I drew inspiration from that. I had a sense that I was connected to Roman in some way that was predestined, but even so, I controlled how fast and how deep that connection would grow. If I were honest with myself, deep down I wanted a future with him, but even when our gazes lingered or when our hands almost brushed or our conversation skirted the edge of how we felt about one another, I could not bring myself to cross that line. Roman, too, seemed reticent. I saw the way he stared back at me, and I was quite certain he felt something beyond friendship, too.
Whatever had been going on between us that year, neither one of us opted to confront it directly. And now, all I could do was pray for him, and I intended to do that with all of my might.
* * *
The first gunshots rang out just after one o’clock. They weren’t in the immediate vicinity but somewhere in the blocks around us, loud enough to be startling. At Mateusz’s shocked command, Truda and I joined him flat against the floor.
“It’s not on our block,” he told us, peering up at the window, as if we could see anything from the carpet on the third floor. “But stay low. Stray bullets can be unpredictable.”
“But it’s too early,” I protested. “They said it would start at five...”
“Something has gone wrong already,” Truda said, gnawing her lip. “My God. Piotr is out there. And Sara! She will be at work downtown.”
“Sara was going to skip work to set up the field hospital at the church,” Mateusz reminded her. “And Piotr is smart and a survivor. He will be fine.”
“What do we do?” I whispered, looking up at the window. Above us, birds had scattered at the gunfire and were soaring in a cloudless sky. If I could block my ears, it could have been a perfect summer day—the perfect day for a car ride to Lodz.
“We don’t have a choice,” Mateusz said with a sigh. “Piotr was bringing the car back from his contact in Z·oliborz, so we can’t exactly go without him.” Another volley of gunfire sounded. Mateusz winced. “Besides, now is obviously not the time to cross the city.”
We sweated through an anxious hour on the floor of the apartment, listening to distant shouts and sporadic gunfire. Mateusz insisted we stay low, but when the shrill ring of the phone rang out, he crawled into the hallway to answer it. When he returned, his expression was grim.
“It was Piotr. He says there is early fighting in the Z·oliborz district, too. He is going to stay there for now and try to get back if the situation calms down.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Truda asked.
“There are too many variables to make a plan, my love. Piotr suggested we stay here unless it becomes unsafe. He has spoken to some of the insurgents, and they tell him they are confident they will have a citywide stronghold within a few days, at which point the Red Army has agreed to back them up. God willing, the city should be safely in Polish hands in just a few days.”
“So we will be in the city for the Uprising, after all,” Truda said, sighing. She glanced at me. “You got your wish.”
“I didn’t want to be stuck on the floor of our apartment while the city fought around us,” I muttered.
“At least the three of us are all together,” Mateusz said suddenly, but he sounded nervous, and his gaze kept skipping toward the window. I reached across and put my hand over his and smiled.
“That is a silver lining,” I said quietly.
“We’ll just keep our heads down,” Truda announced. “We’ll just stay inside, lie low and wait for the drama to pass.”
* * *
By nightfall on the first day, gunfire was rising in every direction, and other sounds came with it: shouts of pain and cries of fear, the whine of air-raid sirens, then the roar of planes overhead sporadically and explosions that rattled the windows. Whenever we heard a plane or an air-raid siren, we would run down the stairs to the basement to cower in the bomb shelter with the other residents of our building. The all clear would sound, and we would run back up the flights of stairs to our apartment all over again.
My thoughts were very much with the missing members of our extended family—especially with Roman. I was mindful of Uncle Piotr and Sara, too, and I kept them in my prayers, but I had the feeling that those two had the sense to run from conflict if it erupted around them. I knew with absolute certainty that regardless of how hot the battle was, Roman would run toward it.
On the third day, sounds of victory came from the street below us, and when I crept to the window, I saw AK soldiers and civilians walking freely along the road, waving banners with the vibrant red and white of the Polish flag.
“Can we join them?” I asked, but Mateusz pursed his lips.
“Not yet. Stay away from the window.”
And so, for one more day, we maintained our life in limbo, eating as little as we could to stretch our supplies, staying low to the floor. I was more frustrated than scared by then, hearing the sounds of jubilation from down the street, while we seemed to be in a self-inflicted siege.
On the fourth day, the front door opened just after dawn, and Uncle Piotr was there, larger-than-life as he always had been, laughing at our tears of relief.
“All of this fuss for nothing,” he said and chuckled. “I’m a survivor—you should all know that by now. The street fighting was intense down there in Z·oliborz, so it seemed safer to hunker down. And would you believe it—I happened upon some weapons while I was there and sold them for a tidy profit.”
Even Mateusz’s nostrils flared at this, but I was too relieved to focus on Piotr’s commercial exploits. Instead, I asked him, “How did you get back?”
“I came across some wonderful soldiers, and they were happy to exchange safe passage for some money. There are pockets under Polish control all over the city—my girl, it is glorious!” He looked at us, confused. “But wait—why are you three hiding up here when the streets are safer than they have been in years?”
“I’m not sure, Piotr,” Mateusz said, glancing warily at the window. “There is so much we don’t know.”
“I wasn’t sure how all of this was going to unfold, brother. You know that. But the scenes I have just witnessed—Polish flags flying proudly on the street, Polish soldiers in command at last! I feel like this is how it begins... This is the beginning of the end! Now let us go and find some good food and vodka to celebrate.”
“Wait a minute,” Truda said abruptly. “The plan was for us to go to Lodz. We agreed it would be safer to get out of Warsaw. Things are going well for the insurgents now, but there’s no guarantee that’s going to continue. Shouldn’t we try to get out?”
Piotr shook his head.