When We Fall Page 16

  She gives him the widest smile she can muster. ‘Thank you. I hope you find some breakfast before lunchtime.’

  ‘I will survive.’

  She smiles on, waiting for him to say goodbye but he does not move.

  The muscles in her cheeks twitch. ‘Are you… also taking the tram?’

  ‘Yes, why not?’

  ‘It’s only one stop to the Castle.’

  ‘But still a little quicker than walking, I think.’

  It must be because of the knapsack. He wants to open it on the tram where she cannot run off.

  She smiles. ‘Excellent, Heinrich. You can keep me company.’

  A bell trills as the green and white tram clatters down Hindenburg Strasse and comes to a stop. A mis-spelled Nur für deutsche Farhrgäste sign is taped to the glass. Beck motions for Ewa to get on first and picks up the knapsack. Perhaps he will place it on the wooden seat and, right there, unpack the noiseless typewriter from its nest of laddered stockings and creased frocks.

  But Beck sits beside Ewa on the tramcar bench and puts the pack in the aisle. The only other passenger, an elderly bearded man carrying a dachshund, does not look their way.

  The driver waits. Workers in flat caps stream past but no one else gets on board. Beck crosses his legs and balances the silver and black cap on his knee. Again, he does not seem inclined to talk and Ewa cannot abide the silence.

  ‘So, will you be stationed here in Posen now?’

  ‘For the moment, yes, I am very glad to say.’

  ‘And billeted permanently at our guest house?’

  ‘It is not yet confirmed, but I do hope so yes. As long as you are still happy to have me there, Eva.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Ewa feels herself start to flush. Is he going to mention, out loud, their disastrous night out at the Apollo? She is still not quite sure what she could say to excuse her mortifying lapse into Polish. The incident has become all the more humiliating and menacing in her memory since learning that Beck also grew up as a citizen of the Republic of Poland. He is more likely than any of the other occupiers to realise that involuntarily speaking the wrong language could be a symptom of questionable national loyalty.

  Ewa brushes her skirt with a gloved hand to steady her nerves. ‘Are you going to work again on the re-naming project?’

  ‘No. Not that.’

  ‘So, no longer in the library?’

  ‘No. But nearby. At the university.’

  Silence returns. But then the bell rings as the tram rattles off. The man on the opposite bench starts to stroke his quivering dog and Ewa puts her foot against the knapsack to steady it. She sees Beck glance down at it and cannot quite read his face.

  Again she tries to fill the silence. ‘The knapsack makes it look as if you are about to take a few days leave. Where would you go if you could?’

  ‘If the war were over?’

  The skin on Ewa’s back prickles but she smiles brightly and nods.

  ‘Home, I suppose.’

  She presumes he means Kattowitz but it feels too awkward to say the name aloud.

  ‘Can you not go there now?’

  ‘Returning would be… complicated.’ His fingers tap on the brim of his hat. ‘But once the war is over, we must hope that life will become more straightforward.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  His home town, from what she has heard, is even more riven between people who grew up speaking different languages. Beck must have left there before the war to pursue his studies in Leipzig. Perhaps that way he was able to avoid being called up to fight for Poland.

  Rows of architraved windows and stone-fronted office buildings judder by. Ewa tells herself not to look at the knapsack, even though she is itching to pull it closer. She will have to warn Stefan that if he wants her to hide a large, heavy suitcase, it will not be straightforward. Even a modest knapsack that is not at all smelly is far from inconspicuous.

  The thought tightens her throat and she coughs, making Beck turn to her with a look of concern. ‘Are you all right?’

  She struggles to get the cough under control. ‘Oh… yes…’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Certainly.’ And then, she has the idea. ‘I was just about to say, to ask that is… I am intending to go swimming later.’

  Beck beams. ‘Do you go often now?’

  ‘No. I must confess that I have not yet used the pool.’

  ‘Well then, you certainly should go today. Perhaps we could go together this afternoon.’

  Ewa smiles playfully. ‘That would be two swims in one day for you.’

  ‘I would not mind. It is so calming.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I am busy in the kitchen this afternoon. Is the pool open late?’

  ‘Until 8.30pm on Wednesdays but I’m afraid that I will not be finished with my duties until after 9pm today.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame.’

  ‘Never mind. Go alone tonight and perhaps we will swim together another time. Remember to take your Deutsche Volksliste papers for entry.’

  ‘Thank you, I will.’

  Beside the Imperial Castle, the road widens. Red and black banners blaze across the bulky stone arches and pennants droop from the wheel arches of sleek black cars lined up outside. On the Platz, a crowd of elaborate uniforms, black, grey-green, and brown are gathering. Beck scans the throng, eyes oddly wary then glances at his wristwatch. Surely to God, he will get off now.

  Ewa’s hand goes to the bell-button above the bench. ‘Shall I ring for you?’

  ‘What?’

  Blood begins to ebb from Ewa’s head. Perhaps he is not going to get off. Perhaps instead, he is going to insist on carrying her absurdly heavy knapsack all the way to the apartment of the non-existent Volhynian peasants.

  Ewa’s hand hovers by the button. ‘Shall I…?’

  Then Beck smiles. ‘Oh, yes. Please.’

  The buzzer whines.

  ‘Thank you, Eva.’

  Wheels rattle to a halt and Beck stands, pulling the silver-braided peak of his cap low over his eyes.

  ‘I wish I could be of more assistance with your luggage.’ He nods at the knapsack. ‘It’s quite heavy.’

  She feels herself flinch. ‘Oh, it’s no bother at all. I hope that all goes well with your lecture.’

  Beck glances outside then half raises his arm as if to give a full Heil Hitler but then lets it fall to his side. Instead, he nods, clicking his heels before turning to the exit. He waits behind the other passenger who is lowering his dachshund on to the pavement then marches off into the uniformed crowd.

  The tram driver has shut off the engine and taken out a newspaper, spreading it over the control levers. The tram must be early. Or perhaps it isn’t worth being on time when you only have one passenger. Ewa leans her face closer to the window to keep her eyes on Beck and make sure that he keeps walking away.

  All of the faces beneath the variously decorated hats seem extremely pleased with themselves. Overloud laughter seeps into the tramcar along with an atmosphere of anticipation and smugness, not unlike some society race meeting or opera, except that amongst the hundreds of people milling around the Kaiser’s fake Castle, there is not a single woman.

  Ewa’s gaze drifts around the crowd but she has lost sight of Beck. At the side of the Castle the scaffolding is still up where the builders have not quite managed to finish all of the renovation works. They will be in for it over that.

  With a shudder, the tram starts up again and begins to trundle away from the square. The boulevard is at its widest here and there is a clear view of the university’s gables and turrets. The tram hiccups as a group of hatless youths in cheap suits and pullovers run in front of it across the tracks in the road. They leap on to the pavement ahead of a man who is also heading for the university – a man in a perfectly
black uniform. Ewa shifts in her seat. It looks like Beck from behind, but it is hard to tell, and he should be going to the Castle to deliver his lecture soon, not the university.

  The hatless youths crowd around a revolving doorway. The brass plaque beside it says: Institut für Gerichtsmedizin. Ewa knows both parts of the long word, of course; legal and medicine, but she has never seen them put together like that before. Her mind becomes briefly distracted by imagining what exactly is being studied behind the revolving door. At that same moment, Ewa’s eye catches something familiar about a man who is leaning against the wall not far from the plaque. It is the way he is standing; one foot crossed over the other, shoulder buttressing the wall, wide-brimmed hat pulled down.

  The tram is almost level with the doorway and with the striking black uniform that has come to a halt behind the students. Ewa twists on the bench, putting her hand between her cheek and the glass. It may not be Beck, of course, but if it is, she would not like him to see her staring. The tram jerks then speeds up as the officer puts out his arm to the revolving door. It is Beck. And at the same moment, the man in the wide-brimmed hat looks up at him and nods. Ewa sees the side of this man’s face only for a second, but it makes her heart stop.

  Nausea floods through her. She stands up and spins around, grasping at the benches as she clambers to the rear of the tramcar. The knapsack slaps over on to the floor. But Ewa does not take her eyes from the two men beside the revolving door. Her face is pressed up now against the back window, breath blurring the view, her gloved hand flattened against the glass.

  The tram lurches as it accelerates, pushing Ewa off balance. But as she sees the revolving door rotate over the back of Stefan’s dark suit, she suddenly realises the correct translation for Institute of Forensic Medicine.

  Posen, Greater German Reich

  Wednesday 6 October

  From the outside, the swimming pool is smaller than the synagogue used to be but its newly brutal profile seems to occupy more space. Gone are the curving walls and decorated arches; unbending rooflines and rectangular windows now take their place. The building has been stripped of cupolas and pinnacles like a head shaved.

  When it was used for worship, Ewa would pass the synagogue on her way to St Adalbert’s and take little notice of the place. Only when it was mutilated beyond recognition did Ewa realise that the synagogue had been one of the city’s finest landmarks. So now, normally she does her best to avoid the indoor swimming pool and the stomach-flip it gives her to realise what the occupiers have done already to her city, and what else they might be capable of doing. But today she is going for a swim.

  The entrance door is heavy and there is no one in the reception area. Ewa parks the string bag with her towel and swimming costume on to the desk and wonders if the pool is really open. Then, in a warm waft of chlorine, a man in a brown coat swings open the door. He hardly looks at her face as he checks her papers and takes her Reichspfennige.

  ‘Ladies’ changing is under the spectator gallery, on the left.’

  She nods and enters. The warm bleachy smell is pleasant and the pool outlandishly blue. Untroubled by swimmers, a glass-still surface mirrors the roof’s soaring arches. Ewa feels a sudden urge to smash the calmness by falling in, jacket, hat and all. She shudders at how easy that would be. And although it is not the reason that she is here, Beck may be right that a swim could be the best remedy for her fizzing nerves.

  As she pushes on the door marked DAMEN, the squeak from it echoes around the high dome.

  ‘Oh!’ Ewa jumps and looks away. There is a woman inside and she is entirely naked. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone…’

  ‘Well, don’t worry. I’m delighted to see you here, Eva.’

  ‘Frida! Hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you…’

  ‘In the nude?’

  ‘Well, yes!’

  They both laugh and Frida, who is always tidy and businesslike at the Resettlement Office, seems entirely untroubled by her nakedness. She goes to her belongings and fishes out a cigarette packet. Ewa waves a refusal but Frida lights up anyway and goes to sit on the bench, crossing her legs. Ewa struggles to keep her eyes off Frida’s pendulous breasts. They seem to hang below her waist and are darkened by unfeasibly large nipples. Frida looks like an entirely different woman with wet hair pasted to her skull and her clothes off.

  She leans back as she smokes, allowing Ewa an even better view of the unusual breasts. She must be proud of them.

  ‘So, you are a swimmer too, Eva?’

  ‘No, not really. But I have been so busy this week, I must somehow make myself relax or I will go crazy.’

  ‘I hope it wasn’t those Bessarabians who troubled you. You mustn’t mind what they say. And we have every right to throw them out on to the street if they cause a nuisance.’

  ‘Oh no, they didn’t trouble me. It is the guest house work that is the worry. I have a big party to cater for on Saturday. We don’t really have the space…’

  ‘It will be fine, darling. I have seen what you can do with a few onions and a carrot. You are a gastronomic miracle-worker! The Poles could venerate you like one of their ridiculous saints.’

  Her laugh is loud and braying. She uncrosses her legs and leans forward, resting an elbow on her knee. Ewa tries not to stare at the black thatch between her legs.

  Frida points the smoking cigarette at Ewa. ‘They have let you out, have they, even though it’s almost dinner time?’

  ‘They are all out tonight, a grand dinner at the Castle, I believe.’

  ‘Ah yes, the conferences. It’s all hush-hush what they’re talking about up there.’ Frida raises her eyebrows and hunches her shoulders as she puts a finger to her lips. The breasts jostle and Ewa averts her eyes.

  ‘Really? One of the officers has told me about his speech.’

  ‘What is that about, then?’

  ‘Those graves they found in Russia, full of Polish officers.’

  ‘Oh, that.’

  ‘You have heard of some other things being discussed?’

  ‘Well, between us, I think that the main point of the whole jamboree is not entirely unconnected with the original filthy usage of this lovely swimming pool.’

  Frida giggles and Ewa cannot face hearing more of what she has to say on this subject. But more than anything, she wishes that Frida would muzzle her horrible breasts inside their brassiere.

  Ewa turns away to undress but she leaves her skirt on as she removes her underwear. Frida’s eyes follow each of her garments as they are removed. Ewa wonders if she hears a tut of disapproval at her prudishness but she is damned if she is going to put her parts on display under Frida’s calculating eyes.

  ‘What about you, Frida, do you use the pool very much?’

  ‘Now and then. I like to swim, but prefer to do it with my girlfriends. This pool is so boring. You are the only other lady I have ever seen here. Look at this changing room.’ Frida stretches her legs apart as she reaches out to wipe the corner of the bench. She holds up her fingers. ‘See the dust? Hardly ever used. I would not be surprised if we are the only ladies who have ever used it.’

  ‘And do you usually come at this time of day?’

  ‘Why, yes. Let’s make a habit of it, shall we? I would come every week if I had you to chat to as we swim!’

  ‘Good idea! Once this busy week is out of the way we should make a regular date of it.’ Ewa wiggles her woollen swimsuit under the waistband of her skirt and pulls the straps over her arms before removing her brassiere. Frida’s greedy eyes follow the escapologist’s jig.

  Ewa folds her slip on to the neat pile of clothes. ‘What about the men? Are there many swimmers?’

  ‘Want a good look, do you?’

  Ewa laughs although her hand clenches on her rubber hat. Frida really is asking for a slap.

  ‘There must be some hunky torsos
to admire.’

  ‘One or two, maybe. But they hardly ever go up on the diving board where you’d get the best chance of seeing something juicy a bit further down!’

  Frida’s laugh becomes a snort and Ewa tightens the strap on her swimming hat with a thwack. ‘Well. I had better start on my lengths.’

  ‘Yes. Off you go, Eva.’

  Ewa feels Frida’s eyes on her back as she leaves through the louvered door.

  The pool is still empty of swimmers and Ewa lowers herself gingerly into the cool water at the shallow end. She hunches her shoulders, splashing herself and patting wet hands on her shoulders. But in the end, it is better just to plunge.

  Gasping, she tries to find her rhythm. She cannot remember the last time she swam. Not during the war, that is for sure. Maybe not since the summer before it started when she cycled with Stefan to the lake. It had been hellish hot. They found a rush-shielded spot away from the beaches, where they could swim naked. But they could not keep their bodies apart for long enough to swim very far.

  Her arms settle into their crawl and her limbs start to warm. Her head relaxes below the surface as she turns to breathe. But her flat hand tightens into a fist each time she thinks of Stefan.

  Was that him, was that really him, who followed SS-Obersturmführer Beck into the Institute of Forensic Medicine? At the time, she had no doubt about either of them. But now she is not sure if it really was Beck, let alone Stefan, that she saw. Stefan seems now so different to the young lover who swam naked with her between the bullrushes. And if that was him with Beck, the new Stefan would be as different to the old as a synagogue is to a swimming pool.

  Ewa punches the water as she swims, searching for an explanation about why Stefan, if that was him, might be meeting on a busy street with an officer of the SS. Is this part of a more elaborate AK plot around the Neptun transmitter? One which requires Stefan to become a double agent? But airborne radio location surely has little to do with forensic medicine. Could Beck himself, difficult though it is to imagine, be some kind of double agent, passing secrets to the Allies through Stefan? But surely he would not then meet a partisan in full view of the most senior officers of the Reich. Unless, of course, he knows, like Ewa herself, about the power of hiding in plain sight.