Page 93 of The Storyteller of Krakow

I had delayed this visit for years. I had known Wojtek was here; everyone knew. People wrote articles in the newspaper about him; some of his comrades had already visited him, but I hadn’t, as I hadn’t wanted to see him confined.

I paid my entrance fee and stepped inside.

The zoo was quieter than I expected. Gravel paths curved between enclosures bordered by low stone walls. Children tugged at their mothers’ sleeves, pointing towards monkeys that chattered in a distant cage. A peacock screamed somewhere unseen.

The sky was a thin Scottish blue, cloud-scraped and bright. I moved slowly uphill, following the small painted signs: LIONS, PENGUINS, BEARS.

My heart tightened at the last sign.

The bear enclosure sat on a raised terrace overlooking the city. The stonework was solid, practical. Inside, there was a shallow pool, a stretch of grass worn in places, and a concrete shelter built against the rear wall.

And there, next to the pond, sat Wojtek.

He was larger than I remembered. Age had broadened him. His fur was thick, darker along his back, lighter around his muzzle. He stood and paced slowly at first, heavy paws pressing into the grass.

Children soon gathered at the railing.

‘Look at him!’ one boy shouted. ‘He’s enormous!’

I stood back from them, near the side where the crowd thinned, and stepped closer to the railing.

‘Wojtek,’ I said softly.

He did not react at first.

Why would he? Years had passed. Do bears remember voices?

I tried again.

‘Wojtek. To ja.’ It is me.

His head lifted.

Not sharply. Not theatrically. But there was a pause in his movement – he remembered!

He turned slowly towards the sound and for one split second, our eyes met.

He rose onto all fours and ambled towards the side of the enclosure where I stood. The children squealed and ran along the railing to follow him.

I stayed still.

He approached the barrier and lifted his head, nostrils flaring.

‘Hello there, my old friend,’ I whispered.

He made a low sound in his throat – not quite a growl, not quite a sigh.

‘You remember,’ I said. ‘I haven’t got anything for you. I know the others brought you things – cigarettes of all the things to choose! I mean! But I don’t want you to smoke, Wojtek. You have to be a bear now. Not a soldier.’

I rested my gloved hand lightly against the cold iron railing.

Wojtek shifted his weight and leaned briefly against the inner wall, close enough that I could see the faint scars along his flank, reminders of his former life.

‘You are fatter,’ I told him. ‘Scotland is feeding you well.’

He huffed again, lowering himself to the ground, his enormous head turned towards me.

A group of schoolgirls clustered nearby, whispering about the size of his paws.