The Elusive Mrs. Pollifax

by Dorothy Gilman

  They descended a ladder into the cellar under the house. It was very primitive, no more than a large hole dug out of the earth for storing food. A few scorched herbs still hung from the ceiling. Under them Volko and Radev were checking off small shapeless packages like two earnest storekeepers taking inventory.

  "Ah, Amerikanski," said Volko, turning to smile at her. "Welcome! Come see what is done today."

  Td love to!"

  "This Radev is very expert. Radev, tell her."

  "Not bad," acknowledged Radev. "Here is ingenious short fuse, two minutes. This is for Tsanko, very powerful, but in small package, you see? We test two of these, they are so perfect maybe I go into business." He grinned. "Here you see six gentler packages of explosive, also for pockets, almost no fuse, maybe five seconds. Two of them delivered today to Mrs. Bearish, two for you and me, four for Georgi and Kosta."

  "And the largest one?" she asked.

  "Already it is wired to inside of truck. Heaven preserve the accidents, it is to go off with contact."

  Mrs. Pollifax drew a deep sigh of relief. "Well, then," she said, looking around her, "everything appears to be going splendidly." She beamed at them. She supposed that guns would have made their plan simpler; Tsanko's hunting rifles had remained in Tarnovo and only Radev had a gun. She had expressed the hope that this would be a nonviolent raid, to which Boris had drawled, "For them or us?" "Both," she'd replied, and he had snorted derisively.

  At seven o'clock Volko quietly left-no one explained why-and Georgi spread a large square of cloth on the floor of the hut. There they ate dinner, literally breaking bread together from a huge loaf and washing it down with red wine. Across the tablecloth Debby caught her

  j eye and said, "Isn't this great, Mrs. Pollifax?" She was eating with her fingers, her face healthily pink from the sun. There was nothing waif-like about her today. She's using herself, she's needed, thought Mrs. Pollifax, and wondered why so many people insisted upon happiness being a matter of ease.

  Tsanko had still not arrived. "He and Volko go to big gathering," Boris explained when she inquired about them both. "What you call party?"

  "Party 1" It seemed a most extraordinary time to go partying.

  "We decide today-you are not here-that Volko not be with us tonight. We insist he preserve himself because he supply truck and explosives and needs the good story."

  "An alibi!" supplied Mrs. Pollifax.

  "Da. Already he risk much. The police will learn in time where truck come from and they will be harsh. We have arranged for warehouse to be attacked, the locks broken, wooden boxes entered. By who nobody will know, but when they speak with Volko he will be very innocent. All night he will be at ceremony. Given," he added with a grin, "for General Ignatov."

  Mrs. Pollifax laughed. "How clever of you all!"

  "Da. How can head of security doubt the man who drinks with him, eh?" He glanced at his watch. "But Tsanko be here by midnight You are nervous, Amerikanski?"

  "Very," she said.

  He nodded. "None of us know, eh? One asks, is this to be died for?"

  "And what's your answer?" asked Mrs. Pollifax.

  He smiled. "Is not worth dying for, no, but worth being alive to do."

  She nodded. "I like you, Boris. I like your skepticism, too."

  He shrugged, amused. "It keeps me alive, it entertains me. One must have entertainments, eh?"

  It grew slowly dark, and then cold. They could show no lights except in the cellar and after an hour Mrs. Pollifax felt stifled by the smallness of the room and by the single candle that illuminated them. Debby and Georgi talked earnestly in one corner about their countries and their friends. Kosta, Boris and Radev were arguing heatedly in Bulgarian. Watching them, Mrs. Pollifax had too much time to recall her rashnesses, and the many people she had involved in this assault on the Institute, as well as the terrible risks they would all be taking before dawn. Yet given just one small opportunity to save a human life-and the factor of being in the right place at the right time-was there anything to do except try? One made a decision with the mind, she thought-with the cool logic of a chess player-and then it became necessary to grow to it, to curb the emotional protests, resist the longing to give up, to doubt, to flee. The real enemy was fear.

  "I believe I shall go out and sit under a tree," she told them.

  "Don't go far," Debby called to her.

  She was seated under the tree when Tsanko arrived, driving the van without lights across the unfilled earth. He did not see her until she called out to him. He walked over and sat down beside her on the rough bench. "It is gravest concern to me how you are tonight," he said. "You are well?"

  "Anxious but well," she said.

  He nodded. In the darkness his face was dim, without dimension. "No moon, we are fortunate," he said.

  They sat quietly together, the sounds of the night encircling them: the shrilling of cicadas, the call of a whippoorwill, a murmur of rustling leaves from the forest. It was extraordinary how fond she had become of this man, thought Mrs. Pollifax, and she reflected upon how few persons there were with whom she felt an instinctive rapport. There was never anything tangible about this. It was composed of humor, attitude, spirit-all invisible -and it made words completely unnecessary between them.

  He said abruptly, "You have good life in America? Tell me of this. A Cpedo-Wednesday-for instance. What do you do on a Wednesday?"

  "Wednesday," repeated Mrs. Pollifax thoughtfully. "I wake up in my apartment in New Brunswick, New Jersey -I have one bedroom, one large, sunny living room and a kitchen with dining space. The New York Times is on my doorstep and I read it with my breakfast" It seemed incredibly far away and unreal. "On Wednesdays I wheel the bookcart at the hospital. It's a very quiet life," she admitted. "Except on Fridays when I have my karate lessons. And lately I've considered flying lessons."

  He looked at her, smiling. "For you this would be good, very good."

  "And I have grown a night-blooming cereus on my fire escape," she added almost shyly.

  He said quietly, "This is important. Why?"

  She hesitated. "Because lately I've had the feeling we rush toward something-some kind of Armageddon-set into motion long ago. There are so many people in the world, and so much destructiveness. I was astonished when I first heard that a night-blooming cereus blooms only once a year, and always at midnight. It implies such intelligence somewhere."

  "And did it bloom?" he asked.

  She nodded triumphantly. "At twenty minutes before midnight, the week before I left for your country."

  "Then there are still mysteries left in this world," he said with relief.

  "And your Wednesdays?" she asked. "I'm not allowed to ask about your Wednesdays? This is not a dialogue?"

  He sighed heavily, "I wish you may, but no, I cannot,

  even to you. This is sad because you have become very dear to me, Amerikanski."

  She said softly, "It's like a problem in mathematics, I think. For me so much has been added by knowing you, and when I leave-if I am so fortunate," she added wryly, "it will be with a sense of loss, of subtraction."

  "At such an age," mused Tsanko, and chuckled. "As if the affections count years! But for me there has been a long time without feeling. My first wife and my little daughter die in 1928-no, not die, they are shot against the wall by the Orim. Murdered. There were three thousand people killed that night, arrested as suspected communists. My daughter had high fever, you see, and despite curfew Adriana wrapped our child in blankets and hurried to find doctor." He shook his head. "My son survived, he is forty now. It was madness, we were not even communists then, But it made one of me," he added.

  "How terrible that must have been for you."

  "It was. Later I married again, when my son, Vasil, was a grown man-1945, that was. I was most political, and my wife was also political." He shrugged. "That was bad mistake, we have been divorced many years, she is an engineer in Varna. Alas, the climate of Bulgaria is not good for love. But g
ood for peaches," he added with humor, bringing a peach from his pocket. "Please? For you."

  They sat eating peaches until Georgi came to the door and said, "There you are-it's time to begin preparing for Panchevsky Institute."

  "Suddenly the clock moves too fast," mused Tsanko. "Early in morning I have appointment I cannot avoid. I will not see you again. Everything has been said but this -please do not be killed tonight, Amerikanski."

  "Nor you, Tsanko," she said, and they stood silently together for a moment.

  "We are of different cultures on the outside," he said slowly, "but inside we are alike. If only you were born Bulgarian, Amerikanski, we could change the world! Yon will remember, eh?"

  "On Wednesdays," said Mrs. Pollifax gravely.

  He laughed. "On Wednesdays, yes," he said, and very formally leaned over and kissed her on each cheek.

  21

  It was dark and silent in the vicinity of Panchevsky Institute. Only the building itself glowed with light. At five minutes before three o'clock Mrs. Pollifax sat in Assen Radev's farm truck that was filled with honking geese in the rear. She was wearing a shapeless cotton dress, a shabby sweater and over her head a bandanna tied at the nape of her neck. On her shoulder was pinned a card bearing unintelligible letters that supposedly read: I am A mute. "Well, Mrs. Pollifax?" said Radev cheerfully.

  She was not quite so cheerful, but she guessed that he was a man who thrived on danger, and therefore his interest in life increased in proportion to the nearness of death. On the whole it was not a bad way to approach Panchevsky Institute, she thought. She glanced at her watch; Radev glanced at his and nodded. "We go," he said, and headed the truck down the street and around the corner into Ordrin Square. Ahead of them, a block away, she could see the walls and the front gate of Panchevsky Institute.

  At the top of the hill on Persenk Boulevard, Georgi checked his watch. "One minute to go," he said to Kosta in Bulgarian. "You think we come out of this alive, comrade?"

  "Who knows?" said Kosta with a shrug. "It's better to be all dead than half dead."

  On the opposite side of the wall, on narrow Ordrin Street, Debby sat beside Boris in the van and shivered from cold and nervousness. "I feel a little sick," she told Boris.

  He said very gently, "It's the waiting, you understand. It grows better when there is something to do, you will see."

  "It's one minute before three o'clock, Boris," she said, looking at her watch. He nodded, climbed out and began to unlock the rear door of the van where the ladder was hidden.

  Tsanko had crossed Persenk Boulevard and now he strolled along beside the high wall, one hand in his pocket fingering the bundle there. Reaching the middle of the wall, he checked his watch, kneeled as if to tie a shoelace and inserted the bundle tightly against the wall. A match flared. When he straightened he began to walk very swiftly, almost running toward a van parked diagonally across the road, near Stalinov Avenue. He appeared not to notice the large truck soundlessly moving toward him down Persenk Boulevard on his left; it gained momentum as it neared the bottom of the hill. Tsanko had just opened the door to the van when the outer wall of Panchevsky Institute erupted, a portion of it bursting into fragments. The sound of the explosion followed a second later, just as the massive truck rolled through the broken wall and entered the courtyard.

  Half a minute later came the sound of the truck's crash, followed by a second, louder explosion.

  At the gate Assen Radev was saying, "You may not be expecting two dozen geese for your kitchens, but they are your dinner today. Hell, what do you want done with them? Who's in charge? I tell you they are ordered for this morning."

  The guard pointed to Mrs. Pollifax, and Radev said carelessly, "She belongs at the collective, I'm taking her back. She can't speak, she's a mute."

  A second man casually joined them and with a wink at Radev spoke persuasively to his companion; it was Miroslav, earning his bribe. The guard fingered the papers with annoying slowness and then nodded. "Take them into the inside court, they can kill the geese there, idiot. But be fast."

  Slowly the truck from the collective inched through the gates and then through the second iron gate into the courtyard. "You see the stairs?" said Radev in a low voice to Mrs. Pollifax. "On the right. The door to each floor is kept locked, but the stairs are clear and go up to the top floor."

  Mrs. Pollifax nodded. She climbed out and opened the tailgate at the back of the truck. Two dozen geese stared at her, and with a furious motion she gestured them outside, scattering them as they fluttered to the ground honking in outrage. A moment later came the sound of the first explosion.

  Boris and Debby heard the sound of the first explosion as they waited in Ordrin Street, the ladder half out of the van. It was dark on the street, but noonday on the top of the wall, and Debby was thinking about Mrs. Bemish and the lights. If Mrs. Bemish couldn't reach them -or damaged them too late-what on earth could they do?

  "Set up the ladder," Boris told her. "Ill go first and you follow. Watch the ropes-nothing must tangle them! Do it as we practiced all day."

  "I will."

  They heard the second explosion and then, abruptly, the sound of a siren began to shrill and was just as suddenly cut off as the lights all over the Institute died. Mrs. Bemish had reached the fuse box. "Now," said Boris, and they hurried up the ladder.

  Georgi and Kosta were bent low in the truck as it rolled through the gaping hole in the outer wall and continued, on momentum alone, through the Institute courtyard. As it neared the brick wall of the Institute, Georgi shouted, "Jump, my friend!"

  They threw themselves out of the truck, rolling over and over until they crouched under the walls of the building. The truck roared through the wall, setting off the explosives wired under its hood; bricks and stones rained down all around them. "Now," shouted Georgi, and they leaped over the rubble and ran into the cellblock. They were hailed by cheers from the cells and Georgi was grinning as he made his way through the dust. There was plenty of dynamite, he was thinking. He would first free their four friends, among them his brother, but while Kosta hurried the four out to Tsanko there would be time to release a few others as well. They might not get far, but what the hell, he thought; they could have a taste of freedom, smell the free air, feel like men again. He could give them choice at least.

  He was opening the door of his brother's cell when the lights went out.

  In the inner courtyard Radev and Mrs. Pollifax were busy directing the geese consistently toward the stairs leading up into the higher cellblocks. Before the echo of the first explosion had died away at least six of the frightened geese bad settled on the stair. As the second explosion took place Mrs. Pollifax and Radev each seized a goose and ran up the stairs, driving the dozen others before them. They had reached the second-floor landing when the lights went out. Someone came running down the staircase, tripped over the geese and brushed past Mrs. Pollifax with an oath. With the goose under her arm Mrs. Pollifax continued to climb. A dark shape suddenly careened into her, almost knocking her over; a man grasped her arm, a match flared, a guard spoke sharply and Mrs. Pollifax lifted the goose, making noises in her throat and pointing skyward. The guard disgustedly gestured her aside, blew out the match and hurried on down the stairs.

  She had lost Radev; the goose she carried had just learned that by arching his long neck he could peck at her chin and draw blood. With considerable relief Mrs. Pollifax reached the third floor and paused. The door stood open, knocked from its hinges, and she could hear the fluttering of wings ahead of her in the darkness.

  She went in quietly, disoriented and suddenly without direction. She faced a long dark hall with a window at the far end; to her left lay another window. Between these stood cellblocks, line after line of them. She stood there, lost until a light flared at the window on her left The light sputtered like a Fourth of July sparkler, made a small sound and then she saw Radev lean forward, silhouetted against the sky, and lift out the bars of the window. She dropped the goo
se and joined him just in time to help him pick up the rope Boris had shot across the yard and secure it to the bars of a cell.

  Geese were honking. All over the building men were shouting. She called out, "Philip? Philip Trenda?"

  "I have to be dreaming," said an American voice from the cell next to the window.

  "Over here," she told Radev, and he lighted a match. In its glow they saw a white face with hollow eyes staring at them from behind bars, a face Mrs. Pollifax had last seen at Customs, on Monday. She said inadequately tears in her eyes, "Hello there," and then: "We've come to get you out."

  Debby kneeled on the wall next to Boris, her teeth! chattering. Once in a while they had gently tested the rope, but it remained slack and without support. It was awful, waiting, thought Debby. She tried to picture Mrs. Pollifax and Radev climbing the stairs to the third floor tried to live it with them. She wished she could have gone with Radev; Tsanko had said no, a pretty young girl would draw too much attention at the gate.

  They ought to be there now, she thought, and staring at the window she was rewarded by the sight of a small flicker of light. She whispered to Boris, "They've reaches the window."

  Crouched low, Boris said, "Da, thank God!" He leaned over and tested the rope, tugging gently. Triumphant! he said, "It is anchored, we get ready now. Say you prayers!"

  Now Mrs. Pollifax and Radev would have found Phil, the last bundle of dynamite would be applied to the loci of his cell and any moment he would be at the window ready to cross. "How much more time?" she asked Boris

  He glanced down at his illuminated watch. "It is now 3:11."

  "He ought to be crossing," she whispered. "Radev am Mrs. Pollifax ought to be going downstairs to the truck.

  "Patience," said Boris.

  Debby strained her eyes trying to peer through the darkness. She leaned over and felt the rope; it was se cure, but there was no weight on it. She thought, I won' panic, but he ought to be crossing. I'm not scared, Ft not. She realized that never before had she cared o felt so much about two people as she did at this moment It was insane, it was as though her whole life had begin only a week ago. She was suddenly terrified for everyone involved in this, but she was the most frightened for Phil and Mrs. Pollifax.