The church tower was clearly visible over the treetops. It was a fortunate landmark, and a promise of safety. They had moved towards it after they had finished eating. It was not safe to stay in one position, even though the woods provided shelter and the minefields now meant protection, staying in one place was no solution. Alex had never considered the role of the Church in Europe before, but it seemed to have a particularly long standing tradition.
Back home in the United North America, the Church was traditionally strong. His parents had been devoted believers and talked a lot about Christian values. It was a nice idea after all, the brotherhood, and sharing your wealth with the poor, even though there were no poor people left in the UNA, so it was only a phrase, really. He was vaguely aware of the Hippies of a hundred years before, and the various ideas of spiritual awakening of the beginning of the century. The Church of America was relatively young, but rapidly gained popularity as it managed to appeal to both the traditionalists and the new believers. They did a good service too, and stayed true to their words. It should not be all that different in Europe either, Alex guessed. After all, it was the traditional Christian values that the Americans always used to cite and, as far as it concerned western religions, one could not get much more traditional than in a European country. The idea occurred to him that it might as well be the Church that was behind the whole HUM operation.
He remembered, although only vaguely, his mother telling him stories of priests from the last century. They took part in movements and were politically active, especially here in Europe. Those times were over now, but he knew that there were plenty of undercover agents working secretly for the greater good, and a Church this close to the border would surely have ticked a lot of boxes.
The African nudged him with an elbow. Alex looked up but the man indicated to him to keep quiet. Then he pointed his thin finger toward the woods. There was a rustling between the leaves. Alex held his breath as they both crouched as low as they could behind the bush.
The fact that they were still alive was as puzzling as that they had not stumbled upon the minefield again. There were at least three border-guards following them, judging by the sound of machine guns earlier on. It was broad daylight, and they had definitely been within shooting range, or so he would have thought, yet none of the many bursts of fire had come even close to wounding them. He had half expected a hail of bullets for a long time after entering the forest, but there had only been the sound of distant shooting, which had soon died away as well. The soldiers had not come after them, and they had easily lost their pursuers once they were deep enough in the woods. Probably too easily.
When in the forest, they too had slowed down. He remembered the minefield, and he was sure that the African was thinking about the same, because now he was walking as gingerly as if he was treading on thin ice. In Alex’s judgement, the only possible reason for the guards having given up pursuit that easily was seeing them head for the minefields. People just knew not to go into the forest. Peter said that. And the landmines were there to take care of anyone who did. Yet they had managed to avoid them so far, and now the Church tower was within reach, representing hope in more than one way.
The bushes rustled again. Then there came some noise from the dried leaves that covered the forest floor. The rustling came closer, and Alex crouched lower. Nothing. The noise came again. He chanced a glance, but saw nothing. The sound came from closer this time, but if there was a man there they should have been able to see him now. Unless the man was crouched. Or crawling. Alex decided to stay low. His nerves were so tight he was afraid they might snap.
Then the African laughed out loud. Alex looked at him in disbelief. The man was now standing up, laughing loud and pointing at the ground. Alex chanced another look. There was a blackbird playing in the sea of dried leaves, making them rustle with its wings. It sounded like somebody was walking rather carefully.
Alex wanted to tell him to stay quiet but as he looked at the face, so relieved, honestly enjoying the sight of the little bird, he thought better of it. This much he deserves. He waited with forced patience until the African finished.
“Kijinga ndege,” said the African with a smile showing all his teeth. He pointed at the bird and laughed again. This time Alex joined in, his mood was contagious.
“I don’t even know what you’re saying,” he said to the laughing man.
“Wewe si smart sana ama,” said the African, looking at him, and laughed so hard that he started coughing.
Alex suspected that the joke was on him this time. He laughed with him with all his heart, and felt a lightness inside, mingled with new hope and an inspiration to keep moving forward. They might make it yet.
A few minutes later, when both of them calmed down, he put a hand on the man’s shoulder and pointed up at the church building.
“Nzuri sana!” The African was nodding his head wildly, smiling all the time.
This was certainly a sign of approval. Alex was sure he understood, and he seemed to agree. Yes, they would find refuge in there, and maybe even help. Priests were the advocates of the same teachings that said you should love your neighbour. Now the neighbour was here, and in desperate need of some love.
***
Getting in was smooth enough. Alex had gone forward and left the African behind. He had found the church door locked, so he had tried the side door. There had been no answer to his knocking, but when he had tried to open the door a priest, clad in traditional garb had been standing there, smiling broadly. He had beckoned Alex in.
They were now in a sort of sitting room, and the priest was serving him red wine. Alex protested that he had more urgent business to discuss, and it was still early in the morning, but the priest said there was nothing to worry about. He smiled, poured the wine, gave him the glass and settled down in an armchair on the opposite side of the small smoking table, with some wine for himself. His name was Father Popiełuszko, and he gave the impression of someone who probably enjoyed just a little too much of both drink and good meals. He had a double chin with a round, reddish face. His balding head was shiny, and he was looking at Alex from beyond round framed spectacles, with eyes that appeared somehow too small.
There was certainly nothing priestly about him, not in American terms. He looked nothing like the great preachers Alex had seen as a child. He wasn’t fashionably dressed and did not have a great loud voice either. In fact, he sounded like someone who was always in the middle of a rather enjoyable meal. Alex mused to himself whether he constantly thought about eating too.
All in all, the priest was still very much like what he had expected to find. He looked ‘traditional’ in an old fashioned sense, and that fitted his idea of the old continent and old religion. The man was kind enough, but Alex tried to hurry the small talk as politely as he could.
“You have an unusual name. You are not from around here either, are you?”
“Oh, yes. I am very much local. The name has a Polish origin, I believe, but I have not been able to trace my family genealogy yet. But I’m sure you say that because I speak English.”
“Not many do here,” said Alex, aware that he did not know as many locals as to make such judgement, but he was really bad at small talk. Besides, he had the urge to reveal the true nature of his visit.
“Yes, yes, you see we receive excellent education in the service. We are much better educated that the general population.”
This very much reminded him of the late Peter. Almost his exact words. It was slightly disturbing.
“Certainly serves you well, I believe. Do you speak other languages too?”
“Unfortunately not. One official language is enough, you see, and my choice was English.”
Luckily for me, thought Alex. Had the priest chosen German or French, one of the other two official tongues of the US of E, he would now be in trouble.
“An excellent choice too. And you speak it beautifully.”
Alex tried to be polite, but he knew his impatience was shining through.
“Thank you. But I sense you have some more pressing matters to discuss. Please, I do not want to take up your precious time. Tell me, what is the true nature of your visit?”
The way the priest emphasised the word ‘true’ made Alex feel more at ease. That tone was the equivalent of a nudge and a wink. Still, he had to be careful. Although everything seemed to indicate that he could trust the man, he could never be sure.
“Look, father, I don’t know how to say—”
“Is it about the unfortunate who is even now hiding outside the building?”
Father Popiełuszko gave him the warmest of smiles.
“Pray, ask him in, he must be rather cold outside. Where he comes from, the weather is a lot more pleasant, you know.”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Alex. “And thank you, Father!”
***
The African was now inside, sitting on a sofa, looking around him suspiciously.
“He does not speak English.” Alex stated the obvious, but he did not know, what else he could say.
“He certainly wouldn’t. They usually speak French.”
“Wouldn’t you, or anyone here by chance—?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Nobody else in the household speaks anything but the local language. Besides, nobody has seen our friend, and that should remain so. You have done the right thing, bringing him here. There is no need to upset the villagers with these matters.”
Alex understood the hidden reference and smiled approvingly. He was now sure that the priest was a covert agent too. He felt sort of embarrassed. He was in the presence of someone who was probably his superior in the whole operation, and must have been part of it since the very beginning. He looked about himself, not knowing where to rest his eyes. He had noticed that the walls were covered with government propaganda posters, some of the usual ones depicting Africans and other non-Europeans in various degrading ways. He also noticed that the African was looking at the same posters, his eyes showing uneasiness.
“One needs to keep up with the times, to stay afloat, right?” He nodded towards the posters.
“Indeed, the government generously provides, but only for those who are willing to embrace its rules,” said the priest with a voice as kind as ever, but his eyes seemed to be locked on the African with apparent apprehension.
Alex was once again lost for words. The priest certainly knew how to talk smoothly. He could have fooled a government agent, yet if one knew how to read between the lines, one clearly saw his meaning. It was brilliant, really. This time the priest broke the silence quite abruptly.
“May I ask, my young friend, how you came into the possession of… him?” He motioned towards the African, but his voice changed quite a bit.
“Possession…?” said Alex, suspicion beginning to form in the back of his head.
“Yes, my young friend. I was under the impression that these illegals should be shot on sight. What is your agenda with him? I don’t quite think they will allow you to keep him if you mean to have him as a slave. In fact, I’m afraid, you might get rather severe punishment when they get here. You see, slavery has been officially criminalised, and although there are rumours from the inner territor—”
“The hell are you talking about?” The words burst out from Alex, who was listening with disbelief but could not contain himself any longer. “Excuse my language.”
“There is no need to swear, my friend.”
“Who will get here?”
“Why, the authorities, to be sure. It is my duty as a state official to alarm the authorities at the sign of anything suspicious. Don’t worry, I will put in a kind word for you, my friend. After all, you came by own your free will, and you might not have known that you need to dispose of illegals properly. You don’t look like a soldier, and you are also foreign to these parts. I’m sure I still have enough influence to protect your life.”
Alex swallowed the insult that was forming on his tongue and forced himself to keep his calm.
“I think we have taken up quite enough of your time, Father.”
“I’m sorry, my son, but there is nowhere you could run. I informed the authorities as soon as you first appeared, before I went out to fetch the wine. Somebody should be here any minute. I’m sure that—”
He could not finish the sentence, Alex’s fist cracked against his cheek. The priest spat blood.
“Fuckin’ bastard, where’s your brotherly love?” hissed the humanitarian, then he shouted at the African.
“Get out!”
“You cannot run! You will be found and delivered before the law! For God is the law and his laws are sacred! You will be punished for this!”
Alex did not pay any more attention to the priest. He ran to the door, but found it locked.
“Where is the key?”
“Even though I walk through the valley of the—”
Alex’s fist cut the priest short.
“You are not walking anywhere, unless you let us out!”
“You cannot intimidate me!”
There was a knocking at the outer door. His eyes met those of the priest. He was able to cover the fat man’s mouth before he could yell. The knocking grew louder and become a loud banging. Muffled voices came from the outside, “Atyám, nyissa ki!”
They are here. Keeping his left hand tightly across the fat face of the priest, he fumbled with his right for something suitably heavy. He found a cross shaped paperweight and smiled to himself.
“How ironic. Goodbye, Father!”
He brought the cross down heavily on the priest’s head, then let the inert body slip to the floor. He checked the pulse on his neck. The man was still alive.
“All good. I’ll see you in hell one fine day, ‘to be sure’!”
There was a sound of glass breaking. They were probably getting in through the window.
“Kuja juu!” shouted the African, who was standing beside the broken window, still holding the stool with which he had smashed the glass. Alex dropped the cross on the priest’s body and followed him, out of the accursed building and back into the woods.