Elzunia walked along the streets of Warsaw, trying to imprint every detail on her mind to fill the emptiness she felt. A small girl in red woollen stockings was holding her mother’s hand as they crossed Jerozolimskie Aleje. An elderly man with red-rimmed eyes wiped his face on a large checked handkerchief. A young woman in a floral dress turned towards her companion, who pulled her into a hungry embrace. But instead of taking her mind off her own unhappiness, each vignette was petrol splashed onto the bonfire of her despair.
What had it all been for, all the years of suffering, starving and struggling? Now that she had seen her father in the flesh, she knew that his devotion was nothing but a sham, and the reunion she had longed for was a mere fantasy. Ever since hearing Pani Stasia’s story, she had hoped it was false, but now she had no doubt it was true. Just as she now knew that it was he who had been Marta’s nocturnal visitor. All those sentiments about honour and heroism that her father had drummed into her throughout her childhood were a farce, a mockery. While they’d been struggling to survive in the Ghetto, he’d abandoned them and carried on with another woman, as though they didn’t exist. At least she had spared her mother that disillusionment. Tears filled her eyes. She had no mother or father now, and her hopes of finding Gittel and Stefan had faded. It seemed that you needed the combined strength of a hundred people to get through a single lifetime. Elzunia felt that her strength had run out.
A tram was bearing down on her, its harsh clanging reverberating in her head. It would be so easy; all she had to do was close her eyes and step in front of it at the last minute, before the driver had time to stop, and then it would all be over. She heard the gut-twisting squeal of brakes and felt a shove that sent her sprawling onto the roadway.
Blood was pouring from her knees and she looked up to see the driver shaking his fist at her. ‘Cholera psia krew! What a bloody idiot! Why don’t you look where you’re going?’
A large woman with a flabby double chin wobbling inside her blouse was leaning over her, dabbing her knees with an embroidered handkerchief that was now splotched with red.
‘Are you all right? You would have ended up under that tram if I hadn’t pushed you out of the way!’
Elzunia stared at her. The woman obviously thought she’d done a good deed. The idea of oblivion, of putting an end to all the suffering was so seductive that she closed her eyes, wishing she was dead.
‘She needs an ambulance,’ the woman was saying excitedly, in the tone of someone accustomed to giving orders. ‘There must be something wrong with her that she didn’t see the tram.’
By now a curious crowd had gathered around Elzunia, and everyone offered an opinion about her accident. An elderly man with a shock of white hair under his trilby stepped forward. ‘Is somebody ill?’ he asked.
Elzunia opened her eyes and found herself looking into Dr Borowski’s concerned eyes. He helped her up and took her by the elbow like an old-world suitor. As she hobbled along the avenue leaning on his arm, a small figure bolted from a side street and skidded into the entrance of an apartment building. For a moment she thought it was Zbyszek, but knew that he was under strict instructions not to leave Granny’s loft.
When they reached the Square of the Three Crosses, Dr Borowski sat her down on a bench under a lime tree.
‘What was all that about?’ he asked, watching her with eyes that missed nothing.
She shrugged, unable to speak.
He sat forward and looked straight into her eyes for a long time. ‘I know things sometimes look so hopeless that there seems no way out, and no point going on, but we mustn’t give in to that feeling. There’s always something or someone worth fighting for and living for.’
She tore savagely at her thumbnail. She wasn’t in the mood for lofty sentiments. ‘It’s all pointless,’ she burst out. ‘Those missions, risking our lives to deliver a few arms or blowing up a train or two, that’s not weakening the Germans or affecting the course of the war. We’re wasting our time.’
He tilted her chin so that she had to meet his gaze.
‘Listen to me,’ he said sternly. ‘This isn’t the time to wallow in personal grievances. We’ve reached a crossroads in our history when we have to stop thinking of ourselves and be ready to fight for our common cause. When you and I met up again a few months ago, I urged you to join the AK and I’m glad you did. I told you we’d need nurses. Well it won’t be long now before we rise up and show them what we’re made of. And we’ll need every single person to join the fight. Don’t waste your anger and your strength. Use them to create a free Poland.’
Despite her distress, Elzunia listened and was impressed by his fervour. So an uprising was being planned. She wondered when it would begin, and whether the liberation movement would be a national one or restricted to Warsaw. But Dr Borowski had planted a stake in the ground for her to cling to and she felt her resolve returning. She would fight back to avenge the lives of her mother and her friends, to continue the struggle that had cost them their lives.
As she climbed the stairs to Granny’s place, she tried to blot out the image of Marta’s battered face when the Gestapo had hustled her from her room and what had followed. It sounded as though her father was also involved in the resistance and she wondered whether Marta had betrayed him under interrogation. It would serve him right if she had, she thought, but a moment later felt ashamed of her childish vindictiveness. I have to find some equilibrium, she thought. I’m like a weather vane spinning out of control with every twist of my emotions.
As soon as Elzunia closed the door, Granny hobbled towards her and grabbed her arm. ‘It’s Zbyszek,’ she gasped, wringing her gnarled hands. ‘He’s gone.’
Zbyszek had often complained of being bored in the loft. He missed his pals and the activity in the square. Granny and Elzunia had explained repeatedly that he had to stay there, not only for his own good but for theirs as well, so he wouldn’t accidentally betray them. Each time he nodded so hard that it looked as though his head would fall off his neck, but the following day he would nag them again about going to the square.
He must have sneaked off while Granny was out.
She had found out about it on her way home with her pannikin of soup that afternoon. She had stopped to cross herself in front of St Aleksander’s Church when Basia ran up to her, pulling at her sleeve with agitated fingers.
‘That little devil; I knew we couldn’t trust him. Now he’s gone and done a bunk and God knows what’ll happen,’ Basia said.
By then, Toughie and some of the other children had gathered around Granny, all gabbling at once. They had been horrified to see Zbyszek rushing towards them that morning. Basia had told him he could stay with her for a while, but he had to go back to Granny’s that afternoon. Her attention had been distracted for a moment, and, when she looked around, Zbyszek had disappeared. The cigarette sellers searched all over the square, distraught in case he’d been caught by the szmalcowniks or the Germans.
‘Poor child. He’s only seven! How will he manage out there? What will become of him?’ Granny lamented.
So the small figure she’d seen darting into the doorway had been Zbyszek after all. ‘I spotted him this morning,’ she said, and described what she had seen. If only she had followed him and brought him back.
Granny nodded with relief. Looking up from the soup on the stove, she asked, ‘How come you were near the square today?’
Before Elzunia could think of a reply without mentioning her aborted meeting with her father and her botched attempt to throw herself under the tram, the old woman was peering into her face. ‘You look pale, child. Here, get some of this into you,’ she urged, ladling the steaming broth into a bowl.
Elzunia’s eyes followed Granny as she moved slowly around the kitchen. Although she was frail and crippled, she was like a gnarled oak with roots that ran so deep and true that no storms could shake or topple it. It’s what people do that counts, Elzunia thought, not their noble sentiments and beautiful-sounding words.