I stopped a few times to ask what had happened, but the people who had been near to the explosion seemed deafened by it or maybe so traumatized that they could not yet explain what they had survived.
When we finally reached the convent, the scene of chaos was almost beyond comprehension. The smell of blood and the dust was so strong that I covered my mouth with my hands, trying to suppress the urge to gag. The only way I could tell who was staff and who was a patient was by whether or not they were running. Everyone, staff or otherwise, was covered in blood, and there weren’t nearly enough beds, so plenty of injured people were standing or sitting on the floor.
“Mateusz? Mateusz Rabinek?” Truda and I asked every person who rushed past us, but most either shook their heads or didn’t acknowledge us at all. My heart was racing, and my stomach was churning, and soon I began to shake and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Truda’s hands gripped my shoulders and shook me to catch my attention.
“Listen. You need to hold yourself together until we find him, then I will get you out of here, you understand me?” she hissed, her face close to mine. “We find Mateusz, then we leave and you can fall to pieces. I’ll pick you up and put you back together, I promise. Just not yet.”
I blinked at her but then shook myself and nodded. We continued to make our way through the basement, but now I kept my eyes on Truda’s back, and then, out of the din of urgent conversations between the staff and the crying and gasping and moaning, I heard a voice I knew all too well.
“Truda,” I said urgently, and she spun around to me. I pointed to a bed to our left, where Roman was arguing.
“I need to get back! I need to go back and help! Let me up!”
He was sitting shirtless on a stretcher, arguing with Mateusz, who was literally holding him in place. An extraordinarily tall young man was sobbing in pain at the other end of the stretcher, clutching his mangled foot. As we got closer to Roman, I couldn’t suppress a gasp of horror. It looked as though someone had thrown a burning blanket over his face and neck. Scraps of melted fabric were embedded in his blistered skin, some within millimeters of his eye. The hair on that entire side of his head was singed, as was what was left of his beard.
I had never seen an injury so visually confronting. My emotions ran so high I couldn’t separate them—revulsion and fear and love and concern all joined together, and I was overwhelmed by their combined force. I wanted to run and embrace him but also run away so I could pretend this hadn’t happened. Truda grabbed my hand and began to tug me toward the bed.
“Mateusz, you don’t understand,” Roman said, his features twisted not with pain but frustration. “I have to get back—my squad is there. Some of them on the balcony. I didn’t see where they went. I have to see if I can find Piotr.”
“I already told you. Piotr is dead! You are in shock and confused. The last place you should be is out on the streets,” Mateusz exclaimed, frustration leaving the words curt and blunt.
I didn’t realize I had made a sound until Mateusz and Roman looked over at us. I saw Mateusz’s face fall, and he released Roman to take a step toward me, grief and regret all over his face.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “Forgive me, I didn’t know you were there. There was an explosion and...”
“Is he really gone?” Truda whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Mateusz said again, and he pulled me into his arms and held me tight against him, then pulled Truda in behind me, so we embraced in a collective hug. “I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t hear planes,” I whispered numbly. “Was it a shell?”
“No. The AK captured a tank. It seems the Germans rigged it with explosives. I’m sorry,” Mateusz whispered again, and now he released Truda to cup my face and stare down at me. “Listen to me, Emilia. I need you to talk to Roman. He is in terrible shock, and he needs to see a doctor, but because his injury is not critical, it may be some time before he is treated. You need to convince him to stay here. He is beyond rational, and I cannot get through to him.”
Roman was arguing with a nurse now—the skin along the burn an awful, inflamed red and gray, the rest of his face red with frustration and anger. My heart sank because I knew that nothing I could do would change a single thing about his determination, and for the first time, I put words to the deep emotions I had grown to feel for him.
I love him, and it doesn’t matter that I never told him so. I’m going to lose him anyway.
30
Roman
I had lost any semblance of stability, and I had no idea how to regain my footing. I was confused and disoriented, but even so, absolutely determined to leave the basement hospital. I needed to check on what was left of my squad, to find a rifle and then to exact revenge.
It wasn’t just the horror of the explosion, it was Piotr—yet another person I’d come to care about, lost again to the damned war and mindlessness of German cruelty. His loss tipped me over some invisible threshold, and I was abandoned to a rage so pure I felt no hope of coming back from it.
Elz·bieta had long been my safe space, and she had a reliably calming effect on me over the two years I had known her, but when I saw her approaching me, I wanted to sweep her out of my way: she was just another barrier between me and the battle.
This thought gave me pause. My anger had frightened and hurt her the first time we met, and I had promised myself I would never allow that to happen again.
“Please stay,” she choked out as she came near. “Please. I am scared for you. It’s not safe out there.”
“That’s exactly why I have to go,” I said helplessly. It was taking all of my strength to keep fury from my voice. You’re not angry with her. Don’t take it out on her. Do not make her afraid. She deserves better than that from you.
“But you cannot deny that this is a losing battle.” Her voice broke, and her big green eyes were shining with tears. She was pleading with me, not just with her words, but with her hands, her soft palms resting against the uninjured skin of my bare chest, her left hand flat above my heart.
“But you didn’t see,” I said in frustration. “You didn’t see what they have done in that street. Your uncle is dead, Elz·bieta! He’s dead!”
“I know. I can’t even think about that yet, but I will. Right now all I can think is that I cannot bear to lose you, too. Do you understand that?”
“I do, but—”
“Then, stay. Just until a doctor can look you over.” She lifted her left hand, gently touching the undamaged skin on my face, her gaze full of sadness. “Roman, it’s bad. You must be in so much pain. Please let them help you.”
“I can’t,” I said, and I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. I really will.”