May, 1945
Poland
It started raining the following afternoon and it kept up until the evening of their third day. Fortunately the hotel had an extensive library that hadn’t been completely gutted by the Nazis.
“They must have liked English mystery novels,” Rachel observed, bringing back half a dozen books by Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers.
She and Stephen plowed through them in between Peter’s sumptuous feasts. The puzzles allowed them temporary escape from their predicament and the lavish meals dulled their anxiety. After two days the swelling was reduced to a point where Stephen’s ankle regained its normal shape, but it was still too tender for him to put his full weight on it.
“We’ll have to wait it out,” Rachel said.
“They’ll get suspicious if we don’t make any calls to Cracow.”
“What do you suggest then? That we leave and live in the woods until you can walk?”
“You could go on without me. We’ll tell them you returned to Cracow. When I’m able, I’ll follow.”
Rachel thought, It’s the same old dilemma: if I’m not for myself, who will be, but if I’m only for myself, who am I?
She knelt beside him. “We have to stay together, Stephen. No more separations. Not until we get across the border.”
He frowned. “I have to tell you something,” he said.
Rachel stared at him. What else could there be?
“Remember the earring Mother gave me at the train station?”
“Yes.”
“I gave it away. Traded it for my identification papers back in Moscow. I’m sorry, Rachel—”
“That’s it!”
He ignored her, his eyes focused somewhere else.
“I had no choice,” he continued. “You know I would never—”
“Stephen!”
He stopped and looked at her.
“I’m glad you gave it away.”
“You are?”
“Yes. That’s what Mother would have wanted. It kept us together, didn’t it?”
He nodded.
“Besides,” she paused. “I gave mine to Mitya.”
“You did?”
“Yes. He risked everything for me. And he saved my life.”
“I had no idea.”
“Neither did he. I slipped it into his pocket just before we got onto the train. He thinks it’s just a letter.”
Rachel saw a smile begin to form on her brother’s lips. He suddenly grinned as tears formed in his eyes. He began to laugh as he reached out to her. She fell into his arms and heard herself laugh openly for the first time in years.
It was ten days from his fall before Stephen’s ankle felt normal. He could walk without hobbling, but he knew it wasn’t strong enough to climb with. Nevertheless, after wrapping it with tape, he pronounced himself ready.
If anyone at the hotel suspected them it wasn’t evident from their manner. Stephen had paid for the extra week in advance and he had given Peter a lavish tip after every meal. So, when he announced that they would be departing the next morning, the deskman appeared genuinely dismayed.
“We were hoping for another week,” he said.
“Next year. By the way, we’d like to keep the boots and knapsacks Marie gave us. If you’ll have her stop by the room tonight, we’ll pay her for them.”
“No need. We’re only going to throw out all that junk when we get around to cleaning out the basement.”
“But won’t she need them once business picks up?” Rachel asked.
The deskman shook his head. “No one will let a female take them higher than the foothills. We’re going to put in tennis courts and a few nature trails.”
“I’ll leave her a tip then.” Stephen put cash into an envelope, wrote Marie’s name on it, and left it at the desk.
They found Peter in the kitchen and asked him to prepare lunch baskets for their bus ride back to Cracow. “Make them extra large,” Stephen instructed. “You can’t find food like yours in that city.”
The chef, pleased by the compliment, promised he would.
That night they ate dinner early and packed the lunches and a few articles of clothing into the knapsacks. They went to bed but were unable to sleep. They waited out the night, each locked away in their separate war memories.
Their original plan had been to go into town as though they were going to catch the bus, but when the first light appeared in the window they put on their boots and donned their packs; they couldn’t wait another second.
Downstairs, all was quiet. They followed the same path that Marie had shown them, dumping their clothes and identification papers into the woods.
“Ilya and Lydia are dead,” Stephen declared.
They moved rapidly upward through the foothills, reaching by eight the point where Marie had stopped for lunch. Stephen had felt twinges of pain but that hadn’t slowed him down.
“Do you want to rest?”
Rachel looked toward the mountains. Her heart was thumping. “No.”
The path continued on as before, still rising gradually, so that they weren’t aware of how far they had ascended unless they stopped and looked back. There had obviously been many hikers who had gone to the summit for the trail was clearly marked.
After another hour the path turned sharply upward and they both immediately felt the difference. Rachel’s knees ached and Stephen’s ankle throbbed, but they trudged slowly, their backs bent, breathing heavily. When they reached a plateau they stopped to rest. Rachel lay in the sunlight and caught her breath. Then she sat up, leaning against the rocky overhang and looked back.
Far below she could see the town and the hotel, its largest structure. She followed the path they had taken behind it, letting her eyes skirt across the forest and open meadow. Something moved and she stood up, searching for it. At first she saw nothing, but then, a quarter of the distance from the hotel, she saw the figure. It was moving at a near run and she knew who it had to be.
“Marie.”
“What?”
“It’s her. She’s coming after us.”
Stephen got up slowly. He couldn’t walk over to where Rachel stood without limping. “I don’t need to see her. Let’s go.”
The plateau ended after a few hundred yards and the path cut along the edge of a cliff, rising at a sharp angle. Gritting his teeth, Stephen set out behind Rachel. Within minutes the pain in his ankle was excruciating. He hobbled, rolled off his good ankle, but each step was a dagger into his foot. He fell further and further behind; Rachel was rarely in sight now as the path wound back and forth across the face of the cliff.
Stephen stopped and unlaced his boot. He had to do something. He dug into the loose rock at the side of the path until he found several smooth pieces. He stuffed these into his boot, flat against his ankle, and pulled the laces until the boot was stretched taut over the rock. Searching his pack, he found that Peter had thoughtfully put a cloth napkin in his basket. This he folded and put into his mouth. Biting down hard, he set off, grinding his teeth, pumping his legs as fast as he could.
Meanwhile, Rachel, far ahead, couldn’t make herself stop. The taste of freedom was in her mouth and its song beat in her brain. She didn’t look back for fear of seeing how far behind Stephen was. At the summit I’ll wait, she thought. But let me see it. Let me see the promised land!
Stephen imagined he was on the soccer field. Headed toward the goal, with his pursuers at his heals. Go! Go! Go! He was gaining on Rachel, had seen her three times in the last hour. She was getting larger instead of smaller.
When she reached the next plateau, Rachel thought at first that it was the summit. The trail narrowed between two cliffs and she followed it with growing anticipation; a final twist brought her up against a wall of boulders that appeared to have tumbled down one on top of the other. It rose up over twenty feet, its facade smooth rock except for interlocking crevices and tufts of weed. She remembered what Marie had said about the group that had been arrested, and she envisioned them standing in this very spot, caught in the trap, having no choice except to turn back.
She returned to the plateau and looked down. Stephen was closer than she had expected and moving steadily upward. Where was Marie? Rachel let her eyes scan back and forth over the mountain. Nothing. But she had to be there. Though she was moving fast, she couldn’t possibly have reached the prominence Rachel had just traversed.
Twenty minutes later Stephen reached her. He pulled something out of his mouth and gasped, his chest heaving. She saw that the boot on his injured ankle was bloody.
“They’ve blocked the path. But we can’t go back.”
Her words were an unintelligible blur of sound; but he knew what she was saying. He motioned for her to lead the way.
At the base of the rock wall Rachel dropped her pack and Stephen followed suit. He glanced at the rounded faces of the boulders. If they could hold onto the weed clumps and find footholds in the crevices they might have a chance.
“Get on my shoulders.”
He stooped and Rachel climbed onto him. He pushed up and she found that she was high enough to step into a crack. Crouching down beneath the overhang of the rock she saw that the wall wasn’t as solid as it appeared from ground level. The spaces between the boulders were like tunnels.
She described it to Stephen. “I’m going through.” Stephen watched her disappear into the rock. He stood on the packs and gripped the edge of the precipice where she had stood. Scraping his boots on the rock he pulled himself up until his head was over the edge, then rolled forward, his knees and feet pumping against the rock. Despite the pain, he heaved himself up and got his whole body into the crevice.
“Are you there?” Rachel asked. He grunted. “Crawl back toward my voice. You’ll find an opening.”
He slithered along beneath the promontory. A shaft of light defined the space between the massive rocks. Propping himself upright, he squeezed his upper body through the opening. Rachel was sitting there, smiling.
“You look like you just popped out of the womb,” she said.
“Let’s hope I can get the rest of me out.”
He twisted his body like a cork out of a wine bottle, finally getting his hips through.
They followed the light upward, pressing between the shadow and stone, through round and square hollows, clambering across bald rock to the apex.
The last obstacle was a four-foot long cylindrical shaft that slanted to the top. Marie was waiting for them, her back pressed against the smooth shadow-dappled surface, her boots pushing against the opposite wall. Her face, illuminated by a patch of light, was flushed.
“You almost made it.” She sucked in mouthfuls of air. “I didn’t expect you to start out so early. But I had a feeling. All the time I had a feeling about you.”
Rachel stared at the rope that dangled from Marie’s belt and the climbing pick she held in her hand. “You should have brought rope with you,” she said, following Rachel’s glance. “You might have gained a half hour. As it is, I’m going to lead you back with this around your necks.” She ran her fingers along the rope. “Then I’ll say goodbye when they put you on the train to Siberia.”
Rachel turned to Stephen. “There’s only room for one at a time. I’ll go first.” He nodded. With his injuries, he stood little chance.
“What’s that supposed to mean? That you’ll fight. Hah! The Czechs were so stunned when they discovered we had blocked the way, they gave up without raising a hand. But there were many of us. I couldn’t get anyone else interested in going after just two of you. So come on, give me an excuse to hurt you.”
Rachel inched upward, bracing herself against the rock.
“What can you do? You may as well hold out your hands. Otherwise . . .” Marie raised the pick and made a short, chopping motion.
Rachel continued on, moving ever closer. She didn’t think Marie would strike her without provocation. The fresh air draft made a low whistling and she had to squint because of the brightness.
“Come on. Come closer.”
Rachel pushed up alongside Marie’s feet. Then they were opposite each other.
“There you are. Now hold out your hands and let me tie them.”
“I can’t do that, Marie.”
She raised the pick and Rachel seized her wrist with her left hand. Marie punched her with her free hand, but Rachel absorbed the blow and grabbed her hand and bent it back. Surprise and bafflement in her eyes, Marie watched helplessly as Rachel forced both her arms back.
“Drop the pick.”
Marie shook her head and kicked Rachel with one boot. The kick caught her in the groin. She shut her eyes and with a single thrust snapped Marie’s pick-hand back against the rock. There was a loud crack and Marie screamed in pain as the pick fell. “My arm! You broke my arm!” One hand dangling uselessly, she began to slide downward. Her feet went up in the air and she tumbled down the shaft, landing at Stephen’s feet.
He shook his head in pity and disgust. He undid the rope from her belt and looped it around her waist. “I’m coming.”
Rachel studied his progress and then pulled herself up out of the shaft onto the summit. She looked out over the forests and rivers of Czechoslovakia. Mountain peaks ranged in a line to the east and west. “Goodbye, Russia,” she said, looking back.
She helped Stephen climb out and they lay together, staring up at the sky.
“Let’s get her out of there,” Rachel said, “before we fall asleep.”
They went back to the opening and looked down at Marie. She still lay there, but they could hear her sobbing.
“You’ve got to help us,” Stephen shouted. “We can’t pull you up by ourselves.”
Marie lay still. Stephen tugged several times on the rope. She looked up at them and got slowly to her feet.
“Give me some slack.”
Stephen let more of the rope drop. To his astonishment Marie suddenly yanked it, pulling it out of his hands.
“I’d rather die then let you have my rope! Now let’s see you get down.” She jeered at them, her epithets echoing off the stone. As they looked on, she vanished and they heard her moving back down through the boulders.
Stephen looked at Rachel. “It never ends.”
“Let’s go.”
They went to the edge. Two or three feet away, a granite promontory jutted out toward them. High above, a gaping hole remained where the rock had been blown away to block the path below. Beneath the promontory, the south face of the mountain was a forested slope. Already, the afternoon shadows were darkening the tops of the trees.
“This time I go first,” Stephen said. He couldn’t look at his ankle for fear of losing his nerve. He forced himself to make a running start and leaped forward into the air. The granite came rushing up and he landed with a cry of pain and rolled onto his shoulder. Crawling out of the way, he motioned for Rachel to follow. With a slight start, she skipped over the gap, landing on her feet.
“Why do you make it so hard on yourself, brother?” She helped him to his feet. He winced.
By hanging down from the edge of the promontory they limited the drop to just a few feet.
“At last, terra firma,” Stephen observed when they were both on the ground.
There was no path so they went straight down through the forest. Whenever they reached an opening, they ran. Pain no longer mattered, they were almost free.