The Miernik Dossier - Charles McCarry [53]
The violinist looked from Miernik to the Germans, and his giggle changed to a spasmodic, snorting laugh. He had heard this sort of talk somewhere else. With his hand over his mouth, he scuttled away, the thousand-lira note fluttering to the floor behind him.
“If you did not have that arm in a sling,” the German said, “I would slap your face for you.”
“I don’t doubt it for a moment,” Miernik said. “Your late leader, Reichsführer Himmler, would do practically anything to protect a dog. He may be dead, but the kingdom of his ideas lives on. Take your dog and go. But remember: one day soon the gutters will run red with the blood of dogs.”
The German put his arm around his wife, who by this time was sobbing as she reassured her Pekingese in baby talk. They left. Miernik poured wine for all of us, and sat down.
For the remainder of the meal we talked about Puccini. Miernik believes that romantic composers prepared the ground for totalitarian politicians: both deal in illusions, knowing that the illusions people have about themselves as individuals and as nations are stronger than reality.
Miernik and Zofia retired early. Kalash, walking around the silent town with Collins and me, chuckled over our translation of Miernik’s confrontation with the Germans. “It’s nice to see him show a little wit,” Kalash said. “But you Europeans really are tribalistic. No hope for you, I’m afraid, until you pass out of this primitive stage and learn to be more cool-headed about all these enmities and superstitions.”
Later, passing Zofia’s room, I stopped, meaning to knock. Through the door I heard her voice and Miernik’s, speaking in Polish. I have to report that I felt no curiosity at all about what they might be saying; I was, instead, happy that Miernik at last had someone besides me to talk to late at night.
22 June. Uneventful day, except for what sounded like a raging argument between Zofia and Miernik in Polish as we sped down the autostrada toward Naples. Thinking that there might be some substance in what they were saying, I used my dandy Zippo for the first time. This is not, incidentally, the least conspicuous device you could have given me. I don’t smoke, so I have to manipulate it inside my pocket. I leave you to struggle with the tapes. The car will be in the garage of the Albergo Commodore tonight. It will be loaded on the ship at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.
46. TRANSCRIPT OF MIERNIK AND ZOFIA MIERNIK, 22 JUNE, “CADILLAC LOG” (TRANSLATION FROM POLISH).
ZOFIA: . . . not going to be a very pleasant ride if you go on like this. We went over all this last night.
MIERNIK : Zofia, you never change. You do something horrid and then put the blame on those who want to help you.
ZOFIA : Horrid? How horrid? I am an adult, Tadeusz, and I made the decision as an adult. There was nothing for me where I was. I was learning nothing.
MIERNIK : But simply to quit without telling me. It was unfair— not to say dishonest. I should think you could have trusted me. And poor Sasha. When he couldn’t find you, think how he must have felt.
ZOFIA : Sasha found me. He understood perfectly.
MIERNIK : I don’t understand perfectly. You throw away your university degree, you go to live with a lot of scruffy people who call themselves artists, who are under constant surveillance by the police. It’s unbelievable. You might have put everything in danger. Suppose the whole group had been arrested? How would Sasha have found you then?
ZOFIA : But all those things did not happen, Tadeusz. Sasha found me, I am here, all is well. And I have no use for a degree from Warsaw University that means nothing.
MIERNIK : Nothing? It means the difference between a life as a professional, a teacher perhaps, and life as an outcast. Even in the West they attach some importance to education.
ZOFIA : Tadeusz, I don’t want to teach. I am not