In The Name of The Father (17 page)

Now with Ania Krol a strange reversal had taken place. She did not wear a habit. Indeed her soft brown woollen dress had been quite revealing. He had immediately noted the full breasts, the narrow waist and curved flow of her legs. Her face too was very beautiful with its high cheekbones and olive skin and crowning ebony hair; but perversely in his mind’s eye he could only see her in a nun’s habit with its constricting and concealing headdress.

His room was Spartan. A single bed down one wall, a cupboard for clothes and a small table with a single chair. He walked to the window and stood looking down at the street. A light drizzle had started and the road and pavements glittered from the street lights. A couple walked along arm-in-arm but they were arguing, gesturing angrily with their free hands. He supposed they must be married. He had almost been married himself once. The daughter of a Colonel in his department. She had been pretty and vivacious and an energetic lover. He supposed that she had a temper which she controlled well, but that did not concern him. He liked women with spirit. He knew that an attractive, intelligent wife would be an asset to an ambitious officer. After a few weeks he decided to propose. He had been brought up in the traditional way and before making his proposal he asked for an appointment with her father on a personal basis. This was granted in the Colonel’s office, after office hours. Mirek had tapped on the door with some trepidation for the Colonel was a forbidding man and a stern disciplinarian. The Colonel must have noticed his nervousness. He waved him to a chair, opened a desk drawer and took out a bottle of vodka and two glasses. He had also taken off his cap and tossed it on to the desk between them to indicate that Mirek could talk freely and off the record.

The fiery liquid had warmed and calmed him. Formally and confidently he said, ‘Comrade Colonel, I have come humbly to petition you for the hand of your daughter Jadwiga, in marriage.’

The words had an astonishing effect on the Colonel. He sat bolt upright and gave Mirek a piercing look to be sure he was serious. Satisfied that he was, he tipped the vodka down his throat, shook his head vigorously and said, ‘No chance! No chance at all.’

At first Mirek had felt humiliation. But anger quickly followed.

‘Colonel, sir. I come from a good family. I was the youngest officer promoted Captain in our section and have every hope . . .’

The Colonel held up a hand. ‘How long have you known my daughter?’

‘Well, only five weeks . . . but I would be in no hurry . . .’

‘Shut up, Scibor, and listen to me.’

The Colonel leaned forward. He had a drinker’s red-veined nose, and small round eyes. He pointed a finger at Mirek’s chest.

‘I like you, Scibor. You’re intelligent and you work hard. You’ll soon be promoted Major . . . you could go right to the top -’

Then why?’

‘Shut up and listen. I said I like you. My daughter Jadwiga is the second biggest bitch in the world. The biggest is my wife - her mother. Oh no! I’m saving Jadwiga up for some bastard I don’t like. She can make his life as miserable as her mother’s made mine . . . I like you. Get out.’

Mirek had stumbled out of the room flabbergasted. Her own father! But then reason had prevailed. Who would know her better than her father?

He took Jadwiga out for dinner one more time and watched her with a more critical eye. Noticed that the pretty mouth had a petulant lower lip, the wide blue eyes often slid away to watch the entrance of a man alone, followed him if he was attractive. He noticed how she ordered expensive items on the menu while knowing that his funds were limited. Silently he thanked the Colonel and decided that marriage could wait.

After that there had been a succession of girls. He almost always had one in tow, but they only lasted a few weeks at the most.

He turned and walked to the table and sat down. There were several medical textbooks in a pile. He selected one and opened it at a marker. For the next hour he read, pausing occasionally to make a note in an exercise book. He heard a door close downstairs and a stair creak. The soft footfall of her walking past his room. He knew it was her. Heisl was an insomniac and never went to bed before the early hours. He heard the bathroom door open and close. A pause, then the sound of the bath water running. He imagined her unbuttoning the brown woollen dress. What sort of underwear would she be wearing? Something flimsy? No, probably great big bloomers.

He tried to concentrate again on his book. Forced his attention on to it. He decided that the kidney was mankind’s most boring organ. How the hell could Father Gamelli spend his life in such intimate contact with it?

He heard the bathroom door close, the creak of a floorboard and then the door of the room next to his open and close. The walls were thin. He faintly heard the squeak of the bedsprings. He imagined her sitting there drying her hair, that thick black lustrous hair which until recently had been hidden away. Was she naked? He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up a picture. It was ridiculous. All he could see was her face from hairline to chin. The rest was a blur of white and black. She was wearing her nun’s habit.

He closed the book and went to bed and slept fitfully.

* * *

‘What is it?’

The visiting professor pushed a large jar across the table. Mirek picked it up and studied its contents.

‘It’s part of a kidney.’

‘Are you trying to be funny?’

‘No, sir.’

The professor sighed. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

They were in a room at the Institute. Just the professor, Mirek facing him and Father Gamelli sitting at the back near the door. Mirek had completed his crash course. This was the test. He drew a deep breath and turned the jar in his hand. The section of misshapen kidney slopped about in the formaldehyde. He noticed a mass of grape-like clusters of cysts containing a dark fluid.

‘It shows advanced polycystic kidney disease.’

The professor nodded and made a note. ‘Anything else?’

Mirek decided to be bold.

‘The patient did not die of old age.’

He noticed the professor looking over his shoulder at Father Gamelli. He wondered if he had made a fool of himself.

The professor asked, ‘What treatment would you have used?’

Mirek remembered what he had been reading the night before. He said, ‘The fatal nature of the disease cannot be altered except by a transplant depending on the other variables.’

The professor nodded and made another note.

The questions went on for half an hour. Mirek knew that he had messed up on some of them, but later, back in Father Gamelli’s cramped office, the priest was pleased with him.

He smiled. ‘The professor is completely puzzled. On some questions you were brilliant - on others a complete blank. Never mind, you did well enough.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good luck in whatever you’re about to do.’

Mirek shook the hand warmly and thanked him. ‘Father, if I ever get a kidney disease I’ll know where to come.’

The priest shook his head. ‘People like you don’t get diseases like that.’

Driving back to the safe house Mirek wondered what he had meant. He sat next to the driver, a young red-headed priest. In the five days that he had driven Mirek to and fro he had not addressed one word to him. Mirek assumed that this was on Heisl’s orders. It was just after noon when they reached the safe house. Mirek climbed out and pointedly thanked the driver, who merely nodded and drove away. Mirek did not care. He was feeling relaxed, the hard studying over. He rang the doorbell and waited. It was opened by Ania. She was wearing her beige raincoat. She took his arm and turned him around and announced, ‘You are taking me for lunch. Father Heisl left for Rome urgently two hours ago. He won’t be back until this evening. Signora Benelli is taking the day off.’

He let himself be led down the street and asked, ‘What was so urgent?’

‘I don’t know. He got a phone call and left immediately. He seemed worried. He said we should be ready to leave first thing in the morning. We are finished here now.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘He didn’t say. Do you have plenty of money?’

‘For what?’

She smiled up at him. ‘For an expensive lunch. I feel like shellfish. The Signora recommended a good place. It’s not far. Does my husband like shellfish?’

He looked down at her. The top of her head came level with his shoulder. In spite of his anxiety about Heisl’s sudden departure he began to catch something of her mood.

‘I don’t really know. I’ve only ever had tinned prawns and mussels. You will have to order for me.’

She had released his arm. He reached out and took her hand. She turned and looked at him quickly. He held up her hand and said lightly, ‘It’s natural for a young married couple to hold hands. You must remember the part we are playing.’

She nodded dutifully. The skin of her hand was a little damp. He squeezed it but got no response.

They chose a table in a quiet corner. A waiter moved to pull out a chair for Ania but Mirek beat him to it. As she sat and began unbuckling her coat Mirek bent down and brushed the nape of her neck with his lips. He felt her stiffen. The waiter was looking on approvingly. As Mirek moved to his own chair he said, ‘Darling, this reminds me of that lovely bistro in Taormina.’

She looked blank. He smiled at her. ‘Don’t you remember, darling? On our honeymoon. I think it was the third night. I can remember being quite exhausted.’

He thought she would blush but he was disappointed.

‘Ah yes, of course. We had lobster. You were exhausted from all that swimming and too much sun. You really overdid it, dear.’ She turned to the waiter. ‘Do you have lobster?’

He shook his head sadly and handed her the menu. ‘But we have lovely giant prawns fresh this morning.’

She didn’t consult Mirek. She ordered mussels cooked in white wine and garlic, followed by the prawns - grilled, with a mayonnaise sauce and a salad. She asked the waiter to recommend a wine and he suggested a Soave. Mirek sat watching her, marvelling at her poise. He knew she had been in a convent practically from birth. Heisl had told him that she had been out in the world for only a few weeks, yet she had the poise and confidence of an experienced woman. She handed the waiter back the menu with a smile and then shrugged off the raincoat. Underneath she was wearing a dark blue plain blouse and a cream skirt. The whole image was exquisite. A thought struck him. He said, ‘Your beauty will attract attention over there.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she answered. ‘That has been thought of. I have been taught how to make myself look plain. But it’s only a short time before we leave . . . and afterwards . . . after the journey I shall go straight back into the convent . . . so today I thought I would look the way I would like to. . . if I had not become a nun.’ She smiled. ‘Do you mind?’

He shook his head. She was wearing just a trace of lipstick and perhaps a little eye shadow; he couldn’t be sure. When he had kissed her neck he had smelled no artificial perfume: just the yeasty muskiness of her skin. For a moment she reminded Mirek of his sister. Of the times they had played together as youngsters. Such thoughts had long been subdued. Now it was a bitter-sweet memory.

The mussels arrived. Mirek immediately leaned forward to eat but paused as she lowered her head and murmured a prayer. He smiled and waited. She raised her head and smiled back. The waiter opened the wine and poured a little into Mirek’s glass. He shook his head.

‘My wife will try it. She’s the expert.’

The waiter smiled condescendingly and put the glass in front of Ania.

She picked up the glass and held it high, twirling the wine slowly. Then she brought it to her nose and inhaled the bouquet. Finally she took a sip, frowned in concentration and swallowed. She nodded with dignity to the waiter, who filled both glasses. As he went away she started to giggle. Mirek asked, ‘Did they teach you that as well?’

‘No, I saw someone do it on television.’ She picked up the glass and held it to the light again. ‘It’s a beautiful colour. It’s the first time I have drunk wine which was not sanctified . . . I belong to a strict order.’

‘Do you like it?’

She sipped again and nodded. ‘Yes, Mirek, I suppose because it’s dry. Our holy wine is sweet.’ She smiled. ‘Also perhaps because it’s like eating forbidden fruit.’

He quickly took up that point. ‘Naturally in your life there must have been many forbidden fruits.’ He noted the wary look come into her eyes. ‘Are you going to try all of them?’

‘No. A glass or two of wine is not sinful.’ She sipped again and said thoughtfully, ‘I hope you are not going to make it difficult for me.’ She was looking into his eyes. He stared back and then merely smiled. The waiter brought the prawns, breaking the silence.

During the rest of the meal he touched her just once, when they were dipping their fingers in the finger bowl. As they touched he resolved to himself that before they reached Moscow he would know her body. She was the first woman he had met whom he knew was, beyond all doubt, a virgin. The knowledge made his breath quicken.

She seemed unaware of his thoughts. She wanted ice cream. The waiter, who by now was practically her slave, suggested
tartufo.
Mirek declined.

On the plate it looked quite unappetising. A round chocolate covered lump. But when she dug her spoon into it and tried the first mouthful she exclaimed in delight. She insisted that Mirek try it and held a spoonful to his lips. He too found the taste fascinating and they finished it together with alternate spoonfuls.

Over coffee she announced that she wanted to go to the Uffizi.

‘What’s that?’ Mirek asked.

‘One of the most famous art galleries in Italy. I’m told there are some wonderful works of art there . . . I may never have the chance again.’

So they went to the Uffizi. Mirek had no knowledge of art and not much appreciation, but her enthusiasm was infectious. They latched on to a group of German tourists and listened as the guide pointed out and explained the Leonardos and Caravaggios.

They walked back to the safe house. Again Mirek took her hand. She was unresponsive but did not pull away.