The Miernik Dossier (2 page)

“Then don’t go. Ask for asylum here. The Swiss will fix you up. They’ve done it in more doubtful cases than yours.

“I must go back.”

“You just said that you couldn’t.”

“Poland is my country.”

“Which wants to put you in jail for no reason.

“Perhaps not. Once it was suggested to me that I could be useful, in a patriotic way. When I was at the university. Perhaps they want to frighten me into something like that.”

“You won’t know until they try, will you?”

“Perhaps not even after.”

“Intrigue, Miernik. Everywhere intrigue.”

Miernik paid no attention to this remark. “Most of all,” he said, “there is another factor.” He fell into a silence.

(I might say at this point, for the benefit of those who sit inside, reading these reports—there
is
someone like that, isn’t there?— that there is a certain amount of strain involved in holding conversations with people like Miernik. Two sets of reactions operate at all times. I pretend to like him, for your purposes. I
do
like him, for reasons that have nothing to do with your requirements. I lie to him, for your reasons. And I lie to him so that he will not suspect that I am lying to him. I assume that he feels and does the same. In Miernik’s case, all this would be more bearable if he did not take himself so seriously. Of course, I don’t know whether he is taking himself seriously, or whether he is just pretending to do so in the name of professionalism. If he is a professional, then this narrative is laughable. If not, it’s not.)

“There is my sister,” Miernik said.

“What’s her name?” I asked this quickly.

Miernik hesitated. You will think that he was selecting a name that he’ll be sure to remember the next time I ask. It might have been that, or it might have been his normal citizen-of-a-police-state reaction: a man who asks for information, even innocent information, is to be mistrusted.

“Zofia,” he said.

“Where is she?”

“In Warsaw, at the university. She is studying art history.”

“She is alone?”

“You know that my parents are dead. She is alone.”

“Can’t she come out? Pretend to be going on vacation?”

“One passport to a family is the rule. I have ours.”

“Would they bother her if you didn’t go back?”

“Perhaps not immediately. Eventually, if they want me badly enough. She is my only relative. She is younger. I feel a great deal for her.”

“Tadeusz, I don’t think we can settle this before lunch. We ought to start walking toward the restaurant.”

“It helps to talk about it. You would like Zofia. We don’t look alike.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Miernik laughed for the first time. He does not joke about his appearance (his looks distress him, I think), so I assume that his laughter indicated, or was supposed to indicate, affection for his sister.

“She thinks I am too protective. I interviewed her boyfriends when she was sixteen. Before that, in the war, we all tried to make her feel as safe as possible. The winter that the Russians came, the Germans retreated in a hurry. In a snowbank around the corner from our house they left two dead German soldiers. They were just boys. Their faces were frozen—eyes open, mouths open, tongues very swollen. They lay in the snow on our path to school. During the entire winter, I took Zofia by a longer way so she wouldn’t see the dead Germans. I would go out every morning to see if they were gone. They were not. The Russians wouldn’t bother with them, the Poles would not touch them. They were not hauled away until spring, when they might smell. Zofia was angry with me over all that extra walking. I never told her why we went the long way to school. Why should a little girl know?”

“Have you ever explained?”

“No. I suppose she’s forgotten. She was only seven.”

We walked through the park again, Miernik with his hands behind him like a monk. I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about this later?”

“Yes. Your lack of sympathy does me good.”

“You can call me.”

Miernik said that he would.

You see the alternatives in this situation, I know. But I will list them anyway:

1)      Miernik’s story is true, and he really is deciding whether to go back to Poland and, perhaps, to prison. If he doesn’t go back, he’ll have to ask for asylum in Switzerland.

2)      He is in touch with the Poles (or the Soviets), and is under instructions to defect,
and
believes that I can put him in contact with the right Americans.

If (1), it’s a sad story. If (2), it’s very elaborate, hence very Polish.

Let me know how you want to handle this.

5.  I
NTERNAL COMMUNICATIONS FROM THE FILES OF
WRO.

Personnel

The Director General wishes to know the date of expiry of the
passport of Mr. Tadeusz Miernik.

Mr. Collins

The passport of Mr. T. Miernik, issued by the Polish Consulate
in Bern, expires on 2 July. As the passport is not renewable, Mr.
Miernik must apply for a new one before the date of expiry.

6.  R
EPORT BY
L
ÉON
B
ROCHARD, A
F
RENCH NATIONAL EMPLOYED BY THE
W
ORLD
R
ESEARCH
O
RGANIZATION, TO A
F
RENCH INTELLIGENCE SERVICE (TRANSLATION FROM
F
RENCH).

There was a curious incident today (19 May) at the lunch that has become a weekly habit for Collins, the Englishman; Christopher, the American; Miernik, the Pole; el Khatar, the Sudanese; Khan, the Pakistani; and myself. The central figure in this incident was Miernik, though Khatar, Khan, and Collins were also involved.

Miernik and Christopher arrived together at the restaurant. The rest were already there. The talk was lively as usual. Khatar told an amusing story about Fenwick, the Englishman who is an Assistant Director General of WRO, whom he is trying to induce to call him (Khatar) “Your Royal Highness.” Khatar is a prince of a Muslim sect in his country. Khatar’s family still keeps slaves, including apparently some intellectuals; he says that Fenwick has the makings of a useful slave. “Fenwick would be quite happy with us as a slave, all our slaves are,” said Khatar. “But first he must be trained not to call me ”my dear chap.”’

Miernik seized on this bit of frivolity with great resentment. He read Khatar a lecture on the evils of slavery. “Did you learn nothing at Oxford?” Miernik demanded.

“I learned that it is inconvenient to be without slaves,” said Khatar.

Even Khatar, who usually is oblivious to the behavior of others, was taken aback by the ferocity of Miernik’s attack. The Pole would not stop talking. It seems that Khatar’s father, for political reasons, recently married his son,
in absentia,
to the thirteen-year-old daughter of another black prince. The father sent this new bride by airplane to Geneva. She is now living in Khatar’s apartment.

Miernik, going there for dinner last week, was introduced to the girl. Khatar requires her to sit on the floor beside the table, and he tosses her scraps from his plate. Apparently this is the only food she receives. Miernik upbraided him for this behavior.

“Be cheerful, Miernik,” said Khatar. “She will go back to Sudan as soon as I can bring myself to consummate the marriage.”

Collins said, “Look, Kalash, why don’t you send your Swiss girl away for an evening, and do the deed? Then you won’t be offending old Miernik when he comes to dinner.”

Khatar, who regards himself as quite the most handsome black in the world, laughed. “She is circumcised,” he said. “It’s a dry experience, my dear Nigel. When I have her, I shall have to be prepared by Nicole. But once she has prepared me, Nicole will not let me go.

At this, Miernik threw down his napkin and left the table. He strode to the door, then came back, red in the face. “Kalash,” he cried, “you are a disgusting savage!”

Khatar was quite undisturbed. “It seems that Miernik has no respect for my culture,” he said.

“None whatever, if you are its product,” said Miernik, and left the restaurant. There were actual tears in his eyes.

Christopher went after him. Everyone except Khatar was enormously embarrassed. Collins, of course, could not let the matter lie.

“Kalash,” he said, “you mustn’t take old Miernik too seriously.”

“I thought that he was quite serious. He was crying.”

“It’s nothing to do with your sex life, really,” said Collins.

“Perhaps he ought to arrange a sex life of his own, then,” said Khatar. “They are too moralistic, these Communists.”

“Miernik has a good deal to be serious about,” said Collins.

“He is very worried,” said Khan.

Collins gave Khan a warning look. But the Pakistani went on: “Miernik thinks that he is in danger.”

“Really, Hassan!” Collins said.

“You do not believe him?” asked Khan.

“That’s neither here nor there. It’s an official matter.”

“A human matter, I should have said. Is the D.G. going to do anything for him, or not?”

“I really don’t know.”

“He must do something. It’s unthinkable that Miernik should have to go back.”

“Back where?” asked Khatar.

“To Poland,” said Khan.

“That is where he comes from,” said Khatar. “Why shouldn’t he go back?”

“Because he is not a royal highness. The Poles are bringing pressure to have him returned. They think that he is a spy, I gather, because of his friendships with us. They wish to put him into prison.

I asked Collins, “Is this true?”

“I have no idea,” said Collins.

“That is what Miernik thinks,” said Khan. “That is what he told the D.C. in your presence, I believe.”

Khan was agitated. Collins paid him no attention.

“If that’s so, then Miernik had better sleep with some girls before he goes,” said Khatar. “He may not have the chance after he’s clapped into the dungeon.”

“I assure you,” said Khan, “it is not funny.”

“No,” said Collins, “I suppose it isn’t.”

I deduced from Collins’ reaction to this conversation that what Khan said was substantially true. Collins is expected, as First Assistant to the Director General, to be a tomb of discretion. But there was no mistaking that he was disturbed and embarrassed by Khan’s spilling of secrets at the luncheon table.

Neither Miernik nor Christopher returned to the restaurant. Khatar, as usual, had no money. I paid the extra portion of the bill, and a claim for expenses is attached.

7.  E
XCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPTION OF A CONVERSATION, PHOTOGRAPHED BY A MOTION PICTURE CAMERA AND DECIPHERED THROUGH LIPREADING, BETWEEN
V
ASILY
K
UTOSOV, AN OFFICIAL OF THE
S
OVIET
E
MBASSY IN
P
ARIS, AND
P
IERRE
M
AILLARD, AN OFFICER OF A
F
RENCH INTELLIGENCE SERVICE.
D
ATE AND PLACE OF CONVERSATION (TRANSLATED FROM
F
RENCH
): 21 M
AY,
P
LACE DU
C
ARROUSEL,
P
ARIS.

8.  R
EPORT BY A
P
OLISH NATIONAL CONTROLLED BY A
W
ESTERN INTELLIGENCE SERVICE (EXCERPT).

Other matters discussed by the Deputy Foreign Minister of the USSR in his conversations with the Deputy Foreign Minister of the Polish People’s Republic:

. . . The Russian presented an optimistic report of progress made by the Soviet diplomatic arms in Africa. It is the view of the Foreign Ministry of the USSR that the potential exists in many African countries for the replacement of current and future reactionary native governments by more progressive elements. Poland may play an important role in this development.