“I could tell him who you are,” she said. “You would never get back into that house again. We could be gone before you could get back in...” She wished he would exhibit some trace of emotion, some indication of his intentions. “He has many friends here; in the police, in the government. He could make trouble for you. More than trouble — he could see that real harm came to you...”
He nodded in quiet agreement. “Yes. If you told him, he could do that.”
She stared at him in confusion. Where was the boy who once had this same face, only younger; the boy she could mold to her slightest whim? Could it possibly be the same strong man she was facing now? She shook her head slowly. “You’ve changed, Mietek.”
“Kek,” he corrected her quietly. “Kek Huuygens. There is no Mietek Janeczek. He died in Warsaw. Together with his parents. And his sister.”
She stared at him. “And with me?”
“I don’t know,” he said evenly, emotionlessly. “I honestly don’t know.”
Her fear slowly receded; under that rigid façade, he was still Mietek Janeczek, and she was still Jadzia Hochmann. She could still mold him. Her voice became soft. “What happened to us, Mietek?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and stared down at her soft hand. “I often wondered how I would feel if we ever met. And I often thought that if we did, I’d ask you what happened to us.”
“You wanted to ask me why I did what I did. Why I married Willi...” It was odd, but even now, under these circumstances, she could still manage to sound faintly accusing, as if it were somehow at least partially his fault. “Isn’t that what you wanted to ask?”
“No.” It was a lie and it sounded like one. He tried to shrug, bringing his eyes up, studying the perfect symmetry of her oval face, the full lips, the lovely curve of her throat. “It was a long time ago, Jadzia. We were children then.”
She shook her head stubbornly, unwilling to let the answer pass, subconsciously aware that only the full truth — or at least the semblance of full truth — could gain her her ends.
“We weren’t that much of children. I’ll tell you why I did what I did. I thought the war was going to be over in a matter of months. I thought Germany was going to win. And I thought—” her eyes were studying him, trying to gauge his reactions “—I thought, after your parents... I thought I’d never see you again.” She shook her head slowly. “I also thought that if I married Willi, possibly things would be better, easier, for Stefan...”
“For Stefan?”
“Yes. He wanted an officer’s commission. He wanted recognition for everything we — he, that is — had done for them.” She shrugged. “He was a fool. He should have known better. Once anyone has what they want from you, they throw you out. He’s dead, you know.”
“I didn’t know.”
“He died a long time ago. The underground killed him.” She didn’t even sound interested. “If they ever find me, they’ll kill me too. They still have my name on the list, even after all these years. That’s why...” She stopped.
“Why you’re still with Gruber?”
She seemed to like the question. “Yes. Here in Lisbon. Trapped here in Lisbon—”
“Trapped? Do you mean by me?”
A bitter smile crossed her face. She pulled her hand from his and unconsciously smoothed her skirt. “By everything. By not being able to leave this country without—” the thought automatically led to another; she looked at him curiously, almost calculatingly “—Kek Huuygens... so you really are Kek Huuygens... I read the reports the police gave Willi on you. Did you really do all the things they say you did?”
He smiled faintly. “I don’t know what they say I did.”
“They say you have no nerves. They say you can...” She paused a moment, and then plunged directly to the heart of her problem; it was as if she could not help herself. “The paintings; you saw them this morning. They’re all we — I, have, Mietek. If they can’t be brought safely out of Portugal into Brazil—”
“What about the miniatures?”
“The miniatures?” She looked confused by the change in subject. “Do you mean the miniatures we had at home? Papa’s collection?” She shook her head. “Those were destroyed. Years ago, early in the war. The whole house was destroyed.”
She’s telling the truth as she sees it, Kek suddenly thought. She doesn’t know. Did Gruber keep them a secret from her purposely? Or does he actually think they aren’t that important?
She was looking at him curiously. “What made you ask about them?”
He shrugged. “Only that they were valuable.”
She nodded. “I know. Willi says the other paintings are valuable, too. He got them in various places; he was always bringing one or two back from places he visited. He says that in Brazil...” She stopped suddenly, and then stared at Kek. “You hate him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“But it was the war, don’t you see? It was the war. In a war people kill other people, it doesn’t mean...” She saw the look in his eyes and suddenly remembered his parents. She stopped and took a deep breath. “May I have a brandy, please?”
He looked at her in surprise. “Of course.”
“And a cigarette, please.”
He reached around, poured a drink, and handed it to her, then held a match as she drew on the cigarette. She drained the drink quickly, as if it were medicine, and then puffed nervously on the cigarette a few moments before crushing it out in an ashtray. She kept her head averted as she asked her next question. Her voice was low.
“You hate me, too. Don’t you?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I’ve never hated you.”
“I’m glad.”
There was a brief light in her eyes that disappeared as quickly as it had come. She stared down at the rug a moment and then raised her eyes, intent on his understanding the importance of her plight.
“Mietek, I have to get out of Portugal. I can’t stand it any more. Those paintings — what they represent — are my only hope. If there’s any trouble, if you do anything foolish now, and the police are involved in any way, it would ruin everything.” She waited for him to speak, and then went on with a touch of bitterness.
“You don’t know what it is to be in a place you hate, a place you hate because it’s like a dungeon you can’t leave. Oh, yes, I have a car, and I leave the house — I have to or I’d go mad — but do you know how far I’ve been from the house since I’ve been here? Not even to Estoril! I go out shopping, or I drive around the park sometimes, but that’s all. This is the second time in over eight years I’ve ever been in the center of the city.” She shrugged. “Even Willi goes out sometimes in his car — he’s afraid that mine would draw unwelcome attention to him. At night, he drives around the park, looking down on the city, and then comes home to hide.”
Her eyes were brooding; she leaned forward, staring at him. “And the people we see; we talk to? We occasionally eat with? Only people who are safe. Policemen that don’t dare say a word, or they’ll lose what Willi gives them to keep quiet. Government officials who pretend they’re in sympathy, but really laugh at us, I think, while they take all they can get. And their fat wives—”
“And Hans.”
“And Hans. He was a sergeant major, would you know it?” She shook her head. “And even Hans only stays because the cars will be his to sell, once we leave. His name is on the list, too...”
She reached for his hand again; the brandy seemed to have warmed her, to have brought some life back into her. She gripped his hand strongly, the fingers of one hand stroking the back of his; she bent toward him, her perfume suddenly heady.