“My ticket says my destination is Lwów.”
“Your ticket says your destination is Lwów because the ticket office in the Nordbahnhof bungled it. You will disembark at Jarosław with me, to visit my aunt.”
“But…,” Lucius began, as the carriage door slid open.
“Papers,” said a young man in an unmarked uniform.
Adelajda put her free hand on Lucius’s arm.
Lucius removed his passport and ticket, and passed them over with those of the older couples. “Yours,” the young man said to Adelajda.
“They’re in my bag,” she said. She leaned over and leafed through it with her free hand, struggling with little Paweł, who had begun to cry again.
“Hurry,” the guard said. At last she handed them over. The soldier studied the papers of the older couples before handing them back. His cheeks were pink, covered with peach fuzz, his eyes bright blue. He looked perhaps sixteen. A rifle was slung around his chest, and a pistol sat in a holster on his belt.
He looked at Lucius.
“You two are traveling together?”
Adelajda didn’t give him time to answer. “My husband met me in Bohumín. I was in Rybnik with my family. We’re going to Jarosław, to see my aunt.”
“Your ticket says Lwów.” He was staring at Lucius. “And your papers say you’re single. But this is your wife.”
Again Adelajda was faster. “We filed papers in January.”
“Really?” The young man smiled as if he’d unearthed a dirty secret. “The baby must be what, two years old? Three?”
Her face hardened. “That’s none of your business.”
“I’d say it is; your story doesn’t hang together.”
“And I’d say that not everyone had the leisure to file papers during the war.” She paused. “Or perhaps you wouldn’t know? My husband didn’t even meet his son until demobilization. You look like a baby. Were you playing with your dolls while your brothers served?”
Lucius looked at her. He had thought at first that her taking offense was calculated. But now he worried that something else was boiling over, that she was no longer in control.
He interrupted. “My wife means no disrespect,” he said. “I… I… it has been hard for all of us, you see…”
But the young man had retained their papers. “Come with me,” he said.
Lucius’s heart pounded; he began to rise.
“Not you. This one.” The young man pointed at her with his chin.
Adelajda shook her head. “On whose authority?”
The young man took a step toward them. Now Lucius thought of General Borszowski’s letter in his bag. Friend of Poland. Surely this would mean something, as would the signature of the general. But the letter made no mention of a wife.
“I can explain.”
But the young man ignored him entirely. “I’m waiting, Pani…”
She looked off in defiance. “I will not put up with this. I was born a Pole. I lost a brother for Poland, nearly gave my husband. My baby has drunk my love of Poland in his milk…”
“Good. You can explain that to my captain.” He paused. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll come,” said Lucius louder.
“Not you,” said the young man, angrier now. “You can stay with the baby while this patriot comes with me.”
Adelajda looked at him. He knew, just as she knew, that not to pass him Paweł would risk betraying them entirely. She leaned over and whispered something Lucius couldn’t hear. Then, “Stay with Papa. I’ll be back.”
But the moment she moved, Paweł began to grab wildly at her, her arm, her hair, her blouse. She had to pry him off. He grabbed a finger, then again her hair. A wail rose from him. “Please,” she said to Lucius, who reached over to help. But the boy, despite his illness, was fierce in his resistance, and it took a few more tries to pry him out of Adelajda’s arms. “Shhh…,” Lucius whispered, but the wailing only grew louder. He struggled to contain the child, at last enfolding him in his arms. It occurred to him that he had never truly held—not just touched, but truly held—a child in his life. It seemed impossible. There must have been a younger cousin, a nephew, sometime in the past, but the force of the little limbs was something he had never anticipated. And the fever was nothing like he had felt in his patients, a dry, searing heat that radiated through the light gown. Still Paweł twisted for his mother. “Shhh…,” Lucius whispered again.
He could feel every eye in the compartment upon him. What would a father do?
Roseola, scarlet fever, measles, rubella, influenza…
“Shhh…,” he said, lips touching the hot skin of Paweł’s head.
“Let’s go,” the soldier said.
Again, Adelajda looked to Lucius, her eyes betraying desperation. He had a sense suddenly of a new realm of loss that he had never really known existed. He looked up. “In my bag… I have a letter…”
But the soldier put his hand on his holster. “Do you want your son to see me make him an orphan, Pani?”
She rose.
“Now!”
She made it to the door. Life had left her; her skin was almost green, and for a moment Lucius thought she would collapse. She turned again. “Paweł,” she said. “This is Papa. Stay with him. He’ll care for you until I’m back. He’ll care for you…”
Her voice broke. The boy was screaming, his face scarlet, twisting with such a force that Lucius could scarcely hold him. He could see his little teeth, the trembling vibrato of his tongue.
But Adelajda couldn’t go any further. She turned and lunged for him. The soldier grabbed her by the shoulder and hurled her against the far wall of the corridor.
A shot.
Then voices, footsteps pounding through the train. More soldiers, pushing past them. Lucius saw Adelajda’s hands go up, covering her head. More shouts. Hurry! The soldier grabbed Adelajda and threw her back into the compartment, tickets and passports scattering on the floor. Paweł broke free and tumbled into her arms. Lucius looked back to the door, but the men were all gone, storming out into the fields, where a figure now was running. Another shot. He saw the figure go down in the grass, then come back up again, now at a slant, then fall again. Then three men were on him.
They lifted him, carried him back struggling toward the front of the train and out of view. Then from the rear came more shouts, then two more men were marched forward, hands on their heads. A horseman rode past, his open greatcoat waving in the wind.
Then silence.
In the distance, a hawk circled above the fields.
At Lucius’s side, Adelajda held Paweł tightly to her, pressed her face against his cheek, his forehead, his hands. She let her hair fall around him, willowing them together in its shelter. Around the little boy’s wrist was a rosary bracelet, and at times she stopped and kissed it, murmuring, “Mother Maria, Mama, Mama, Mama…”
Across the compartment, the old twin sisters watched them impassively. They would have heard much of the earlier conversation, Lucius knew. They could have betrayed them. He wanted to thank them for their silence, but to do so seemed to implicate them, to put them all at risk.
Another of the horsemen rode past. “Lower your window shades,” he shouted. “All passengers! Shades down! What are you staring at? Countrymen, lower your shades, there is nothing here to see!” Lucius rose and pulled the cord. His shirt was soaked with Paweł’s tears, and a strand of mucus spanned his arm.