, and into the kitchen; the taps turned on, the clatter of dishes. Then Ewa turned over, and pulled her pillow down.
‘My radio! Mama must have – oh, Jerzy, why did you have to tell her? I can’t get to sleep without it.’
‘Sorry,’ said Jerzy. ‘I didn’t know she’d take it. Sorry.’
‘So you should be!’
There was a silence.
‘Do you really want your own room?’
‘Yes. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘I don’t know. I think it’d be a bit funny, by myself.’
‘You could watch all the trains as much as you wanted.’
‘I suppose so. Oh, listen.’ He sat up, pulling the curtain back. Ewa groaned. ‘Just this one,’ Jerzy said, and knelt by the window, the curtain over his head. The sky was very clear now, all the cloud rained away, and a winter moon was rising behind the bare trees and above the factory buildings across the railway line. He turned towards the sound of the train moving down the track, saw the misty plume of steam drift into the night sky, and heard the great animal panting of the engine, as it drew near.
‘Who-whooooh!’
&n
bsp; It whistled, and thundered past, the windows of the carriages spilling light on to the track, again and again, faster and faster. He craned his neck against the cold glass of the pane, following it until the last carriage, and the guard’s van, had disappeared.
Then he lay down, twitching the curtain back into place, and fell asleep.
A dark place. A dark, frightening place, where he didn’t know anyone. But it was full of people, moving about, touching each other, asking questions in toneless voices, moving on. Where was Mama? He pushed through the crowd, felt himself almost crushed, and began to panic. From somewhere a long way off there was the sound of a train, rattling and rattling, and he had a feeling Mama might be on it, but he couldn’t find the door of the dark place, to get out, and go to meet her. He pushed against the people in front, and they moved, and he stumbled and fell into a slimy pool of something. He struggled to get up, but kept slipping, and the people were stepping over him, their voices asking questions he couldn’t properly hear, although he knew that they were lost, too, and couldn’t help him.
And then he was on his knees, crawling through the slime, with his limbs dragged by a leaden slowness, so that each move forward was like a film in slow motion, and the people all round were pressing closer and closer. He began to pant, and his chest began to tighten. ‘Mama?’ He struggled again to get up. ‘Mama?’ He reached for something to cling on to, and found he was clasping a leg, trying to heave himself up, pulling on the trouser, panting: ‘Help me …’ The person whose leg it was bent down, and pulled him out of the slime, and he found himself looking into his father’s angry face. It was streaked with blue. With blue? He looked at the faces of the other people, and saw that they were blue, too, and their hands. ‘Mama?’ They looked at him blankly.
He could hear the distant train again, and said: ‘Let me through. Let me get through!’ On the far side of the building an enormous door swung slowly open, and he could see the sky, very black, with a tiny moon, and hear the rattle of the train growing louder. ‘Let me through!’ But the blue faces only pressed closer, and closer, until he could hardly breathe at all, and was gasping, choking, fighting for breath.
