Warsaw (15 page)

13.

It was borne from an impulse, a notion. Thomas walked past
one of the ghetto's remaining medical centres on his way back to the barracks
from visiting Duritz. At first he thought he would walk by and glance up
through the murky windows to see if he could espy the Jewish nurse. If he saw
her in that instance then he fancied that it was fate that they should so meet.
Once arriving at the building's front however, Thomas dismissed this idea and
resolved to wait outside the old building in hope of seeing the girl.

The area no longer resembled a rich, bustling town square
but still the location was home to one of the few remaining patches of greenery
in the ghetto. Situated in the middle of the square the small park could have
barely been deemed that now. Out of sympathy perhaps for the ghetto's
inhabitants, or infected by their necrosis, the emeralds and browns had become
jaundiced or were fading to grey. The bark upon the trees was brittle and
flaking, the once glossy leaves were curling up upon themselves - and what
little trace of flora Thomas could see were the remnants of violets and tulips
trodden into the mulched earth.

Under a crisp blue sky, with the odd off-white rag of a
cloud breaking up the azure, the jaded Corporal sat down upon a bench facing
the hospital's entrance. He felt a little uncomfortable intruding upon the town
square so - and couldn't help but furtively notice the covert glances he
received - but his desire to see Jessica again overruled the shards of
strangeness and transgression. He gave thanks to the two cypress trees behind
the bench and the two sizeable shrubs which flanked him and concealed any overt
conspicuousness.

While waiting Thomas mulled over some of the things Adam had
told him that day.

"She was ravishingly beautiful. Aye, she ravished me. I
can still picture the first time I saw her. She was in her garden, playing with
her brother. The lawn was as green and short as the baize upon a billiard
table. A swing was tied in between two apricot trees. I can still smell the
cinnamon and jasmine in the air. The roses were in bloom. Do you know though
that is when the thorns on rose bushes are at their hardest? Ironically,
forget-me-nots were also prominent, as well as love-lies-bleeding. Nature
played Cupid. The reason why I can remember the scene so vividly Thomas is that
it was the beginning and end of my life... Bored with just hating her, I
started to hate womankind in general. In the same way that Miss Havisham
created Stella to wreak revenge on mankind for ruining her, I wished to be or
to create a Byron or Pechorin who would similarly seduce and then ruin my
she-devil and all her sisters... They're Sirens. They have a sweet song, but
they lead you to your death. Or they're Circe. They can turn a man into a
slavering brute with but a show of a pretty ankle or softly spoken word, no
matter if it's a yes or a no... But women are women. She might have provided me
with the material, but it was I alone who wrote me into the tragi-comedy of the
whole ridiculous affair... Ignore me. I've been reading too much Chekhov,"
Adam had finally issued, waving his hand dismissively and smiling.

Thomas remembered how Adam had described the object of his
adolescent infatuation as having "scintillating eyes" (albeit Duritz
had lifted the expression from Stendhal). The German idly thought the phrase
apt to capture Jessica's aspect also.

Thomas beamed as he saw the bright reaction upon Jessica's
face as she spotted him. Her dwindling heart skipped a beat. She blushed out of
shyness or shame - feeling herself unpretty after her demanding shift. What did
she look like? The nurse's face was a little fuller, as was her figure, from
the last time they had seen each other but still those once contoured,
coquettish features appeared older and lifeless compared to that deeply
alluring girl in the picture. Her lank tresses contained streaks of now ash
blonde, or grey, hair. As elated as Jessica was at his dramatic appearance the
girl momentarily felt regret, that he was seeing her like this; she had a dress
picked out and a little make-up left that she intended upon wearing when she
saw the German again. Her blushes brought a kind of colour to her countenance
however, so too an expression of joy, relief and even salvation couldn't help
but burst forth from Jessica's aspect. The nurse forgot all about her tiredness
and veritably floated towards the soldier. Thomas stood up from the bench and
straightened his uniform, as well as flattening the tuft of hair which stuck up
from him owning a double crown. Thomas looked around him to check if anyone was
observing their scene together for it seemed mutually implicit that the
makeshift bower was as good a place as any to conduct their meeting. The German
gallantly brushed Jessica's part of the bench clean before she sat down.

"I'm sorry that I haven't been able to see you for a
while Jessica," Thomas said apologetically, his eyes at once meeting her
searching aspect and then lowering themselves to the ground in contrition.

"No, no. It was my fault. I was late for our last
meeting. I'm just glad you've come to see me now," the girl said
effusively, her slender fingers touching his knee in a friendly gesture. Thomas
was buoyed by the girl's understanding and visible pleasure at seeing him
again. He felt and stored the sensation upon his leg, replaying and
interpreting the affectionate touch over in his mind's eye later that evening.

"I have just been visiting my friend who I told you
about."

"Is he any better?"

"Yes, very much so," Thomas said and smirked,
thinking of his friend's earlier embarrassment and the idea of him being
romantic and in love - despite his comments on womankind later on.

"What's so funny?" Jessica exclaimed, smiling herself
upon witnessing his infectious grin.

"Nothing. I'm just thinking of my friend. He's seeing
someone at the moment, a woman. If you knew him you'd understand why I'm
laughing at picturing him as a lover. Romance and he go together like a
politician and the truth."

"What's his name?" Jessica replied. Both she and
Thomas were laughing together, or to themselves, now - neither of them not
really knowing why. They were just enjoying the ordinariness and harmony of the
moment.

"I know it may seem silly, but I'm afraid I can't tell
you. He made me promise one time that I'd preserve his anonymity. Besides, I
would much rather talk about you. How are you Jessica? How is your
family?"

Jessica attempted a half-smile and shrugged. Two years ago
the girl might have been sitting on the very same bench with a boy - but the
conversation would've been so much gayer. She might've been talking about the
film the couple had just both seen, or the boy would be complimenting her on
her dress, or she would be flirting, bathing in his admiration. She might have
let him kiss her if he was worthy. After their meeting, late that night,
Jessica lay awake and closed her eyes. She transported them - sitting on the
bench in their leafy arbour - outside of the ghetto, or just blanked out the
rest of the world. Her adoring, pretty semblance was cupped in his strong,
tender hand. He was a blend of Ashley Wilkes and Rhett Butler she indulged.
With his soft thumb he wiped away a lonely tear which snaked down her cheek.
The power of her imagination and desire cultivated a real-like sensation.
Jessica melted at the touch. She closed her eyes even more tightly and sighed
when the courtly soldier seemed to take on a life of his own and he pressed his
sensuous lips against her gratified mouth. She didn't mind that he was so much
older than her, indeed she liked it.

An awkward pause ensued. Reality is always strained. Jessica
did not know what to say. She did not want to talk about her family. The
perilous state they were in made her feel despondent. Or Jessica did want to
talk about them, to the point where Thomas would want to rescue them all. How
was she also to put into words the condition of her own existence and anguish?
And did he not know how she felt about him? The discordant silence the soldier
and Jewish girl shared was not their first however and at such times Thomas
usually had a question - such as wanting to know a word or phrase in Polish or
giving Jessica some news from outside of the ghetto - that he had pre-prepared
to re-animate the atmosphere.

"The Russian advance has become just that I think, an
advance. I do not think our army will survive another winter on the Eastern
Front," Thomas remarked to the girl in order to lift her spirits. The
Corporal failed to mention to the nurse - which he did report to Duritz however
who was hardened enough to deal with the truth - that at the rate of the
evacuations the ghetto would be emptied before it could be liberated by the
Russians or Allies.

"What will happen to you when the Russians come?" Jessica
asked, attractively caring for the future of the Corporal.

"I don't know. I'll either get shot in the back
retreating, or shot in the chest running towards the enemy," Thomas said
dryly, trying to diffuse his black fate with grim humour. The Corporal
half-smiled but Jessica's heart went out to the goodly soldier and she touched
him upon the knee again. Thomas felt a little uncomfortable at the gesture,
remembering Maria, but he refrained from moving his leg.

The early evening sky was of a deep purple, plum coloured.
Duritz was still in a relatively good mood from his visit by Thomas. He was not
of that insipid Catholic strain of thinking that the confession of one's sins
equates to somehow being absolved of them - nor was his speech to his friend as
cathartic as you might suppose. But Duritz did seem better for having - for
want of a better term - unburdened himself before Thomas. He spoke of Jessica -
without mentioning her name - and the trappings of conceit and idealism,
beauty.

More and more Duritz began to think of Anna. He pictured her
uplifting expressions, clement heart, unaffected charms and sweet flesh. He
scanned across the words and turned the pages of his book but our re-born lover
wasn't really reading. As when a child will keep staring at a clock as if he
may speed up the minutes and be surprised at the time from when he last
checked, Duritz similarly kept checking his watch (which he had confiscated
from a rich widower) for the time when he believed Anna would be free. His
smelly, undarned socks and feet tapped rhythmically on the end of the bed, as
if he were listening to jazz, with impatience. Coiled energy. The adolescent
was desperate to go upstairs and see her. Partly just to see her and partly for
sex. He finally put his book down, a Polish translation of Rousseau's
"Confessions". He had intended to work on his translation of Plutarch
today but he had all but abandoned that project now (although Duritz was now
flirting with the idea of writing up his account of the fall of Warsaw, indicting
the Poles for their complicity, cowardice and lack of military acumen. So too
for their cooperation and actions after the fall they needed to be indicted).
Adam began to bite the inside of his mouth out of boredom and because he was
hungry - but then realised that Anna might soon be running her tongue around
his mouth in succulent kisses. He couldn't wait any longer. He told himself
that the nights were drawing in earlier of late (which they were), anyone there
would've surely left Anna's place by now.

The dusty, wooden flights of stairs that Duritz climbed up
were so dried out as to be cracking in some places. Aromas of cabbage soup,
urine and disease saturated his nose and throat. Cries, coughs and ridiculous
but understandable arguments deposited themselves in the air. The lover finally
made it up to Anna's landing and heard her voice and the door close when he
came to the top of the stairs. Adam performed a slight double-take on noticing
the soldier, his uniform blending into the dim light and ash-coloured decor of
the walls. Duritz had seen him before in the building and even knew something
of the old soldier from what Anna had reported to him. His name was Oscar. Anna
liked him. Even drunk he wasn't rough with her, indeed sometimes he would just
come and talk. Other times he would say near nothing at all and just want sex
and be in and out so to speak in ten minutes, leaving some bread and fruit on
the side as payment. Anna had spoken fondly of the German one time when she
recounted how he had once beaten up a Latvian policeman who had tried to hassle
her. If not for his lowly rank and lack of influence Duritz might have
considered him as a candidate for the patron he hoped that Anna might secure.

As soon as the two men passed by each other Duritz had to
smile to himself. The normally gruff soldier, with stubble so rough as to light
a match on, looked veritably sheepish upon exiting Anna's room. For once it was
the German who could not meet the Jew's glance as, with downcast eyes and a
crimsoning countenance, he had walked by him, his hands fumbling as he tried to
do up his jacket buttons. Duritz momentarily mused upon the situation of how
this man could commit murder (or at least be an accessory to murder) and carry
out countless acts of barbarity and larceny - but only appear to be ashamed of
himself upon being caught outside the room of a Jewish prostitute. As much
danger as was involved in daring to see a Jewish prostitute Oscar perhaps did
so because it was forbidden - his "Rassenscharde" (race crime) was an
act of defiance or rebellion against the sacrilegious regime.

Adam knocked upon the door and she let him in. Not fifteen
minutes ago Anna's face had been shaped with partly feigned, partly genuine
ecstasy and gratitude. She had giggled, batted her eye lashes and seduced (at
the same time acting as though she were being seduced however). But at the very
moment that the soldier departed her features dropped - nor could they fully
revive themselves upon seeing Adam. She let him in however. A blind man could
discern the tiredness and worry in the woman's expression so Duritz wisely put
on hold his amorous intentions. He offered, but Anna insisted that he just sit
down and that she would make the coffee upon the small stove she possessed.
When Anna stood side on to him and tucked her hair behind her ear Duritz
couldn't but notice again the streaky yellow remnant of a bruise which ran down
her heavily made-up cheek. A Jewish policeman had done it a week or so ago; a
young constable called Marek had slapped her during foreplay, thinking himself
masterful, even playful. Duritz had offered to play the chivalrous boyfriend
but who could he complain to? Any act of revenge would be prologue to an act of
suicide, for both of them. In the end they both suffered in silence and
remembered to forget the incident.