Page 69 of The Storyteller of Krakow

‘Lena.’

19

FEBRUARY 2014, KRAKÓW

Willa Nadziej (Hope Villa residential home)

‘So your love. It was this German?’ Grażyna was half asleep on the sofa, her voice blurry with the promise of dreams.

‘What German?’ I asked, feeling that niggle of guilt that I had once helped a soldier from the wrong army, the wrong side and knew that if I said this, Grażyna would quickly become confused. I wasn’t ready for her to go about the home saying that Lena had saved a German in the war.

She looked confused and then nodded. ‘Ah, yes. I have it wrong again, don’t I? Back to front and inside out. I do this a lot, you know, Lena. I can’t remember things so well these days. I lose the thread. Say, do you know I’m knitting something?’

I handed her her wool and needles and helped her up.

‘You’re very kind to me, Lena,’ she said as she tottered down the corridor to her room. ‘Has anyone ever told you how kind you are?’

‘A few times,’ I said.

‘Oh, well now. You should be told every day, surely. Goodnight, Lena.’ She opened her door then closed it softly.

I went to my own room, sat back in the chair, and listened to the rain that continued to pound on the windows.

It was strange to talk about this German. I had never spoken about him to anyone before, and I knew I had chosen Grażyna to begin this final bit of my story as she would, more than likely, not remember a jot of it.

I searched about in my head to find how this had made me feel, talking about him again, after all this time. I expected to be sad, or angry, because all these years I’d told myself that that was how I felt about him.

But I didn’t find that now. All I found was shame on my part – shame for what came next, how I acted, how I gave into something that was not real. How I had let myself be swept up in a complete fairytale.

Shame. And yes, guilt.

‘Oh, Lena.’ I sighed, letting my voice fill the room. ‘Have you wasted your life? Has this coloured everything? Could everything have been different?’

I didn’t like this ‘new’ me, this me that kept asking questions and not finding the answers. I didn’t like how feelings were rising up, how after all this time I was feeling sorry for myself, searching about to see if I had any regrets, and, of course, that feeling of wanting to cry as I had in Kasia’s apartment.

It was to be expected. Age was playing a part; the end was drawing near.

My back suddenly cried out in pain and I shuffled to the bathroom and took two painkillers, then thought, why the hell not, and took two more.

I knew it would knock me out for some time, but I needed it – the sweet release of sleep. I just hoped I did not dream of the dead again.

* * *

I woke late the following morning with a fuzzy head and a strange ringing in my ears. If there was any a day to stay in bed all day, this was it. But I had woken to a voicemail from Kasia, and the squeaky voice of Hana. They were inviting me round for dinner again, and Kasia said she would arrange a taxi for me and get me back on time so that Joanna would not get too mad at me.

I could call and cancel, but despite the pain and the grogginess, I found I desperately wanted to be around people.

It took me some time to get ready; for some reason, I couldn’t remember where I had put things, and I kept talking to myself, to Wojtek and sometimes to the German. What I said, I don’t know, I just kept catching myself mid-sentence, wondering what on earth I was going on about.

The taxi came at 4 p.m., a different man from the night before, or was it the night before that? He didn’t talk to me, which was fine, and drove slowly all the way as if he were afraid I would break if he took a corner too tightly.

I arrived a little early, and Kasia had told me to wait for her downstairs. I decided that even in my state, I could manage to find the lift again and risk it.

The youth was there again, on the last step of the stairs, looking at an unlit cigarette in his hands.

‘You shouldn’t smoke,’ I told him.

‘I wasn’t going to.’ He stood up and pocketed it.