Victor had in his pocket Iza’s small Walther, with which he had finished the existence of big Walter. He would not part with it for anything. It was the only souvenir he had taken from her apartment, the only reminder of the burden on his heart, which he knew would never go away for as long as he lived.
They decided to go their separate ways. Two young men walking together aroused great suspicion. After they parted, Victor disappeared around the corner of the next building, but a moment later, Stefan heard a loud - Halt! Then, it was the sound of a few gunshots, two or three short clangs of the Walther, and then two series from a Bergmann machine gun.
Stefan ran to the corner of the building and peered cautiously. Several Nazis were standing with their guns ready to fire, directed against the motionless figure lying on the pavement. Two German soldiers lay beside his motionless body.
"He did not give up," thought Stefan as he ran to the nearest gate, from where he knew he could get up to the cellars near Chmielna.
"He did not give up, and I also will not give up. I will shoot down as many of those bastards as I can. They won’t take me alive," he thought further, already at their house, barricading the door with their cupboard.
The house was deserted. The inhabitants had left their dwellings. Stefan was the last one to stay.
"The last of the Mohicans," he thought of himself with pride. "Probably I will meet my end like him.”
He went to the basement of the building and pulled out from its hiding place all the weapons they had left: two Bergmanns loaded with full magazines, a pistol and a German defense grenade on a long wooden handle. He took all of them upstairs to the attic. They had gathered there the water and canned supplies of food, living on them for a few days now. Alone, he could live on them for much longer. He sat down with the gun by the window, where in the moonlight he could see the street. He did not even notice when it became dark. He had a candle and matches, but he didn’t light it. It could betray his presence. Almost all the windows in the area were dark so Stefan could easily see those who remained still in their homes as he did. He preferred to sit in the dark.
He lit a cigarette, covering the flame of the match with his hand. There were a dozen or so of them left. He needed to save them. Then again, tomorrow he would go through those abandoned homes. For sure there would be some cigarettes left. But for now, there was enough for a smoke so the task was not urgent. He looked at the photograph on the wall. The pale moonlight showed the three figures photographed at a country fair, hugging each other. Victor and him, with Iza in the middle, standing tall, smiling, holding in her hand a stick of cotton candy as she looked at the camera lens.
"God, she was so beautiful," he thought.
Only now, at this moment when he had some peace and was able to think, did he realize what he had lost today.
What had he lost?
Everything. Everything the most important for him. Only this place remained, the last thing they could still grab from him.
"Such dicks," he said out loud, bending his right arm at the elbow.
Suddenly, he stuck his head out the window and yelled as loud as he could in the darkness of the night:
“Such dicks! Well, come here, you motherfuckers. Come here and rip the guts out of me, tear off my balls. Come here, all of youuu…!!!”
No one answered him. From a distance, he could only hear the sounds of individual shots. Feeling tired, he rested his head on his forearm and fell asleep on the kitchen table, though no merciful sleep would ever again stray under the roof of this house on Chmielna street.
***
“So tell me again, how it was?” asked Victor. “You barricaded yourself at home, and then what happened?”
“Nothing happened. The Germans burned what they could burn, but did not come to our home. Maybe they got bored. I was here all the time. I was hiding, maybe because I got crazy. Finally, on the 17th of January, the Russians entered Warsaw. All the Krauts disappeared without a trace. Who would have thought that it would end like that? It was Stalin who had urged us to start the uprising, it was supposed to last only a few days before Red Army comes with help.”
“Well, yes, yet we fought two months.”
“And the Russians sat behind the Vistula river and rejoiced that they found such suckers. To fight the Germans with the blood of Polish patriots was for them nothing much better.”
God, oh how they fell to be cheated like this! And by whom? Russians! Pilsudski probably would turn over in his grave if he only saw what happened.
Victor came back for the first time on the anniversary of the capitulation. He came there since every year for the whole thirty years now. Therefore, Stefan never renewed the apartment. He wanted everything to remain exactly as before.
***
They crushed the cigarettes in the ashtray and stood up from the table.
“Do you have a shovel?” Asked Victor.
“I have a pick in the basement, and a shovel also. Those should be enough. There is no need to dig deep.”
They went down into the cellar, where Stefan turned on the light.
“The power is still on” Victor noted.
“In the morning, they will cut it off, after providing me with a court order.”
He found the tools in his closet, then they walked together for a few feet, to the middle wall of the building.
“The central wall, ” said Stefan. “It supports all the floors of the building.”
He struck a pickaxe. It went fairly easily through the slab. The basement had no concrete floor. It was still the same compacted crushed stone mixed with some sand and clay, which was there before the war. That was enough as there was no water under the ground.
“Do you think this is not rotten yet?”
“Maybe not. The soil looks dry. Besides, we’ll find out soon enough.”
Stefan wiped the sweat from his forehead. He put aside the pick and with a shovel dug further, carefully, more cautiously.
Viktor stood leaning against the wall of the cellar, skinny and tall, one leg bent at the knee and the other leaning against the wall. In his mouth, he held a lit cigarette.
"He looks like Lucky Luke from the cartoon movie," Stefan thought. He was standing in the hole up to his knees almost, when he felt something hard under the shovel. He became extremely careful now. He pushed down slowly, gently, like an archaeologist. They saw an uncovered portion of waxed canvas. The first layer was really rotten. It disintegrated at the touch of a finger, but the next seemed to be intact.
“Looks good, ” said Victor. “Dig up just a bit more around. It should be enough soon.”
Then, they returned to the attic. Through the windows of their room the very first rays of the rising sun fell. Stefan went to the bathroom, washing his hands and face with cold water. The hot water was already out, because the gas has already been disconnected.
“We have to prepare ourselves for the arrival of our guests, ” he said, and opened the cupboard near the bed.
Victor went to the window. On the construction site of the Central Railway Station were appearing early workers. Several silhouettes stood on the edge of the roof gesticulating. One of them wore a white helmet, clearly visible from a distance.
Victor looked down at the street.
“They're coming already” he said.
Two cars drove up to the front entrance of the building. One of them was a police patrol car.
“All right, ” said Stefan. “Let us welcome them.”
They went down. Just when they had descended to the ground floor, there was a knock on the main door leading to the street. Stefan began to move away the bolts and after a while, they both stood in the morning sun.
The district officer of police forces, Sergeant Kowalczyk, had already raised up his hand to rattle the door again. Next to him stood a clerk of municipal court with the eviction order in his briefcase and a functionary of the Municipal Council, a very serious lady with glasses. The policeman's hand hung in the
air, then he raised it to his face and rubbed his eyes, still red from yesterday's libation.
"What the hell," he thought. "Did they make a movie here or something?”
On the threshold of the gate, they saw Stefan. He was unshaven. On his head was a streaked German helmet, white and red bands painted around it. Around his neck hung a Bergmann submachine gun and from his belt protruded old, German defensive grenade. He stared at the newcomers without a word. Reluctantly, involuntarily, the judicial clerk stepped back and cleared his throat, pulled out a briefcase warrant and began to read in his practiced, official tone:
“City Court Warrant for Mister...”
“Do you know son, where you can stick yourself this warrant? Do I have to show it to you in the presence of this woman?”
The speaker who was interrupted gave a look of astonishment, his hand with the paper dropped down.
Sergeant Kowalczyk slowly began to regain his senses:
“Here you, citizen. Do not try to scare off city officials with those theater accessories. You have one hour to leave the house before it goes to demolition.”
“Theater accessories?” Stefan felt suddenly insulted. “Did you hear that, Victor? How this clown called my Bergmann? It is true that I got it in the crapper, but then we'll see who's the bigger joker.”
“Who are you talking to?” Asked Kowalczyk, his face flushed. “Is someone there with you?”
“All of you, fuck off this place right now. If not, I’ll set my dogs on you” Stefan shouted in reply “Stronger guys than you I have sent to hell, so with you I am not going to play games.”
And to show he was not joking, he released a series of shots from the Bergmann over their heads. Sergeant Kowalczyk had a great desire to run away, but stayed because he was ashamed of the city officials, only to realize when he glanced back and forth that he was already alone at the gate, the white document stating the court order flying in the wind, and its owner having vanished into thin air. Sergeant Kowalczyk began to retreat slowly, with dignity, not taking his eyes from Stefan. Once he found himself in the patrol car, he opened the window and called out:
“I'll call the task force. You have to give up!”
“I will surrender when you return the crown to our white Polish eagle” shouted Stefan and the second short series of shots spurned the blue "disco" light from the roof of the police cruiser.
Kowalczyk rode away to a safe distance and turned on the police radio.
***
A group of the workers on the roof of Central Station turned toward where the shots were heard. Antek, a young engineer wearing a white helmet, asked:
“Does anyone know what's going on? I thought that building had long since been evacuated.”
“Apparently, sitting there is the last tenant who does not want to get out - Grzelak, the foreman replied.” He has lived there since the war, or even before, and says he has no intention to move out. Oh, look! He damaged police car.”
They watched in disbelief at this unusual happening. After a moment, the police patrol withdrew about two hundred meters, and the building door shut with a bang.
“That's some story, ” said another engineer in a white helmet. “I understand that you cannot move old trees, but this one has no chance. Sooner or later, they will chase him out of there.”
He picked up from the surface of the roof a narrow, aluminum panel, and together with the foreman tried to install it on the edge of the roof.
“We cannot do it this way, ” said the foreman. “Too low. We have to do it from the scaffold.”
“You’re right, ” said the engineer. “We must do it from the outside, with hydraulic lifts, just as I feared.”
“And when will we get those lifts?” asked Grzelak.
“They promised tomorrow, which means it may come next week, if all goes well. It's nothing. We have a lot of work to do on the ground level. These strips can wait their turn.”
***
Stefan neatly bolted the door, and together with Viktor went back to the attic.
They were almost running. Stefan had not felt so young and so happy in such a long time.
“So, we gave them hell, huh?” called he, jumping two steps at a time. “Did you see the face of the old bitch? She was running away like a rabbit. And the clerk lost even his precious paper.”
“Probably they will return soon, with support” Victor said cheerfully. “They have no idea what awaits them here.”
There was still some vodka left in the bottle.
“Well, let’s have the last shot” proposed Stefan. “For old times.”
“And for those who are not here” Victor added.
They drank and huffed in the palms of their hands, as was the old Warsaw custom.
“Can you hear the sirens?” Asked Victor. “They are coming up.”
Indeed, from a distance, they could hear police car sirens.
“I think it's time, ” said Stefan. “C’mon.”
They went down to the basement. The light in the building had already been cut off, but through the tiny window near the ceiling oozed narrow rays of the sun and it was enough. Victor again was smoking his inherent cigarette. Stefan knew that now was the moment to ask him about it, about what he never had enough courage to ask, but which he had been trying to summon his courage for. It was now or never.
“Tell me just one thing, ” said he in a hoarse voice. “Because I need to know. Tell me. Why don’t they actually let you into heaven? Is it because of big Walter?”
Victor nodded wordlessly.
“So, they won’t let me go as well. Or maybe it has already been forgotten. After all, thirty years have passed.”
“They will never forget over there. But do not worry, the two of us together, will be more fun.”
From the outside suddenly croaked the sound of a megaphone. A male voice yelled something with a commanding tone.
“Do you understand what he's saying?” Stefan asked.
“They give you five minutes to leave the building. If not, they will start the assault.”
“I like it, ” Stefan laughed. “Just like old times.”
They both stood at the edge of the hole they had dug in the morning. Stefan pulled out from his belt the German defense grenade.
At the end of its wooden handle was a metal cup. After unscrewing it, from the hole in the handle, he slipped a small ball with a strap attached to it inside. Stefan grabbed the ball in his left hand and looked at Victor 's eyes.
Victor nodded. Stefan pulled the ball vigorously and threw the grenade into the hole below. Three seconds. God, how long could three small seconds last? Those were the longest three seconds of his life...
***
A group of workers on the roof of Central Station headed toward the entrance hatch when they heard sirens. Curious, they walked back to the edge of the roof. Police cruisers lined up around the old house, however, keeping a safe distance.
After a few moments, they heard a voice calling something through a megaphone. From where they stood, they were unable to understand the words. Then, the voice stopped and there was silence, long and disturbing.
Suddenly, something strange happened. The house gasped and the basement windows above the ground burst out in clouds of gray, thick smoke, as if someone had stood on a couple of well-aged puffballs. At the same time, the bang of a powerful, although muted, explosion reached their ears and the building moved like a living thing, as if it had suddenly woken up and wanted to say something.
But it could not. The middle line of the roof began to subside slowly, the building gradually changing shape. It became lower, wider and wider, until finally it exploded into a thousand pieces, and dark gray dust, covered with a thick layer the police cars and the uniforms of police officers. The workers on the roof stood petrified. Something like that nobody had ever expected.
“So he has gone to heaven” the foreman Grzelak, said.
The overman Paciorek, disagreed with him as usu
al.
“Those, who commit suicide, do not go to heaven,” he said with the air of someone who knew what he was talking about.
Back to ToC
Rusalka
Imagine yourself sitting on the shore of a lake, hidden from the rest of the world in the bushes of sweet flag and thinking that you don’t want to live any longer. What could possibly happen? A lot of things, but the most extraordinary is to meet in such a moment Rusalka, one of the most mysterious beings to ever live on this planet.
In Slavic mythology, Rusalka is a water nymph, a beautiful lady-demon who lives in a waterway. According to old beliefs, the Rusalkas were a kind of mermaids living at the bottom of lakes. At night, especially when the moon is full, they would dance on the bank or in the meadows. When they meet some handsome men, they would seduce them with their songs and lead them away to the river to their death. Probably today, no one believes in them anymore, but I do. Why? Because I’ve met one. Just listen to my story…
***
Who has bigger worries - adults or children? When I was a little boy, I've heard it ad nauseam:
“Do not worry, Andy boy. You are still young. There are still a lot of things you don’t understand, but you will when you grow up.”
And so I waited and waited, thinking I would understand everything one day, yet never had I felt at such a loss, never had I had a moment when I didn’t want to live, as I had then, as a little boy, while sitting on the shore of the small lake Czerniakowskie in Warsaw’s suburb Sadyba.
I sat hidden from human sight in the reeds, by the water of the lake, away from people and school, on top of my hated knapsack, with my eyes blankly staring at the muddy waters.
I heard that in such cases, some adults decide to commit suicide. But how to do it? And more importantly, how badly does it hurt? Maybe I could drown? The water was right there in front of me, but how do I enter it? I did not know even how to swim.
Never later, as an adult, have I had similar thoughts, and so no one can ever convince me that children have fewer problems than their parents do.
Do adults lie down on the sidewalk, waving their arms and legs and screaming like mad, as I did once when I was a kid? I have never seen it.
Candlelight Stories Page 6