On the floor were scattered several issues of the weekly Monitor, a digest which provided all the recent news of the kingdom, mostly political these days.
Anna wondered whether Aunt Stella would ever recover from the secret will that gave everything to Zofia. She had not yet even spoken to her daughter.
Anna tried to lift her aunt from her melancholy with lively descriptions of the reception: the Jewish customs, the food, the music, the dancing, the gaiety.
The countess nodded occasionally, uninterested, until Anna spoke of having met a charming man with a dour prediction.
“Oh? What was his prediction?”
“He believes that Poland, even Warsaw itself, is in danger.”
Anna was tired and she realized—too late—that she should not have brought up such a grim topic.
Oddly enough, it was this subject that caused the countess to come to life. “All the countries of the civilized world are in danger, Anna Maria! Look at the times we live in. The Russian whore-Empress has liaisons with common soldiers. What scruples must she have? If gold will rust, what then will iron do?”
Anna recognized the biblical allusion. In Canterbury Tales, Chaucer had made much of it, too, applying it to the Parson, one of the few characters—out of an array of hypocrites—who stood as perfect examples for others. Her aunt seemed possessed, and yet she spoke perfect sense.
“The great empire of France,” Aunt Stella continued, “has fallen before the bloody pitchforks of the masses and its queen and king quake in prison while the rioting pigs sharpen the edge of the guillotine. The few French princesses that survive will be turned out into the streets to marry cobblers or fish peddlers. The aristocracies of the world will cease to exist.”
Anna could only stare at her aunt.
“Poland,” the countess continued, “must maintain its noble class even if every other country about us collapses like houses made of sticks!”
Anna vowed to herself that in the future she would avoid speaking of politics with her aunt.
The countess’ voice softened, taking on a witchlike rhythm as she continued. “The ruling powers of the future will be but poor imitations of the true aristocracy, Anna Maria, deceivingly cut as the sparkling Prussian glass.” She sighed, her voice sputtering then to a close. “It is a sad facsimile of a true diamond.”
Anna could think of no words to answer her and she was afraid that the wrong word would ignite her again, so she merely bade her goodnight, kissing her lightly on the creased forehead.
Anna was startled to find Zofia in the hallway, seemingly eavesdropping. Her cousin had been out for the evening.
With a finger on her lips, Zofia motioned her into the kitchen. The servants had retired. “She’s not doing well, is she?” Zofia asked.
“She hasn’t been herself lately.”
“Oh, Anna, she’s strange! All these peculiar political notions. I think that it’s her way of coping. Oh, she’ll pass through this little period. Believe me, Anna, at her core, she’s as sane as you or I. Now, do tell me about the wedding.”
Zofia, it seemed to Anna, had been trying for some time to secure a closer relationship with her. While Anna questioned her sincerity, she had no other friend or family member in whom she could confide, and so sometimes found herself giving Zofia the benefit of her many doubts.
For the second time, Anna related the details of Judith Szraber’s wedding and her meeting with Baron Kolbi.
While feigning interest in the account, Zofia took a bowl of thick yogurt over to a table, added a small amount of water to it and whisked it thoroughly. “Well, I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself, darling. You haven’t left the house in a very long time.”
Anna watched with fascination as her cousin—making use of a mirror that hung above the table—dashed the paste of cool yogurt onto her face.
“This is absolutely splendid for the complexion, Anna.” The mirror allowed for Zofia’s eyes to hold Anna’s. “Won’t you try some? Half an hour will do you wonders.”
Anna declined, watching Zofia take a seat at the kitchen table, her face a snow-white mask. She thought that her cousin possessed such beauty and vitality that God must have meant for her to live a hundred years, yogurt or no.
Where, she could not help but wonder, have you spent your evening, Zofia?
19
A WEEK AFTER HER THRASHING BY Countess Gronska, Minka returned to the house to collect her things.
Anna met her on the upstairs landing. She was amused to see that the woman’s beadlike eyes darted nervously about as if she expected at any moment to see the deranged countess fly at her, just as Marzanna, the Goddess Death, was thought to appear out of nowhere—dressed in her white gossamer gown and carrying a scythe—to escort a doomed soul to judgement.
Anna insisted that the chubby woman accept some coins as payment for the cleaning and plaiting of her hair. “But do be forewarned, Minka,” Anna cautioned, “should you show your face here again, it will not be my aunt who lunges at you.”
The woman’s eyes reflected the sluggishness of her mind. It took a few moments for the surprise to register. Then an expression came into the woman’s visage that Anna interpreted as surprise mingled with respect.
“Do you take my meaning?”
“Yes, Madame,” she whispered.
In the days following Minka’s episode with the Countess Gronska, Antoni’s attitude toward Anna changed dramatically. He began to show a renewed concern for his wife, buying her little gifts and staying at home most evenings. Anna wondered at the change, but was appreciative of it.
On the morning after the Szraber wedding, Anna went to see her husband in the upstairs study. She was not certain how to broach the subject of his visit to her estate. She was not certain that she even had the nerve to do so.
“Good morning, Anna!” He was in a cheerful disposition. “Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?”
“Yes, I had a lovely time.” Anna was taken aback, for he seemed to have forgotten his interdict against her going.
“Good! You should get out and about more. I was just about to come see you. There are some papers to be signed, legal matters from Duke Lubicki. It will take but a moment. Here, sit down, dear.”
Anna seated herself at the desk which Antoni always kept so neat.
“Here are the papers. Your signature is needed next to mine in these three places.” He pointed them out to Anna, then stood hovering over her.
Anna took in the seal of the Lubickis, the prestigious banking family which her father had retained for many years. She remembered how before their marriage Antoni had been so impressed that the estate was worthy of their attention. The pages were filled with a multitude of numbers and legal terms.
Anna did not reach for the pen. “Antoni, what is the subject of these papers?”
“Oh, they are mere formalities.” Antoni inked the quill and placed it in Anna’s hand. “They express your willingness to have me share in your father’s estate.”
“But I signed that agreement at the time of our marriage. Antoni, I should like to read these before I sign them.”
“Oh, Anna, there is no reason—”
“Then please tell me exactly what the content is.”
“Very well.” He sighed in defeat. “These papers will allow me to withdraw certain monies which Lubicki holds in trust.”
“But haven’t you had that power? How does this differ from the marriage agreement?”
“There is a clause in your father’s will that supersedes the nuptial document. It states that your husband may, on his own signature, withdraw interests on the estate, but in order to withdraw any of the principal, your signature is needed as well.”
“I see.” Careless as he was in regard to his personal safety, her father had proven to be cautious in such matters as these. “It would seem that you need a large amount of money.”
“Yes, rather . . . I have a number of expenses to see to, and as you know, my inheritance . . . well
, I cannot be sure of when . . . ”
“Would you be more specific as to where the money is going?”
Antoni bristled at what he clearly considered wifely impertinence. “No.”
Anna put down the pen.
His tone softened immediately. “I only mean that it is a business venture of which I have been forbidden to speak.”
Anna looked up, her eyes searching his face. “Antoni, do you plan to make changes at my farm?”
“What?” His mouth dropped slightly, almost imperceptibly.
“The farm at Sochaczew—do you intend to make some changes there? Is that why you need the money?”
Antoni’s face reddened with anger. “That meddling Jew! What did he tell you?”
“Very little, actually.” Anna looked down at the desk again. “Only that you seem to be making plans.” She struggled to keep her voice from shaking. It was an unnerving thing to challenge her husband.
“Ah! It’s true.” His tone lightened deliberately. “I plan to renovate the house and a number of the outer buildings, as well as build a larger and more efficient barn. It will take a great deal of money.” Displaying a facsimile of a smile beneath the perfectly trimmed moustache, he placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. “I had hoped to surprise you, Anna Maria, but now . . . well, Jacob has spoiled it.”
“I see.” Anna knew that they had reached an impasse. She also knew that he was lying.
Anna stood then so that she could face him. She prayed for the strength to hold her ground. What Jacob had told her at the wedding about Antoni and his murky intentions buoyed her now. Thoughts of her estate led inexorably to her father and the love of the land he had passed on to her. What were her husband’s true intentions? The Szraber wedding had changed her in other ways, too; it had forged a new attitude. She had seen what a marriage, a real marriage, is about. It was time to see if there were any hope of having a marriage with Antoni. If there were, then she would adapt and strive to be content. If not . . . well, that was a precipice to which she had not quite come as yet. “Antoni I wish to discuss another matter with you . . . about the child.”
The smile faded. “Yes?”
“I haven’t changed my mind.” She steadied her eyes on him. “I still wish to keep my child.”
“I see. If it is a girl, Anna, I will not interfere.”
“And if it is a boy?”
“It is out of the question!”
“I have given that some thought.” She could feel her heart beating rapidly. She could not retreat now. “It might be arranged that the child, if it is a boy, would inherit my estate. A second son, our son, would inherit yours.”
“Are you mad?” The gray eyes glared in astonishment. “It is unthinkable! To divide the estates which our marriage has only just combined? One must strengthen one’s family line and fortune, not weaken it. The legal entanglements would be endless. And what would people say?”
“I don’t care what people will say.”
“You will, my dear, when I do not recognize the child and it is put about that your son is a bastard.” He smiled. “A child of yours without a father will be a commoner, and we both know commoners cannot own land.”
Anna grew angry. He was very quick to play his highest card. Her anger gave her direction and voice. “That little device would turn on you, Antoni. Your pride is too great to allow any such ugly talk to get started. After all, what would people say of you, Antoni Grawlinski?” Anna managed her own smile now, the smile her mother had taught her. “They would call you a cuckold! That is the correct term, isn’t it?”
Antoni was stunned into silence, his face empurpling with rage. He had not expected this from her.
Anna, too, was surprised at herself. She had gone from being unnerved at this confrontation to feeling something akin to being invigorated by it. “Antoni, you married me for what I might bring to you and your family. Don’t you think I know that? You also knew the circumstances of my so-called illness and that—however slight the chance—I might bear a child.”
“I did . . . but I did not expect that—”
“What? That I would dare go against the countess’ advice or your wishes? I am telling you that I intend to keep my child at all costs. Perhaps you might wish an annulment. The grounds should be easily established. After all, the union has not been— ”
“Stop this foolishness, Anna!” Antoni shouted. “There will be no annulment. Our estates have been joined and only a son we have together will inherit them. You will listen to your husband and you will start by signing these papers now!”
“I will not!” Anna cried. Her rebellion had taken on a life of its own.
With the back of his hand, Antoni struck her hard across the face.
Anna wiped at her mouth, looked at the blood as if in amazement. Aside from the incident at the pond, no one had ever struck her.
She walked to the door.
“You will obey me, Anna Maria,” Antoni said through clenched teeth. The door was open and he didn’t want his voice to carry. “If you don’t,” he growled, “I’ll . . . ”
Anna turned around, her eyes taking him in. “You’ll what, Antoni?” She smiled at her husband. “Kill me?”
Antoni could not respond. Something in his slate-colored eyes told Anna she had finished his sentence with precision.
Anna returned to her room. That’s what he gets for playing his high card too early, she thought. When he finds himself in a real bind, he resorts to a stupid, idle bluff.
20
IN MID-JANUARY ZOFIA EMPLOYED FOR her personal use two French maids, Clarice and Babette. Anna thought the latter lovely but lightheaded. Babette had two of the most beautiful children Anna had ever set eyes upon: a little boy and girl of fair coloring. The children occasionally performed light tasks or errands about the house. No mention was ever made of their father.
They seemed to have their share of toys and treats provided by the Countess Stella and Lutisha, but they were largely ignored by their mother and the rest of the household. Gifts and favors are poor replacements for love, Anna thought. She recognized their need for direction and genuine attention, and so did what she could to fill the void. She suspected that her condition and the maternal sensations she was experiencing made her feelings for them more poignant. She read to them on occasion, but more often astonished them with her bottomless store of myths and tales. For them, she always made certain to provide her own, happier, endings. They would know soon enough that happy endings occurred in literature more than in life.
Although Babette’s performance as a mother was deficient, her execution of her duties was impeccable. She was meticulous in her care of Zofia’s wigs and dresses. It was with the loyal assistance of Babette and Clarice that when a carriage stopped to collect Zofia, she left the house a stunning vision of color and beauty.
Anna gasped at Zofia’s daring: she had taken to wearing the new high-waisted gowns which exhibited so much of her full breasts.
The Countess Gronska continued to ignore her daughter, but the will that established Zofia as the heiress was hardly the only reason. Anna came to suspect that Zofia was mistress to many men.
At night Anna stayed up late reading or lay awake thinking, yet she seldom noticed the hour when Zofia returned from her nighttime amusements. She was all but certain that some nights her cousin did not return until the following day.
Shortly before Zofia left for an evening, Clarice prepared for her a special raisin strudel swimming in thick rose syrup. When the tantalizing aroma of this food filled the house, Anna knew that Zofia’s departure was imminent.
On several occasions, after Zofia had left the house, Anna secretly let herself into her cousin’s room and, by the yellow light of a single taper, read from her diary. She despised her own behavior—there was no reconciling such deceit to everything she had learned—yet some dark power within her was not to be denied.
Of the raisin strudel ritual, she found this:
The rose
syrup makes men hungry for my scented lips! Within a short time after I have eaten of the strudel, I could run from my home to the palace with energy to spare. But I cage this power so that I might release it at a time when it is most pleasurable for me.
I detest the raisins! But when this terrible food is fermented in a brew of adder’s tongue, it takes on the most magical of powers. The strudel kindles within me the fire of life itself when I am with a man. All sensation seems to be elevated to glorious heights. Because of the strudel, all men are desirous of me, and I do not have to refuse any man who is desirable to me.
It makes me laugh to think that King Stanisław reminds me of a raisin! At court, the old king seldom passes me without thrusting his darting tongue into my mouth like some old and featherworn hummingbird.
The king is as wrinkled as—yet not as dry as—a raisin. My delight in the king is in making his flabby and withered flesh yield to that part of the raisin that is not yet dry. While others do not please him and dare not even look into his eyes, I have brought forth the age inhibited, yet living, part of his Royal Highness.
My greatest triumph is to see him shaking with the pain of age mingled with—then overpowered by—ecstasy!
Was there truth in this, Anna wondered. Had Zofia been bedded by the king?
Anna recalled now what the peasants in Sochaczew said about adder’s tongue, the herb with a narrow spike thought to resemble the tongue of a snake. They held that it took a bold girl to seek it out in the forest—Satan’s realm—but if she found it, boiled it, and drank of its brew, she would have great success with bachelors. Young girls at play would sing of it, too:
Adder’s tongue, I pluck you boldly
Five fingers, the palm the sixth
Let the men run after me
Large, small, let them all pursue me.
The household simmered with uneasy relationships. Zofia and her mother, who was becoming more and more preoccupied, scarcely acknowledged one another. Anna and Antoni settled into a cool coexistence, but the question of the child always lay just beneath the surface.
Push Not the River Page 17