A Feather on the Water(96)

That evening, when Stefan drove into the camp to collect Lubya and Halina, he wasn’t driving the old Volkswagen he’d fixed up—he was at the wheel of a sleek black Mercedes sedan. Martha didn’t recognize him at first. He was wearing an officer’s hat with gold braid and a handsome greatcoat. On his feet were calf-high leather boots.

“Stefan!” She stared at him, amazed at the transformation. “Where did you get that car, and the uniform?”

“They gave it to me this morning.” He wasn’t smiling. “I have a new job. I am . . .” He hesitated, pronouncing the next words slowly and carefully: “Polish liaison officer for repatriation.”

“You’re what?”

He leaned back into the car and pulled out a briefcase. He opened it to reveal a set of stamp pads and seals bearing the insignia of his new position. “They say I must go to all the camps in sector twenty-three of the American zone. I have to talk to every Polish person. Take names and see the papers that prove they come from Poland. I start here—tomorrow morning.” He glanced over his shoulder. The car had attracted interest. People were coming to look at it. He climbed back inside and started the engine. Martha could see how uneasy he was. He wanted to get away before the DPs started asking questions.

Later in the evening, she drove to his cabin. The girls were already asleep, and he was sitting on the edge of the porch tending a fire over which a cooking pot was suspended. He looked like his normal self now—a white collarless shirt had replaced the stiff military-style jacket. He kissed her when she sat down beside him.

“You have had food already? This will be ready to eat soon.”

“If I’d known, I would have waited.” She smiled. “It smells delicious. What is it?”

“Rabbit. I made a trap.” He cocked his head sideways, toward where the trees grew close together. “Lubya and Halina don’t like me to do it. I have to say this meat is from the army shop.”

“What did the army say this morning,” she asked, “when they gave you the uniform and the car?”

“They say I do . . . what do they call it?” He paused, searching for the words. “Nationality screening.”

“Did they say what would happen once you’d taken all the names and details?”

He shook his head. “But I don’t like what they have asked me to do. When they took me on to work as a translator, I think they only did it because they needed a Polish man to make the DPs go home.”

His words made Martha go cold. When she’d asked to see Major McMahon about translation work for Stefan, she hadn’t held out much hope. She had been pleasantly surprised when the major had agreed to offer him a job at the base. Now it seemed there may have been a hidden agenda.

“I don’t want a shiny car or fancy boots.” Stefan poked the fire with a stick, sending a shower of sparks into the night sky. “They say they will give me more money. I didn’t ask for that.”

“But if you refuse to do what they want, you’ll have no job at all?”

“They didn’t say that, but I think it is true.”

“What will you do?”

He stared silently into the flames. “What would you do? If you were me?”

She hesitated, trying to weigh it all. “Actually, all they’re asking you to do right now is to gather information that already exists. It could simply be that with all the movement in and out of the camps, they need to clarify exactly who is living where.” She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as well as him. But he needed a job. And they had no proof that the information would be used to force DPs to return to Poland. If he were to quit now, the army would just find someone else to fill the post. “I think you should try it out. Go to a couple of camps and see how people react. And when you hand over the information, ask how they’re going to use it.”



The next morning, Martha looked down at the shawled women waiting in line outside the kitchen, pails in hand, for their morning coffee brew. She and Kitty were in the mess hall, where the nationality screening was to take place. They were sorting sheaves of birth certificates and baptismal records into alphabetical order for when Stefan arrived to register everyone.

“Do you think he’ll come?” Kitty frowned. “I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.”

“He doesn’t have much choice,” Martha said. “He can’t exist on fresh air. Much as I’d love to have him living here, I’d have a riot on my hands if I did that.”

“Well, you might have one anyway,” Kitty said. “You should hear what they’re saying out there.” She tilted her head sideways. “They’re not stupid. They know something’s up.”

“What are they saying?”

“That if the Russians aren’t coming to force them to go back, the army will do the job instead. I’ve seen people packing suitcases, ready to run if the trucks arrive to take them away.”

“But did you explain that the national screening is just a way of keeping track of everyone in the zone?”

“I’ve been trying to, but they don’t believe it. I suppose you can’t blame them, given what they went through in the war.”

When Martha and Kitty stepped outside the mess hall, the main road through the camp was deserted. The occupants of the first five blockhouses were supposed to be lining up outside, but it seemed that everyone had vanished. The women went to blockhouse one and knocked on the door. There was no response. They knocked again. Eventually the door was opened a couple of inches. The leader peered out at them, a wary look on his face. Martha asked him why he and the others hadn’t come to the mess hall.