‘Yes.” replied Anselm, simply, with the empathy of a doctor. They both knew that hate is the infection from an unhealed wound; that it’s difficult to treat properly.
‘I couldn’t find interesting work,’ she said, glancing towards the corridor and the battle of her son. ‘Every conversation, every memory, every story… they all led back to the ministry. I was part of it. I’d drawn my pay Like you said, I was one of them. People who’d never bothered to care when Brack was opening their next door neighbour’s mail became former activists. They’d all been underground. They’d all taken risks. They’d all fought the good fight, whereas me…’ Irina turned aside again, showing Anselm her profile, the fine nasal bone and the strong but delicate chin. Her tone was flat without a trace of self-pity: ‘I’ve paid the penalty for everything he represented. I’ve picked up the responsibility for everything he did… as if I’d fought for his ideas… as if his ideas were mine. I carry the virus. And what about him?’ For the first time she looked at Anselm directly, her eyes naked, the hate creeping quietly like a flame on the edge of some paper, invisible, but alive and black. ‘He’s paid nothing… I’m sure of it. And I saved his life. Do you know what he did afterwards? He didn’t say a word. He just opened a drawer, looked inside and then walked past me as if I wasn’t there.’
Anselm sipped his tea, unsettled by her calm self-disgust, that secondary infection often found in good people who can’t see any road to forgiveness, especially for themselves, never mind the person who wounded them in the first place.
‘Why do you let Frenzel keep his hold on you?’ asked Anselm.’ wanting to find some way out for this cornered woman.
‘He offered me some money,’ she replied, not quite answering the question. ‘He said that some investigators were sniffing around Polana, that they might embarrass Brack… that I could play my part and line my pocket at the same time. He’s a very difficult man to turn down, Mr Frenzel — ’ the strain appeared in the fine lines around her mouth; she looked inward, it seemed, her eyes glazed — ‘and anyway, I’d nothing to lose.’
With slow deliberation her attention shifted towards the gunfire: she hated it; she hated the computer screen; she hated the game. But it’s what her son had wanted. She’d bought the lot with her cut from Frenzel (thought Anselm); she’d treated her son to an upmarket toy with adult specifications, the kind of indulgence he’d never received when he was so much younger, excluded from the other kids’ birthday parties.
‘He’s addicted to kompot,’ she said, abstracted. ‘It’s a drug made from poppy stalks… weaker than heroin or morphine, but harmful all the same. He steals from me…
She stared at Anselm, begging him to ask no questions, to simply understand why she needed Marek Frenzel’s backhanders.
‘Irina,’ said Anselm, nodding understanding and pity, ‘I’m not here to embarrass Brack. I’m here in an attempt to bring him before a court.’
‘Oh really?’ She regarded him with polite but mocking disbelief. ‘For what? For crushing someone’s will to live?.’
‘No, for murder,’ supplied Anselm.
Irina’s glasses flashed.
‘Yes, Irina. Maybe you got paid. Maybe you didn’t have much of a choice. But you’ve helped to bring Otto Brack closer to justice. You’ve made a step towards finding your name.
She smiled reluctantly, as if Anselm had produced more flowers.
‘It goes right back to the beginning.” explained Anselm, ‘to the building of the system and the institutions that you’re now ashamed of
… which you wish you’d never served: He leaned over the table slightly, giving emphasis to the trust he was about to impart: the confidence one only shares with upright, decent people. ‘Roza Mojeska witnessed the execution of her husband and another man in nineteen fifty-one. Otto Brack pulled the trigger. Roza.’ like you, has been trapped — but not by shame or regret. Polana wasn’t all about finding the Shoemaker. Brack wanted to confront Roza… to tell her the name of the man who’d betrayed her from the outset; to tell her that she couldn’t condemn Brack in the future without exposing someone at the centre of the Shoemaker’s organisation and intimately connected with his reputation, not to mention that of the Church. Out of esteem for them both Roza kept a long, long silence. But now she’s changed her mind.’
‘Why?’
‘The time is right. The fact is, whatever your motives, whatever your past, she’ll be grateful to you.
Irina had asked the question in a disconnected way, as if her curiosity was a yard behind her memory and understanding. In a searching, faraway voice, she said, ‘ Polana, Roza… it all makes sense.’ I suppose. No other operation meant more to him; no other woman so unsettled him.’ She glanced at a wall clock as if it was time for work. ‘My son asked for a pizza. Will you stay for something to eat? We have a speciality here.’ pierogi… they’re difficult to describe, but I’ve got some in the fridge.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Irina took some persuading, but Anselm insisted that pizzas all round was by the far the simplest option. He didn’t want to say that the national dish now reminded him of Frenzel. The son ate in the sitting room, presumably still hiding from the mujahedeen behind that plumped up cushion. During the break in offensive operations, a homely quiet occupied the small and tidy flat. Stray, dying sunlight stole through the kitchen window. The large plastic clock ticked like a soft pulse. Irina had laid the table precisely, with gleaming cutlery and well-pressed napkins.
‘You said Roza had unsettled Brack,’ said Anselm, inviting more. The phrase had snagged his interest.
‘I’d always thought it strange.” said Irina.’ elbow on the table, her face resting against her hand. She was relaxed. Anselm wondered if he was the first guest; first because he’d come uninvited. ‘At one point he ran over six hundred operations aimed at specific publications in Warsaw, but the one that mattered most was Freedom and Independence, even though there were other papers with a far wider circulation. Polana is the only file that stands out in my memory… even though I knew nothing about what was happening on the ground. And that’s because right at the beginning he called her Roza… just once, by accident, but it was enough to tell me this was no ordinary case; and she wasn’t just another woman.’
On her first day of work in 1982 Colonel Brack had sent Irina to the main SB archive to obtain a file on one Roza Mojeska. A meeting had been planned for the afternoon with the Stasi and they’d asked to see any existing intelligence. All he brought along to the conference room were her interrogation papers from 1951.
The reports of FELIKS — which ran from ‘52 until ‘69 — were left on his desk. He was only going to show them the bare minimum, with nothing up to date, and nothing that might put them on to her present whereabouts.
‘The point of the meeting was to discuss how to track down the Shoemaker,’ said Irina. ‘Colonel Brack and Mr Frenzel represented the SB and there were two officers from the Stasi… I can’t remember their names. Anyway, Colonel Brack explained that Freedom and Independence first appeared at the dawn of time and so on, but that the paper wasn’t that important and hardly worth the effort of a joint operation. He said the only known link to the Shoemaker was a woman who’d vanished into thin air. There was a lot of back and forth, and then the name just came out… he said, “Even if we catch her, Roza won’t tell us anything.” There was a pause and then Mr Frenzel looked up, all innocence and light, and asked.’ “Would that be Mojeska, Sir?” Colonel Brack was beside himself… he went red in the face with embarrassment and rage. He never forgave Mr Frenzel for that.’
But Mr Frenzel had stumbled on to something. Throughout the following months, this so-called unimportant paper showed itself as Colonel Brack’s obsession. It was the only operation he cared about. And Mr Frenzel.’ sniggering and suspicious, knowing it had to be personal, made the case his own priority He had right of access to all the intelligence… and he went off and interviewed FELIKS before Colonel Brack could think of stopping him. In the end, the Colonel had no choice but to work with him.