by Jane Gorman
“Ah yes, it would be interesting to find out more about this American branch of the family.” He glanced at his watch, then back up at the door to the station, which remained closed. “But not today, I fear. I have other obligations I must see to.”
“Of course, I understand.” Adam gave a casual wave of his hand. “It really was a pleasure meeting you, Łukasz, I hope I have the chance to see you again. If you find you have the time, I am staying at the Newport Hotel. You can always reach me there.”
The two men shook hands again and Łukasz strode down the street, away from the direction taken moments before by Sylvia. Adam watched him go, then turned toward the tram stop. As he turned, he saw the door to the police station closing. No one had gone in or out while he was standing there. Someone must have opened the door to look out.
Adam frowned as he glanced back up the street at Łukasz’s receding back, wondering what kind of trouble Łukasz was in.
10
“Please have your passports ready,” Sylvia announced to the group. “The security team will check your identification and run any bags you are carrying through the scanners.” She indicated a pair of conveyor belts at the far end of the room, bumping and grating as they carried visitors’ personal belongings past the scrutiny of the guards.
After a morning spent visiting a local school and history museum, the team from Philadelphia planned to spend Thursday afternoon at the Sejm, home to one house of Poland’s legislature. Security was tight, as they had expected, but they had been assured by Sylvia that the building was open to the public and there would be no problems getting in. While they were there for scheduled meetings with specific legislators, they hoped to find some time at the end of the afternoon to observe a committee meeting from the public balcony.
The Sejm inhabited a plot on Ulica Wiejska, a quiet street in a diplomatic neighborhood near the center of Warsaw. The classically designed and well-kept building was tucked away from the street, creating an enclave of peace and harmony.
The main visitor entrance was just as grand as the rest of the white marble building. Plush red carpets left only small squares of wooden parquet floors exposed while thick golden curtains hung before large windows.
Guards in the drab olive uniforms of the Polish military stood at every entrance or interacted with each guest trying to gain access to the building. Small monitors revealed the contents of visitors’ bags as they passed through the scanners, and guests were asked to stand, crucifixion-style, while a metal detecting wand scanned their person.
Adam smiled at a guard as he held out his passport for inspection, but the man did not smile back.
As Adam waited behind Angela while her bag ran through the scanners, he heard a familiar voice. Turning to look over his shoulder, Adam saw Łukasz engaged in a conversation with two guards near another scanner.
Łukasz leaned against one of the conveyor belts, which had been immobilized. His satchel sat upright on the surface, its top flap flung open to expose its contents. Small items that had been safely ensconced in their proper places now lay scattered along the belt.
Łukasz’s attention, and that of the two uniformed guards leaning toward him from the other side of the conveyor belt, was focused on the object one of the guards now held in his hand.
As the guard waved it in his hand as he spoke, Łukasz reached over and pushed a button on the side of the device. He spoke rapidly to the guard in a tense voice, only stopping when he pushed another button. Łukasz’s recorded voice floated back across the room.
Adam smiled again and moved to take his turn through the inspection, thinking that would be the end of it. When he turned after passing through the inspection, Łukasz was still engaged with the two guards. Other visitors who had lined up behind him had all moved over to the line Adam and his colleagues had used, like shoppers in a grocery store trying to choose the fastest queue.
Adam paused as he passed through the doorway leading to the halls of the building, resting his hand against the door jamb and allowing the others to pass by him. Łukasz was now leaning forward over the conveyor belt, his head falling down between his shoulders. He seemed to be listening to what one of the guards was telling him as he nodded periodically.
“No… no…” Łukasz nodded as he addressed his words to the belt below him. “Tak… wiem…” Adam knew enough Polish to understand that Łukasz was acquiescing to whatever the guard was saying.
The guard continued his monologue in a brisk, authoritative voice. Łukasz simply nodded and mumbled his affirmative responses.
It seemed like this exchange could go on forever. The guard holding Łukasz’s bag gave no indication he was ready to return it to its owner. Łukasz wasn’t going to be let in.
Adam took a step toward the scene. Not that he could do much. But he could at least try to intervene. There was no good reason why Łukasz should be kept out of the building.
He held back when a fourth man appeared. His wire-rimmed glasses caught the light as he approached the trio and spoke quietly into the ear of one of the guards.
The stranger was young, wore a suit rather than a uniform, and ran his hand over his short brown hair as he spoke. But the guards nodded as they listened to him. The uniformed guard glanced at Łukasz with dislike clearly painted across his features, then handed his satchel back.
Łukasz took the bag. Without saying another word, he gathered the other items that had been set aside on the conveyor belt.
Adam examined the young man who had made such an immediate impact. Despite his confident dress and style, the man conveyed a sense of nervousness. Perhaps it was the way he kept smoothing his hair, or the way his eyes flitted about while he spoke, never settling for long on any one object or person. Or perhaps it was simply a reflection of his youth and something he would grow out of.
“Adam, are you joining us?” Adam’s thoughts were interrupted by Sylvia’s call. She and the rest of the team were already moving up the long hallway toward the stairs that would take them up to the private offices on the second floor.
“Of course, sorry.” Adam glanced back into the entrance area.
Łukasz had restored all of his items to his satchel and was turning toward the door where Adam stood. Adam ducked through the doorway to follow Sylvia before Łukasz could see him, forcing himself to focus on the people he was about to meet.
11
A smaller office would not have been able to hold Minister Kuhl. Given the energy and speed with which Kuhl moved about the room, Adam was sure he would have broken down the walls of any tighter space. Or perhaps he already had, and this room was the result. For it was the size of two offices, at least.
A large conference table filled one part of the room. Farther from the windows, silk-upholstered armchairs gathered around a coffee table that Adam was sure was a true antique. Kuhl’s red cherry desk covered the back wall, and from the leather chair behind it, he gazed out at his domain like a tensed leopard ready to pounce.
Minister Kuhl, Sylvia had explained to them, was one of the four hundred and sixty ministers who were elected to represent Poland in the Sejm every four years. Each minister was elected from a region of the country based on a system of proportional representation.
Minister Kuhl was a member of Prawo i Sprawiedliwość, PiS, the second most powerful party in the legislature, a party formed by a number of the leaders of the Solidarity movement. As a leading figure within the party, he was offered the prime post of Chair of the Committee for Environmental Protection.
“This was a good position for me,” Kuhl explained to the group seated before him. “Yes, it makes sense. We have much farmland in Poland — most in all of Europe — and this is very sensitive. We are facing much pressure from the European Union right now on how we manage our farmlands. And our subsidies. They want certain changes from us, but we shall see.” He nodded, giving the appearance of a bobblehead doll rather than the sage look he was probably going for.
“So you are respon
sible for deciding how the farmland is managed?” Ray asked.
“Yes… yes… with the committee, of course.” Kuhl could sit still no longer. He jumped up and started pacing between the conference table and the seating area as he answered their questions. The team followed his movements with their heads, giving a fair imitation of a crowd at a tennis match.
“I understand that before you entered politics, sir, you were a truck driver. What prepared you for this position?” Angela leaned forward as she asked, her eyes on Kuhl.
Adam glanced at Angela, surprised she knew so much about Kuhl’s background. Clearly, she had done her homework before joining this delegation.
Kuhl did not seem surprised by the question. “Oh yes, yes. I was prepared, this was not a problem. This was a very good position for me. I was a truck driver, as you say. Before the change in regimes. Ah, what a change, I can tell you!” He smiled broadly at the group, then resumed his pacing.
Adam and Angela exchanged glances, but didn’t smile.
Kuhl smiled enough for all of them, waving his arms as he spoke. “What a dream. A dream come true. Imagine this. We — we, the people of Poland — we brought down that communist regime. Those socialists. Yes. We did this. And it is much better now.”
He paused and looked back at the group. “It is so important that you are here, of course. We did not do this alone. Oh no” — he resumed his pacing — “we had such great support from the United States. From the great Ronald Reagan —” Here, Kuhl spread his arms wide as if thanking the heavens for Reagan. “And the President George Bush. Yes, these were great men. Great men.” His smiled broadened as he spoke, as if laughing at a joke only he could hear.
Tired of watching Kuhl move back and forth, Adam turned to look around the office. Framed paintings and photographs dotted the walls. The oil paintings were all modern in style and didn’t catch Adam’s interest. The photographs did.
The artistic shots captured images from around the country. A farm laborer paused in the field, caught on film leaning against his hoe. A truck driver, maybe Kuhl as a young man, stepping up into the cab of an 18-wheeler. A woman in a drab blue suit smiling into the camera in front of a gray-looking department store. The people of Poland that Kuhl was so proud of, Adam assumed. The people he now represented.
Adam looked back at the man with a little more respect. At least he seemed to be exactly who he said he was: a truck driver who was so excited about the change in politics that he stepped up and took on the responsibility of leadership. Yet Adam couldn’t help but smile again as the man almost knocked one of his paintings off the wall as he gestured with exuberance.
“And who else will you meet with while you are here?” Kuhl was asking Sylvia.
“We have a meeting arranged with Minister Kapral next,” Sylvia answered, checking the schedule in her datebook.
“Good, good.” Kuhl nodded vigorously, resuming his seat behind his massive desk. “Good, Kapral is a good man. A good leader. He will be very helpful for you.” Kuhl looked over the group assembled before him as he spoke. “You must listen to him. He has some powerful ideas for Poland and her future. Me, people like me, we are part of Poland’s past. A good part” — he held up a finger — “an important part, no doubt. But Kapral, he looks only to the future. To what may be. To what else may be,” Kuhl corrected himself.
“And then we will see a committee meeting…” Sylvia continued.
Kuhl nodded energetically.
“Oh, and before that we will meet with Minister Novosad.”
Kuhl’s head stopped and he sat still. Adam realized that was the first time he had been still since the group had entered his office. Kuhl frowned. “Novosad… hmm… You must meet with him?”
Sylvia looked up at Kuhl with surprise. “Well, he was kind enough to make time for us.” She frowned. “And of course we are interested in meeting with as many ministers as we can while we are here. We have only the one afternoon for these visits. The group will also meet with representatives from schools, from local businesses, from museums…” Sylvia’s words trailed off and she shrugged, still looking questioningly at Kuhl.
“Yes, yes, of course.” His head resumed its bobbing. “Yes, I’m sorry. My reaction was bad. Very bad.” He waved both his hands over his desk and looked down. “But, you see,” he added, looking up again, “he was part of Sojusz Lewicy Demokratycznej, SLD, you know, before he joined his current party. SLD is the post-communist party. They prefer many of the old ways, they do not support the economic changes we have been making to move closer to the rest of Europe.”
“He switched parties?” Adam asked, interested.
“Oh yes, yes. And quite a drastic shift, you see. From one extreme to another. He didn’t even join PiS, my party. No, he went straight to Platforma Obywatelska, the Civic Platform.”
“Doesn’t your party work closely with them?” Adam pressed.
“Of course, yes. But they are very Western, very European in their approach. Maybe too much so. This is still Poland, you see. We may have changed our government, but we have not changed our people. We are still Poles, we must not forget that.”
“So why are you not happy with Novosad?” Ray asked.
“Oh… well… Perhaps I should not have said anything. He has changed, I’m sure, I’m sure. People can change, no?”
“No.” Angela and Ray spoke in unison, then smiled at each other.
“No?” Kuhl shrugged. “No, perhaps not. Perhaps that is why I spoke. He is Russian, too, you know?” Kuhl added, jumping up once again. Adam figured the man had a ten minute time limit on sitting still.
“He’s in the Polish government, surely he must be a Polish citizen?” Jared asked.
“Well, of course, yes,” Kuhl waved away the concern. “Yes, he is Polish. He was born in Białystok. But his family is from Russia, just the previous generation. Is he Polish?” Kuhl stopped and looked closely at the group. “Or is he still a Russian at heart?”
12
Following the rest of his team down the plush hallway, Adam watched as Sylvia spoke excitedly to Chris, Ray, Jared and Angela. The graceful motion of her hands, the glint in her eyes, all spoke to her love for her country. Or perhaps her love for politics. Her enthusiasm was contagious and the others were nodding and occasionally laughing at Sylvia’s remarks.
As they approached the stairs to Minister Kapral’s office, a man stopped the group. His silk suit tagged him as someone of importance in the building, but something about him, maybe the bend of his shoulders or the way his eyes narrowed when he saw the group approaching, gave Adam the impression more of a bureaucrat than a politician. Adam thought he saw a trace of Mongolian ancestry in the man’s features, but it vanished as his smile widened, transforming his face.
“Ah, Sylvia, what perfect timing.” He spoke to Sylvia, and them all, in English. “I have a quick request for you, if I may pull you away for a moment?” He smiled around at the group gathered on the small landing.
“Of course, Mr. Malak,” Chris answered for the group. “I had been hoping a meeting with you was also on our schedule.”
Chris turned to the rest of the group. “Mr. Tomek Malak is the Director of Government Affairs for the city of Warsaw. He is responsible for serving as a liaison between the city government and the national legislature, since they must work so closely together.” He paused and smiled at Sylvia. “And he is also the person generous enough to let us take Sylvia away from him this week to show us around.”
“Aha, your boss, huh, Sylvia?” Ray asked, pumping Sylvia on the back.
She coughed and stepped forward slightly. “Yes, that’s right. Tomek, I am glad we ran into you. Perhaps we can take a moment of your time before we meet with Minister Kapral?”
That was all the group understood of what she said, as this statement was followed by a quick exchange between the two in Polish.
“Yes, yes.” Sylvia nodded as she finished her brief conversation with her boss. “Tomek and I have som
e very short business to take care of,” she finally said to the group. “Can you all please follow me?”
With these words, Sylvia led the way up the narrow stairs that provided private access to the smaller offices on the higher floors. Malak waited until they had each passed him, then followed them up the stairs, his shadow following them last of all as he passed under the bare bulbs dangling from the ceiling.
Sylvia took the group up two flights to a small office on the third floor. A utilitarian wooden desk stood near the window, filing cabinets lined one wall. News clippings and posters plastered the opposite wall, some in frames, others simply stuck to the wall with tape. This was clearly a well-used working space, but it was clean and organized and even held a slight odor of disinfectant.
As Sylvia and Malak leaned over his desk, conducting their business in Polish, Adam walked slowly along the wall, reviewing the materials posted there. Most he couldn’t read, but some were in English, and in others he could pick out enough words to get a feel for the message they communicated.
Sylvia kept up her conversation with Malak, speaking far too quickly for Adam to follow, as Malak handed her a sheaf of papers. She walked them over to the far corner and Adam heard the familiar grind of a small shredder. He kept his attention on the news cuttings in front of him.
One section of the wall in particular seemed to focus on recognitions Malak had achieved in his work for the city. Clippings showed images of Malak standing with smiling crowds of people, shaking hands, cutting ribbons and even, in one, placing his hand on the head of a crying baby.
Angela came up next to Adam and joined him in examining these posts, adjusting her glasses as she stepped closer. “He seems like a well-liked politician,” she commented, nodding her head toward an English-language article that summarized Malak’s success in encouraging new, Western businesses to open up in Warsaw. Another posted next to it praised Malak’s role in creating a scholarship to send students abroad.