In The Name of The Father (31 page)

The young man reached out and turned a knob on the console of a Sony stereo. The music subsided.

‘Vodka. Good Polish vodka!’ Jerzy announced. He went to a sideboard and pulled a bottle out of a sweating ice bucket.

Harshly Mirek asked, ‘Who are you all?’

Jerzy was pouring into a shot glass. The vodka was so cold it seemed to ooze out of the bottle like oil. He held the glass out to Mirek, smiled and said, ‘You have just met the editorial board of
Razem.’

Mirek took the glass, immediately relaxing.
Razem
- ‘Together’ - was one of the underground newspapers that sprang up after the suppression of Solidarity. It was unique in that apart from being virulently anti-State, it was also anti-Church. Distributed through campuses and schools all over Poland, it was also one of the few underground papers whose origins and editorial whereabouts completely baffled the authorities. Mirek was beginning to understand why.

They had all gathered around him, holding their glasses.

Fervently Jerzy said, ‘To Poland . . . and freedom.’

They all repeated the toast and all downed their drinks in one shot. Jerzy turned to Marian and said sternly, ‘Now, as hostess it’s your duty to make sure our glasses stay filled.’ He took Mirek’s glass and handed it to her with his own, then he took Mirek’s arm and led him to a settee. Jerzy was obviously the leader.

Marian brought their filled glasses and Mirek asked her, ‘What if your father walks in?’

‘He won’t,’ she answered. ‘He hardly ever comes here. He’s far too busy with his work and his two energetic mistresses. They happen to be good friends of mine. They let me know about all his movements.’ She caricatured a leer. ‘Even the more intimate ones.’

‘And your mother?’

She shook her head. ‘She died many years ago.’

‘And your father knows nothing about
Razem?

Jerzy answered for her. ‘No, none of our fathers do . . . and they’re all big wheels. Mine is Vice Chancellor of the University in Cracow; Antoni’s is Secretary General of the Polish Writers’ Union.’ He gestured. ‘Irena’s papa is Brigadier General Teador Navkienko of whom doubtless you’ve heard, and Natalia’s sire is the regional director of the State Railways.’ Mirek nodded thoughtfully and remarked, ‘So a lot of senior jobs will become vacant if you’re uncovered.’

‘True,’ Jerzy answered soberly, ‘but they’ve chosen their paths . . . and we’ve chosen ours.’ He reached forward to the coffee table, opened a silver cigarette box and offered it to Mirek.

‘Thanks, I don’t smoke.’

‘Not even these?’

Mirek looked more closely. The cigarettes were larger than normal, fat at one end, thin at the other. They were bound together by white cotton threads.

‘What are they?’

Jerzy grinned through his beard.

‘Marijuana. Thai sticks; the best. Just think: a few months ago if SB Major Scibor had caught us with these we’d have been in very hot water!’

Mirek shook his head and, with a trace of bitterness he couldn’t help, said, ‘I doubt it. One of your daddies would have pulled a string or two and got you off with a slap on the wrist.’

Jerzy lit one of the cigarettes and Mirek watched with some amazement the ritual of it being passed from one sucking mouth to another.

Antoni said, ‘It’s clever, don’t you think? Everyone takes us for a bunch of spoiled dilettantes. It’s a very good cover for our operation.’

Irena laughed loudly. ‘We are a bunch of spoiled dilettantes. We’re the only underground group whose cover is genuine.’ She was sitting on the arm of Antoni’s chair, her arm around his neck. They were obviously paired. He wondered whether Jerzy was paired with Marian or Natalia. Or, in this environment, with both? He drank more vodka, savouring the fire of it in his throat. He realised that he was achingly tired. He said to Jerzy, ‘Before you all get stoned out of your minds you’d better fill me in. When do you move me on?’

Jerzy’s cheeks hollowed in as he drew deep on the joint. He held his breath and then contentedly let the smoke filter out. The last of it puffed as he answered.

‘It was supposed to be tomorrow but this afternoon we got a coded message from Warsaw. We’re to wait here until further notice. Apparently something’s changed.’

‘That’s all you know?’

‘That’s all. Your people are not very forthcoming - anyway you’ll be comfortable and totally safe. No one’s going to think about searching this house.’

Mirek recognised the truth of that. He would sleep easy tonight. He thought for a moment and then asked, ‘How did you get involved in this?’

Jerzy replied carefully. ‘We’re in arm’s length contact with other underground groups. Mostly those that distribute our paper. One of them approached us a few weeks ago. Asked us to be on standby. Told us it was unlikely we would be needed.’

‘But why did you accept?’

Jerzy grinned. ‘Money, dear friend. Well, actually, a thin sheet of metal - very precious metal. It costs a lot of money to run a newspaper. We’re really very grateful to you for getting into that mess over the border. Now that we’re activated we get another twenty sheets of that shiny metal.’

‘I see.’ Mirek put his glass down on the coffee table. ‘And how did you know it would be me?’

Natalia answered. ‘You’re famous, Mirek. I doubt if the Pope’s face is better known than yours in Poland today. Television, newspaper, police posters. Non-stop for the last three days. We were activated the day you shot those pigs in Ostrava. It didn’t take a genius to work out who was coming our way.’

Mirek nodded. ‘And where do you pass me on?’

‘In Cracow,’ Jerzy answered. His eyes were becoming heavy lidded, his voice slurred a little. ‘At least that was the original plan . . . I suppose they sent the woman back?’

‘Yes.’ Mirek stood up grimacing at the ache still in his limbs. ‘I’m shattered; I’d like to get some sleep. Thanks for everything.’

Marian jumped up. ‘I’ll show you your room.’

He shook hands with Jerzy and Antoni. The women gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek in an adoptive way.

He followed Marian up the stairs. Her dress was backless. Her bottom swayed in front of his eyes. Her legs were smooth. She turned left at the landing and sashayed down the corridor saying, ‘I’ve given you a front room. It has a lovely view over the lake and . . .’ she stopped at a door and opened it, ‘. . . a big and very comfortable bed.’

He looked in. The bed was enormous. She pointed to a door beyond it.

‘That’s the bathroom. Sunken bath, big enough for two. Don’t you love sunken baths?’

He did not answer. He had never seen a sunken bath. He walked in, lifted his bag on to the bed and turned.

‘Thanks, Marian.’

She was leaning against the jamb of the door. Her eyes, her posture, threw out an invitation. Her nipples had tightened against her dress in anticipation.

He said, ‘I’ll see you in the morning then. Thanks again.’

Her lips pouted in disappointment, then she smiled, raised her hand and pointed sideways across her nose.

‘My room is next door. If you need anything just let me know . . . Sweet dreams, Mirek.’

Ten minutes later he was lying with very hot water up to his chin in the sunken bath. He figured out it was big enough for four. As the aches were soothed from his bones he wondered at what had happened to him. The Mirek Scibor of only a few days ago would at this moment have been running his hands over the soapy pink body of that blonde temptress. He was amazed that he had been able to counter the physical urge. The last woman he had been with was Leila in the desert; and that seemed a lifetime ago.

He looked around the sumptuous bathroom. Gold-plated taps; heated towel rails; deep pile carpet; gleaming mirrors. He could imagine it in the West. Here it was an obscenity. He felt pleasure at the thought of the Deputy Commissar for Cracow being bamboozled by his sexy renegade daughter. Then he contrasted this luxury with the Spartan conditions that Ania was enduring in her cellar. His thoughts dwelt on her. He felt a lassitude; wondered if she was thinking of him. Tried to imagine her in the bath with him. He closed his eyes to picture it better.

Half an hour later he was coughing and spluttering, with soapy water in his mouth. He had fallen asleep in the bath.

Chapter 18

Professor Stefan Szafer decided to wait until the coffee was served before making his announcement. It was their usual lunchtime setting of the Wierzynek Restaurant and he thought that Halena had never looked more beautiful. On this occasion she was wearing a roll-neck jet-black pullover and a cream linen skirt. Her hair was pulled back in a tight chignon. He decided that the line of her jaw from chin to ear was nothing less than a work of art. She wore tiny earrings in the shape of a bell.

He was about to impart his news, savouring the moment, when she said, ‘You make me unhappy, Stefan.’

The statement alarmed him. He leaned forward with a frown of concern.

‘Why, Halena? What have I done?’

She pouted. ‘Well, it’s almost two weeks now since I told you about my trip to Moscow. You promised to try to visit me there but you’ve told me nothing since. I assume you don’t want to go.’

He smiled with relief, beckoned a waiter and ordered a cognac for himself and a Tia Maria for her. Then he said, ‘I was keeping it as a surprise.’

She glared at him in mock anger. ‘That’s cruel, Stefan. Unfair . . . I’m so anxious.’

He reached forward and took her hand in his. ‘You know I would never be cruel to you. The fact is I only found out for sure this morning. I’ve always known that I could take a few days off, but some time ago a suggestion was advanced which would make my visit official . . . and longer. The Director, Comrade Kurowski, called me to his office this morning. The official aspect of my visit has been confirmed by the Ministry. The Director was very excited and naturally so am I.’

The waiter brought their liqueurs and refilled their coffee cups. Halena took a minuscule sip of Tia Maria and said, ‘Then so am I. What will you be doing in this official capacity?’

He shrugged with great nonchalance. ‘Giving a couple of lectures.’

‘That’s all?’

He smiled. ‘Halena, my audiences will be the cream of the Soviet medical profession. Also I’m to be interviewed by
Sovetskaya Meditsina,
one of the most respected medical journals in the world . . . It’s a great honour.’

She sipped again at her drink, watching him closely.

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Oh come on, Stefan! I know you so well. What are you keeping back?’

For a moment he sat watching her, then he glanced quickly around the room and said quietly, ‘Halena, naturally while I’m there I’ll be consulting with my Russian counterparts about some of their most difficult cases . . . Well, I’ve been told that one of those cases will concern a very important man.’ He held up a hand. ‘Don’t ask me who, because I cannot tell you. I can tell you that it will be a major step in my career.’

She finished the last of her drink and put the tiny glass on to the table. It clinked against a saucer. He waited eagerly for her reaction, for her plaudits.

She surprised him. Her mouth turned down and she sighed deeply and said in a sombre voice, ‘Stefan, I beg you not to do it.’

For a moment he was speechless, then he muttered, ‘Why? What do you . . . ?’

Her voice, quiet but incisive, cut him off. ‘I’m not a fool. Why do men always think attractive blondes are stupid? Stefan, it’s obvious who your important man is. Don’t worry, I won’t mention his name. There have been rumours - well, there are always rumours in Poland - but these are very strong. Your important man is very ill . . . very. What do you think will happen to your career if you treat him and shortly afterwards he dies? Never mind your career; what about your life? Stefan, never forget that you are a Pole. Never forget how the Russians like to have a scapegoat tied and ready for sacrifice.’

He smiled at her, very touched by her obvious concern. In a reassuring tone he said, ‘I am not going to treat him, Halena. I am merely going to be consulted by his very eminent doctors, in particular about my work on dialysis.’

‘Oh. Does that mean you won’t examine him personally?’

He smiled again. ‘Of course I will have to examine him. But I will not personally treat him . . . And another thing: the rumours that you talk about are greatly exaggerated - as usual. I’ve seen a preliminary report; very confidential. He is not about to die next week, or next month. I will not be a scapegoat for anyone.’

She was mollified and brightened up.

‘Well anyway, it’s wonderful news that we shall be in Moscow together. Now tell me exactly your itinerary.’

He was pleased at her brighter mood and glad to change the subject. Enthusiastically he said, ‘I arrive in Moscow on the afternoon of February 8th.’ He grinned. ‘Aeroflot, first class, of course. You will be there already. They have booked me a suite at the Kosmos.’

It was her turn to grin. ‘Oh, what an important boyfriend I have. I’m sharing a room in the Yunost, which I’m told is little better than a flea pit.’

‘Never mind,’ he said very offhandedly. ‘If you like you can share my suite.’

She smiled archly at him. ‘Not the first night, I can’t. On the 8th our group is going to a mime show in Kaunos. We stay the night there and get back to Moscow early the next morning. I’ll come straight to your palace to see you.’

He nodded. ‘My first appointment is the important one. They are picking me up at noon. They wanted to take me to lunch afterwards but I delayed it to the next day in anticipation of taking you to lunch at the Lastochka.’

She nodded her head in solemn thanks and asked, ‘What then?’

He shrugged. ‘Then I have three days of lecturing and visits followed by four days of holiday. Can you take time off from your seminar to go to Leningrad with me?’

She said, ‘Well. Of course it will be very difficult. My schedule is very packed and my work so vital to the national interest and humanity as a whole. I must give it very serious thought. I must balance my contribution to the arts and society against the company of a lecherous . . . and, shall we say, poorly qualified, young doctor . . .’