The Children's War

by Stroyar, J. N.

  Peter lowered the shutters and returned to the bed. He should sleep; they were not yet home safe, and the last thing Zosia needed was an exhausted partnerif anything should happen during their stay in the pension. She had already saved his life three times, he did not want there to be a fourth. And he hoped he would never have an opportunity to try to repay the debt. What he wanted was a chance to live something akin to a normal life. A chance to be human.

  That thought brought Elspeth to mind. He grimaced in annoyance, she did not belong here in his happiness! Was it only three days ago he had watched her leave the house with her servant? Had daydreamed about harassing her? Now all he wanted was to be rid of her, her and her stupid husband—may he rest in peace! But how would she cope if Karl was dead? Did she have a pension? Would she have to move out of the house, sell the slave? Would she miss Karl? Or would she secretly be pleased? Funny, he had never learned what was inside her head; sometimes he suspected that she herself could not have answered the questions. She was such a paradox.

  What had he said that day that had finally caused her to take action? She had told him his behavior was totally inappropriate, and he had answered something like, she wouldn’t have him any other way. Ah, yes, gnä’ Frau, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. He remembered saying it with a flippant air of complete disregard. He had just buried that sparrow and had found himself, once again, thinking about his own death. The realization that he had accepted it as a given, that he would die in the near future, there, as an unfree man, had left him feeling somewhat freed from all the constraints of his life. So he had smiled at her when he had seen her; he had found within himself the broad and happy grin of a man who had accepted his fate and had ceased to care. And she had chided him for it in that strange way she had of seeming both pleased and displeased simultaneously. Sometimes, sometimes when she forgot who she was and the seriousness and probity of her position in society, sometimes she even looked attractive.

  He had come inside, scraped the dirt off his boots, washed his face and hands, and presented himself in the kitchen ready to make whatever she would later take credit for. There was, however, no cooking or baking that day; she had changed her mind. “We’ll just buy something from the bakery later,” she had said while scanning him from head to toe. He had been used to the way she looked at him, so he had not really taken much note of her action. Not until she had said, in that strange tone of voice, “Come with me.”

  She had led him to her bedroom and shut the door. Uwe was in his room napping, the children were at school, Karl was at work. “You look tired,” she had said. “Take off your shoes and lie down.”

  “Gnädige Frau,” he had protested, shaking his head, “it is forbidden.”

  “No, it isn’t. I have commanded, so you are permitted.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Yes, you can; are you telling me that you will not?” she had said with only the slightest hint of malice.

  It should have taken more than that; it should have required threats or something, but he knew the game, he knew the score, and he knew there was no wayhe could win. So he had immediately conceded defeat and tried to snatch whatever advantage he could from the situation. If they were caught, it was the death penalty for him; but he was dying anyway and the particular impetus for his death was irrelevant.

  He could have failed to satisfy her since that would easily have been explained and easily excused: the fear, the poor living conditions, the coercion. But he was frighteningly lonely as well. So, he had opted for treating her as a lover, for telling her sweet lies, for responding to her touch, for closing his eyes and thinking of Maria. He had initially tried to think of Allison, but it was too much of a stretch, so he had thought of Maria and smiled at the irony. He remembered Elspeth telling him then that he looked happy, and he remembered agreeing. “I’ve always wanted you,” he had lied with disturbing ease.

  Zosia stirred and moaned in her sleep. He raised himself up on an elbow and looked at her as she slept. The covers could not hide the deep arch of her waist, the way her hips curved up and then her body gently tapered along her thighs. The sweet smell of her sweat perfumed her skin and encouraged even more curls to emerge from beneath her temporarily tamed hair as it lay scattered in a mass about her head. She was so beautiful! He loved her so much.

  He remembered his first night of freedom—the night they had spent talking and watching the stars move. At the time he was uncertain whether it would be his last night on earth, but he had enjoyed it all the more for that. He remembered how they had huddled together against the cold of the night, how she had fallen asleep in his arms with the coming of the dawn. They had shared so much, learned so much about each other on that night. More than most couples learn in a lifetime. And now, finally, the love that had been planted then would come to fruition. Was it possible to be happier? He sighed contentedly and lay back in the bed ready at last to sleep. At long last he could wash away Elspeth’s memory.

  “Can I wash?” he had asked, indicating the bathroom suite in her room.

  Elspeth lay in the bed, smiling dreamily. “What’s the hurry?”

  “Work,” he answered tersely. “A shower would be nice.” A shower with hot water and enough soap to scrub away the feeling of complicity. A shower, because Karl always bathed.

  “No”—she sounded annoyed—“use the cellar. I don’t want you to mess everything up in there.”

  Now there was a concept, he thought. I clean the bloody bathroom every day but I can’t be trusted to use it. But of course he knew the real reason. She might stoop to having sex with an Untermensch, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him use her bathroom—it was just too personal!

  He pulled on his clothes and shoes, finished tying the laces while sitting on the edge of the bed, and thought of Elspeth’s refusal to let him shower. He turned to contemplate her as she lay on the bed with the covers pulled demurely up to her chin. “Is there anything else, gnädige Frau?” he had asked with more than a little sarcasm.

  “No,” she had answered quite seriously, assuming her usual distance, “you may go. Oh, yes, go see if Uwe needs anything.”

  “Of course, Gnädigste,” he had said, and left to check on Uwe.

  As he lay next to Zosia, he remembered how that first afternoon, as he served the coffee to Elspeth’s friends, she had smirked at him. She clearly wanted to reveal her triumph to her friends but did not dare, at least not with Frau Schindler present. Elspeth kept eyeing him, and he remembered feeling disgusted, embarrassed, and used as he realized she was not looking at him as a man, but rather as an object that she owned. Owned completely.

  Zosia turned toward him. “Aren’t you asleep?”

  “No, just thinking.”

  “What are you thinking about?” She yawned.

  “Nothing important.” He rolled toward her. “You are so incredibly beautiful.”

  She yawned again, managed to reply, “You’re not half-bad yourself.”

  “Do you want to do it again?”

  “Are you up to it already?” She sounded tired.

  “I think so. Anyway, there’s lots to do in the meantime.” He grinned at her and reached tentatively toward her to stroke her skin. “You’re so beautiful, I just want to touch you. All the way from your hair down to your toes—starting here.”

  She rolled onto her back but did not pull away from his touch.“Umm.”

  “Go back to sleep, if you want. If you don’t mind, I just want to feel the contours of your body.” He ran his fingers along her face, enjoyed the rise of her cheekbone, the down of her cheek, the curve of her jaw.

  “No, I don’t mind,” she replied sleepily.

  He let his fingers stray across her lips. Such sensuous lips! “You are so heartbreakingly lovely,” he whispered.

  She sighed, wet her lips with her tongue.

  He traced around her ears, felt the folds and the curves, the soft skin of her earlobe. Slowly, savoring the sensation, he let the ba
ck of his hand slide along her neck, felt the delicate pulse of her life’s blood beneath his hand, the wisps of hair that strayed into his path.

  “That feels good,” she murmured dreamily.

  “Your skin is so incredibly soft here.” He lingered at the base of her neck just above the swell of her breasts, traced little circles just to feel the softness of her skin. But then his hand was drawn farther down.

  “Yeah, I think I’m ready for some more,” she sighed as his fingers caressed the soft skin of her breast, teased her nipples to harden.“Umm. Definitely ready.”

  “So am I,” he whispered in reply, bending down to kiss her, letting his lips follow the progress of his hand.

  33

  “WELL, I NEVER THOUGHT I’d see you alive again,” Tadek joked with just a bit less than his usual degree of spite.

  Peter grinned at him. “Great party, isn’t it?” he said, glancing around at the revelers who were celebrating their successful mission and safe return.

  “All the better as our engagement party,” Zosia contributed as she joined them. She hugged Peter and added, “It’s all right if I tell everyone, isn’t it?”

  His grin broadened.

  “You’re getting married!” Tadek shouted. The crowd fell silent and stared at them in amazement. “Zosia, can we talk? Now? Please?” Tadek pleaded.

  “Mommy?” Joanna called out from across the room. She abandoned her friends and began plowing through the people.

  “Please, Zosia!” Tadek begged.

  “Later,” Zosia replied coldly. As Tadek tugged at her arm, she repeated, “Later!”

  Tadek downed the rest of his vodka in one gulp, then muttered, “ Congratulations,” and wandered off to refill his glass.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Zosia said, watching him walk away. “He’ll be fine.”

  “Mommy!” Joanna squealed as she threw her arms around her mother’s legs.

  “Funny,” Peter responded, “worrying about him hadn’t really occurred to me.”

  Joanna released her hold on her mother and threw her arms around Peter’s legs. “Daddy!” He lifted her into his arms and hugged her. “Married! Married! Will you be my father? Will you adopt me?” she asked excitedly.

  “If there’s an official way of doing it, I certainly will. But you know, I already have.” He gave her a big kiss. “Now, why don’t you come with me, little one. I’m going to get your mommy a present.”

  He returned to the party with the necklace he had bought in Berlin. He had not taken time to rewrap it, and despite his protestations that she should not, she read the melancholy farewell he had scribbled onto the wrapping paper. Her voice caught in her throat as she realized how close she had been to losing him, and they looked at each other with a shared knowledge of devastating loss. Then Zosia smiled and opened the gift. She declared it was absolutely wonderful and quickly fastened it around her neck and traipsed around the room for all to admire it.

  As Peter remained holding Joanna, Barbara came over to him. “I’m glad you made it back,” she said shyly.

  “Yeah, so am I.” He smiled at her.

  “I’m sorry about . . .” She gestured toward the injuries still visible on his face.

  “They’ll be gone soon enough.”

  “May I?” she asked as she gently kissed his cheek. Their eyes met as she pulled back, then she quickly looked away, scanning the room as if searching for someone. Without looking at him she said, “Congratulations on your engagement.”

  “Thank you.”

  She finally decided she could not find whomever she was looking for in the room and brought her gaze back to his face and said softly, “It’s quite a surprise. No one expected it.”

  “It’s what we both want.”

  Barbara nodded noncommittally. “I guess. But please, be careful.”

  Zosia returned before he could decide what to say to that. She and Barbara exchanged a glance: Barbara’s look was inscrutable, Zosia’s amused. Barbara made her excuses and walked off. Zosia watched her walk away, said, “I think you have a fan.”

  “She’s a nice kid.”

  “She wouldn’t appreciate you thinking of her as a kid.”

  He shrugged. She was indeed a young woman, bright, pretty, experienced. She had probably already killed a dozen enemy soldiers. Still she had that youthful enthusiasm, that sure knowledge of the world that he had long ago lost. There was a lifetime of compromises and bad decisions that separated the two of them. She was a kid.

  That night, as they lay in bed with Joanna sleeping between them, Zosia turned on her side, reached over her sleeping daughter, and gently stroked his face to see if he was awake.

  “Hello,” he said as he felt her fingers. He hoped she did not notice that he had recoiled—it was just that her touch was so unexpected and he had nearly been asleep.

  “Joanna?” Zosia whispered quietly, but there was no response from the child.

  “I think she’s asleep,” he whispered. “She’s a lovely child, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is.” Zosia sounded sad.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, worried by her tone.

  “You can’t adopt her,” she replied forlornly.

  “What? Why not?” He raised himself up to look at Zosia, but she had turned her face away. He felt vaguely desperate, whispered intensely, “I promised her I would!”

  “You should have asked me first,” Zosia said stiffly.

  He fell silent, utterly furious with her. He decided, however, not to show his anger; there was too much at stake. He gritted his teeth and said, “Look, I’m really sorry I didn’t ask you first. You saw, though, she just asked me—how could I say no?” Zosia didn’t say anything to that, so he added, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry I didn’t get your consent before announcing it to everyone, but please Zosiu, please let me adopt her.”

  “No, Peter. It’s just not possible.”

  “Why not? I said I was sorry!” It was hard to whisper and be so angry and desperate at the same time.

  “I promised Adam.”

  “You what?”

  “He said if anything happened to him, he didn’t mind if I remarried; in fact, he even encouraged it. But he made me promise that no one would adopt Joanna. He wanted to be sure he was not forgotten, that he remained her father.”

  Damn the man’s ego! “I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way, Zosia.”

  “You know the life we lead, Peter. If Adam or I talked about death, it was entirely serious; we liked to keep our affairs in order. He meant what he said.”

  “I’m sure if he knew how much Joanna wanted it, he would change his mind.”

  “No, that’s exactly what he was afraid of. That he would be replaced.”

  “So he’d deny his daughter a chance to have a father?”

  “You can still be a father to her. You just can’t make it legal. I made a solemn vow.”

  “Damn! What am I going to say to Joanna?”

  “You should have thought of that before you made your promise.”

  Damn them both, he thought, and slumped back down into the bed. Damn their stupid egos and their genetic connection. He was Joanna’s father now, he should be allowed to say so to the world. He sighed noisily.

  “I’ll tell Joanna, if you want,” Zosia’s voice came softly out of the night.

  “No,” he responded, resigned, “I’ll tell her.” That her mother is a wicked old witch and her dead father a selfish egomaniac. Well, maybe not. Maybe Adam deserved this last vestige of a part of Zosia’s and Joanna’s lives. It was, after all, just a legal nicety. It wouldn’t change anything—he would still be a father to her. Being there—that was what mattered.

  He lay quietly thinking of what he would say to Joanna. Perhaps if he invoked her father’s memory a bit; perhaps they really were forgetting him already. What had it been? Not even two years. “Zosia?” he asked quietly to see if she was still awake.

  “Yes?” she answered with tears in
her voice.

  “How did Adam get taken?” He had never bothered to ask. He had, he realized, done everything he could to hurry the process of forgetting the man.

  “He was teaching a class—in town. A university course. He was betrayed by a new student.”

  “Teaching?”

  “Yes, that was one of his passions. He taught history. We try to keep an education system going so that our population can be ready to resume control of their lives at some point in the future.” She paused. “Of course, teaching is a capital offense.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Died in custody is all the records say.”

  “I’m sorry, Zosiu,” he said quietly. He decided suddenly to learn more about Adam, to try to help Zosia preserve his memory. It was the least he could do. “He was on the Council, wasn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes, more senior than me. Once he was gone, we elected Tadek to the Council.”

  “Ah, Tadek.” The one who had given him such trouble at his trial. After all he had endured—to face that cold judgment, those unfeeling eyes. “So, I might have had an easier time at my trial if Adam had lived?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “What? Do you think Adam would have been keener to shoot me than Tadek?”

  “I don’t know. What I do know is I got a lot of sympathy votes for your cause. Without that, it’s doubtful we would have gotten a majority in the first place, and Adam’s opinion would have been irrelevant.”

  Peter did not say anything. He wished he had not asked the question.

  “Or more likely,” she continued, unaware of his discomfort, or perhaps unconcerned about it, “Marysia would not have been feeling quite so sentimental and would have had Olek shoot you the minute she realized you were unimportant.”

  “Unimportant,” he repeated.

  “Yes, unimportant,” she agreed.

  He did not fail to detect her implication. How dare he think of himself and his own pain, when Adam, marvelous Adam, had made the ultimate sacrifice. “Ah, yes,” he responded bitterly. “How stupid of me to have forgotten my place.” Worthless and unimportant and in a lifelong debt for being allowed to live. Why did it sound so damn familiar?