Mila 18 - Leon Uris [19]
This time when he handed her the key she walked through the door, leaving it open. “Come on up,” she said.
Andrei followed awkwardly into a small but tastefully and lavishly furnished living room. The luxury seemed to add to his discomfort. She threw open the french doors and stepped out on the balcony overlooking the Square of the Three Crosses. Andrei stood near the front door, fiddling with his hat.
“Close the door and come on in. I won’t bite you.”
As he reached the balcony, Gabriela spun around, her eyes ablaze with anger. “You are very right, Lieutenant. I have never suffered such humiliation.”
“You’ve had your revenge.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I wish you wouldn’t make an affair of honor out of this.”
“I have never chased a man in my life, nor have I ever been rejected.”
“My, what an angry little terrier you are.”
“I made it obvious that I found you attractive. I would like to know exactly why you delight in making me feel like some sort of cheap trollop.”
“I told you. I don’t like places like the grand ballroom of the Bristol—or here. I don’t belong here.”
“You must certainly know that with a wink of your eye you could obtain the family fortunes of every eligible spinster in Warsaw.”
“I have no desire to be anything but what I am.”
“And what are you?”
“I am a Jew. I am not inclined to do the things necessary to reach a position I don’t covet in the first place. To be sure, I’m one of those good Jew boys. I can throw a javelin farther and jump a horse higher than almost any man in Poland. So, you see, there’s a gentlemen’s agreement in the Ulanys not to mention publicly my tainted ancestry.”
“Is that any reason to treat me as you did?”
“Miss Rak, I don’t know how advanced your American education was, but in Poland it is the general consensus we use nice tender young Catholic girls like you for sacrificial offerings.”
Gabriela walked back into the living room and braced herself against a lamp table and blew a long, deep breath. “Well, I asked for it. I owe you an apology. At least my pride has been served. I thought you disliked me.”
“Not at all. I like you very much.”
“Underneath that layer of bluster you are a very sensitive man.”
“I’m engaged in serious work. I only serve half time in the army.”
“What kind of work?”
“You wouldn’t be interested.”
“I think I would.”
“I am a Zionist.”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard something about it Redemption of Palestine or something like that.”
“Yes, something like that.”
“Don’t be so touchy. What do you do?”
“I’m an organizer and on the executive board of an organization called the Bathyrans.”
“Bathyrans? What an odd name.”
“It was a group of Jewish warriors sent out by Herod to defend against infiltrators. ... Look, this doesn’t interest you.”
“But it does. And what do your Bathyrans do?”
“We follow certain principles of Zionism, which tells us we must re-establish our ancient homeland in Palestine, and we run an orphanage and have a farm outside Warsaw. On the farm we train youngsters in the rededication to the land. When we are able to raise enough money, we buy a piece of land in Palestine and send off a new group to start a colony.”
“Why on earth would you do that?”
Andrei’s patience snapped. “Because, Miss Rak, the Polish people have not allowed us to own or farm land and—” He stopped short and lowered his voice. “Let’s stop this. You don’t give a damn about Zionism and I feel like a fool here.”
“I am trying to be friendly.”
“Miss Rak, between Jerusalem Boulevard and Stawki Street over three hundred thousand people live in a world you know nothing about. Your high and mighty writers call it the ‘Black Continent.’ It happens to be my world.”
He put on his hat and walked toward the door.
“Lieutenant. All this—why does all this mean that we can’t be friends?”
Andrei walked toward her slowly. “What do you want from me? I am not interested in a romance.”
“Really ...”
“Stop this silly damned game. I am a poor man, but I don’t mind it in the least because I am doing something that makes me happy. I am and never will be anything