Magda's Daughter (17 page)

Ned looked in. The stench of raw sewage was overpowering. ‘The village has no mains drainage. There's a cesspit under the barn. It's emptied twice a year in spring and autumn, but this facility is just for the house. The bar has its own lavatory on the other side of the building. The customers don't come into the yard.'

‘That's comforting to know,' Ned commented. Helena hoped Josef hadn't picked up on the sarcasm in Ned's voice.

‘The wash-house.' Josef opened a door next to the lavatory. The cubicle was slightly larger, and a brass tap was set high on the wall above a drain in the floor. There wasn't a sink, but a wooden barrel stood on a three-legged stool. ‘The water from here also goes into the cesspit.'

‘Only one tap? There's no hot water?' Ned guessed.

‘You need hot water in summer?' Josef said in surprise.

Ned recalled Norbert's comments about Westerners being soft. ‘I can manage without.'

‘There is a boiler in the kitchen. Anna uses it to heat water to wash clothes. If you want hot water, she will probably heat it up for you – at a price.' Josef closed the door. ‘The room is up here.' He walked up the staircase that led on to an outside landing.

‘Looks like they're offering us the old hay loft. I only hope that there aren't any rats up here.' Ned followed Helena up the rickety, weathered staircase.

‘No room could be as bad as the one we had last night,' Helena declared.

‘I wouldn't be too sure of that if I were you.' Ned's optimism was rapidly dissipating at the thought of living without a flushing toilet and hot water for as long as it took Helena to arrange the interment of her mother's ashes.

Josef unlocked the door of the room and moved aside. Helena went in and looked around. It was the first rustic Polish room she had ever seen. It could have served as an illustration for the grandmother's cottage in Little Red Riding Hood.

The walls and floor were pine, as was the furniture. Some pieces were more basic than others, but none was as coarse as the table and benches in the yard. There were two beds, both large, and separated from one another by a curtain that had been pulled back against the wall. Both appeared to be sturdy, or in Pontypridd terms “rough and ready”. If it hadn't been for their size Helena would have assumed they were products of a junior woodworking class. Plumped high with feather eiderdowns, they were covered by ornately worked blue, red and green embroidered and tasselled spreads. The tiled washstand held a plain, white utility jug and pitcher. The washstand itself was an elegant piece from a bygone age, as were the carved dressing table and mirror.

A clean but empty wood-burning iron stove stood in the corner. A table and two chairs, of the same ilk as the beds, were set in front of the gable window. The table was covered with a cloth that matched the bedspread, and a glass vase of dried flowers was set in the centre along with an ashtray. The chair cushions were decorated with the same design as the tablecloth, as was the cushioned cover of the built-in window seat.

A red and dark blue hand-woven Bokhara carpet hung on the wall behind one of the beds. Helena touched it.

‘That's Anna's prized possession and a family heirloom,' Josef informed her. ‘Her grandfather brought it back from Russia. He used to trade horses there before the war.'

‘It's lovely,' Helena said sincerely.

‘That's why Anna keeps it here. It's too good for the public rooms and it could get damaged in the house. Anna's brother – you saw him behind the bar – can be clumsy and careless. The wardrobe is in here.' He opened a door set into the eaves.

‘The room is lovely. We'll be very comfortable here. Thank you for talking the landlady into renting it to us.' Helena held out her hand. ‘I didn't introduce myself properly earlier. Helena Janek – John,' she blurted, remembering that she had told him that she and Ned were married, forestalling any objections the landlady might have in renting the room to two single people. It might be the 1960s in Western Europe but she wasn't sure that the sexual revolution had spread behind the Iron Curtain.

‘Pleased to meet both of you.' Josef shook hands again.

‘Would you like us to pay in advance?' Ned unzipped the inside pocket of his jacket and lifted out one of the many wallets he carried.

‘You can sort that out with Anna after I've told her that you're taking it.'

‘It might help if I see her,' Helena suggested.

‘You will see her soon enough,' Josef said casually. ‘Will you be staying two days?'

‘Possibly longer. I hope that will be possible.' Helena looked through the window down into the yard. The old man was pouring a bucket of water into the trough in the pig sty and she wondered if the mysterious Anna was running the bar.

‘It could be,' Josef replied honestly.

‘As I said, I'm here to look up my mother's family, if there are any left. My mother was a Niklas before she married.' She hoped that Josef would be able to tell her if any of her relatives still lived in the area. ‘Do you know anyone by the name of Janek or Niklas who lives near here?'

‘Some people with the surname Niklas live near the village,' Josef said shortly.

‘My mother's brother Wiktor Niklas survived the war, as did her sister Julianna. Of course, Julianna might not be a Niklas now. She is probably married. But my grandmother's name was Maria …' Helena's voice trailed away as Josef went to the door. He'd obviously stopped listening to her.

‘I'll bring up your cases and tell Anna that you're staying.'

‘Thank you. When can I meet her?'

‘When Anna decides.' Josef ran down into the yard.

Chapter Nine

Ned followed Josef down into the yard. ‘Here, let me take one at least,' he protested, taken aback by the nonchalant way Josef picked up both the heavy cases.

Josef handed Ned the lighter of the two, and ran up the staircase with the other. He left it just inside the door. ‘I hope you will be all right here,' he said. ‘If you need anything I'll be in the bar or the yard. If you can't see me, shout.'

‘We'll be fine. I didn't expect to find anything this comfortable in a small village.' Helena struggled to conceal her disappointment at the way he'd brushed off her enquiries.

‘Anna furnished this room with all the personal pieces that belonged to her and her two sisters. I know it's not what landladies usually do, but she likes people to feel at home here.'

‘Are her sisters still living here?' Helena asked, anxious to turn the conversation back to the village and its occupants.

‘One was shot and killed by the Germans; the other disappeared.'

‘Disappeared?'

‘The Germans took her. It happened a lot in wartime. To the people she left behind it would have seemed as though your mother had disappeared.'

‘No, it wouldn't have, because my mother wrote to them as soon as she could after the war.' Helena dragged the suitcase to the wardrobe.

‘Are you hungry?' Josef changed the subject.

‘No, thank you. We ate on the way here, but we would like to eat later if that is all right,' Ned answered.

‘Anna serves supper at seven.'

‘That's fine.' Ned put the second suitcase on one of the beds.

Josef gave Ned the enormous key. ‘It would be wise to lock the door, even if you only go down to the lavatory or wash-house. We can't watch this room all the time, and some people are stupid enough to think that all Westerners carry sacks of gold. Most of the villagers are honest, but not all.'

‘Thank you.' Helena took the key from Ned and laid it on the table.

‘Oh.' Josef turned back just as he was about to leave. ‘I almost forgot. We will need your passports to register your stay here with the authorities.'

‘Of course.' Helena fished hers out of her duffle bag and Ned handed his over.

‘If you need anything in the next half hour, I will be in the bar.' Josef walked out on to the landing and closed the door behind him.

‘And there's me thinking what a nice trusting soul he was – right up until the moment he took our passports. That makes us virtual prisoners here.' Ned stretched out on one of the beds and closed his eyes.

‘We'll be free again after we pay our bill.' Helena lay beside him. ‘Soft enough for you?'

‘Too soft.' He opened one eye and looked at her. ‘Josef kept staring at you.'

‘I'm a Westerner.'

‘Was I reading too much into Josef's conversation, or didn't he want to talk about any family you might have in the village?'

‘He didn't seem to want to discuss them,' she admitted. ‘Although he said there are people by the name Niklas living close by.'

‘Which means you want to go looking for them?'

‘I'd like to find my father's grave first.'

‘Exhausted as we both are, you'd rather be up and out of here, wouldn't you?'

‘I'd like to walk to the churchyard, yes,' she admitted. ‘But you don't have to come with me.'

‘As if I'd allow you to wander around by yourself. Let's go.' Ned groaned before rolling off the bed.

Helena picked up her duffle bag.

‘You could leave that here,' he suggested. ‘We have a key.'

‘It might not be the only one to this room.' Helena knew she was being irrational, but she wasn't prepared to allow her mother's ashes out of her sight until she could bury them in her father's grave.

‘No one would bother to make two keys that size,' he insisted.

‘Probably not,' she agreed in a tone that said she wasn't convinced but wasn't prepared to argue the point.

Knowing she had no intention of leaving the duffle bag, he held out his hand. ‘At least let me carry that for you.'

‘It's not heavy.'

‘It would be even lighter if you took the magazines and your toilet bag out of it.'

Helena set it on the bed and took everything from it except her purse, which contained some of the zlotys, and the casket in its airtight box.

‘Do you want to wash your hands and face before we go?' Ned asked.

‘No, I'll wash before supper. You?'

‘I've a feeling that I'm as clean as I'm going to be while we remain here.'

‘Do you mean the village or Poland?'

‘Both.'

‘Admit it, you don't like washing in cold water.' She picked up the duffle bag.

‘Only a masochist would. As for washing before supper, I just hope it's worth washing for.'

They left the room, and Ned locked the door behind them.

‘I'm sure it will be as good a meal as the mysterious and strangely hostile Anna can provide,' Helena replied.

Ned eyed the slops in the trough in the pig pen. ‘That's what bothers me.'

Helena and Ned left the yard and walked under the archway into the street. Neither of them had noticed the village shop when they'd arrived because its shutters had been drawn. But it was now open. There was no door or window, simply an outside counter that faced the street. Two men stood behind it. Piled high in front of them was a hillock of enormous river carp. A line of women and children snaked down the street to the front of the counter, where one of the men was chopping the fish into chunks.

Ned felt the eyes of every woman and child burning into him as they passed. Helena clutched her duffle bag closer to her chest.

‘So everyone in the village will be dining on fish tonight,' Ned commented.

‘Including us.' Helena noticed a woman handing over a card to one of the men. He glanced at it before cutting her a piece of fish that he wrapped in newspaper. ‘Rationing must still be in force here.'

‘Peter said something about food distribution committees con­ trolling the supply to the grocery shops. You'd think they could run to greaseproof paper for hygiene's sake. I dread to think what bacteria are on that newspaper.'

‘Not so loud,' Helena cautioned. ‘You can't assume that no one speaks English here. Josef's is perfect. And besides, I thought newsprint didn't harbour germs.'

‘That's all you know. Wouldn't you say that Josef's English is too perfect for a barman?'

‘How do you know Josef's a barman?'

‘He was serving behind the bar when we walked in,' Ned reminded her.

‘He could be Anna's son.'

‘Wouldn't he call her mother, not Anna, if he was?'

‘Possibly.' She avoided a cat that was gorging on a piece of carp skin. ‘But some people call their parents by their Christian names.'

‘I'd liked to have seen you try it with Magda,' he smiled.

‘She would have soon put me to rights.' Helena returned his smile at the thought.

‘Wouldn't she just.' Ned knew that Helena was remembering Magda's insistence on everything being done properly, according to the Polish code of conduct she had been brought up to respect. But his spirits soared at the brief return to their former good humour.

‘Josef's obviously well-educated. I suppose he could be living here because he's related to Anna; not necessarily her son, but a nephew or cousin perhaps.' Helena was glad when they turned the corner and left the shop, its smell and its queue behind them.

‘He could be a Party spy, billeted with her in order to keep his eye on any Westerners crazy enough to venture this deep into wild, unchartered, untamed Poland.'

‘You are paranoid.'

‘Ssh … don't look to your right. He's about to join us.'

‘Possibly because he's friendly and he'd like to help us?' Helena suggested.

‘I don't think so. He's still staring at you as though he knows you but can't quite place you.'

‘You don't like him, do you?'

‘No more than I'd like anyone who looks at you the way he does,' Ned muttered.

‘That's ridiculous …' Helena muttered. She raised her voice as Josef approached. ‘Hello, Josef.'

‘I talked to Anna,' Josef announced. ‘She agreed that you can stay until you have finished your business here.'

‘Thank you,' Helena said sincerely.

‘And I thought you might like someone to show you around the village, as you haven't been here before.'

Although Helena was still smarting at Josef's refusal to give her any information about the Janek and Niklas families, she decided it was worth trying him again. He didn't look much older than her, so it was unlikely he knew much about what had happened in the village during the war, but he was clearly at home in the place and seemed to know it well.

‘My mother often talked about the good times she and her brothers and sister enjoyed before the war,' she began. Apparently there were dances and parties in the square in the summer. Is the square this way?' She'd made a note of the direction when Norbert had driven them in, but she wondered if she'd lost her bearings since they'd left the house.

‘It is.' Josef fell into step beside them.

‘Do you have time to spare?' Ned enquired pointedly.

‘Yes.' Josef smiled. ‘You are suspicious of me?'

‘Not particularly,' Ned lied.

‘Yes you are. I know how the Western press portray Communist countries.'

‘You do?' Ned met Josef's steady gaze.

‘They regard the Communist Party as evil, war-mongering and controlling, and its officials as busybodies who are paid to pry into the population's private lives to make sure that everyone toes the Party line. As for the people, you think we are all cold-hearted automatons.'

‘And how do you regard Westerners?' Ned turned the tables.

‘People who live in countries full of decadent millionaires who know the price of everything and the value of nothing. Your rich step over your starving homeless as they frequent expensive restaurants to buy a meal for a price that would keep a person for a month. But I am astute enough to know that neither image is true. You and Helena are no more decadent than I am a cold-hearted automaton. I work here, in this village. I am the schoolmaster.'

‘So that's why you are free now,' Helena said.

‘It's the summer holidays. They are longer in the villages than they are in the towns so the children can help bring in the harvest. We work harder during the autumn term and have a shorter winter holiday to make up for lost time.'

‘And are you helping with the harvest?' Ned asked.

‘No. I am helping Anna in the bar. I live with her and her brother, and try to make all the necessary repairs to the house and outbuildings at this time of year. It's a battle to keep a place that age watertight.'

‘How old is it?' Helena asked.

‘The barn and house are over five hundred years old; the stables and bar only two hundred.'

‘You mentioned winter holidays. I thought communists didn't celebrate Christmas.' Ned wrapped his arm around Helena's waist, as though he were staking a claim to her.

‘Poland may have a communist government, but people still put up Christmas trees and decorate them with home-made sweets and biscuits. They even sing carols in the village square – and live until Twelfth Night to tell the tale,' Josef added in amusement. ‘Old customs die hard, and the Party recognises that religion is important to some people, especially the old. The hardliners may not be happy about it, but they know better than to try to outlaw it entirely.'

Helena threw caution to the wind. ‘Is there a priest in the village?'

‘Two. One who has taken orders and an apprentice who hasn't, but does the job as best he can.'

‘Two?' she echoed in amazement.

‘Officially there are none, but Anna's brother is the first.'

‘The old man?' Ned asked.

‘Stefan wasn't always as you see him now. The Germans tortured him for carrying food and information to the partisans. He hasn't been the same since. Anna nursed his body back to health, but his mind remains beyond the doctors' healing.'

‘That's horrible,' Helena said.

‘Some people say he is lucky to have survived. Anna disagrees. She said he was a strong, proud man who would have hated living as he is now.'

‘You said there were two priests,' Helena reminded him.

‘You're looking at the other.'

‘You? But …'

‘I told you, things are different here in the country. My father was taken by the Germans during the war; my mother was shot here, in the village, by the SS when I was three years old. I didn't have any other family to take me in, so the village priest sort of adopted me. Stefan was his curate. And, as Anna had just lost her younger sisters and parents, the priest asked her to care for me as a favour to him – and, I think, for her own sake. She fed my body; he my soul. When the Communists took control after the war, they locked up the church and the priest's house. He and Anna moved into the house next to the bar, which was empty because the owner had been killed. After working six twelve-hour shifts a week in the meat factory, the priest carried on baptising babies, burying the dead and marrying people. He wasn't allowed to use the church, so he conducted the ceremonies in people's homes. He brought me up and supervised my education. When I returned to the village after university to run the local school, I helped him. He died two years ago. I haven't taken Holy Orders but, as there was no one else to do his work – you've seen what Stefan is like – I simply carried on where he left off.'

‘The Catholic priest in Pontypridd told us that some priests were still working undercover in Poland, but we didn't expect to find one as young as you,' Ned commented.