The Children's War

by Stroyar, J. N.

  Ryszard returned from work, saw Peter standing in a cloud of smoke with the bottle of whiskey, and grabbing a whiskey glass from the cabinet, came over to join him by the window. Peter spared Ryszard a bleary glance, then pointedly turned his attention back out the window.

  “Long day?” Peter asked for no particular reason.

  “Yeah.” Ryszard grabbed one of the cigarettes from the little pile and lit it. The two of them smoked and drank in silence.

  “How much do I owe you for the booze and cigarettes?” Peter asked.

  “Nothing, of course. You’re our guest!”

  “No, I insist. I’ve consumed more than my fair share. I’d buy you replacements myself, but . . .” He paused, then finished bitterly, “But I haven’t had a chance to get out. I don’t know the prices, how much does it all cost?”

  “Forget it,” Ryszard said, obviously affronted. When he finished his cigarette,Ryszard tipped the rest of the whiskey down his throat and went into the kitchen to say hello to everyone.

  Kasia came into the library with a cup of coffee and a pastry. Peter did not look away from the window, and Kasia did not say anything—she just put the plate and cup near him. He muttered his thanks as she left. Stefi and Olek returned shortly thereafter, and several hours later Zosia and her father arrived in his car. They both saw Peter in the library, and Zosia went up to him while her father stood near the entrance as if undecided about whether to stay.

  “Are you okay?” Zosia asked, waving some of the smoke away.

  “Leave me alone, I have a headache,” he answered in a shaky, hoarse voice.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said, looking at the accumulation of cigarette ends and the nearly empty bottle of whiskey.

  He turned his attention away from the window to look at her, but she kept moving, in fact the whole damn room was moving. Shit, I’m drunk, he thought. How had that happened?

  “You’re plastered!” Zosia said as if reading his thoughts. “Good Lord! Joanna’s here—do you want her to see you like this!”

  “You’re one to talk,” he replied fiercely, and before he could stop himself, he added, “screwing Tadek on my bed while she sleeps in the next room!” He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Zosia’s father chose to leave at that point. He wondered if he had spoken loudly enough for him to hear.

  “Shut up! You don’t know what you’re saying!”

  He struggled to focus on her. His head pounded horribly. Trying to speak clearly, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me!” His voice broke with the effort, and he turned back to look out the window and light another cigarette.

  “Stop that already!” She angrily snatched the lighter away from him. He grabbed it back with some force. He tried to light the cigarette, but he couldn’t get the lighter to work properly. He threw it down angrily. God, he thought, I’m making a complete fool of myself. He wished something would stop him, and as if on cue, Kasia called out that dinner was served.

  Zosia grabbed his arm and gently tugged. “Come on.”

  “No, you go. I’ll just stay here.”

  Zosia contemplated him for a moment, then went into the dining room. She returned with some meat and cheese on a piece of bread. “Here,” she said, offering it to him, “eat this, it will make you feel better.”

  He ignored the sandwich, continued to stare out the window. “Why did you bring me here?” he asked forlornly. “I didn’t ask for this. Why did you do this to me?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not debating with a drunk.” She turned to leave, adding, “We’re leaving early tomorrow, you’ll want to pack tonight.”

  In the evening, after the younger children had gone to bed, the rest of the family congregated in the sitting room to have a quiet drink together. Peter didnot join them, and nobody asked why not as they had all noticed his sudden moodiness. No one was sure what had prompted it, but Zosia hinted that he became withdrawn if he was in pain, and that seemed a sufficient excuse for his melancholia. They were, therefore, quite surprised when he staggered into the doorway late in the evening. He stood swaying slightly, squinting at them as though he could not quite focus.

  “Would you like to join us for a drink?” Kasia suggested.

  “I’m going out,” he stately bluntly. Then, scanning each of their faces in turn, he asked bitterly, “So, who has the leash this time, eh?”

  Finally Olek stood and walked over to him. Gently grasping his arm to steady him, Olek said kindly, “I think a bit of air will do you the world of good. Come on, we’ll go out.”

  Peter threw off his hand, hissing angrily, “Get your fucking hands off me!” He gathered himself, glared at them, and repeated, shaking his head for emphasis, “All of you! Keep your hands off me!”

  The next day, on the train back to Neu Sandez, Peter had to leave the compartment several times to be sick. Each time Olek accompanied him to the end of the carriage and stood waiting in the aisle as he retched and heaved in the minuscule toilet compartment. The lurching of the train and the confined space did nothing to help him overcome his hangover. He emerged each time looking like death warmed over, and Olek helped him open the window near the door so he could breath some fresh air.

  “God, I feel such a fool,” he finally managed to stammer to his companion. His voice rattled in his throat; in between being sick, he had spent a good part of the morning coughing.

  “Ah, you’re human,” Olek consoled him. “And that family is not the easiest group of people to deal with.”

  He looked at Olek—there was no irony intended; clearly, though Olek had taken part in keeping a watch on him, Olek had dissociated himself from the decision to do so. Peter realized with a sudden insight that he would never understand military discipline.

  Zosia joined them in the aisle. “You look like hell,” she said cheerfully.

  “Oh, God,” Peter moaned. He felt particularly embarrassed about what he had said to her in the library; so embarrassed he did not even want to refer to it to apologize. He made a sudden lurch for the toilet again.

  When he reemerged, Zosia laughed behind her hand. “We call that giving it back,” she teased gently.

  Peter slid down so that he could hold himself up by letting his feet rest against the wall opposite. The corridor was narrow so he was only down to Zosia’s height when he did that. He looked her in the eye. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in my saying I’m sorry?”

  “There’s no need.” She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. “We’re sorry, too.”

  21

  “TRAUGUTT! INMY office, now!”

  Richard stopped dead in the corridor and pursed his lips. He blinked slowly, weighing up his response, then sucking a deep breath in through his teeth, he turned, smiled graciously, and entered Schindler’s office.

  “Ach, Herr Schindler, always a pleasure.” Richard bowed slightly in greeting.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Schindler snapped, not even bothering to stand.

  “Oh, just investigating housing and other details in preparation for my move to Berlin,” Richard replied suavely.

  “I’m not talking about that!” Schindler fumed, waving his hand in annoyance. “It’s this!” He raised a piece of paper high in the air. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, requesting permission to nose around my facilities!”

  “You’re responsible for southeast England, aren’t you?” Richard asked innocently. “I have no plans to go there.”

  “Hamburg! I’m talking about my laboratory south of Hamburg!”

  “I’m sorry,” Richard soothed, “I didn’t realize that was yours.”

  “I told you about it at dinner!” Schindler grated.

  “Oh, it’s that one!” Richard smiled. “You were so clever then as to not pinpoint its location. Now I know! But don’t worry, the Führer’s project, as I believed you termed it at that time, is safe with me. I wouldn’t bellow out the information, even in a secure building such as this.”
>
  Schindler reddened. “Well, if it wasn’t that, why did you request a visit?” he asked rather more calmly.

  “As it says in my request, I’m in the middle of studying social management techniques and ways of calming a roused populace.”

  “Our society has no need of such rot.”

  “Not now, of course, thanks to the wonderful social management carried out by the Party to date. Techniques and methods of enduring quality such as you yourself have displayed! Nevertheless, we must be ever vigilant. There are occasional rumbles, which we would ignore at our peril. I wish to get a sampling of the command and control structure of various social institutions, including military bases, and use that overall view to put together a report on the state of our society.”

  “It’s still all rot. You manage with this!” Schindler snorted, slamming a fist onto a copy of Mein Kampf. “And with this!” He raised his fist demonstratively in the air.

  “It’s at the Führer’s behest.”

  Schindler glowered but did not respond to that. He glanced around the roomas if contemplating the possibility of unseen listeners, then in a softer tone said, “It’s not possible for me to sanction your visit to that institution. I’m sure, given the nature of your research, that you could choose another, more convenient installation.”

  Richard rubbed his chin as he contemplated the suggestion. “It would be difficult . . .”

  “But not impossible.”

  “There are so many factors that must be considered. Size, location, style of governance . . .”

  “Nevertheless.”

  “There would be little sense in changing plans now . . .”

  “I’m not giving you clearance,” Schindler said politely, though his lips twitched.

  “I wouldn’t have to see everything.”

  “I’m not giving you clearance,” Schindler repeated courteously.

  “Perhaps my aide would suit you better?”

  “Your aide. Yes, my son told me he applied for that position. Imagine that! And he didn’t get the post.”

  “No, he didn’t. Now, would my aide be a better choice?”

  “He won’t get clearance either,” Schindler replied with a tight smile. “I’m not giving you or any of your lackeys clearance.”

  “Really,” Richard emphasized, “this is unnecessarily obtrusive to my project-. . .”

  “I’m not giving you clearance, and the decision is mine to make, so, dear Herr Traugutt, change your plans!” Schindler stood suddenly and gestured toward the door. “Good day!”

  Richard grit his teeth, then after a moment’s consideration, he gave Herr Schindler a slight bow and left the office.

  22

  “YOU’REWORKING TOO HARD,” Zosia said as she pulled a glass out from a basket, filled it with wine, and set it in front of Peter. “Look, I’ve brought a picnic.” She gestured toward the freshly baked bread, cheese, and ham that filled her basket.

  Removing the reading glasses he had recently acquired and rubbing his face tiredly, Peter agreed. There was, however, no way around it—a large volume of coded material had been seized and had to be interpreted as quickly as possible. He was in the middle of a preliminary sort, and the stacks of files towered in unstable heaps around the office.

  “Is there any way that I can help?” Zosia asked. “I’m not doing much right now that the New Year festivities are over.”

  “Maybe, but first let’s enjoy this lunch you packed. One of your better cookingefforts,” he teased.

  “Oh, Marysia made the bread.”

  Peter laughed. “I would have never guessed!”

  They ate there in the office. He leaned back in his chair and, being careful not to topple any of the stacks, put his feet up on the desk. “So, any news?” he asked.

  “The paperwork on your commission has gone through.”

  “Ah, what’d I get?”

  “Captain. Just like I requested. And the salary has been approved. Back pay and all.”

  “Great.”

  “I also talked with my parents today,” Zosia said between bites.

  “Ah, how’s everything there?” he asked with feigned casualness. His behavior on the last day of his visit had tactfully been ignored ever since they had returned, although he suspected everybody at the encampment had heard about it anyway. Nevertheless, Zosia had warmed to him considerably since that visit, so he felt that it had not been a dead loss.

  “Well, Mom’s worried about the move to America. She doesn’t want to give up her work here, but she doesn’t want Dad to have to go it alone there. And she’s worried about leaving Ryszard and Kasia alone—especially with their upcoming move to Berlin. But Olek should be happy.”

  “Olek? Why?”

  “Oh, with Ryszard and Kasia moving to Berlin and Mom and Dad going to

  America, Stefi’s decided to move here.”

  “America,” Peter repeated. What a strange place it must be. Alex and Anna would now simply emigrate there and become part of the government in exile. Alex had won a seat in the cabinet and now had to leave the land he had lived in since his youth, but his children and grandchildren would stay behind, carrying on the fight. Zosia might never see her parents again once they moved, and Joanna would grow up without her grandparents. It made Peter think of his own family, and he was tempted to ask a question that had bothered him for some time now. The problem was, did he really want to know the answer?

  “Zosia,” he began in a tone that let her know he was heading into dangerous territory, “why was Tadek so sure at my trial that my brother was a Nazi?”

  “Oh, you don’t want to rehash that, do you? It was so long ago!”

  Peter ignored her protest. “Given that he knew about your brother, why was he, why were you all, so sure he was not doing what your brother is doing?”

  Zosia picked a bit of bread out of her teeth. “Oh, we didn’t know anything for sure. Tadek just used that to goad you into a reaction.”

  “Ah.” What a charming man he is, Peter thought.

  “He wanted to know if you were genuine.”

  “Okay then, why was my name on the arrest warrant, but not Erich’s? Presumably he has a clean slate as far as the government is concerned—after all, he was able to get Party membership.”

  “Yes, it does look like he wasn’t tainted by whatever affected your parents and you. Perhaps because he wasn’t at home at the time.”

  “That’s what I thought at first, but it really doesn’t make sense.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  Without knowing exactly why, Peter knew then, she was lying to him. He had suspected it for a long time. If his parents had been arrested and he had been picked up as a matter of course, then that would not be unusual. But if his name had been on the warrant as well as theirs, then the whole family was suspect, and Erich had not been gone long enough to be disassociated from whatever they were suspected of. So why had Erich been left off the warrant? “Why are you lying to me?”

  Zosia sighed. “Do you really want to know this?” She waited while he decided; then, when he nodded his head, she said, “Are you sure?”

  “I can’t believe it could be worse than what I might imagine.”

  Her silence was not reassuring.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Zosia, tell me!”

  “You don’t believe in God.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. What haven’t you told me?”

  She sipped her wine, then looking into the glass rather than at him, she said, “You were the only one on the warrant.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “What did I do?” he asked, rather stunned.

  “Was there some sort of street gang?”

  “Oh, that. Yes, but I had been kicked out by then.”

  “Well, that might have been the ostensible reason. It’s not clear.”

  “But none of the other gang members were arrested.”

  “Perhaps the informant didn’t k
now their names.”

  “But why were my parents taken?”

  “Presumably, they did not tell the arresting officers where you were—so for noncooperation if nothing else.”

  “But they didn’t know! I just went out for a walk.” He had a vivid memory of how his mother had tried to console him, how he had rejected her explanation and stormed out of the flat. He could still hear the door slam behind him. And then when he had returned home, his life had been changed forever.

  “That wouldn’t matter.”

  “But how did the informant know my name? Why would they want me?” He felt a growing sense of panic as he relived the terror and abandonment of that time of his life.

  “If you knew the other gang members, you could be made to give their names, so from their point of view, you had reasonably useful information.”

  “But they were just kids!” he argued plaintively.

  Zosia looked at him somewhat sorrowfully. Peter realized what a stupid assertion that had been and said, “I know. When have kids been spared?” So, that stupid gang he had joined had cost his parents their lives. They had saved him. Deliberately or not, they had saved him and died in his place. Zosia was right, he probably did not want to know that. He looked at her, saw there was something more. “Who was the informant, Zosia?”

  “Peter . . .”

  So she knew. They had known all along. He had assumed that the informant was anonymous, but they had known all along. “Who?” he insisted.

  “Peter,” she repeated helplessly. “You don’t want to know. It’s gone and in the past. Forget it, there’s nothing you can do.”

  “Who?” The neighbors? One of the kids? A schoolmate? A teacher? Had he confided in somebody? He could not remember. Had he condemned himself with a thoughtless story or joke?