Spring Will Be Ours (38 page)

Jerzy was silent. Then he said slowly: ‘How did he kill the German? Did he shoot him?'

‘Yes, darling.'

‘And – and what do you mean, he carried his friend through the sewers? I thought sewers were … were full of …'

Anna took a deep breath. ‘Yes. They are. But there was no other way of escape.'

‘But it must have been
horrible.
Ugh.
Ugh.
'

‘Do stop talking about it,' said Ewa, her hairbrush in her lap. ‘It makes me feel sick.'

‘Yes, I think that's quite enough.' Anna pushed back her chair, and began to clear away. Jerzy sat deep in thought. Behind Anna, a key turned in the lock on the front door.

‘Tata!'

He came into the room, smiling lightly at them all.

‘All right?'

‘Fine,' said Anna. ‘I'm so glad you're here, they're just off to bed.'

Burek got up from the hearthrug and came over, tail wagging; Jan bent down to pat him. ‘Good boy, good boy.' He straightened up. ‘Has he been out yet?'

‘Only for a few minutes, with your father.'

‘I'll take him, then, it's stopped raining.'

‘Have something to eat first – I've saved yours in the oven.'

‘Thank you.' He pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Well…'

There was a silence, as if with an acquaintance just arrived, whom no one knew quite how to treat.

‘Off you go then, children,' said Anna. ‘Brush your teeth.'

Jan tapped the table top. ‘I come home to see them, and you shoo them away.'

‘Sorry …'

He shrugged, and there was another silence. Across the table, Jerzy was fiddling with a fork.

‘Tata? In the war …'

Jan frowned.

‘Now that's enough!' Anna said sharply. ‘We've done far too much talking already. Kiss Tata goodnight, and go to the bathroom – quick!'

Ewa got up and came over, her hair out of the plaits a dark mass spilling over the collar of her dressing gown.

‘Goodnight, Tata.' She raised her face and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

‘Goodnight, my pretty daughter.'

She blushed. ‘Do I look pretty?'

‘Very.' He raised her hand, half-mocking, half-serious, and brushed it with his lips. Ewa giggled uncertainly.

‘Goodnight,
kochana.
'

‘Goodnight, Tata.' She ran out of the room.

‘Jerzy?'

‘I'll just go and get your supper, Jan,' said Anna, and followed Ewa out.

On the other side of the table, Jerzy pushed back his chair and came round. ‘Tata?'

‘Yes?'

‘How strong are you?'

‘Very strong,' Jan said gravely.

Jerzy looked at him. ‘You must be. Mama said you carried your friend, the one who was wounded, all the way through the sewers. And Dziadek says you escaped from the Germans twice. How did you kill the German …' He stopped, seeing his father's face darken.

‘What else has Mama been telling you?'

‘Nothing. Nothing …'

‘You are far too young to hear about such things, and anyway – I don't like it.'

‘Why?'

Anna appeared in the doorway, tense, carrying a tray. ‘Come on, Jerzy, Tata's tired now.'

‘I'm not tired,' Jan said icily. ‘I'm angry.'

‘Oh, Jan, please …'

Jerzy felt his chest begin to tighten, in a dark, uncomfortable way. He coughed, nervously. ‘Sorry …'

‘Go on,' said Jan irritably. ‘Go to bed. I don't know what your mother is thinking about, filling your head with all this.' He got up, not looking at Anna. ‘Come on, Burek, we're going out.'

Anna set down the tray. ‘But your supper …'

‘I'll have it later!' Jan snapped. Still in his overcoat, he went into the hall, feeling on the hook for Burek's lead. Beside him, the dog thrashed his tail ecstatically. Jan went out with him, banging the door.

‘Oh dear …' Anna stood at the table, still holding the tray. Steam rose from Jan's plate, filming the glass beside it.

Jerzy coughed, looking at her. ‘Mama – please don't cry. I'm sorry …'

‘I'm not crying,' Anna said unsteadily. ‘And you have nothing to be sorry for.'

‘I didn't mean to upset him, I didn't mean it.'

Anna pulled him close. ‘Of course you didn't, now don't
you
cry. Please don't, darling. Tata's just very …'

‘Very what?'

‘Very … very something.' Anna tried to laugh. ‘Come on, no more tears now.' She passed him a handkerchief, and he blew his nose. From the bathroom, Ewa was calling: ‘What's happened?'

‘Nothing!' Anna patted Jerzy's face. ‘Teeth! Quick!'

The bathroom was damp, the windows still dripping with steam from the bath, but quite cold now. Jerzy unscrewed the toothpaste cap and brushed, shivering.

‘What did he say?' asked Ewa.

Jerzy grimaced, and spat. ‘He was cross with Mama.'

‘He's always cross with her. Don't worry about it, I expect he's tired; grown-ups are always tired.'

‘He said he wasn't …'

Ewa took his toothbrush and put it back in the glass on the shelf. ‘Leave it, forget it. Race you into bed.'

They pounded down the linoleum corridor.

‘Children, children – not so noisy.' Anna followed them from the kitchen. She had combed back her hair, and wiped off her lipstick. Her nose shone. ‘My goodness, it's cold in here.'

Ewa leapt into bed, and pulled the blankets up tight. ‘Can't we have hot-water bottles?'

‘Much too dangerous for children.'

‘Fussy Mama.' She pulled a face, and burrowed down.

Jerzy climbed into his bed by the window. Anna bent down, straightening the pillows. ‘Goodnight,
maleńki.
' She kissed his forehead. ‘Sleep well, and no worries, all right?'

‘All right.'

She tucked him in and moved back to Ewa. ‘Goodnight, darling. Straight to sleep now.' She felt under the pillow, then went to the door.

Ewa reappeared from beneath the blankets. ‘Mama?'

‘Yes?'

‘Am I really pretty?'

‘Yes,' Anna said simply. ‘Now, it's school tomorrow, so no chattering.' She flicked off the light.

‘Leave it on in the corridor,' said Jerzy quickly.

‘Of course. See you in the morning.' She went out, leaving the door ajar.

They lay in the darkness, a long bar of light falling through the gap in the door, across their beds; they listened to her footsteps going slowly down the corridor, and into the kitchen; the taps turned on, the clatter of dishes. Then Ewa turned over, and pulled her pillow down.

‘My radio! Mama must have – oh, Jerzy, why did you have to tell her? I can't get to sleep without it.'

‘Sorry,' said Jerzy. ‘I didn't know she'd take it. Sorry.'

‘So you should be!'

There was a silence.

‘Do you really want your own room?'

‘Yes. You don't mind, do you?'

‘I don't know. I think it'd be a bit funny, by myself.'

‘You could watch all the trains as much as you wanted.'

‘I suppose so. Oh, listen.' He sat up, pulling the curtain back. Ewa groaned. ‘Just this one,' Jerzy said, and knelt by the window, the curtain over his head. The sky was very clear now, all the cloud rained away, and a winter moon was rising behind the bare trees and above the factory buildings across the railway line. He turned towards the sound of the train moving down the track, saw the misty plume of steam drift into the night sky, and heard the great animal panting of the engine, as it drew near.

‘Who-whooooh!'

It whistled, and thundered past, the windows of the carriages spilling light on to the track, again and again, faster and faster. He craned his neck against the cold glass of the pane, following it until the last carriage, and the guard's van, had disappeared.

Then he lay down, twitching the curtain back into place, and fell asleep.

A dark place. A dark, frightening place, where he didn't know anyone. But it was full of people, moving about, touching each other, asking questions in toneless voices, moving on. Where was Mama? He pushed through the crowd, felt himself almost crushed, and began to panic. From somewhere a long way off there was the sound of a train, rattling and rattling, and he had a feeling Mama might be on it, but he couldn't find the door of the dark place, to get out, and go to meet her. He pushed against the people in front, and they moved, and he stumbled and fell into a slimy pool of something. He struggled to get up, but kept slipping, and the people were stepping over him, their voices asking questions he couldn't properly hear, although he knew that they were lost, too, and couldn't help him.

And then he was on his knees, crawling through the slime, with his limbs dragged by a leaden slowness, so that each move forward was like a film in slow motion, and the people all round were pressing closer and closer. He began to pant, and his chest began to tighten. ‘Mama?' He struggled again to get up. ‘Mama?' He reached for something to cling on to, and found he was clasping a leg, trying to heave himself up, pulling on the trouser, panting: ‘Help me …' The person whose leg it was bent down, and pulled him out of the slime, and he found himself looking into his father's angry face. It was streaked with blue. With blue? He looked at the faces of the other people, and saw that they were blue, too, and their hands. ‘Mama?' They looked at him blankly.

He could hear the distant train again, and said: ‘Let me through. Let me get through!' On the far side of the building an enormous door swung slowly open, and he could see the sky, very black, with a tiny moon, and hear the rattle of the train growing louder. ‘Let me through!' But the blue faces only pressed closer, and closer, until he could hardly breathe at all, and was gasping, choking, fighting for breath.

‘Ma-maaaa!'

Footsteps, running. A door flung open.

‘Jerzy, Jerzy … it's all right.'

He leaned against her, pyjamas soaked in sweat, hearing the terrifying sound of his own breathing, like a pump, filling the room. Distantly aware of Ewa, bewildered, told to go back to bed. Then another door banged, and there were more footsteps down the corridor, and a dark figure against the light.

‘What the hell is going on?'

‘Ssssh! Can't you see …'

‘Is he ill?'

‘What do you think? He's had a nightmare …'

The rasping, pumping, horrible sound, his lungs filled with knives.

‘Call the doctor – tell him it's asthma, it's urgent …'

‘He'll be all right in a minute.'

‘Go on, Tata, quick!'

‘It's almost midnight…'

‘You bloody fool, that's what doctors are for. Call him!'

‘I'll go, Mama …'

‘No, no, Ewa, stay here. Jan, for God's sake –'

A long, tearing, terrible gasp, and a rush of air. He fell back on the pillow, breathing. He could breathe.

‘There! And no wonder he has nightmares.'

‘Go away, Jan. Go away.'

‘I told you …'

‘Go
away!
‘

The footsteps leaving the room, walking down towards the sitting room. The door there closed. He went on breathing, in and out, in and out. Yes, it was all right now.

‘Mama?'

‘Yes, darling.' Stroking his hair.

‘The train was rattling.'

‘Outside?'

‘In my dream. You were on a train, and I was trying to find you, and it was rattling and
rattling.
Very close. I could really hear it.'

‘I know!' said Ewa. ‘The sewing machine. Mama's sewing machine. Were you working, Mama?'

‘Yes. At the table in the sitting room. Just as usual.' Still stroking. ‘Are you all right now?'

‘Yes.'

‘Tata was horrible,' said Ewa.

Anna shook her head, straightening Jerzy's bedclothes.

‘I'll be back in a minute.' They heard her in the bathroom, the kitchen, coming back. ‘Here.' She sponged Jerzy's face with a warm flannel, changed his pyjama jacket, gave them both cups of warm milk. She sat on the end of Jerzy's bed, as they drank. ‘Tata doesn't understand things, sometimes. He doesn't mean to be like that.'

‘Why is he, then?'

‘I don't know … He was terribly young when all those things happened. In the war.'

‘So were you.'

‘Well … never mind now. Go back to sleep. I'll leave both doors right open.' She bent down, kissed Jerzy's forehead, put the empty cups on the tray. ‘No more nightmares, now. Everything's all right.'

‘Yes, Mama. Goodnight.'

Over to Ewa's bed. ‘Goodnight, darling.'

‘Goodnight, Mama.'

She switched off the light again, and went out. They heard her walk down the corridor, and open the sitting room door, just a little. Low, angry voices.

‘How
could
you behave like that?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Storming out of the flat, storming in again, refusing to call the doctor – how could you just stand there and watch him suffer?'

‘Why do you think he had the nightmare in the first place?' Jan was sitting at the table. He had lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply; as he did so, Anna thought his face looked cruel, even vengeful. She sank into her chair.

‘You will say he had a nightmare because we were talking about the war,' she said bitterly. ‘But I can tell you that what upset him was your anger. What is the matter with you – do you
want
him to be afraid of you?'

‘Of course not.'

‘Well, then … I just don't understand. Anyone would think I had been telling them dreadful tales, trying to set them against you. Jerzy
asked
, he insisted on knowing something of what happened to you – what is so terrible about my telling him? What are you ashamed of?'