The Children's War

by Stroyar, J. N.

  “—you reject my family—”

  “They rejected me!” he retorted angrily.

  “You don’t want to hear me out, do you?” Zosia asked with exaggerated patience.

  “I don’t need a list of how we don’t work well together.”

  “You think I work too much and am too committed to my cause. In fact”— she raised her voice to preempt another interruption—“I think you think I’m rather a fanatic.”

  “Oh, Zosiu,” Peter moaned, “it’s only when you judge me to be a failure. It’s just self-defense: I can’t live up to your standards! My past can’t measure up to your expectations, and I’ll never be as good as your ghosts.”

  She ignored that. In some ways, she seemed determined not to argue. It was as if she were informing a reporter of the difficulties she had with him, but saw no reason to engage herself emotionally in a debate. “The second reason,” she stated dryly, “is the child.”

  “I have no intention of stopping you from raising the baby with your beliefs and traditions.”

  “How very helpful,” she commented sarcastically.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want a father who can participate! Not someone standing smugly off to the side with a look of cynical superiority!”

  “I won’t do that!”

  “You already do. And even if that were to change, your lack of participation will be enough of a statement. Can you imagine your child’s important days, his first Holy Communion, say, with him asking you why you don’t join in? I can just hear your answer: ‘Oh, because I don’t believe any of this crap your mother foists on you!’ ”

  “You know I wouldn’t say that!”

  “I know it would be said without words. I’ve seen you at all our gatherings, the rationalist superhero! We can all see it on your face: the I’m-not-part-of-thismumbo-jumbo look!”

  “I don’t do that! You’re seeing things that aren’t there.” That was not what hethought, so why, he wondered, did she see that in his face? Was it what she wanted to see? Did she want to view him as different and alien? “There are all sorts of religions here. There are other nonbelievers here. I’m not the only one.”

  “But you are the only father of my child!”

  “So, you don’t really care what I believe or whether I’m part of your society. All you want is for me to put on a good show for the kids!”

  Zosia did not respond. He saw the shadows pass across her face as she decided how to handle him. “I’m sorry,” she said rather stiffly. “I really didn’t mean that. It must just be the hormones talking. I feel sort of . . .”

  “Are you okay?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

  “Yes. I guess. Just a bit worn. I’m sorry. All I wanted to do was ask if you’d consider being baptized. For yourself, for me, for our children.” She paused, then rather dramatically she added, “For us.”

  Peter looked down at the snow, disturbed by the tone of Zosia’s request. Once again he knew he was disappointing her, once again he knew she was yearning for Adam. She and Adam were like two gingerbread men made from the same dough, with the same cutter, baked side by side in the same oven. With Adam everything had flowed naturally, but with him everything was a struggle.

  If only he could say yes to her! Could he do it for love? For his children? Would it be so hard to lie about a few bits of trivial dogma? To lie for the rest of his life in front of his wife and his children? He shook his head. “I can’t do it, Zosia,” he replied without looking up at her. “I’ve had to lie too much in my life, I can’t do it anymore.”

  “Have you ever lied on my behalf?” Zosia asked gently.

  He looked up at her, appalled by the thought. “No,” he swore adamantly, shaking his head. “You know what I’m talking about!”

  “Yes, I know. You’ve lied a lot to survive, you’ve lived lies just to placate your enemies.”

  He dropped his head so that she could not see his expression, but she did not need to. “You told Elspeth you loved her, didn’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “Over and over again, am I right?”

  He nodded again.

  “Was it true?”

  “What do you think?” he asked bitterly.

  “Was it true?” she insisted like some courtroom prosecutor.

  He shook his head, mouthing the word no.

  “So, you’ve lied about love. Can’t you lie just once for love?”

  Peter stared at the snow at his feet and thought for a moment. For Zosia, so she could feel he had accepted them. For himself, so he could feel he belonged. For his children, so they would not have awkward questions raised in their minds before the appropriate time. Sing a few songs, chant a few prayers, recite a creed, belong to a community, accept their values and traditions. “I wish I hadbeen given something so sturdy as a religion when I was a child,” he said at last, “and I’m glad you’re going to pass on your traditions to our children.”

  Zosia’s face fell as she recognized that a “however” was en route. “But?”

  He shook his head. “It shouldn’t be this way. Not like this, Zosia. Not like this,” he pleaded quietly. “You’re the only person I can be myself with. Please don’t ask me to be something I’m not. Please.”

  She remained silent for a moment, then she conceded, “All right. I suppose you’re right, it would be for all the wrong reasons.”

  He found the courage to look up at her then and give her one of those fleetingsmiles with which she was so familiar. “Can you forgive me?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course. I shouldn’t have asked,” she assured him, apparently distracted.

  As he studied her face set in its hard lines of preoccupation, he wondered if, by his stubbornness, he had condemned himself to a permanent exile from the only place he thought of as home. Paris was well worth a mass. Wasn’t Zosia?

  43

  THEY CONTINUED THEIR WALK, sticking to less serious matters and stories about how they had spent their time over the months apart. Peter told Zosia about meeting up with Jenny, but decided not to give any details about his encounter with Barbara. As the sun set, Zosia decided she was too tired to continue, and they rested on a log before heading back to their home. She placed her head on his shoulder and purred like a cat to show how happy and comfortable she felt. He stroked her arm, enjoying the thought that beneath the heavy cloth was her soft skin.

  “I’ll work more on the language,” he said abruptly but quietly, hoping that he could offer something in the way of strengthening their union.

  “That would be nice,” she murmured.

  “And I think my legs have improved enough that I could try learning to dance again. If you could stand my clumsiness.”

  “You’re not clumsy, you’re very graceful, and I would love to dance with you.”

  “And I can come to mass with you, you know. There’s no harm in my singing the songs, is there?”

  “None at all, and I would like the company.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes, I would.” She wrapped her arm around him. He put his arm around her shoulders, and they held each other and watched as the sky turned orange and red and darkness crept across the forest floor.

  As they walked back, he sang, “Wmurowanej piwnicy, tancowali zbójnicy . . .” In an underground hideout, danced the mountain outlaws stout . . . It was a traditionalfavorite that quite ironically fit them well. Zosia joined him on the refrain, her voice somewhat high and tinny. He stopped and let her continue alone, but she stopped as well.

  “I’m sorry,” she said chagrined, “did you mind?”

  “No! Not at all, I just never heard you sing before.”

  “Oh, I don’t do it much, I’m not very good at it. Though, I was much better than Adam. He couldn’t sing a note!”

  “Will you finish the song?”

  “Only if you accompany me. I really am shy.”

  “All right.” With that he began the tune again and the
y tromped back through the snow, holding hands and singing as they went. When they finished that song, he began another, and they managed to sing the entire way back, breaking into giggles now and then as they stumbled over or made up phrases for the bits they did not know.

  When they arrived back, Zosia was immediately greeted by the entry guard’s informing her that several people had been looking for her. As they walked down the hall, they saw Konrad, and he tried to pull Zosia away to confer with him, but she told him to bugger off. He chided her for not telling anyone where they had gone, and she responded breezily that she had forgotten.

  “This is important!” Konrad insisted.

  “It’s always important,” Zosia countered. “I’ll hear it tomorrow!”

  Back in their rooms, they peeled off their clothing and warmed themselves in bed under the feather quilt. They hugged and kissed and caressed, then Zosia decided to nap while Peter prepared a dinner for the two of them. He woke her an hour later to come and eat.

  “This is great!” Zosia mumbled around a mouthful of food. “You wouldn’t believe the crap they’ve been serving in the restaurant! Ever since all the supplies tightened up. How did you manage it?”

  “Just a bit of creativity,” he answered, pleased by the compliment.“Maybe you should learn how to cook a bit.”

  Surprisingly Zosia agreed.“Mmm, yeah, especially after you’ve gone back.”

  He bit his lip at that, but she didn’t notice. She shoveled in another bite and continued,“Marysia hasn’t been as helpful as last time.”

  “I haven’t even seen her yet; she never seems to be around. What’s she up to?”

  “Oh, she’s gotten busy since she took over some of Katerina’s duties. Katerina has been feeling ill and I think she’s winding down. Marysia’s taking up the slack, so she never has time anymore.” Zosia swallowed and added, “God, I’ve really missed you. This is great!”

  “I do my best to be useful,” he replied with a touch of irony.

  “And you are!” she agreed enthusiastically, then exclaimed suddenly, “Oh!”

  “What is it?” he asked worriedly.

  “Just a contraction. It’s nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, they’re just for practice. The real ones are quite different. God, though, my stomach feels harder than a rock!”

  He stepped over to her and felt her abdomen. She was right, it felt rock solid. Then suddenly it eased and it felt like flesh again. He could feel their baby underneath, moving—always moving. With a look that asked for and received her permission, he explored her further, feeling the way her body accommodated its occupant, the miraculous swell of milk in her breasts, the way her nipples had magically changed in preparation for nursing. He perceived the months of changes he had missed during his absence and marveled at it all. He suggested she relocate to the couch while he cleaned up and made some tea. When he finished, he joined her and they drank their tea and then Zosia curled up against him and napped while he read a bit.

  Late in the evening, she awoke. He poured her another cup of tea and poured himself a drink. “Is it all right for you to have one?” he asked, unsure of how important abstinence was at this stage.

  “Don’t know. But in any case, I have so much indigestion, I’ll pass.” She burped as if to prove her point. She giggled at the noise. “I really am quite a mess, aren’t I?”

  “My lovely, lovely little mess.” He sat down next to her and kissed her. She seemed to enjoy the kiss, and he repeated it, working along her face and neck and the soft skin just over her breasts.

  “Oh, I really did miss you,” she moaned softly.

  “Enough to let me stay?”

  It was not what she had expected. “I’m, it’s, well, you can’t just abandon your position there,” she answered rather too quickly.

  “I see,” he replied coldly, pulling away from her and reaching for his glass.

  “Oh, don’t be like that!” she moaned.

  “Like what?” he asked testily.

  “I said I missed you, isn’t that enough?”

  “What? As an offering? You’re a lousy liar, Zosia.”

  “Don’t call me a liar!”

  “If you missed me, prove it! Get me reassigned back here.”

  “That’s not my prerogative. It’s out of my hands.”

  “Like hell it is!” He stood up to face her. “Look, you said it was dangerous for me here—maybe it was, but now I doubt they’re even actively looking for me anymore. You said that I would need to get over what was done—well, I have, and I’ve done it without burdening you, unless you someday can be bothered to read what I wrote. You said you needed time without me; well, you’ve had it. You said you thought I was unhappy here—well, now you know my preferences. So, what’s the excuse now?”

  “They’re not excuses.”

  “You really set it up, didn’t you? Nice and convenient. You even set me up with Barbara!”

  “She volunteered. There was no reason not to send her.”

  “You knew she’d try to detach me from you.”

  “I thought she might,” Zosia agreed reluctantly.

  “And you thought I’d go with her and conveniently get out of your life and take all the blame for a breakup that you stage-managed.”

  “No, I didn’t think that.”

  He sputtered his derision.

  “Have you had sex with her?” Zosia asked rather casually.

  “Do you care?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Not really. She was intimate with me. It took me a while to put a stop to it.”

  “But you did stop her?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Did she take it well?”

  “Rejection? No.”

  “Is she all right now?”

  He sighed. “I think so. She’s picked up an English boyfriend.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  He shrugged. “Assimilation is, at least officially, encouraged.”

  “What about adultery?”

  “I suppose it’ll give the next-door neighbors something to gossip about. She’d get thrown out of the N.S. Frauenschaften—if she belonged.”

  “No denunciations?”

  “I can’t see why anyone would bother. Remember, it’s a crime to denounce a German without due cause. And what would they say, anyway? Pretty young wife cheating on husband? As if that’s news?”

  “But I thought the Germans in London maintained a higher standard of behavior.”

  He sputtered. “They maintain a higher level of hypocrisy! The only thing they’re not allowed to do is be obvious in their depravity.”

  “But she is being obvious! It’s an unnecessary risk. You should rein her in!”

  “And how do you propose I do that? Chain her to the furniture?” Peter laughed grimly. “Now, at least, I know what all my commanding officers felt like when I acted like an impetuous fool.”

  “Me, too,” Zosia agreed, resigned. “I hope she likes him and it’s not just to spite you.”

  “So do I,” he said, disappointed that Zosia’s interest was only for Barbara’s welfare. Zosia really didn’t care about him or what he did. “They seem to get on together. He’s like I was; you know, unattached due to his Underground connections. They both seem so young, though.”

  “We grow up fast here. Grow fast, die fast.”

  “I still think she’s just reacting to circumstances. Rushing things. Why did you put her in such a position? You knew.”

  “I knew, but I didn’t put her in it. She volunteered and she’s an adult. I could hardly have objected on personal grounds; I don’t have the right to make that sort of decision for her.”

  “But you do for me?”

  “The Council wants you there. You need to go back,” Zosia stated dryly.

  “Why? What’s the excuse this time?”

  “They’re not excuses.”

  “They sure as hell are. You know I’m way overqua
lified for that assignment. I’m sick of being pushed around. You either get me reassigned back here, or we’re finished.” He had not meant to give an ultimatum and he realized too late that he had. Once the words were said though, he felt obliged to stand by them, and that, he knew, was unfortunate, because she would not be blackmailed.

  Zosia said nothing; her expression was pained. Finally she said, “I’m tired, I’m going to bed. I don’t feel well, and I’d appreciate it if you slept out here so I can have the extra space.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” he replied bitterly, and pulling on his boots and grabbing his coat, he stalked out.

  He walked a bit in the moonlight, looked at the stars, breathed the fresh air. Did he really want to come back? London was home. With an effort he could reestablish contacts there, make friends, and fit back in. He shook his head. It could never work like that. The meetings Jenny had set up for him had gone well enough as meetings, but he had felt no connection to the people he talked to. They had different experiences, different expectations; they lived in a different world. The people he cared about there were gone, and he could never be as free there as he was here. He could never walk without papers, without fear that his numbers would be discovered. He would be bound by curfews and restrictions, by police searches and patrols. He could never wander in the moonlight among pines and wildflowers; he would have to live a public life, surrounded by police who had his photo in their files, always looking over his shoulder. Even if he got an English identity, he could never truly melt back into the crowd.

  He thought for a moment of going to America, but aside from the practical difficulties of travel and getting permission to enter the country as a permanent resident, his family and his friends were here. His son or daughter would grow up in these woods, there were people who welcomed him back, there were people he was glad to see. He belonged here. He had been misled by Zosia’s behavior into thinking he did not belong, into thinking he had to defend himself against their rejection. It was she who had rejected him, and once that was clear, once that was made public, then he could establish his life among them independently. He could make their mountain fastness his home.