Spring Will Be Ours (20 page)

He looked at the silent boys. ‘Sit down, sit down.' He pulled out a chair for himself, and stretched out his long legs. ‘Grot has been our inspiration,' he said simply. ‘He's a man of immense courage and vision. And of course … of course he holds secrets which they will do anything to get out of him. You will remember the words of your oath – “to keep the secret whatever the cost may be”. Grot will reveal nothing.'

‘But –' Pani Wilk said hesitantly. ‘But … imagine what they'll do to him.'

The Captain looked down at his hands. ‘Exactly.'

Through the open window came the sound of voices in the street below, the intermittent hum of passing trams, the evening breeze in the chestnut trees. Inside the room, no one spoke.

At last Jerzy said nervously: ‘Sir? Excuse me, but … who's going to lead us now?'

The Captain raised his head. ‘General “Bór”,' he said. ‘You'll remember that he has been Grot's deputy – I imagine it's fairly certain that London will appoint him Commander-in-Chief.'

‘What do you know of him?' asked Pani Wilk.

‘I've met him once, here in Warsaw. He's a fine man – very quiet, gentlemanly, but impressive. He's strong. I shouldn't think there could be a better replacement, but – what a sad way to succeed.'

By the next day, the news of Grot's arrest had spread in whispers, bulletins and low voices throughout the city. Within days, crowds were gathering, weeping, by the German loudspeakers, as they crackled and spat with fresh news: returning to London via Gibraltar, from a visit to the Middle East, General Sikorski, Prime Minister and Commander of the Polish Armed Forces, had been killed in an air crash.

Clouds of cigarette smoke wafted from the front of the tram. At the back, Jerzy and Andrzej coughed, with the other passengers, as they swayed along Marszałkpwska and slowed down to stop at the intersection with
^·
Jerozolimskie Avenue. They were going to visit Wiktoria, but Hoza was another two or three stops away, and it was drizzling, an early autumn morning with the trees just turning and the weather damp. Jerzy watched a trickle of water thread through the dirt on the window, and wondered what Wiktoria might have to eat. He was ravenous.

The tram stopped, and the doors swung open, but then they quickly closed again. He felt Andrzej nudge him sharply.

‘What?'

‘Trouble,' Andrzej muttered.

There were German voices at the front, he was suddenly aware of a wave of panic rippling through every passenger, and it reached him quickly as he looked from one white face to another, and heard the whispered word:
‘Łapanka!
Round-up!' Then the barrier dividing the tram was flung up, and two German soldiers pushed their way through, shouting; ‘Papers! Papers!' People were fumbling in pockets and purses, but the soldiers barely glanced at the cards they produced. Instinctively, Jerzy pressed away, towards the centre doors, and at once saw a whole group of soldiers outside on the pavement, and a lorry just in front of the tram. There was a sudden scuffle and he turned back to see a young man in a jacket and peaked cap thrust angrily towards the front.

‘
Rous! Raus!
‘

Two more soldiers – he could see now, as the passengers fell back – were waiting up there with rifles.

‘And this one,' said one of the Germans, pushing the shoulders of another man. Then he was scanning every face, eyes flicking like a lizard's across the trapped passengers.

Beside him, Andrzej was staring at the floor. Jerzy felt a great pool of fear spread through his stomach, his back and limbs, until the whole of his body was filled with it, and he couldn't move. When the German grabbed him, shouting: ‘This one, too,' he knew that the whole of his life had led to this one, pure moment of terror, with nothing to protect him. No father, no God. Then he was stumbling down towards the doors with a rifle pressed into his back, out to where the lorry was waiting.

Anna walked quickly along Senatorska, shivering in the evening chill, her feet already cold. No one had proper new shoes any more: the brown lace-ups had had to last her for two winters, day in and day out, mended and reheeled four or five times until now they were almost beyond repair.

At the opening to the courtyard of their apartment block she stopped for a moment, wondering if she might meet Jerzy on his way home, as she sometimes did. But she couldn't see him, and even in broad daylight people did not stand about in the streets. In the frightening dusk she hurried into the courtyard, and across, and climbed the stone steps, her feet echoing faintly as she went higher and the stairway became enclosed. Still, over eighteen months since they were moved, she found it hard to come back here at the end of each day.

She turned the key in the door and pushed it open.

‘Teresa?'

‘In here.'

She was in the kitchen, writing at the table; a pan simmered on the stove. Anna went over and lifted the lid. Fat dumplings floated in a broth, nudging slices of carrot and onion. ‘Smells good,' she said, and still in her coat and scarf dipped in the wooden ladle and blew on it, taking a burning sip.

‘How was today?' Teresa asked, putting away her notebook.

‘Very busy – we had four new patients in.' She took another sip, and put down the ladle. ‘What were you writing?'

Teresa shrugged. ‘Just a journal.'

‘Oh? I didn't know you kept a journal.'

‘I only really started it in the spring.'

‘When we heard about Tata?'

‘Yes.'

Anna went across and put her arm across Teresa's shoulders, thin under the green cardigan she'd reknitted from an old jumper last winter.

‘Are you all right?'

Teresa reached up and took her hand; she nodded but did not answer.

Anna leaned her head against hers and they stayed like that, heads touching, neither speaking. At last Anna said:

‘Where's Jerzy?'

‘I don't know,' said Teresa. ‘I never know.'

She parted Anna's hand, got up, and began to lay the table. Anna sat on the rickety chair and watched her. Since they'd come here, despite all the shortages, and price rises, despite having to sell piece after piece of china, and utensils, and clothes on the black market; despite all of it, Teresa had managed to make this horrible place a sort of home. Mama's tapestry
kilims
hung on the walls, just as they had in Praga, and in the spring and summer there were always a few flowers – the street flower-sellers hadn't disappeared.

Teresa set out plates, black bread, cracked dishes and the worn cutlery they'd bought in
^·
Zelaznej Bramy, after selling the last of the silver plate. Wiktoria had helped them to do that – she knew someone who knew someone. Wiktoria always knew someone.

‘Does Jerzy talk to you?' Teresa asked. ‘I mean about how he spends his time.'

‘Teresa …' Anna twiddled a tin fork. ‘You know how he spends his time. A lot of it, anyway. Don't you?'

Teresa pulled out her chair and sat down again. ‘You mean he's joined.'

‘Of course.'

‘Through Andrzej.'

‘Well, yes. Through the Grey Ranks, that's what they call the underground Scouts, isn't it? That's how they recruit a lot of boys, through the Grey Ranks.' She hesitated. ‘I should've kept on going to Guides, too, I wish you hadn't stopped me.'

Teresa looked at her. ‘You mean you wish you could join, too.'

‘Of course I do.'

‘Anna …' She looked stricken. ‘Do you realize what you're saying? Aren't we all in enough danger already? There are round-ups and executions almost every day – every time you or Jerzy are late home, I worry. It's bad enough knowing that Jerzy is in real danger now. I couldn't bear it if I had to fear for you like that, too.'

‘But –' Anna felt a wave of irritation. ‘But there are whole families joining. Other … mothers seem to manage.'

Teresa flushed. ‘Perhaps it's easier for them, if they are real mothers.'

‘Why? Why should it be?' Anna demanded. ‘I don't think …' She hesitated. ‘I don't think my real mother would have stopped us. I think she'd have wanted us to join. To
do
something!'

Teresa was struggling to remain calm. ‘I can't possibly know what she would have wanted for you, Anna. I just know that you're only seventeen, and I – I must forbid you to join. I can't bear to think of you taking such a risk for nothing.'

‘For
nothing?
‘

‘I mean – if they shoot you, Anna, it will change nothing. Will it?' Anna pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘How can you
think
like this? Do you think we're ever going to have a life any better than this miserable bloody life if we don't fight back? Don't you know what everyone's saying? “Better to die on our feet than to live on our knees!” Do you want to live on your knees? Do you? Do you think Tata would have wanted us to? I think he would have wanted us to fight!'

‘Anna, Anna, please…' Teresa's hands on the table were trembling.

‘What? Wiktoria's joined, I'm sure she has.'

‘She has only herself to think of.'

‘And we have to think of you,' Anna said bitterly, before she could stop herself. ‘Isn't it enough that we've had to do that all these years?'

‘What do you mean?' Teresa stared at her.

‘What do you think I mean?' Anna took a deep breath and plunged in, her words tumbling over one another. ‘Forgive me, Teresa, but the ghetto is empty now, isn't it? They're all gone. Do you still have to hide away?'

Teresa sat absolutely still, her thin face whiter than white as she looked at Anna with an expression unfathomable. Terror. Fury. Disbelief.

‘What are you saying?' she whispered.

‘I… I…' Anna gripped the back of the rickety chair.

‘
What are you saying?
'

‘I…' Anna began to cry. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean it…'

‘Mean
what?
' Teresa was on her feet now, too, shaking and shaking her. ‘Mean
what?
'

‘Stop it, stop it!'

‘Tell me what you mean.
Tell me!
'

‘That you're a Jew!' Anna screamed, and broke away, sobbing.

‘
What?
You've … you've thought that all these years?'

‘Yes! Yes, yes, yes!'

Teresa's hands fell to her sides. As if she were sleepwalking, she made her way back to the table, and sank into her chair. Anna went on crying, leaning against the damp wall by the windows on to the balcony. What will she do to me now? she thought. And suddenly she was as terrified as if the discovery had been made of her, by Teresa.

‘Anna, come and sit down.' Teresa spoke dully. ‘Please.'

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, but did not move. Against her hot face, the damp wall felt almost soothing.

‘Please.'

She went, sitting in the rickety chair and staring at the scratches and gouges on the table. There was a long silence.

At last Teresa-said: ‘I – I suppose I must be grateful that you did nothing. You kept your secret. Did Jerzy … think the same?'

‘He thought it was possible.'

‘You thought it was certain. Anna?'

‘No. I mean – I didn't know. I just found myself thinking it, and … and the thought wouldn't go away.' She still couldn't look at her.

Teresa gave a long, deep sigh. ‘Will you believe me if I tell you that it is absolutely untrue? Now you've told me – it explains almost everything about you that I've never been able to understand. And about Jerzy. But I swear to you, on my life – you must believe me, Anna – you have nothing to hide, or to be afraid of because of me. Anna?'

She slowly raised her head. Teresa was looking at her with utter seriousness. ‘I am not a Jew,' she said.

‘All right.' Anna felt suddenly completely exhausted, drained. And very ashamed. ‘All right.'

‘Do you believe me?'

‘Yes.' Impossible to say no. Impossible to know whether she did or not. After all, if her suspicions were true, Teresa would never admit it now, would she? Did that mean she didn't trust her and Jerzy not to betray it? Did she really think they would betray her? And oh God, oh God, she could talk about fighting, and courage, but would she have been brave enough, if the Gestapo had come, to lie, and risk her own life? I hate myself, she thought miserably, and tears poured down her face again.

‘I'm sorry,' she wept. ‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry …'

And then they both jumped, and grabbed each other's hands across the table, as footsteps came running along the landing to the apartment door, and someone began to pound on it, again and again.

‘Oh my God,' Anna whimpered. Someone had heard her screaming – ‘You're a Jew!' They must have, how could she have done it? And now what would happen to them? They clung to each other, as the pounding on the door grew louder. Then it stopped, and they heard a voice call hoarsely, urgently:

‘Anna! Anna!'

‘Oh God, that's Andrzej.' Anna scrambled to her feet, and ran along the corridor. She flung the door open, and saw him, huge and fair in the doorway, panting, the dim light from the landing behind him showing beads of sweat on his face.

He came quickly inside, closed the door, and told her.

‘But where is he?' Anna asked, ‘Where
is
he?'

‘I don't know,' Andrzej said bleakly. He sat at the table looking suddenly much more of a boy than he had ever looked – even before the war, when he and Jerzy were in the same class at the
gimnazium
, he had always appeared older and more adult than any of the others, and particularly than Jerzy. It was partly because he was so tall and large-framed, but more than that – he had always seemed a leader. Now, much thinner, and without Jerzy, whom Anna realized was always with him, he looked younger and awkward, fiddling nervously with a loose button on his jacket.