Push Not the River

by James Conroyd Martin

  The handsome Russian looked then at Zofia as though he thought he were the only man ever to win her smile. Enamored men are blind, Anna realized. He was hastily writing a note and soon, of his own free will, would enter Zofia’s netting.

  The feeling that she was being watched came over her again. Her eyes surreptitiously scanned one row, then another, to no avail. Then she saw a man standing in the door that led onto the balcony. He was scarcely more than a shadow, but she sensed him watching her. And she thought she recognized him.

  She reached forward and nudged her cousin. “Zofia, I think that Walter is here.”

  But when Anna turned to point toward the doorway, the figure was gone.

  Zofia seemed irritated. “That’s silly, Anna. What would he be doing here? Or in Warsaw, for that matter?”

  “Really, there was a man over there looking this way whom I . . . I thought was Walter.”

  “Well, if it were Walter, he would certainly come up to say hello.” Zofia turned back to carry on her flirtation.

  In a few moments a courier delivered the Russian’s note to Zofia. Quickly inspecting the contents, Zofia promptly stood, whispered something to Charlotte, then turned to Anna. “Darling, I’ll be back shortly. I must go say hello to an old friend on the other side.”

  Were Anna not learning more each day about her cousin, she would have been astounded at the audacity of the lie.

  In Zofia’s absence, Charlotte patted Zofia’s chair, miming for Anna to sit by her. Anna took her cousin’s vacated chair even though she feared the princess wished to chat through the poor musician’s concert.

  Presently, the princess took a silver flask from her purse. “Time for a little drop,” she said, handing Anna a small silver cup. “You must join me.”

  “What is it?” Anna whispered.

  “Just take a nice swallow, child.”

  Anna took the handleless cup. She was distracted then by the sight of Zofia taking a seat next to the Russian officer. The man was already entranced.

  “Well, drink it!” the princess insisted.

  Without a thought Anna swallowed it down. The liquor stung like poison as it scorched a path to her stomach. No medicine had ever tasted so strong. She began choking and coughing.

  Charlotte laughed. “I’m sorry, dear. Perhaps a sip would’ve been better.”

  The fire began to subside. “Is my face terribly red?”

  “No more so,” Charlotte giggled, “than those of most of the women here. And it’s too dim in here to tell.”

  “What is this?”

  “It’s whiskey, ma chère.”

  “It’s like liquid fire.”

  “I would have thought you’d be accustomed to such a drink, Anna Maria.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Charlotte finished off her cup and dabbed at her red lips. “Zofia tells me that your husband owns a distillery in his hometown. Opole, is it?”

  “Yes, Opole.” Anna could scarcely believe it. No one had ever mentioned a distillery to her.

  “And,” Charlotte continued, “he plans to open another one, a huge operation, I hear, very near Warsaw. In Sochaczew, I believe.”

  Anna’s heart stopped. Had she heard correctly?

  She watched Charlotte pour another drink.

  Was it possible? Was this what Antoni had in mind for her parents’ estate? Oh, there were many of the szlachta who had small, private distilleries. But to have one as a business enterprise? On the land of her ancestors? The land that her father so loved? He had given his sweat and blood for that property! Her face burned now with a heat that was more intense than her reaction to the whiskey. What was to become of her own garden? And the flowers that were, in a way, her mother’s legacy?

  She sat in shock for long minutes. The music of the violinist continued as if at a distance, as if from another dimension. Of course, it was true. Anna recalled Jacob Szraber’s words to her at his daughter’s wedding. He told her how Antoni and his advisors were so concerned with the grain crops. It made sense.

  How little I know about my husband, she brooded. Whiskey was no business for the nobility. She was certain that when it was sold to the peasants, who could least afford it, it would become another way of shackling them to a wretched existence.

  Anna was relieved when Zofia appeared to reclaim her place next to the princess. She quickly went back to her own seat.

  “You will have to be content with August, Charlotte,” Zofia was saying.

  “August?” Charlotte trilled. “Who is August?”

  “He is that big fellow over there with my Russian interest.”

  Charlotte fidgeted in her seat for a better view. “He is too immense. Why, he looks like someone dressed a huge bear in finery and topped it with a shock of blond hair. He is grotesque!”

  “I disagree, Charlotte. He is the tallest and best built man here tonight.”

  “Then why have you set your sight on the other?”

  “A whim—or perhaps the unmistakable scent of real wealth.”

  The princess grunted. “This August fellow is probably nothing more than the attendant of the one who holds your interest.” She took on a pouting tone. “And he looks to be a Swede, too.”

  “He is a Swede! So what? What difference can it make to you? What difference has it ever made to you?” Zofia smirked. “Swede or not, Charlotte, he is a bedful.”

  The princess pretended annoyance but soon fell to giggling with Zofia.

  Before Anna could question her cousin about the distillery matter, the violinist paused between compositions and Zofia and Charlotte used the opportunity to excuse themselves. They were going to visit with the Russian and Swede.

  Anna sat numb for some minutes. The violinist resumed his program.

  Again, she felt someone’s eyes on her. The doorway where she thought she had seen Walter was still empty, however. Her eyes again ran from face to face along the many rows on either side. Her line of vision settled then on a man seated behind and to the left of the king’s throne. He was watching her, she was certain. Yet, somehow, instinctively, she knew it was not the man in the doorway who had looked like Walter.

  Before Anna could study the man in shadow, her attention was drawn to a commotion in the row in front of her. A man was taking Zofia’s seat.

  Anna was just about to tell him that the chair was reserved when he turned around to face her. Her heart caught. The man was Antoni, her husband.

  24

  JAN STELNICKI HAD COME TO the castle on a whim.

  The king had suggested at the end of their interview that Jan attend the supper and sit near him in the place of Hugo Kołłataj. Jan had no wish to attend the supper. He had no wish to pretend to follow the insipid conversations incumbent on such occasions. Yet, politics demanded that he put in an appearance. He could not turn down the king.

  The supper had been tedious, but Jan enjoyed music, for the violinist was hailed as the best on the continent. Jan had attended a concert of his in Paris and thought the man pure genius. He listened avidly, allowing the strains of music to surround him, enter him.

  But the lift and swell of the music, however marvelous, could not carry him, for he soon became annoyed by the quiet noise that continued after the musician had begun his program. People wandered in to their seats late, caring little about the commotion they caused. Others talked outright. He began to wish he had not come. Even the patrons of the Queen’s Head would have behaved with more decorum.

  His eyes absently scanned the long rows of seats parallel to the Vistula windows, whereupon his attention was suddenly caught by two women on the end of an aisle. Their hands, heads, and mouths were in continuous motion. Occasionally, he could hear their voices, too.

  The one was Zofia, he realized.

  Ah, she is in her element here, he thought. Too bad the concert has no meaning for her and her overly dressed and made-up friend. His eyes came back to them occasionally when some movement or sound of theirs distracted him from th
e violinist.

  Jan was thinking about leaving at the first intermission when he chanced to gaze again in the direction of the windows. Zofia and her friend had vacated their seats. It was then that he noticed a woman who had been sitting in the shadows behind Zofia.

  He leaned forward and stared down into the dimness beyond the dais. Is it possible?

  Unlike the other two, the woman sat still and silent.

  He continued to study her.

  Suddenly, she leaned forward and looked over in his direction, as if she had felt his eyes on her.

  Jan quickly drew his head back into the shadows behind the king’s throne. The wig she wore was deceiving, but the flickering light had caught her face in that moment, and her identity was confirmed.

  Jan had sat for days, hours at a time, at the Queen’s Head watching and hoping, hoping and watching, to catch sight of her. He was amazed now to find her by sheer chance at the Royal Castle, and dressed like a courtesan.

  He leaned forward again. Where is her husband? he wondered.

  25

  “WHO TOLD YOU?” ANTONI DEMANDED.

  “What difference does it make? I know.”

  Anna had waited for the entr’acte to confront her husband, who had turned Zofia’s chair to face her. She knew that she should have waited until they arrived home and probably until the next day or longer, when her mind would have processed the wildly chaotic emotions she felt.

  But the shock was too recent and her hurt and anger too great. As it was, she could scarcely wait for the intermission.

  “So you know, what of it?”

  “It will not happen.”

  “You think not?”

  “Yes. I will not allow it.”

  “Wait until I give you the details. Hold your outrage in check until then. Please. Anna Maria, we will be rich beyond your wildest dreams. With your estate so near the capital, it is perfect! The demand for good whiskey is growing. Transportation from a distillery on the Vistula at Sochaczew is an entrepreneur’s dream.”

  “There will be no distillery on my father’s land. I will die first.”

  “Listen to me, Anna Maria. Please. We have joined our two estates. We now have greater stature and resources than we would singly. With the income from this venture, we shall become a magnate family. I swear!”

  “I have no such interest.”

  “You will change your mind when you see the respect and power being a magnate’s wife carries.”

  “I tell you, Antoni, I don’t care.”

  “And I don’t need your permission, Anna Maria.”

  “You need my signature to lay your hands on the principal that the Lubicki family holds in trust for me.”

  “True. You are shrewd. You may delay my plans, but when my father does die, my own inheritance will fund the business. Then I will need only the land. And there was nothing in your father’s will to prevent me from using it to my own design.”

  “Nonetheless, you will not have it!” Anna rose now, though she didn’t know where her escape would take her. She was shaking.

  Antoni stood and caught her by the wrist, turning her to him.

  When she glared at his hand on her, he released it.

  “I will concede on the issue of the child,” Antoni whispered. “I will. . . . I will acknowledge even a boy as my own.”

  This caught Anna by surprise. She looked up at her husband, whose moustache masked his expression. She wondered whether this were the truth or a concession of the moment. She found herself not even caring. If only she could divest herself of Antoni and live her own life. “You don’t understand what the land meant to my father, what it means to me. There will be no distillery on my family estate. I will fight you tooth and nail, Antoni Grawlinski. I will not allow it!”

  Antoni raised his hand in anger.

  Something in Anna’s eyes held it suspended. “Go ahead, Antoni. Strike me. I’ll scream down every stone in the castle and deafen the king himself for good measure! Go ahead, let all of Warsaw know that your way of making a point with a woman is to bully her.”

  The moustache wilted. His arm dropped.

  “You struck me once. You will not do it again, Antoni.”

  “And what power do you think you have?”

  Before Anna could reply, Zofia and Charlotte appeared. They gave greeting to Antoni, but their expressions disclosed they had heard something.

  “We were just discussing the distillery,” Anna said, her pulse pumping with a new daring.

  Antoni turned on Zofia. “Who told her?” he demanded.

  Zofia’s eyes widened. “Not I, I swear.”

  “Well, someone has. The damage is done!” Antoni pushed between Charlotte and Zofia and exited the Great Assembly Room.

  Zofia was just about to question Anna when the obvious came to her. She wheeled about to face Charlotte.

  The princess cowered at the sight of Zofia’s pinched expression.

  “I told you not to breathe a word!”

  “I only thought— ”

  “You fat fool! Your problem is that you try to think!”

  Zofia reached over, snatched Charlotte’s wig from her head, and hurled it through a window that had been opened to let in fresh air.

  Charlotte’s hands went to her thinning gray hair and she screamed now until Zofia struck her across the face, hard enough only to cause the woman to collect her wits.

  Zofia turned and left, paying no heed to those gathered about, their mouths slackened.

  “Well, what are you looking at?” Charlotte demanded of the dwarf, who appeared out of nowhere and stood gawking up at her. “Go get my hair!” She looked hatefully at Anna, then scurried off to hide behind a nearby curtain while she waited for her attendant.

  Anna was struck silent, as though mesmerized by the horrifying turn of events. She would do nothing to further humiliate the princess, but later, at home, she would find some dark comedy in the episode of the princess’ wig, and laugh.

  Anna sat alone for some time lost in her thoughts, certain that Antoni would return. If he did, she vowed to leave immediately even if it meant walking home.

  She was unaware of someone standing before her, until he spoke.

  “Anna?”

  At the sound of the musical voice, the hairs at the nape of her neck stood up. She knew immediately who it was.

  Her breath was taken from her as she looked up now, into the cobalt blue eyes of Jan Stelnicki.

  She had imagined this moment before, numberless times, imagined how she would act, what she would say. Now she could scarcely think. As her condition of impending motherhood progressed, she found that her heart quickened at the slightest provocation. It was now beating so fast she thought she would faint. If King Stanisław himself stood before her, she would not have trembled so. She had once read in a French novel that the heart is the source of romance and love. Today she believed it.

  Jan smiled as he bowed before her.

  It was not the confident, laughing smile of the previous summer; rather, it was a tentative, uncertain smile, a smile steeped in sadness.

  Jan took hold of her hand and kissed it, murmuring, “Anna.”

  Anna could not speak. She could only think: This is all that I can ever hope for, all that can ever happen between us. But she could ask for no more, her heart was so full.

  “It is so good to see you, Anna. May I sit?”

  “Of course.”

  He sat in Zofia’s chair, just as Antoni had done not long before. For some minutes, they exchanged awkward pleasantries. Later she would remember nothing of them.

  At last, Anna braved the issue they were so circuitously avoiding. “Do you know why I married, Jan?”

  “I think so. I questioned the Gronski estate manager—”

  “Walek?”

  “Yes, that’s how I found out about . . . what happened at the pond. It was his opinion that you were pressured into the marriage.”

  “It’s true.”

  Ja
n’s eyes swelled with tears. “Oh, Anna, if only I had not left you there. I can blame only myself for all you’ve been through, all of it.”

  “I behaved stupidly.”

  “I meant to come back, truly I did.”

  “Did Zofia catch up to you that day?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she told you that I hurt my foot and could not mount my horse?”

  “No, Anna, she said nothing of that.”

  “Oh.”

  “By the time I reached home, Anna, I meant to come back, but . . . did you not get my letter the next day?”

  “I received no letter, Jan.”

  He turned pale. “I’m not surprised. Zofia has much to answer for.” Jan told Anna now of the events surrounding his father’s death, how he had come home that day to find a messenger recalling him to Kraków. “I did try to explain in that letter, Anna,” he concluded. “I knew that had you received it, you would have understood.”

  Anna struggled to hold back her own tears as she realized how the love between her and Jan had been sabotaged. Yet somehow the magic of this moment held anger and bitterness at bay. “I understand now, Jan.” She took a deep breath. “You can’t know . . . that I am expecting.”

  “I do know.”

  “How?”

  “Zofia told me one day at the Square,” he said. “She took great delight in doing so.”

  “Oh.” She took another breath, preparing to tell him the rest of it. “Jan, the child is a result of what happened at the pond.”

  His mouth dropped a little. “My God!”

  “Zofia tried to name you as my assailant.”

  “Walek told me that, too.” His eyes narrowed. “Then you never thought. . . ?”

  “No.”

  Jan sighed. “Anna, do you know who it was?”

  “No.”

  “You’re certain?”

  She nodded.

  Jan took her hand in his.

  Her faith that neither the attack nor the child would affect Jan’s love for her was suddenly validated. Anna wanted to tell him of her loveless marriage and her husband’s plans. She wanted to tell him what she had been afraid to say at the pond: that she loved him.