The Children's War

by Stroyar, J. N.

  Oh, God, it was worse than he had imagined. He really was beneath contempt! He quickly explained about the diaries he had found and promised to tell her all about them later. Then he made his excuses, and still trying to wrap the cloth around his hand, he left.

  In the corridor he stopped. It was pointless. He had said he would return to London tomorrow and she would demand he keep that promise. How could he have said something so stupid? No matter how angry he had been, how could he have thought to leave her and his newborn child so quickly? He bowed his head and wondered how he could possibly undo the mess he had made, then gathering his courage, he opened the door and waited for her reprisal.

  She looked up at him but did not say anything. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, almost welcomingly; a half-smile played across her lips. Clearly she would let him dive into his typical, abject apologies, let him truly debase himself, before she bothered to slam him down for his unforgivable behavior. He snorted at that; he wasn’t going to give her that chance! Not again. Never again.

  “I need to pack.” He headed toward the bedroom. As he passed the baby, he felt a sudden regret. He stopped and looked at her. He really wanted to stay, if for no other reason than to see her for just a few days! But Zosia would make sure he kept his word about leaving, and she would have him ordered out if necessary. There was nothing he could do, and he would only humiliate himself, as he had done so many times before, if he begged her to change her mind or to forgive him. He bent down and kissed Irena and then went to pack.

  When he emerged, Zosia still said nothing, just looked at him as if confused. But of course she was stymied, she was not getting her usual chance to rub his face in it! He snorted at the thought, then said, “I’ll walk to a camp tonight. That way I can take my time getting out of the mountains tomorrow. I’ll have themarrange everything from there. I imagine it will be complicated by all that has occurred.”

  Zosia nodded. “I imagine so,” she said quietly.

  He stopped to look at Irena again, gently stroking her face with his finger. In his heart he begged Zosia to ask him to stay, but she did not say a word, so finally he left. He did not get far. At the entrance he was told by the guard that there was no way he would be able to go into town and there was no point in his going to the edge. It was nothing personal, they were just in negotiations, and under current circumstances there were to be no border crossings. Orders.

  He turned around and walked slowly back down the hallways. Damn! He would have to go back and face Zosia’s wrath. He felt extraordinarily foolish, but deep down, he was also elated. He could not leave, and she could not make him leave, at least for a while. So, he would get some time to know his daughter! By the time he reached their door he was smiling, and despite his best efforts, he had not erased the smile from his face as he stepped back into the room.

  “Borders shut?” Zosia asked as if she had known all along.

  “Yeah.” Peter hesitated, but could not bring himself to say more. He walked over to where Zosia had laid the crumpled photograph on the table. Gingerly he tried to smooth it. “Do you have another one?” he finally asked.

  “No,” she answered without inflection. Irena began to stir, made a little sobbing noise, and Zosia picked her up and went to the couch to nurse her.

  Still intent on straightening one recalcitrant crease, he asked, “Negatives?”

  “My mother might have it.” Zosia was intent on getting the baby nicely positioned, getting a towel in place, a blanket over her own legs, a pillow under her own arm. Irena liked nursing at a leisurely pace, and Zosia liked to be truly comfortable before she started.

  The other photo, the one from his mother’s diary, was also on the table. Three smiling faces. Little Anna sitting on his lap, his brother standing behind the two of them. He labeled each of the innocent faces with a single word: dead, Nazi, and what? For himself he could not decide. Unwanted? Lost? Hopeless? Untouchable?

  “What are you thinking?” Zosia asked as Irena snuggled and snuffled and sucked. The baby’s tiny hands reached and pressed and pushed and grabbed at her breast and she smiled in response.

  “Oh, just thinking about my brother and sister. What a mess our lives have been.”

  “Come here, Kochany, ” she cajoled, patting the seat next to her on the couch.

  He spun around at her use of an endearment. Was she being sarcastic?

  “Oh, could you get me some water first? I get so thirsty as soon as she starts drinking!”

  He got Zosia the water and came to sit down next to her. As he looked at her happy expression while she held and stroked Irena, he couldn’t help but remember the look on her face only a few minutes ago when he had destroyed her onlypicture of Adam. He wished she would say whatever she was going to say and get it over with.

  At long last Zosia looked up at him again. “I’m glad you couldn’t leave,” she whispered.

  “You are?”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “But after . . .”

  “Don’t worry about the photograph. I was taking it down anyway.”

  “I know. Marysia told me. I’m sorry, Zosiu. I don’t know what got into me. I didn’t mean to destroy it. I don’t do that sort of thing.”

  “I know it’s not like you. Don’t worry about it. We have a little one to care for; that’s where your thoughts should be. Not on some stupid photograph.”

  “Can you forgive me?” he asked, confused by the ease of it all.

  “Only if you can forgive me.”

  “For what?” Was there something he did not know about? Tadek leapt to mind. A confession finally. Or had she done something else? Reassigned him even farther away? Was that why she was being so kind? He felt a sudden panic.

  “For putting you in such an impossible position.”

  “What position? What have you done?” he asked with barely controlled anger.

  Zosia laughed as she suddenly recognized his misinterpretation of her words. “No, no, not like that! I haven’t done anything! I was just talking about, you know, the way I’ve made things difficult for you in the past. Relax, I haven’t found a diplomatic position for you in Antarctica!”

  He felt relieved but could not join her laughter. It had come too close to the truth.

  “I want to try and get you reassigned back here. Do you want to come home?”

  “You know I do.” Then he added somewhat less brusquely, “Yes, I want to come home. I want to be with both of you.”

  “Okay, next time the full Council meets, I’ll suggest a rearrangement of assignments.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I don’t know. I’m afraid what with all that’s happened, it may take some time before we can organize a return. They have other things on their minds right now.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they do,” he sighed.

  Irena suddenly pulled her head back from Zosia, stretched, and yawned, a stream of milk dribbling from her mouth. “Do you want to hold her for a few minutes?” Zosia asked. “She’ll take a break before she wants more.”

  He took the baby in his arms; it was the first time he had held her since she was born. She grabbed at one of his fingers, and holding it tightly in her tiny hand, she chewed on his fingertip with her toothless gums. The little eyes fluttered open for a few seconds, and a glimpse of deep blue greeted him, then disappeared again. She sucked contentedly on his finger as he studied her features:the curves of her ear, the blotchy red patches on her incredibly smooth skin, the hint of downy eyebrows, the puffiness under her eyes, the broad little nose above full red lips. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he asked.

  Zosia glanced at his face but saw no accusation there. He was unaware that he had repeated what he had said in the cabin a lifetime ago. Carefully she replied, “Yes, Peter, we’ve made a beautiful little girl.”

  53

  “YOU LOOK TIRED,” Ryszard said to his daughter as he greeted her at the train station.

  “Oh, God, you woul
dn’t believe how long I’ve been traveling!” Stefi grumbled. “It took forever just to get to Krakau.”

  “I know exactly how long you’ve been traveling.” Ryszard threw his arm around her shoulders. “I’ve been quite worried about you.” He glanced back to see that Leszek had Stefi’s luggage and then walked along the platform with his daughter.

  Stefi did not mince words. “So what’s so important that only I can handle it? I assume you’ll want to tell me before I see Mother.”

  “Ah, little girl, you do know me well, don’t you?” Ryszard steered his daughter toward a restaurant. “We’ll stop to eat here and I can explain.”

  “What about him?” Stefi indicated Leszek with a toss of her head.

  “Glad you reminded me.” Ryszard dropped back, handed Leszek an officiallooking card, then rejoined his daughter. “That will keep him out of trouble. He doesn’t mind waiting. Come on, we’ve got some business to conduct.”

  Ryszard let his daughter enjoy her appetizer before beginning. He watched as she hungrily downed the thick, creamy soup and took large bites of the bread, which she had loaded with butter. “Didn’t you eat on the train?”

  “Yes, but I’m still hungry,” she said around a mouthful. “God, this tastes good!”

  “Haven’t they been feeding you at Szaflary?”

  She snorted, then took a few more spoonfuls of soup before answering. “Yeah, we eat. Cabbage, potatoes, potatoes and cabbage. It has been utterly miserable, especially for me and the boys. We’re used to better than that.”

  Ryszard frowned at her words, thinking about Andrzej, but chose to ask instead, “And how is your aunt Zosia?”

  “Big. Gigantic! She can hardly waddle down the corridors. Bitchy, too. But then, what’s new?”

  Ryszard laughed. “So the baby’s not born?”

  “Not as far as I heard.”

  “Is her husband back?”

  “I heard he was there, but I didn’t see him. Things have been hectic recently. I haven’t had any news. What’s happening over there?”

  “You’ve heard about Andrzej,” Ryszard stated, though he wasn’t sure.

  Stefi nodded. She did not look sad, rather distant, as if refusing to acknowledge any emotion whatsoever. “What else?” she asked brusquely.

  “A truce was declared yesterday.”

  “So soon?”

  “They’ve been convinced to back out before it became an embarrassment. As far as the public knows, it didn’t even happen.”

  “Marvelous, we held them off!”

  Ryszard pushed the remains of his p‚tó away. “This time.”

  Stefi finished the last spoonful of soup, sat back, and sighed her satisfaction. “God, that was good! Now, Dad, what’s up?”

  “I want you to get reacquainted with Wolf-Dietrich. He’s back in Berlin, and he’s lonely.”

  “I came all this way for a date,” Stefi commented sardonically. She was going to say more, but fell silent as a waiter whisked their plates away.

  “Exactly. The reason I called you back now was that I was desperate to get an end to this little war our Führer decided to throw for himself. I wanted you here as a bribe in case I couldn’t get access. Obviously, that’s not necessary now.”

  “So you were involved in getting the truce called?”

  “Yeah, I kept nagging him that it would be an embarrassment. It finally worked. I even got myself a place on the negotiations team.” Ryszard paused as their entróe arrived. “Nevertheless, I still need you. Schindler is becoming a genuine problem, that whole invasion was his doing. He’s getting far too powerful as an adviser to the Führer, but especially as his own power base. I need to get something on him, and planted evidence isn’t going to work. I need something real!”

  “What do you have so far?”

  Ryszard then explained to his daughter what he knew about the American, the device he was carrying, and the connection Wolf-Dietrich seemed to have with it all. “I’m guessing his father used him because this is all unofficial. I assume Wolf-Dietrich picked up the device from the American in Lewes, and now, either they have that device in Berlin or more likely somewhere in Hamburg. Trouble is, Schindler’s authority is in England and the device was delivered there. Could be that was simply a matter of convenience, or it could be that whatever they’re doing, they’re keeping it over there, near London, well away from Berlin.”

  “And well away from where you can snoop easily,” Stefi added.

  “Exactly. That’s where you fit in. Get reacquainted, find out what you can.”

  “Will I have to sleep with him?” Stefi asked with smooth innocence.

  “Do what you have to, my dear. All I can say is, it’s important to me.”

  “What about Olek?”

  “What about him?” Ryszard asked.

  “He’s going to ask me to marry him.”

  “So?”

  “Don’t you think I owe him some loyalty?”

  Ryszard’s face was a mask. Carefully he asked,“Exactly where are your loyalties?”

  Stefi did not hesitate to answer, “With the cause, Father.”

  “Fine. Then tell him only what you need to.”

  “And how much do I need to tell him?” Stefi asked plaintively.

  Ryszard realized she was not looking for a clarification of her orders from a commanding officer, she was looking for fatherly advice, so he tempered his answer. “That depends on what sort of relationship you want to have with him. Just note two things: I tell your mother as little as possible about the less salubrious aspects of my work, and that seems to benefit both of us. Your aunt Zosia has toyed with”—he paused as he tried to find the right words—“with allowing her emotional life to mix with her professional life, and in my opinion it has led to nothing but turmoil for her. Olek is a soldier, he’ll probably understand, but he’s also a man. Don’t underestimate his ability to be jealous and possessive.”

  54

  “ITHINK SHE’S GROWN JEALOUS of you!” Zosia commented as she lay in bed, cradling Irena in her arms and nursing her. The baby suckled at her mother’s breast but firmly held on to his finger with her tiny hand. Peter felt pleased by her possessiveness, and as soon as Irena had finished her midnight supper, he pulled her back onto his chest, gently tapping her back so that she might burp before she fell asleep again. Her eyes fluttered open in the dim light of the night, and she stared up at him with the uncomprehending love of a newborn, happy in the warmth and security of someone’s arms. A half-smile played across her lips, and he kissed her forehead and whispered to her, “For you, little one. If for no other reason, then for you.”

  In reply, she burbled up a mouthful of milk, which he wiped off his chest with a cloth they kept in the bed, then they both settled in to rest. Irena’s hot little head fit naturally into the cradle of his hand, her soft cheek brushed against his skin, her little legs curled into the crook of his arm. She settled into the calm rhythm of his heartbeat, and he lost himself in the soft whisper of her breath. In her blissful unawareness of the care he lavished on her, he took comfort, and with the tiny sleepy bundle on his heart, he drifted into sleep, freed from his ghosts and contented in the darkness for the first time in years.

  * * *

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Lucjan asked. He was the taller of the two, big and burly.

  “That wouldn’t be advisable, considering what we’re doing to these fellows,” Peter answered nonchalantly. While Lucjan put his heavy boot on the chest of the corpse, Peter grabbed its arm and wrenched it inward. Something snapped, but he could not tell whether it was ice or bone. Their companion, Staszek, swore loudly as he slipped in the snow while attempting to straighten a leg. Finally, with sufficient grunting, groaning, and swearing, the three of them managed to get the corpse down to a buriable size, and they stopped and panted heavy clouds of steam into the bitter air.

  “This is shitwork,” Staszek grumbled. “Why aren’t we having the prisoners do it? Least they could do i
s bury their dead.”

  “I heard they are working. Just not here.” Peter slipped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves as the other two had already done. “Besides, there aren’t many of them who aren’t injured.” He took a sip of water. “What happens to them if we can’t negotiate an exchange?”

  Staszek shrugged.

  “Maybe we’ll convert a few,” Lucjan suggested breathlessly, wiping sweat off his brow.

  “Or we could make them into slave labor.” Staszek laughed scornfully. His companion nudged him roughly and jerked his head at Peter. Staszek glanced at Peter’s arm and clapped his hand over his mouth in embarrassment. “Oh, sorry,” he breathed, then added as if in explanation, “I’ve heard about you.”

  “Nothing bad, I hope,” Peter replied with a forgiving smile. “Are there many conversions?”

  “It happens. Disgruntled ethnic Germans or Silesians or others with a mixed heritage. But not often, it’s just too risky for most.” Lucjan looked pensive and added,“More often, it goes in the other direction. Can’t blame them really—after all, no one wants to see their own child go hungry.”

  “What I want to know,” Staszek interjected as he picked up the mattock, “is why don’t we at least wait until spring? This frozen ground is ridiculous.”

  “What the hell are you moaning about?” Lucjan chided. “If we wait till a thaw, we’ll be doing this in the rain, hip deep in mud with their eyes pecked out and the smell of rotting flesh!”

  “We could just leave them to rot naturally,” Staszek suggested, perhaps humorously. “You know, compost.”

  “The children run around these woods,” Peter answered seriously. “Besides, wouldn’t you want a decent burial?”

  “Naw, he couldn’t care less,” Lucjan answered for his friend. “Just as long as you left a liter of vodka by his side to help him into the next life!”

  Staszek laughed, pulled out his hip flask, and passed it around.

  Peter liked these two; they kept up a continuous friendly banter. It was the second day in a row he had ended up working with them. The previous day,when he had met them, they had told him their names and he had promptly forgotten. He spent the entire day stuck using um and er when he wanted to get the attention of one of them. Today, he had admitted his absentmindedness and asked them outright to tell him their names again. They had laughed heartily, joking to each other, “Clearly, he’s an officer!”