Mila 18 - Leon Uris [52]
It was just turning dark when he arrived after leaving Chris. They embraced wearily. He slumped into the big armchair while Gabriela poured the last of the vodka. The liquor felt good and warm going down. Gabriela stood behind him and rubbed the knots out of the muscles in his neck.
“I managed to save a large pail of water,” she said. “You will feel better when you have washed.”
He clumped into the bathroom and dunked his head, trying to wash away the exhaustion, then shaved with a cup of heated water.
Gabriela had the food ready. He shoved some stale bread into a bowl of beans.
“I’m sorry there isn’t more to eat,” she said. “When we closed down at the Embassy I came straight here. I didn’t want to risk standing in line and possibly miss you if you came in. I’ll go out and get some things at Tommy’s house later and fix you a good warm meal.”
“It’s fine,” Andrei muttered. “I can only stay a few hours anyhow.”
He chewed the hard bread without speaking. Gabriela became uneasy. “You’d better take a little nap. You look as if you’re ready to cave in.”
“Stop nagging me!”
The air-raid sirens cried out. Gabriela turned quickly from his testiness to draw the curtains and put out half the lights.
“Bastards,” Andrei mumbled. He pushed the bread through the beans. “Bastards.”
In a moment the sky was crackling with the sounds of the motors. Andrei listened for the first whistling screams of the dives and then bombs. He did not have to wait long.
“Mokotow,” Andrei said to himself, “the airdrome. Only there’s no airdrome left. They’re methodical. Every part of Warsaw is like a number on the clock. Mokotow, then Rakowiec, then Ochota, then Wola. Why not? We know where they’re coming, but we can’t shoot back. Why not? I’ve seen those sons of bitches face to face. I’ll see them again before this siege is over. They won’t break us with air raids—they’re going to have to make an attack, and when they do—”
“Stop it, please.”
Andrei ate and listened. The Germans were passing in from the north, starting their unimpeded diving patterns into the southern fringe of the city from directly over his apartment. As the Stukas and Messerschmitts screamed down on the undefended city, Gabriela became shaken. A miscalculated bombing run dropped a rack just a block away from Leszno Street. Andrei’s flat shook from the blast. “Perhaps we’d better get to the basement,” Gabriela said.
“Do I look like a mole or a gopher? I will not live under the ground.”
“That arrogant Polish Ulany pride will get us killed.”
“Go to the basement then!”
“No!”
“Well, make up your mind.”
It was not a long raid, for there was nothing of military value left to bomb in Warsaw. The Germans had had their sport for the day and departed. Gabriela examined the empty vodka bottle with disappointment. Andrei drew the curtains and watched the dancing flames in the distance. He turned back to her, and she became frightened. He had a strange look on his face that she had never seen before.
“I came to say good-by, Gabriela,” he said. “Go home and pack your things. You are allowed one suitcase. You are leaving with the Americans tomorrow.”
“I ... don’t believe I understand you.”
“Don’t make a scene.”
“How am I to get through the German lines? Perhaps I should sing ‘Swanee River’ for them to show them I am an American.”
“I spoke to Thompson. He has already made out an American diplomatic passport for you. There is no better way to travel. Tommy will get you to Krakow.”
“My, you’ve been a busy man. Here I thought you were defending Warsaw, and you’ve been out making diplomatic missions.”
“I said I don’t want a scene!”
“I’ll make up my own mind where and when I want to go.”
“So maybe I’ve condemned you to purgatory! America is such a horrible place? Only a crazy damned fool would