Zosia winced. “But you say they’re not a majority.”
“No, I’d guess not, but nobody is, really. Ever since the hard-liners gained the upper hand after Braun’s death, there’s been utter chaos among the strategists here. These so-called Conciliators are the only ones who have a consistent and convincing line right now. The other English factions are in complete disarray— united only in their belief that the Conciliators are would-be traitors. The Polish contingent has been spared that to some extent since the Nazis so kindly ruled out the possibilities of collaboration or conciliation for us. Since we turned down that anticommunist alliance with them at the beginning, they’ve made our decisions easy—fight or die.”
“And we’re dying,” Zosia could not refrain from saying.
“Yes, I’m afraid so—soon we’ll just be another historical footnote. We need action—whereas the Western powers, and especially the Brits, they have time to come to some better solution. And the NAU, well, it’s hard to convince people to die or even pay money for someone else’s pipe dreams of nationhood and survival. I’m afraid that as long as we keep insisting on not disappearing quietly, we’re a bit of an embarrassment to them all. A lot of politicians just wish we’d go away so they can ignore Nazism’s meaner aspects and deal with the Germans asjust another political force. Every time we make a noise about mass murder, starvation, deprivation, et cetera—well, we’re just spoilers.
“That’s where Peter’s so important. We’ve got to make them see that the various groups targeted so far are not all special cases. First the Jews, Gypsies, political inconvenients, religious types, and invalids, then they move on to groups that had possessed statehood prior to the war—us and our neighbors and then . . . It’s obvious, there’s no particular reason for them to stop.”
“But they’ve never professed a desire to annihilate the British. At least not consistently,” Zosia countered.
“Ah, yes, and their word has been worth so much in the past!” Alex’s voice took on a bitter edge.
“I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”
“I know, and I know that everyone else thinks they won’t be next. It’s our job to make them think that they will—our survival depends on it; it’s irrelevant whether we’re right or wrong at this juncture. If they’re not clever enough to find some relevance in the fact that the Reich is murdering us, then we’ll make it relevant to them in other ways. Again—that’s where your husband comes in. We’re getting his travel money from the anti-Conciliation factions—they’re hoping he’ll prove that it can happen to anyone and that the Reich has no intention of treating anyone equitably.”
“Just as I’ve always said!” Zosia could not stop herself from saying. “But it’s the anybody part I’m worried about. The Americans will assume he was a criminal, everyone does. How do you think we should redo his history?”
“Well, he’s going to have to mention the Underground, otherwise you’re right, disappearing like he did will make him look like he joined the criminal underground, and as honorable as that may be, we don’t want to confuse our audience. Besides, it will make him more heroic. Freedom fighter, et cetera. He should just stick to the Halifax name and story—abandoned as a babe, raised in an orphanage. Then say he was adopted at eight or so and his adoptive parents were arrested when he was twelve, at which point he was on his own. That’ll work, won’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose.” Zosia tried out the story in her mind, began to fill in details for later use.
“At that point, he should stick with the German-documented history. He can join the Underground at sixteen—that’ll explain his sudden disappearance. From then on, he can pretty much tell the truth, just the names are changed to protect the innocent.”
“Why even have his parents arrested? Why not stick with his documents all the way through to sixteen?”
“Pathos. We need that lone-kid-standing-on-the-street-corner imagery. Very, very powerful image. Beats the hell out of his arrest as an adult.”
“I see. But the Germans might spot the inconsistency.”
“So? What are they going to do, complain? Ask for equal time? If they grumbleabout that, it will only serve to verify everything else. Oh, yeah, that reminds me; have him change that Allison thing. Make her his wife, dump her husband from the picture.”
“Why not leave her out altogether?”
“Same reason, love interest—makes him more human. But make her his wife or at least fiancóe. We don’t want him to be too human!”
“All right. That only leaves one thing he’s worried about: he still assumes that the English might assassinate him as a presumed traitor. What should we tell him about that?”
There was a longish pause and Zosia wondered if they had lost the connection, but then Alex spoke. “Well, tell him I gave them the Halifax name and they didn’t recognize it as one of their own. Their only information on that name is the information that the Germans hold in their files—presumably when he was supposed to destroy those papers, they wiped all information about that identity from their records.”
“So I’ll tell him he can use that name without them linking it to Yardley or Chase or anyone else.”
“Exactly.”
“But once they hear his story, he thinks someone is sure to make the connection.”
“Tell him the history of that incident is sure to be safely buried in diplomatic files and long ago forgotten.”
“But there are people who would recognize him on sight as Yardley. He wants to know how to stop them from denouncing him as a traitor,” Zosia explained.
“Tell him his story will speak for itself, and besides, it would be politically disastrous for them to attack him. Tell him to stop fretting, he’ll be safe.”
“Maybe we should just tell him the truth?”
“No! For God’s sake, Zosia, it’s taken this much to bring him this far! That could blow everything.”
“I may have blown it anyway.”
“How so? What’s happened?”
Zosia paused.“Nothing really. Look, don’t worry, I’ll sort it out. Don’t worry.”
“Please do that. I’m really banking on him now. And it was your idea in the first place!”
“I knew you’d remind me of that if things didn’t work out.” She laughed. “I’m going to work on sorting everything out today, don’t worry.”
“What did happen? Why the big upset? Did you lose your temper?”
“It was nothing, really nothing. Just newlywed stuff, that’s all.”
“Good. Well, get to work on him, girl. You’ve got what you asked for, now deliver the goods.”
“Yes, sir! Daddy sir!” Zosia laughed and signed off.
46
WHEN PETERFINALLY dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen, Zosia was not only already awake and dressed but she greeted him with a cheerful good-morning, a boisterous kiss, and an attempt at fried eggs.
He poked at the overdone eggs with his fork and wondered at her change in mood. Call him a collaborator, invoke saintly Adam, then let it all slip away! When she went into the bedroom for something, he discreetly poured a generous serving of vodka into his coffee and then sat down to begin eating the eggs she had cooked for him.
“How are they?” she asked cheerfully as she sat down opposite him.
“Awful. Why did you cook them so long?” he replied with unnecessary honesty, and sipped his coffee with surreptitious pleasure.
“Oh, I was reading this article and I just forgot about them.” She shoved a story about life in the NAU at him. It was written by an American, so it was, he thought, of doubtful value to an outsider. He paged through to look for photos, but there were none—the article had been downloaded from an illegal satellite link and reprinted as a samizdat publication, and any photos had been sacrificed in the process.
“Does it have any useful insights?” he asked somewhat dubiously.
“Who knows? I didn’t get very far when I realized that I was burni
ng the eggs!” She laughed. “You should read it though. It’s important we present your story well. There are a number of things we’ll have to refine. I’ll go over the list with you later. And about that other stuff—you know, well, we’ll just forget all that, okay?” Then leaping up, she blew a kiss at him and announced, “I’ve got to run—there’s a problem with some of the partisans in the northern sector we’ve got to sort out. Ta!” She was out the door before he could say anything.
So much for a discussion, he thought. He forced the eggs down, resupplied his coffee with more vodka, and then sat down to look at the article. He scanned it, looking for insights, but it was full of nothing but trite and self-congratulatory generalizations. It talked glowingly of the American spirit of independence, their drive and self-reliance—as if, he thought, no one else has a spirit of independence or drive or self-reliance. The article continued with folksy stories of the typical American’s willingness to help his or her neighbor in times of need. It rapidly became clear that neighbor meant “American neighbor” and that the author was an isolationist.
And this was the culture he would try to impress into action! What a hopeless, thankless, and unpleasant task! He tossed the article into a corner. A few seconds later, he got up, picked it up, and carefully filed it among Zosia’s stack of current readings, then he went to the cabinet and poured more vodka intohis mug. He scanned the supplies, realized that he needed to restock the kitchen, especially the vodka supply, and decided to do that before he went in to work.
Later in the day, Zosia stopped by his office. She looked for a moment at Barbara and Olek as if deciding what to say, then spoke to him instead. “I need to talk to you alone,” she said, indicating the other two with her eyes.
Without even being asked, they both rose, made excuses, and left. He felt a slow burning sensation at her usurping his authority in the office but did nothing more than raise his eyebrows expectantly. Zosia watched as the two disappeared down the hall, then she shut the door and said, “There’s a minor problem with Barbara.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Her parents want her reassigned. It seems rather abrupt, I don’t even think Barbara knows.”
“Oh, shit,” he groaned. “She’s of age, isn’t she? Do they have the right to do that?”
“Who knows? Whatever right they have or don’t have, they can make trouble for her—she lives there after all.”
“Yes, but she could move out.”
“There’s hardly room for independent young people. Besides, I’m interested in sorting the problem out, not destroying Barbara’s family. Now, do you know what this is about?”
He admitted that he probably did, and he relayed the incident of the previous night.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, what the hell were you thinking about?” Zosia scolded.
“Nothing!”
“Clearly!” she agreed sarcastically. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that a married man twice their daughter’s age bringing her home, drunk, in the middle of the night might worry them?”
“I just wanted to make sure she got home okay. I didn’t expect her to get drunk; we didn’t have that much.”
“Not by your standards.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, my dear, even vodka has a smell. You’re not exactly discreet.” She nodded her head meaningfully toward his coffee cup.
“Oh, leave me alone!”
“Look, I don’t care how much you drink as long as you can handle it—and usually you can. But don’t go getting young girls drunk out in the woods! We have to maintain some sort of society here, and these people have sensibilities about these sorts of things! Do what you want, screw the girl if that’s what you want, but for God’s sake, be discreet!”
“Zosiu! All we did was talk, all I wanted to do was talk . . .”
“I know, you wanted a sympathetic ear. But don’t you realize she has a crushon you? She’ll be sympathetic no matter what you say. And you’re leading her along. Don’t you have any consideration for her feelings? You’re using her.”
“No, I’m not, she’s a friend, I like talking to her. You talk with Tadek—how’s this so different?”
Zosia apparently felt the differences were sufficiently obvious that she could ignore his question. Instead she said, “She’s very vulnerable. Be careful. You’re not the only person in the world who can be hurt.”
He decided it was not worth another fight and surrendered. “Okay, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to calm her parents? An apology?”
She shook her head slightly. “I don’t think an apology makes sense; after all, you didn’t really do anything. And it was kind of you to see her home. No, I think an apology would just send the wrong message.”
“Then what can we do? She’s good at her job, I don’t want to lose her.”
“What you have to do is behave yourself from now on. Otherwise, I think I’ve already handled the problem.”
“How?”
“I suggested that if she leaves your office, she be assigned to do assassinations with me as her mentor. Somehow that cooled their enthusiasm for her being transferred.”
“I wonder why,” he mused humorously.
“Apparently my reputation is even worse than yours. I am reputedly quite a difficult woman,” she answered with obvious amusement.
“So I’ve heard, and it’s true.”
Zosia feigned a pout.
“But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He rose to lock the door. “I’ve missed you terribly during this disagreement. Maybe we can just put it all behind us?” He approached from behind to kiss her neck.
“So you won’t cancel your tour?”
“No, I promised you I’d go, and if you think it’ll be all right, then it’ll be all right.” He moved his hands forward and began undoing her buttons.
“Oh, it’ll be all right,” she agreed happily. His hands moved under the material-of her blouse, and she moaned slightly. “I don’t think this is the right time,” she protested gently. “This is hardly the way good, decent folk behave!”
He ignored her scruples, began telling her how incredibly beautiful she was, how he longed to hold her, touch her, stroke her. He ran his fingers through her hair, kissed her silken curls. He cajoled, flattered, complimented, stroked, and eventually overcame her not particularly forceful objections.
As they lay on the floor, among the stacks of documents and books and desk chairs, Zosia snuggled closer to him and thought about the last woman he had made love to. She had never been jealous in her life as it had not suited either her disposition or her purposes; still, she could not help but wonder at the comparisons Peter might make in his mind. Was Elspeth’s power an aphrodisiac? Howhad he managed to drum up enough enthusiasm to actually do it with her? If he had no desire at all for Elspeth and still managed to have sex with her, was there any possibility that he was doing the same now?
He was such a great lover, so wonderfully satisfying of her needs. Indeed, though she hated to admit it, he was much better than Adam, for the two of them had grown too casual and Adam had never bothered to exert himself to find out what she might want beyond what pleased him. Peter was completely different: he made her feel as though she were the most extraordinary woman in the world, that simply being able to lie next to her, to enjoy her body, was more than he had ever hoped for. In the middle of the day, he might do no more than run his finger along her face—yet the smile of pleasure, the obvious enjoyment he received from such a simple gesture, left her feeling sexually charged. Or the way he sometimes just brushed his lips against her hand—not a prelude to sex, not a come-on; he did it just for the joy of kissing her. It all made her feel so special. And he seemed to read her mind, to hold back when she needed time, to push forward despite protestations when she wanted that as well. How did he do it? His whole being seemed intent on pleasing her, or rather, seemed pleased by her—she had never experienced anything so sexually stimulating.
And it seemed that he gained the most pleasure from her happiness. It was wonderful, electrifying, but was it all part of a service? Did he feel any real desire for her?
The questions plagued her, not because the philosophical or theoretical elements appealed to her—she would never do anything so foolish as to analyze a sexual relationship that worked so well—but because, for the first time in her experience with him, she had faked her response. She had been unable to enjoy his attentions because she had kept wondering if he had behaved the same way with Elspeth. What sweet, meaningless words had he whispered to her? What tone of voice did he use with her? Did he betray his cynicism or did Elspeth believe that he really wanted her? Had he really wanted her? Had he voluntarily made love to a woman who had treated him so inhumanely? Had he been so warped by his experiences that he might even have enjoyed it? Had Elspeth been attractive to him? Zosia grimaced at the thought, realized that she was as intrigued by the idea of seeing that woman as he was with seeing his child.
She stretched and accidentally knocked over a stack of files with her arm. She rose up on an elbow and looked at Peter as he lay with his eyes closed and with a satisfied smile. “Peter?”
“What?” he asked dreamily.
“Would you like to see your child?”
He opened his eyes to look at her. “Yes, you know I would. But how can I?”
The Children's War Page 100