Spring Will Be Ours (81 page)

On one an emaciated man was crawling across a pile of rubble, or perhaps emerging from a sewer hole. The man was exhausted, probably wounded, an arm upraised as he struggled forward, gasping. Behind him lay the ruins of defeated Warsaw. There was a date on the poster: 1944. And an inscription:
Their struggle is your struggle, their fight your fight.
The other poster was on the wall near the door. Again, the piles of rubble, and skeletal, devastated buildings, very dark. There were no words here, just the full-length shadowy silhouette of Christ, in the crown of thorns, walking silently through the ruined city.

Danuta looked at them for a long time. There were no other posters, nothing to suggest Solidarity even existed. She waited in the empty office for someone to return, and offer to help her, but no one came. After a while, she felt like an intruder, and went out and closed the door. She went slowly down the stairs to the clinic.

‘Excuse me – there is no one upstairs.'

‘No?' The woman shrugged, not indifferently, but not quite knowing what to suggest. ‘They must be out – I think they have an old people's home somewhere in the country. Perhaps they are visiting … You can always come back.'

‘Yes,' said Danuta. ‘I can always come back. Thank you.'

She went out, and down the wide clean stairs and out into the street. Then she walked slowly through the street behind Oxford Street, towards her cafe on the edge of Chinatown, and her evening job.

Pip-pip-pip-pip-pip-pip. Then a coin, pushed into the slot quickly. Then a voice.

‘Ewa?'

At once, the rush of happiness, hearing his voice.

‘Yes,' she said, having known from the first pip who it was. She had waited for five days for him to call, jumping each time the phone rang. No one else needed to ring her from a phone box.

‘It's Stefan.'

‘Yes.'

‘How are you?'

‘I'm fine,' she said. ‘What have you been wearing to work?'

‘I borrowed a pair of overalls from my boss,' he said, and she could tell he was smiling.

‘Oh. Good.'

There was a pause. She had thought he would phone her the next evening – for the overalls, but also … He had borrowed a pair from his boss. So there had been no problem. And no need for him to phone.

‘Ewa? Are you angry with me for not calling earlier?'

‘Don't be silly,' she said, because of course she had to say that, it was absurd that she should have been angry, or worried, or hurt. Or to be feeling terribly nervous, now.

‘I didn't phone you because I was thinking.'

‘Oh.'

‘That you were right not to give me your number.'

‘Oh.'

‘For both our sakes.'

‘Oh. Yes.'

Pip-pip-pip-pip-pip-pip. Another coin.

‘Hello? I'm sorry. I can't get used to these things.'

‘Shall I call you back? Where are you?'

‘I'm in the hostel,' and she could hear, now, voices behind him, echoing, as if in a foyer or hall with a very high ceiling. ‘They don't take incoming calls.'

So his wife couldn't call him from Warsaw, either. That must be strange. That must be horrible.

‘Ewa?'

Ewa?
Always, on that tender, inquiring note, as if it were a name that really mattered. Fool! How could she think such things?

‘You understand what I'm saying? That you were right, that it's better we don't see each other again?'

Outside the window overlooking the long, tangled garden behind the house, it was raining, a light, summer evening fall. Ewa, at her desk, held the receiver in one hand, and put her head in the other, and shut her eyes.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Yes.'

‘But I won't forget you,' he said. ‘Even though it was only one meeting. We won't forget each other, will we?'

Stop it, stop it. ‘I don't know,' she said flatly. ‘Anyway – thank you for phoning. I hope everything goes well for you.'

‘And you, Ewa. And you.' A pause. ‘Be happy.'

Pip-pip-pip-pip-pip-pip. Always, there were a few seconds after the pips in which you could say a quick goodbye. But he wouldn't know about those, and anyway – anyway. She put down the receiver, and sat with her head in her hands. Ridiculous, absurd, shaming, to be so … stricken.

And yet. And yet. To find someone she liked so much … She pushed the thought away, and got up quickly. Her cigarettes were on the desk, and she lit one, remembering his voice.
Ah, the Camel. He is everywhere in Warsaw.
She went out to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, hearing Toby and Ben come into the house, banging the front door and calling: ‘Mum? Mum!' She put on the kettle, and the phone rang. She ran to answer it, stubbing her foot on the door.

‘Hello?'

No pips.

‘Hello, Ewa.'

‘Oh. Jerzy.'

‘Are you all right?'

‘Fine, I just banged my toe … Hang on.' She put down the receiver, and the cigarette in the ashtray, and rubbed her foot.
There was something, wasn't there? Stop it, stop it!
She picked up the receiver again.

‘Sorry. Sorry, how are you?'

‘I'm fine. Is your toe all right?'

‘Yes, my toe is fine, it's just the rest of me. Never mind. What do you want?'

‘Would you like me to ring back later?'

‘I'm sorry. I've had a bad day. How are you? How's Elizabeth?'

‘We're both perfectly all right. I just thought we hadn't heard from you for a little while, and Mama said last time she spoke to you, you sounded a bit … odd.'

That was yesterday, when she'd thought it was Stefan phoning.

‘Well, I'm all right, it's just been a bit hectic at work. Would you and Elizabeth like to come to supper? This weekend? You haven't been for ages. Come on Saturday.'

‘Okay, thanks. I'd better just check.' She heard him cover the receiver with his hand, and muffled voices. I don't mind if Elizabeth says no, she thought, or if I hear her saying no. She's not going to say anything else, is she? That I shouldn't hear?

‘Hello,' said Jerzy. ‘Yes, that's fine. Actually …' He hesitated. ‘Actually, there was another reason for phoning, to tell you something … but perhaps we'll tell you on Saturday.'

‘Tell me now,' she said, knowing at once what it was, for what else could it be, with those two? ‘But you don't need to, I know what it is.'

‘What?'

‘You're getting married.'

‘Yes. Ewa? Are you pleased?'

‘Of course,' she said. ‘Of course I am. It's lovely.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Oh, for God's sake,' she snapped. ‘What does it matter what I think about it? So long as you're happy, I don't care what you do.'

‘Hey! What's the matter with you?'

‘Nothing! I told you, I've had a bad day, do I have to explain every blessed thing to my family? I'm delighted you're getting married, and please give my love to Elizabeth. I'll look forward to seeing you on Saturday. Goodbye.'

‘I'll phone you in the week,' said Jerzy slowly. ‘I hope you're okay. Bye.'

He put down the phone, and Ewa banged down hers, and picked up her cigarette again. It was raining harder, and it was growing dark; she leaned across the table and snapped on the little lamp. It made a gentle pool of light, on the books and papers, the magazine of the Polish Solidarity Campaign, and she reached up and drew the curtains, hearing the kettle come to the boil, and thinking: it looks like a home. Then she went and switched off the kettle, and ran a bath, and lay in it for a long time, with the water very hot and the radio on very loud.

Afterwards, she lay on the sofa in her dressing gown and had her supper on a tray. There was a concert on Radio Three from the Festival Hall: two of the Brandenburgs, they always had them in the summer, for the tourists. When they had finished, in a thunder of applause, she turned off the radio, and lay listening to the rain, falling through the trees on the garden, and against the window panes. When the telephone rang, she was almost asleep.

She jumped, and sat up, scrambling over the back of the sofa to reach the receiver.

‘Hello?'

Pip-pip-pip-pip-pip-pip. A coin pushed in, and then two more.

‘Ewa?'

‘Yes?'

‘It's Stefan.'

‘I know.'

‘I'm sorry.' She could hear him take a breath. ‘Do you mind me phoning?'

‘It depends what you're going to say.'

Another pause. Then: ‘Something that I shouldn't say.'

Ewa thought: If I let this man think he can pick me up and put me down again as he chooses, and I say nothing, I will never, never have any respect for myself again. I'm afraid to tell him, because I'm afraid of men, that's how it is, but – I have to say it. And she said carefully:

‘Will you please stop playing cat and mouse with me?'

There was a silence. Ewa could hear again the echoing voices behind him in the hall; she imagined a blue neon light, a smell of disinfectant, a book on a counter where you signed yourself in and out. Was that how Stefan was living? Away from his home and his family? Was that why he was phoning her, late at night?

At last he said slowly: ‘You're right to say that, but wrong to think that that is what I'm doing. Or rather what I intended to do. I'm sorry if it seems like that.'

And at once she felt full of remorse, and embarrassment at perhaps embarrassing him because, after all, she had known, hadn't she, that he did care; and the wretched, wretched feeling of awkwardness and uncertainty came back, and she didn't know what to say.

‘It's all right,' he said quietly. ‘It's all right. Don't be afraid.'

‘I'm not.'

‘You are.' A pause. ‘And so am I. What were you doing when I rang?'

‘Listening to a concert. What were you doing before you rang?'

‘I have been lying in the dormitory here, and thinking for a long time,' he said, ‘and all I could tell myself was what I think is true: that if Krysia – if my wife – were to find herself in a similar situation, I hope I should be generous.'

‘Oh.' She shook her head. ‘I don't know how to answer that. I really don't know how to answer.'

‘Well … Don't. But may I see you? Just once, at least?'

She closed her eyes. ‘Yes.'

‘Thank you. Well then … when?'

Again, she could tell that he was smiling, and the awkwardness slipped away, and she began to feel at ease.

‘Do you know what happened after you rang?' she said, curling up on the sofa. ‘My brother phoned, to tell me he was getting married. I wasn't very nice to him. But he and Elizabeth are coming to supper on Saturday. Would you like to come too?'

He hesitated. ‘You think that's a good idea?'

‘Yes, I think it's a very good idea. Then we have someone to keep an eye on us. Shall I give you my address?'

‘Please.'

She gave it to him, and he said: ‘I'm trying to imagine what it looks like. What kind of place you would live in.'

‘And what do you imagine?'

‘I think … an attic. I don't know why.'

She laughed. ‘Well, it is an attic. And I've been imagining where you are, all bare floors, and neon and disinfectant.'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘And that is what it's like.'

Pip-pip-pip-pip-pip-pip-pip.

She waited.

‘Goodbye, Ewa. See you on Saturday …'

‘Goodbye.'

And the dialling tone buzzed. Ewa leaned across the sofa and put down the receiver. Then she hugged herself, and laughed. There was a small clock on the desk; it was after eleven. Was it too late to phone Jerzy and apologize? Yes, she'd ring him tomorrow. I'll have one more cigarette before I go to bed, she thought, and lit it, and walked up and down because she couldn't keep still.

The door to the narrow hall, once a landing, was open, and below the front door of her flat she could hear Jane, coming upstairs, leaning over the banisters on the floor beneath and calling down: ‘Stuart? Bring up my book, will you, darling? It's on the kitchen table.' She heard him call: ‘Okay. I'll be up in a minute,' and imagined him going round the house, putting out the lights, and the cat, locking the front door and making the house secure. How long had they been married? Twenty years? Had either of them ever had cause to be ‘generous'? What a strange way for Stefan to look at it. Or was it so strange? Perhaps she was simply so inexperienced in affairs of the heart that she didn't know what people did.

She put out her cigarette, went to brush her teeth, and then switched out her own lights and went to bed. She lay there awake for a long time.

‘The train standing at platform two is the 7.21 to Greenwich, calling at New Cross, Lewisham, Deptford, Blackheath …'

The woman announcer on this line was well spoken, and sounded as though she were speaking into a glass jar. In their carriage, a non-smoker whose windows were nonetheless almost opaque with grime, Jerzy and Elizabeth sat opposite each other, swaying as the carriage swung out of Waterloo and rattled past skyscrapers and back-to-backs.

‘It makes me think of going to Poland,' said Elizabeth.

‘Why? We've been on lots of trains since then.'

‘I know. Perhaps it's because it's almost the same time of year.'

‘We should have gone there last year,' said Jerzy. ‘We should be in Warsaw now. Much more exciting.'

‘Yes.' There were pictures in the paper of a motorcade protest blocking the whole of Marszałkowska; it had been like that for two days, a furious protest against food shortages and ration cuts, as talks between Solidarity and the government broke down. ‘Still,' she said, ‘we didn't go there for excitement, did we? We went so that you could discover your heritage. Didn't we, dear?'

Jerzy nodded. ‘Yes, dear.' And then, more serious: ‘But don't mock it too much. I had to.'