‘Positive. After about a kilometre I caught a taxi to Santa Croce. Then I walked again for ten minutes and caught a taxi to the railway station. From there a taxi to half a kilometre from here. I went around the block twice. I was not followed.’
Heisl nodded in satisfaction.
‘Well, the police will be looking for you . . . but I imagine not too diligently. Anyway you cannot take that route on foot any more. Some of the vendors might recognise you and they often supplement their income by being informers for the police. I would prefer to move elsewhere but there isn’t time. So for the next five days I will arrange for a car to pick you up and return you.’
He looked glum. Mirek drank and then said lightly, ‘Anyway, you know now that your fifteen thousand dollar investment wasn’t wasted.’
The comment did nothing to cheer Heisl up. Mirek gestured at the table.
‘Who’s the dinner guest?’
Heisl glanced at his watch. ‘Ania Krol. She should be here in a few minutes. Her training in Rome is complete. I’ll be working with her the last few days until you finish at the Institute.’
Mirek nodded but said nothing, although his anticipation was keen. Since his argument with the Bacon Priest over the woman, and his subsequent submission, his curiosity had been quickening. He wondered what sort of a nun would suspend her holy vows and take off across Eastern Europe with a strange man.
Heisl must have been reading his thoughts. He said sternly, ‘Mirek, you are to remember: she knows nothing of your ultimate purpose. She has been told only that you are a secret Church envoy travelling to Moscow. That is all.’
‘Does she know I’m an unbeliever?’
‘Yes, she knows that you’re an atheist . . . she was also informed by Cardinal Mennini that you are, by our lights, an evil man.’
He walked to an easy chair and sat down, his ears filled with Mirek’s laughter. Mirek drained the glass again but Heisl noted with satisfaction that he did not refill it. All too often men on the edge of danger turn to alcohol for comfort. Over the past days there had always been good wine on the table but Mirek had drunk in moderation. He said with a mocking smile: ‘So she must really be looking forward to the trip.’
Heisl spoke bluntly. ‘She is prepared to do her duty out of her love and devotion to Our Lord. She did express concern about her physical well-being . . . at your hands.’
Anger washed over Mirek’s face. ‘I’m not a bloody rapist! Does an atheist have to be a rapist? That bloody Mennini. . . what hypocrisy! Well, I’ve caught your priests shacked up with women! Last year I arrested one for molesting a ten-year-old girl!’
His dark eyes were bright with anger. Heisl held up a hand.
‘Mirek, calm down. We are hundreds of thousands around the world. Of course some are weak and some falter . . . very few, but it’s inevitable. We are human and sometimes we are lonely and we have human frailties. No one is accusing you of being a rapist. You are a dangerous man but I think you have your own code.’
Mirek was mollified. He turned to look out of the window through the lace curtains at the street below. A taxi pulled up on the corner. A woman got out with a small blue suitcase. She put it on the pavement and leaned towards the driver’s window counting out the fare. She was wearing a beige raincoat belted tightly at the waist. Instinctively Mirek noted the curve of her calves. The taxi pulled away and she picked up her suitcase and walked down the street towards the house. From his foreshortened view Mirek could not properly see her face. He could see the ebony black hair cut in a page-boy style, and the lithe swing of her confident stride. She paused, checking the house numbers. Mirek turned and said to Father Heisl, ‘You are right, Father . . . but that code will not stop me from accepting a woman who wants me . . . even a nun.’
Heisl opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the doorbell.
Dinner was cannelloni followed by trippa alla fiorentina. Father Heisl sat facing Mirek with Ania on his left. As usual the old lady served the food in silence, barely acknowledging the compliments to her skills.
By the time the first course was finished Heisl was a worried man. The atmosphere around the table was frigid. Every word of small talk was hung with icicles. Half an hour before he had been concerned that Mirek would be playing the suave seducer, not worried at the likelihood of success but not wishing to be made uncomfortable by the situation. The opposite had happened. Since being introduced to Ania Krol and shaking her hand Mirek had been morose and uncommunicative. He had picked at his food and had taken only a couple of sips of the excellent Chianti. His mood had communicated itself to her. She kept glancing at Father Heisl as if for assurance. She noted that the priest was perturbed and asked, ‘Is everything all right, Father?’
Before Heisl could reply Mirek said bluntly, ‘No, the Father is upset because this evening I badly hurt a couple of petty criminals.’
Heisl said irritably, ‘I don’t think it’s necessary for Ania to hear about that.’
‘Oh yes it is,’ Mirek responded, equally irritated. He turned to Ania. ‘They tried to pickpocket my wallet. I broke one’s jaw, very badly. The other one has lost an eye and maybe his manhood. Father Heisl thinks I over-reacted. I don’t.’ He leaned slightly towards her and waved a hand to his left. ‘If such an incident occurs over there during our travels I would kill them. Kill them so they could not give a description of us. Do you understand that?’
She nodded gravely. ‘I understand that our journey is dangerous. I hope you won’t have to kill anyone.’
‘And another thing,’ Mirek went on. ‘You ought to know that I was against you travelling with me. Very much against. I was overruled.’
‘Thank you for telling me. I will try to be a help to you.’ She spoke calmly looking him straight in the eye. ‘I believe that a couple travelling together will be less conspicuous. I am fluent in the languages of the countries we shall be travelling through. I am fit and I am not unintelligent. Before we reach Moscow you will be glad that I am travelling with you.’
Mirek grunted sceptically but before he could answer the old lady came in with the trippa alla fiorentina. After she had served them and left he said, looking at Heisl, ‘Everyone should understand, including you and the Bacon Priest, that my mission comes first.’ He gestured at the woman. ‘If she gets in my way I dump her. If we are chased and she cannot keep up I leave her. If she is wounded I abandon her . . .’
It was said abruptly. Heisl stirred uncomfortably in his seat. As he nodded he heard Ania’s husky voice.
‘That is understood, Mirek Scibor. Now, a wife should know something of her husband’s habits and tastes . . . do you like music?’
Heisl could see that Mirek was thrown by the sudden change of subject. He stroked his now well-grown moustache and then shrugged and said, ‘Some.’
‘Like what?’
He said almost defensively, ‘Our music. Good Polish music. Chopin; his sonatas and . . . yes, particularly his mazurkas.’
She smiled with pleasure. ‘Me too. I love his études. My favourite is “The Butterfly”. Do you know it?’
Mirek nodded. Father Heisl noted that for the first time there was some animation in his eyes. For the next twenty minutes until the meal was finished they chatted about Chopin and Polish music in general. Father Heisl, being tone deaf, had little interest in music and so was more or less left out of the conversation.
At the end of the meal, though, Mirek curtly refused coffee, announced that he would be having an early night and left the room.
Gently Father Heisl said to Ania, ‘Your task will be difficult, my child. He is not an easy man. However, although you may be in danger with him I am confident you will not be in danger from him.’
‘I think you are right, Father, but if he is prepared to kill so casually the mission must be of total importance to him . . . not just the Church. Do our interests completely coincide?’
She was pouring coffee into two cups. She remembered that he took two sugars and
a little milk. As she stirred he collected his thoughts.
‘They do, Ania. For certain reasons which are operationally logical you cannot know the mission.’
‘In case I get caught?’ she interjected, pushing the cup towards him.
‘Well, yes.’
‘And not for my peace of mind?’
Father Heisl lifted his cup, thinking rapidly. This young woman was too intelligent for platitudes. He sipped and said firmly, ‘I am not permitted even to answer that. The Bacon Priest has already told you all that you are allowed to know. You must deal with your peace of mind with the power of prayer.’
‘Yes, Father,’ she said obediently, but Heisl knew that her intelligence would continue to stimulate her curiosity. He said, ‘You handled him well tonight, Ania. It will be easier when he has fully accepted you and realised that you can make a contribution.’
She smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Father. I can handle him. I’ll take care of my peace of mind and you take care of yours.’
In his room upstairs Mirek was troubled. The woman had unsettled him and he found that hard to understand. He usually unsettled women. He analysed his reaction and realised what had happened. Many men, perhaps most, have fantasies about nuns. Young, pretty, virginal nuns. He recalled having occasion once to question two nuns in Cracow. They were suspected of being in touch with dissidents. One had been middle-aged and plain, the other had been young, with an attractive face. He had questioned them separately and at length. With the young one he had felt that his looks and masculinity had affected her somehow. She had worn a long loose habit and he mentally undressed her, trying to visualise her hidden body. All he could see was her face from forehead to neck but he visualised a plump naked body attached to that face and had been sexually stimulated.
Now with Ania Krol a strange reversal had taken place. She did not wear a habit. Indeed her soft brown woollen dress had been quite revealing. He had immediately noted the full breasts, the narrow waist and curved flow of her legs. Her face too was very beautiful with its high cheekbones and olive skin and crowning ebony hair; but perversely in his mind’s eye he could only see her in a nun’s habit with its constricting and concealing headdress.
His room was Spartan. A single bed down one wall, a cupboard for clothes and a small table with a single chair. He walked to the window and stood looking down at the street. A light drizzle had started and the road and pavements glittered from the street lights. A couple walked along arm-in-arm but they were arguing, gesturing angrily with their free hands. He supposed they must be married. He had almost been married himself once. The daughter of a Colonel in his department. She had been pretty and vivacious and an energetic lover. He supposed that she had a temper which she controlled well, but that did not concern him. He liked women with spirit. He knew that an attractive, intelligent wife would be an asset to an ambitious officer. After a few weeks he decided to propose. He had been brought up in the traditional way and before making his proposal he asked for an appointment with her father on a personal basis. This was granted in the Colonel’s office, after office hours. Mirek had tapped on the door with some trepidation for the Colonel was a forbidding man and a stern disciplinarian. The Colonel must have noticed his nervousness. He waved him to a chair, opened a desk drawer and took out a bottle of vodka and two glasses. He had also taken off his cap and tossed it on to the desk between them to indicate that Mirek could talk freely and off the record.
The fiery liquid had warmed and calmed him. Formally and confidently he said, ‘Comrade Colonel, I have come humbly to petition you for the hand of your daughter Jadwiga, in marriage.’
The words had an astonishing effect on the Colonel. He sat bolt upright and gave Mirek a piercing look to be sure he was serious. Satisfied that he was, he tipped the vodka down his throat, shook his head vigorously and said, ‘No chance! No chance at all.’
At first Mirek had felt humiliation. But anger quickly followed.
‘Colonel, sir. I come from a good family. I was the youngest officer promoted Captain in our section and have every hope . . .’
The Colonel held up a hand. ‘How long have you known my daughter?’
‘Well, only five weeks . . . but I would be in no hurry . . .’
‘Shut up, Scibor, and listen to me.’
The Colonel leaned forward. He had a drinker’s red-veined nose, and small round eyes. He pointed a finger at Mirek’s chest.
‘I like you, Scibor. You’re intelligent and you work hard. You’ll soon be promoted Major . . . you could go right to the top -’
Then why?’
‘Shut up and listen. I said I like you. My daughter Jadwiga is the second biggest bitch in the world. The biggest is my wife - her mother. Oh no! I’m saving Jadwiga up for some bastard I don’t like. She can make his life as miserable as her mother’s made mine . . . I like you. Get out.’
Mirek had stumbled out of the room flabbergasted. Her own father! But then reason had prevailed. Who would know her better than her father?
He took Jadwiga out for dinner one more time and watched her with a more critical eye. Noticed that the pretty mouth had a petulant lower lip, the wide blue eyes often slid away to watch the entrance of a man alone, followed him if he was attractive. He noticed how she ordered expensive items on the menu while knowing that his funds were limited. Silently he thanked the Colonel and decided that marriage could wait.
After that there had been a succession of girls. He almost always had one in tow, but they only lasted a few weeks at the most.
He turned and walked to the table and sat down. There were several medical textbooks in a pile. He selected one and opened it at a marker. For the next hour he read, pausing occasionally to make a note in an exercise book. He heard a door close downstairs and a stair creak. The soft footfall of her walking past his room. He knew it was her. Heisl was an insomniac and never went to bed before the early hours. He heard the bathroom door open and close. A pause, then the sound of the bath water running. He imagined her unbuttoning the brown woollen dress. What sort of underwear would she be wearing? Something flimsy? No, probably great big bloomers.
He tried to concentrate again on his book. Forced his attention on to it. He decided that the kidney was mankind’s most boring organ. How the hell could Father Gamelli spend his life in such intimate contact with it?
He heard the bathroom door close, the creak of a floorboard and then the door of the room next to his open and close. The walls were thin. He faintly heard the squeak of the bedsprings. He imagined her sitting there drying her hair, that thick black lustrous hair which until recently had been hidden away. Was she naked? He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up a picture. It was ridiculous. All he could see was her face from hairline to chin. The rest was a blur of white and black. She was wearing her nun’s habit.
He closed the book and went to bed and slept fitfully.
* * *
‘What is it?’
The visiting professor pushed a large jar across the table. Mirek picked it up and studied its contents.
‘It’s part of a kidney.’
‘Are you trying to be funny?’
‘No, sir.’
The professor sighed. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
They were in a room at the Institute. Just the professor, Mirek facing him and Father Gamelli sitting at the back near the door. Mirek had completed his crash course. This was the test. He drew a deep breath and turned the jar in his hand. The section of misshapen kidney slopped about in the formaldehyde. He noticed a mass of grape-like clusters of cysts containing a dark fluid.
‘It shows advanced polycystic kidney disease.’
The professor nodded and made a note. ‘Anything else?’
Mirek decided to be bold.
‘The patient did not die of old age.’
He noticed the professor looking over his shoulder at Father Gamelli. He wondered if he had made a fool of himself.
The professor asked, ‘What treatment wou
ld you have used?’
Mirek remembered what he had been reading the night before. He said, ‘The fatal nature of the disease cannot be altered except by a transplant depending on the other variables.’
The professor nodded and made another note.
The questions went on for half an hour. Mirek knew that he had messed up on some of them, but later, back in Father Gamelli’s cramped office, the priest was pleased with him.
He smiled. ‘The professor is completely puzzled. On some questions you were brilliant - on others a complete blank. Never mind, you did well enough.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good luck in whatever you’re about to do.’
Mirek shook the hand warmly and thanked him. ‘Father, if I ever get a kidney disease I’ll know where to come.’
The priest shook his head. ‘People like you don’t get diseases like that.’
Driving back to the safe house Mirek wondered what he had meant. He sat next to the driver, a young red-headed priest. In the five days that he had driven Mirek to and fro he had not addressed one word to him. Mirek assumed that this was on Heisl’s orders. It was just after noon when they reached the safe house. Mirek climbed out and pointedly thanked the driver, who merely nodded and drove away. Mirek did not care. He was feeling relaxed, the hard studying over. He rang the doorbell and waited. It was opened by Ania. She was wearing her beige raincoat. She took his arm and turned him around and announced, ‘You are taking me for lunch. Father Heisl left for Rome urgently two hours ago. He won’t be back until this evening. Signora Benelli is taking the day off.’
He let himself be led down the street and asked, ‘What was so urgent?’
‘I don’t know. He got a phone call and left immediately. He seemed worried. He said we should be ready to leave first thing in the morning. We are finished here now.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘He didn’t say. Do you have plenty of money?’
‘For what?’
She smiled up at him. ‘For an expensive lunch. I feel like shellfish. The Signora recommended a good place. It’s not far. Does my husband like shellfish?’
In The Name of The Father Page 13