The Miernik Dossier - Charles McCarry [4]
“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. INTERNAL COMMUNICATIONS FROM THE FILES OF WRO.
Personnel
The Director General wishes to know the date of expiry of the
passport of Mr. Tadeusz Miernik.
19 May N. COLLINS
First Assistant
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.
19 May T. RASTIGNY
Personnel
6. REPORT BY LÉON BROCHARD, A FRENCH NATIONAL EMPLOYED BY THE WORLD RESEARCH ORGANIZATION, TO A FRENCH INTELLIGENCE SERVICE (TRANSLATION FROM FRENCH).
There