Page 77 of The Storyteller of Krakow

For one split second, one shameful blink of time, I understood what Anka had meant on the ship. Not love. Not really. But that dangerous leap the mind makes when it has been starved too long of anything but grief and loss, and survival. One look, one pause, and it made me feel something I had never felt before.

It was absurd. I knew that even then.

He was a stranger. Worse than a stranger. An enemy. If he had been stronger, if he had still had his weapon, if the world had tilted one inch differently, he might have killed me without a second thought. I knew that. I knew it, and still some foolish, hollowed part of me rushed ahead of sense and tried to make something from the moment.

Not him. Never him exactly.

Anka had said that sometimes you do not fall for the person, only for the life your mind builds around them – you fall in love with the idea of love. Sitting there beside him, I felt the truth of it with a kind of private shame.

Then he moved, or winced, or the world righted itself, I no longer remember which, and the spell of it broke a little, but it was still there – still just under the surface.

‘I like your stories, Lena,’ he said.

‘So do I,’ I said. ‘They keep me going.’

He nodded. ‘And I like that I am now in your story, Lena, and you are in mine.’

21

1944, MONTE CASSINO, ITALY

I went back to the cellar the next night.

Yes, I know I shouldn’t have. I knew what I was doing was wrong, I knew that I could not trust him. But I could not help myself. All day with Anka, driving, helping more and more wounded to safety, only made me think of him – of Matthias.

I hated that I was thinking about him, worrying about him, but I couldn’t help it. And each time I did, I thought of that strange smile he gave me, the one that made me nervous and how, despite it all, he was in my story, and I his – there was a connection, as stupid as it sounds, and it made me excited.

But this time I did not go alone. This time I took Wojtek, thinking that not only would it be easier to move about if I were caught, and could use Wojtek as an excuse, say I had found him after he ran off again, but because I felt that Matthias might like to see him properly, up close, stroke him a little.

The ruined farmhouse was still there and so was Matthias.

He stirred as we emerged into the cellar, and I was gladdened to see that he was a little less pale and, of course, quite frankly, still alive.

‘Lena,’ he said, then his eyes widened as he took in Wojtek.

‘It’s all right. He won’t hurt you.’

He nodded, swallowed as Wojtek neared him and began to sniff his face; then, Wojtek sat next to him.

‘I was once told by this woman that if a bear lets you live then life is not done with you yet – it means you will survive,’ I said, sitting beside Wojtek.

‘I see,’ he said, still not able to look properly at Wojtek’s face.

‘Stroke him, he likes it.’ I stroked his fur and nodded at Matthias to do the same.

Matthias did, then let out a weak laugh. ‘I am sure I am dreaming.’

‘It’s no dream,’ I said.

‘I’m glad you came back, Lena.’

‘I am too,’ I said and found I meant it.

‘But what will we do? How will we get me out of here?’ he asked.

‘I think you will have to surrender,’ I said. ‘They will take you to a prisoner camp, but there will be help, a hospital.’

‘I can’t,’ he said.