It was only when Roza was in the cage with water thundering upon her, when she was in this, the lowest gutter of human existence, that Roza realised what had really been happening throughout her interrogations: Otto had already told Major Strenk about their shared past. And it was precisely because Roza never referred to it that the major knew Roza could break down and still keep important information to herself; that she might well know how to find the Shoemaker. Otto had been the man behind the questions. From that moment, Otto ceased to exist for Roza. He became Brack.
Chapter Fourteen
Two weeks later Roza was brought back to the interrogation room. There, behind the desk with the small lamp, sat Brack, opening and shutting a drawer. He started asking questions even before Roza crouched on the footstool.
‘Ink. Ink stains. You must have seen stains. Tell me about stains. He was on to something. It was how Roza discovered that Pavel was involved. She’d seen that incredibly black crescent under a thumbnail. She’d found out later that part of Pavel’s role within the Shoemaker organisation was the obtaining of vital supplies. Without wearing gloves, he’d handled a leaking tin.
‘People disappear, Roza,’ he’d said, gripping her hands. ‘They vanish. Accept my silence. It protects you.
His dark eyes had been wide with feeling, his fair hair ruffled. He’d shoved her gently on the bed.
‘Stains,’ repeated Brack.
‘I never saw any.’
Brack opened and shut the drawer, tension gouging out his eye sockets. He had to find a way of breaking her. But there was nothing in the desk. It had to be something worse than the cage. He changed subject.
‘When did you first hear of the Shoemaker?’
‘When I was child.’
‘I want the name.’
‘Mr Lasky He read us stories every- ‘Don’t play with me… Comrade.’ The words left his mouth like fibres spat from one of his cigarettes. ‘I have the power of life and death.’
Roza dared to laugh. He had nothing of the sort. He was wearing Major Strenk’s shoes, that’s all.
‘The Shoemaker,’ he repeated. ‘When did you first learn that your husband was an associate?’
Pavel had told her after she’d swung her legs off the bed. She’d insisted on knowing about the ink. His risk was her risk. He’d thought for a long while first, getting dressed distractedly, confusing the buttons and holes. When he was done he’d put on his coat and thrown Roza’s across the room.
‘I’m going to introduce you to someone. I call him the Threshold.’
It was night. They went to a church that backed on to a railway line. Most of the surrounding buildings were incomplete, the reconstruction slowed by cost and a lack of materials. Heaps of rubble had still not been cleared away Frameless windows cut black squares out of the sky Pavel knocked on a door. After a moment he tried to light a cigarette, giving up after three strikes of a match. After several minutes a bolt slammed back and a man in a cassock pulled them inside, swearing under his breath. He was in his mid thirties. His hair, short and black, gave prominence to a large forehead. He’d shaved roughly leaving small red cuts on his chin and neck.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he snapped.
Pavel drew the priest down the low lit corridor, whispering urgently After listening for a few seconds the priest’s mouth slowly fell open and he swore again. Roza caught their talk.
‘You’re married?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? If I’d-’
‘I couldn’t. You know the rules.’
‘Rules? You break them all the time.’
‘Look, stick to the point. What do you think?’
The priest drew a hand across his jaw, checking the cuts. Glancing at Roza, he shook his head in disbelief and condemnation.
‘I had to find someone from outside the Friends,’ argued Pavel, frustrated. ‘You agreed. You said we need a sleeper. Someone who can wake the dead and shatter the illusions of many. Someone who can take up where we left off, if I’m caught. Someone who can restructure a new group of Friends. These are your words. You agreed.’
‘Damn it, I thought you meant a man. But a young woman, your wife?’
‘They’ll arrest her anyway If they pick me up, they’ll pick her up.
‘Which is why you shouldn’t have got married.’
‘But I did. Look, they wouldn’t expect her to know anything. Like you, they wouldn’t think I’d tell her.’
‘Have you any idea what these people can do?’ The priest pointed towards Roza as if she was a joint at the butchers. ‘They don’t hand out questionnaires. They-’
‘They’ll do all that anyway.’
‘Oh, fine. That’s all right then. So let’s just-’
‘Excuse me.’ Roza’s soft voice took them by surprise. They’d forgotten she was there. ‘This is my choice. I accept the risk.’ She walked down the corridor to join the conspirators. ‘Think about it: if they believe I’m your sleeper they won’t kill me. I’d be the only one who could lead them to what they want. They’ll keep me alive.’
The priest clawed at his neck, seeming to weigh her femininity and her resistance. She knew too much already At length he murmured, ‘I hope you’re right.’
They moved quietly to the door and the priest drew back the bolt.
‘Will the Shoemaker agree?’ asked Pavel. He wanted to know that the matter was settled.
‘It’s not for him to decide.’ The priest reached for the switch. ‘And he wouldn’t want to know If he did, he might never write another word. It’s our responsibility We decide and we live with the consequences. He writes.’
The priest flicked the light dead. Slowly he opened the door, keeping it ajar by an inch. Leaning towards the crack, head bowed, he listened, not seeming to breathe. Finally without a word, he pushed them both outside and the bolt slipped home.
That night, Pavel explained how the organisation was structured and what she was to do in the event of his arrest. She listened until morning, clocking the detail. Throughout she watched herself with a kind of third eye, the eye of the secret sleeper. She watched Roza Mojeska fall helplessly in love again, only this time far more deeply than before. It frightened her. She found herself bottoming out, reaching the soft sea bed; a place reserved for the elderly and those who know that their time together has been cut short.
‘When did you first learn that your husband was an associate?’
Roza was being interrogated again. Once more Brack was in the major’s shoes, one arm dangling, his hollowed eyes levelled upon her. The pond green jacket of the secret police didn’t sit well on his shoulders. He was still thin, seemingly undernourished.
‘I first heard words to that effect one hundred and fifty-four days ago.’ She’d scratched them on the wall with the nail of her thumb. Brack frowned. It sounded like an admission, that he might be getting somewhere, but he knew something was wrong. Roza explained. ‘You told me on the night of my arrest.’
The drawer slammed shut.
Pavel had said none of the Friends knew each other. The only link between them all was Pavel. Only Pavel had a link to the priest, and only the priest knew how to get to the Shoemaker. By the same token, the Shoemaker only knew of the priest. All the other Friends were unknown to him. Roza, then, was a figure completely outside the organisation, a kind of wild card in the brutal game against the secret police: unknown to everyone, she’d been entrusted with the key to any future operation. Pavel and the priest had fixed the one flaw in the security system: they’d prepared for betrayal. In that event the Shoemaker could still speak and Roza would spread his words, fronting a new organisation of Friends.