The Children's War

by Stroyar, J. N.

  “Zosiu . . .”

  “Is she all you think about?”

  “No, no! It’s not like that.”

  Zosia’s eyes narrowed with frustrated anger. “What is it like, huh? Tell me about it. Tell me all about it.”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes, I do; you couldn’t be bothered to tell me before.”

  “It’s humiliating!” His voice was strained.

  “And it’s humiliating for me, never knowing when I’m going to cross some unseen boundary!” she retorted angrily. “If you cared about my feelings, you would at least let me know where I stand!”

  “Can’t you just respect my privacy?”

  “I do. But when your memories interfere with our lives—then I have a right to know about them.”

  “It’s not the memories that are interfering. My response to your request was not out of line. Was it? Or do you expect unquestioning obedience to your every whim?”

  “That’s exactly the sort of thing I’m talking about—everything gets blown way out of proportion by you!” she accused.

  “It isn’t me! You’re the one who can’t let go. Ever since you found out about Elspeth, you’ve jumped on every mistake I’ve made, the slightest wrong move, the smallest gesture. You can’t get over her and you’re blaming me! Ever since you’ve found out about her, you’ve been faking with me—we haven’t had any real sex since then. You’ve completely shut me out of your life.”

  “Well, then, include me back in,” she suggested coldly. “Tell me all about it.”

  He did not reply. He was emotionally exhausted, and there seemed no easyway to refuse without escalating the hostility, but still he could not tell her. He could not let her wallow in his humiliation, and especially he could not bear to think she might tell her friends. He had already provided them with far too many laughs. Simply and with finality he said,“No.”

  Zosia did not respond. She remained silent with her back toward him. He lay back in the bed, closed his eyes, and tried not to think about it, about Elspeth, but of course he was unsuccessful. He would lie next to her, trying not to think, trying not to understand. He would lie there until a decent interval had passed, keeping his eyes closed because he did not want to see. It had been useless though; she did not let him go so easily. She made him see, made him understand. At some point she made it clear she wanted oral sex from him. She began with subtle hints, which grew increasingly unsubtle as time progressed. He knew what she wanted and shuddered with revulsion at the idea. It was one thing to climb on top of a woman he did not love and pretend she was someone else, but to do that . . . He determinedly ignored the hints, and eventually Elspeth was forced to instruct him directly.

  When she told him what she wanted, he turned his head to look at the wall and muttered, “I’d really rather not.”

  There was a long silence as she seemed to be deciding what to do with his refusal. He turned toward her, reached for her face, stroked it gently. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said not altogether untruthfully, “and I like to see your face when we make love.”

  Elspeth smiled slightly, and he thought perhaps he had salvaged the situation, but then she said, “So why do you always look away?”

  “I’m overwhelmed by your beauty,” he lied egregiously.

  “Do as you’ve been told,” she responded, unmoved.

  Somewhat hopelessly he tried, “Please, Elspeth, let me take the initiative. Allow me that much self-respect.”

  “Self-respect?” she snorted derisively. “You?” She sat up and twisted around to lean over him. “You’ve always had an inflated sense of your worth, haven’t you? You’re a worm! And now, just because I let you crawl into my bed, you think you’re my equal! Do you have any idea what my husband would do to you if I let him know about us? Do you?”

  “And what would he do to you?” he asked, afraid that she might impetuously carry out her threat.

  “Not much. He knows how it would reflect on him,” she answered as though speaking from experience. “But you—your life wouldn’t be worth living!”

  “It isn’t now,” he muttered to himself.

  “What? What did you say?”

  “I said . . . I said it wouldn’t be worth living without you,” he replied desperately. “Please, let’s not fight. You are my beautiful, merciful lady,” he said, returning to addressing her with stiff formality, “and it breaks my heart when my lady is unhappy with me. Please let me make it up to my lady.”

  Elspeth smiled. It was unclear whether she believed him or simply enjoyed his groveling. Whichever, it seemed to work as an aphrodisiac, and she lay back down in the bed and indicated that she would allow him to show the sincerity of his words.

  From another world Zosia’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I’m sorry I pushed you. I didn’t mean to.”

  He glanced over at her. She was still facing away from him. Had she really said something or had he dreamed it? “I’m sorry, too.”

  “About what?” she asked dreamily.

  “All of it. I love you.” He got up on an elbow to look at her and perhaps start again, but she had closed her eyes and seemed to be falling asleep.

  He lay back in the bed and thought again of Elspeth. He remembered how in the throes of passion she would push him away the moment she no longer wanted his attention, careless of any emotional or physical involvement he may have had at the time. She was sated; what else was there? As he yielded to her demand for oral sex, she had been driven into paroxysms of pleasure, and then suddenly, her back still arched, her eyes still tightly shut, she had rudely shoved her hand into his face to indicate he should stop.

  He had sat on his heels and watched her from his odd perspective as she settled into a breathless afterglow. It was like watching someone else’s life—a documentary on television, perhaps—he was so detached from her and what he was doing. Then, as the force of her passion was spent, she reached out toward him, pulled his body on top of hers. As he lay on her, she noticed he was not excited, not ready for the next obvious step, and she was surprised. Her surprise was more telling than the immediate anger that followed. Of course she was angry— a desire was not going to be instantaneously fulfilled—but surprised? Yes, surprised because she had no real concept of his independence, of the fact that what pleased her did not automatically excite him. At the time it had not seemed at all strange to him. In fact, at the time, he remembered thinking that he had been stupid for not foreseeing her desire and preparing himself accordingly. At the time, she had owned him.

  He turned his head to look at his wife. Zosia was wrong: it was not collaboration, it was just sick. Not only what had been done to his life, but what had been done to Elspeth’s and Karl’s as well. They all suffered from a sickness.

  Gently he tugged at Zosia’s shoulder. She resisted him, moaning slightly, but eventually she rolled onto her back, her eyes still closed, apparently asleep. He kissed her and began whispering in her ear how much he loved her. He stroked back the unruly locks that struggled to break free from her grease-bound hair, he let his lips brush across her cheeks as he reminded her of how she had saved not only his life but his soul. “Please, Zosiu, come to me again. I need you, I love you,” he pleaded quietly.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she opened her arms to him and he fell into her embrace.

  * * *

  He awoke to music. Somewhere, someone was playing a piano. He held his eyes shut for a moment and half-dreamed that his mother was alive and demonstrating how to play a piece. She had been surprisingly good at the piano; perhaps in a different world she would have had a career as a musician. The music continued, and he awoke completely, aware that he was at Ryszard’s, aware that Zosia slept next to him and that it was the middle of the afternoon. He smiled at his sleeping wife and replayed the last few minutes of their passion. Her reactions had been genuine, he was fairly sure of that, and he was enormously relieved. She had, at last, forgiven him, or at least she had managed
to put his affair with Elspeth out of her mind long enough to enjoy his attentions.

  Quietly, so as not to awaken her, he climbed out of the bed and dressed, then went down the stairs to see who was playing. At the entrance to the music room he paused and watched as Kasia’s hands swept swiftly across the keys. If he had even for a moment contemplated trying to play their piano, the thought was completely swept from his mind by this demonstration of her expertise. As he stood there, Joanna and Genia joined him in the doorway, one child on each side of him. They listened in silence and then, when Kasia had finished the piece, they all applauded.

  “Mommy’s teaching me how to play,” Genia informed him proudly.

  “I wish I could learn,” Joanna sighed.

  “I can teach you a bit, while you’re here,” Kasia offered, still glowing from the applause, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else to help you once you’ve gone home.”

  Not surprisingly Joanna turned to her father. She looked up expectantly. “Can you teach me, Dad?”

  He looked away from her toward the piano, then shifted his gaze uneasily out the window. “I don’t know how, honey.”

  The lie was obvious to Kasia. She smiled gently and asked, “Who taught you?”

  He bit his lip, deciding whether to admit his lie, then answered, “My mother. I didn’t get a chance to learn much before she was arrested. After that, I didn’t see a piano until I was at the Vogels.”

  Understandingly Kasia offered, “You don’t need to know much to help Joanna begin.”

  He studied his hands, flexing his fingers. “My hands hurt,” he said, hoping Kasia would excuse him from trying.

  But it wasn’t Kasia, it was Joanna who tugged on his sleeve. “Please, Dad! Please play something. Then you can teach me when we’re back home!”

  He glanced nervously from Kasia to Genia and back. Kasia was so talented, he would feel humiliated if he tried to reconstruct what he knew in front of her. She understood his hesitation, and saying, “Come along, Genia, there’s something we must do outside,” she led her daughter away and left him alone with Joanna.

  Joanna looked up at him expectantly. “Please!” she begged.

  “I’ll try, honey.” He walked over to the piano and studied the keys. “It’s been along time, just give me a moment,” he explained to her as she stood eagerly at his side. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what to do, but all he heard was Elspeth’s voice: If you ever touch my piano again . . . I will have my husband break your fingers. He breathed deeply trying to purge her from his mind and began playing the Chopin polonaise. He didn’t get far before he got so confused he had to stop, but Joanna was nonetheless impressed.

  She jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “Oh, you can play! That was marvelous!” she enthused, apparently unaware that he had managed no more than a few bars. “Do you know anything else?”

  He smiled at her enthusiasm, and then, out of the depths of his memory, he recalled something. His left hand played a series of triplets while his right moved through a simple melody of two-note chords that switched gently from one key into another, repeating the theme almost hypnotically. It was simple, far too simple to be considered real music, but it was nevertheless charming and relaxing in its poignant lack of sophistication.

  Joanna stood with her mouth open, stunned by the tune. “That’s so pretty! Where did it come from?”

  “I made it up, sweetheart. When I was a boy,” he explained, blushing at her approval.

  “What’s it called?”

  He shrugged.

  “Call it ‘Nick’s Song,’ ” Zosia’s voice suggested from the doorway.

  He jumped up, knocking over the piano bench as he did so. He looked at it with a feeling of distaste. Just like with Elspeth. Would he never escape her baleful influence?

  “I wish you wouldn’t react to my presence like that.”

  “You just surprised me.” He righted the bench.

  “Can you play something else?” Zosia asked.

  He stared at her in shock.

  With a mixture of sarcasm and sadness, Zosia guessed, “Your dear Frau Vogel again?”

  There was no point in denying it; he could construct no other plausible explanation. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Just go ahead and play for Joanna,” Zosia replied, shaking her head slightly. “I have things to do.”

  She left and Joanna turned back toward her father. “What did Mom mean?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why did she call it ‘Nick’s Song’?”

  “That was my name, when I was a boy.”

  “Can you play more?” Joanna pressed, oblivious to the way he stared at the empty doorway.

  Why had he hurt Zosia like that? Why couldn’t he forgive her Elspeth’s sins? There was no easy answer, and he put the question away to turn back to hisdaughter and answer her question.“How about you sit here and I show you how to play a melody?”

  Joanna grinned from ear to ear and immediately clambered up onto the piano bench.

  50

  “ITHINK IHAVE an idea for getting Magdalena over here,” Kasia said over her cup of coffee. Ryszard had just left for work, and the three remaining adults had settled into their morning ritual of relaxing and chatting before beginning the day’s work. Kasia had deliberately waited until Ryszard was gone since she had not told her husband about Peter and Elspeth. She was sure he would use the information badly, so she had opted for silence. Her husband’s attitude toward Peter puzzled her. Initially, when he was an unknown quantity, Ryszard’s caution was understandable and she had shared it, but once Peter had proved himself in Hamburg, she had warmed to Zosia’s husband. Nevertheless, Ryszard had been almost fanatical in his denunciation of “that man” during their entire visit to the encampment. He had grumbled ceaselessly to everyone: his wife, his parents, his friends, and even Zosia. Kasia had once questioned Ryszard why he was so determinedly negative about Peter, but she had not received a coherent answer.

  She noticed Zosia and Peter were looking at her expectantly. “Oh!” She stirred herself. With each pregnancy it seemed to get worse—this absentmindedness. She could barely remember what it had been like with Stefi—that was so long ago—but even then, she was fairly sure that there had been weeks, or was it months, when she had had trouble keeping track of what she was doing. With Pawel and Andrzej, she had been so busy with her other children that she had blamed that for her inability to concentrate, but with Jan and Genia, there had been others around to help, and then it had been clear that her thoughts were anything but clear. As if her brain were leaking out of her ears, she remembered thinking. And now it was happening again.

  “What’s your idea?” Peter prompted.

  “Oh!” Kasia repeated, surprised that she had once again drifted. What was her idea? With an effort, she collected her thoughts. “The girl who watches Magdalena is from a local household. She comes in early in the morning and leaves in the evening to go home. She’s only fifteen and doing it as part of some training scheme for her youth league. Anyway, she spends as much time as possible in the park—I think she hates being inside with Elspeth and Uwe.”

  “No surprise there,” Peter commented.

  “Indeed. I think Elspeth tries to get her to nurse Uwe, so she just takes thebaby for walks to get away. Anyway, I thought maybe I could get Pawel to flirt with her and strike up a relationship. He could then suggest that she leave the baby here at our house so they could spend time together. Since we’re known to that family and quite respectable, there should be no problem. If they establish a routine, you could conceivably see her every day until you leave.”

  “Would Pawel do such a thing?” Peter asked.

  “Of course, if he’s ordered,” Zosia answered. “He’s a professional.”

  Peter looked to Kasia for an answer.

  She nodded. “I can ask. He’ll view it as a useful opportunity to refine his skills.”

  “Ask?” Zosia repeated, incred
ulous.

  “Yes, Colonel,” Kasia answered patiently. “I’m not as well trained at giving orders as you are. I’m afraid I have to ask my children for favors.”

  Zosia snorted but did not comment further.

  They set their plan into action that very afternoon. Pawel accompanied Kasia on her walk through the park with Zosia in servile tow. Kasia spotted the young lady and, on the pretense of saying hello to the baby, introduced herself and her son Paul to the nanny, whose name was Liesel. Kasia chatted quite amiably about the Vogels to reassure the girl that they were indeed friends while Pawel made a point of engaging her with his eyes and smiling most approvingly. Liesel carefully noted Kasia’s expensive clothing, the presence of a servant, Paul’s fine build and handsome features, and smiled shyly in return.

  Pawel managed to stumble across the young lady an hour or so later; this time he was alone and he invited her to have an ice cream. Liesel was quite amenable to any company; she was bored to tears with her job and the child, and she found this charming young man quite intriguing. She had carefully noted his last name and had determined to learn later that evening all she could about his family.

  The next day, having discovered that her new friend was not only from a respectable family but a highly placed and wealthy one, she scanned the park in forlorn hope. He would never reappear, never be interested in a nobody like her. She should have smiled more, should have laughed less loudly! Oh, darn, why had she talked so much! She should have listened with rapt attention! Magdalena cried and Liesel shoved a bottle into her hands and hissed at her to shut up. Where was Paul? Would he come to the park today?

  To her utter amazement, she saw him strolling. Not only that, he was smiling and walking toward her. It was as if a dream had come true! She had herself married with eight children and two or three servants before he even said hello. Frau Traugutt, the beautiful wife of a government minister! A grand house, servants to order about, and not one, but two cars! When Paul suggested that perhaps they could leave the baby at his house—Frau Vogel would never be the wiser— Liesel happily agreed and they walked in that direction together. She handed Magdalena over to the slovenly servant she had seen the day before, passed on a few instructions, and without looking back, tripped off happily with Paul.