“We don’t have a choice,” Truda said matter-of-factly. “There is no path forward for a resistance. We are too scattered, and they already have too much power.”
I shook my head. “I will never stop fighting. Not until Poland is free. I don’t care what it costs me.”
“It is times like this I think Emilia is wise to hold you at arm’s length,” Truda muttered, shooting me a glare. “If she lets you back into her life, it won’t just be you who pays the price when you are arrested.”
“She will want to fight with me when she is well again.”
“You have not seen her,” Mateusz said quietly. “She is not the same girl she was.”
“She has always believed in what is right,” I insisted. “Perhaps working to free our homeland will be the thing that helps her feel herself again.”
“Or perhaps she is broken by years of fighting, as the rest of this country is,” Truda said impatiently. “Some of us want to choose peace. Some of us are ready to accept this new reality. As imperfect as it may be, it is still preferable to active conflict.”
I would not even entertain the thought. When their next visit to Emilia loomed, I poured my frustrations into a letter.
Dear Emilia,
If there is one thing I have learned, it is that you must guard your spirit. When a country is occupied, the invaders will always try to suppress that nation’s soul. After all, it is our souls that inspire us to fight, even when our bodies would have us cower. Why do you think the Germans destroyed so much of our culture in Warsaw? Our museums, our libraries, our landmarks? They knew it would demoralize us.
I hope there is still fight in you, Emilia. After everything you have been through, I hope your spirit is still ready to rebel.
The truth is I am scared for Poland. I feel no fight at all in Warsaw now, and Warsaw has always been a city that knew how to rebel. Even when the odds were stacked against us, we were conspiring, trying to regain our freedom.
They can crush us, but they cannot break us—not as long as we are willing to rise. I want you to know that I will keep fighting until the Polish people are sovereign once again. I will do this not only for our country, not only for myself, but for you.
I hope you will join me in the fight when you’re ready.
Love, Roman
I thought I had been vindicated when Mateusz returned from his visit to tell me that Emilia had read my letter and was ready, at last, to see me.
40
Emilia
It had been over a year since I had seen Roman. Through his letters and from my conversations with Mateusz and Truda, I knew the basics of what had happened to him since the Uprising. Somehow, though, I repainted the image of him that lived in my mind, removing the scars and the visible signs of trauma. When he stepped into the lobby of the convent, I was shocked by his appearance.
He was more muscular than I remembered, no doubt a side effect of his work on the roads. But he carried one arm at an odd angle, and I knew this was a result of the injury he had sustained in the ghetto. The right side of his face and neck were scarred horribly from the burn he had suffered in the explosion. His body was a road map of all he had endured, but worse than that were the shadows in his eyes. He was haunted, just as he had always been. I had forgotten that about him.
Roman had seen so much and survived so much that I couldn’t shake the thought that his memories would pursue him for the rest of his life, ready to pop up at any moment and rock the foundations of his life. I held his latest letter in the pocket of my smock, and as he approached, I reached down and touched it with my fingertips, to remind myself why I had to be strong.
“It is so good to see you,” he whispered. But he made no move to touch me, standing just out of reach and casting his eyes down my body, then back to my face. His gaze asked a million questions that I didn’t have answers to. I took his hands in mine, squeezed them hard, then reached up to brush my lips against his. Behind us, Sister Walentyna cleared her throat. I hid a smile and stepped back, releasing his hands. A smile slowly transformed his face, easing the tension, brightening his eyes.
I hadn’t planned the kiss. I feared that I was broken and that I’d never want to touch another man again, but I was still drawn to Roman.
I would always love him. Always.
“I don’t know what I expected,” he said quietly, as we walked to the library. “Sara... Truda and Mateusz. They just keep telling me that you aren’t the same, but...”
“I’m not the same,” I said abruptly. “I’ll never be the same.” He didn’t reply.
In the library, we took the chairs by the windows, the ones I always sat on with my parents and Sara. Sister Renata wandered silently into the room and sat on the other side with her Bible. I hadn’t ever had chaperones when my parents or Sara visited, but I didn’t mind. I was nervous about what I had to do, and I was glad to have allies in the room, even if they were out of earshot.
“Thank you for your letters,” I told Roman. “They’ve meant a lot to me over these last few months. I’m sorry I couldn’t write back.”
“That’s okay. I was ready to wait as long as it took.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “I am ready to wait.”
I inhaled slowly, then rested my hands on my belly. I saw his eyes follow them, but not in the way that Truda’s did. A flash of something almost menacing crossed his face.
“You are gearing up to fight the Soviet regime,” I said.
“Of course I am. And I think I am finally getting somewhere. I met an AK fighter last week who has been involved in acts of sabotage. I’m joining his group for a meeting on Thursday.”
“This occupation is different, Roman,” I said softly. “Even when it seemed like the Germans had won, it never felt permanent, and their victory never felt inevitable. This is different.”
He frowned at me, visibly frustrated.
“Poland should be governed by her people.”
“In an ideal world, of course you are right. But the Soviets will simply install a pro-Communist government who will be loyal to Stalin. This is not war, Roman. This is just our life now.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“I know, and I wouldn’t expect you to,” I said quietly. The confusion in Roman’s gaze almost broke my heart. “You, my love, are more committed to justice than any other person I have ever met. You will fight until you win or it costs you your life.” He nodded slowly, but his brows were still drawn down. “But...it’s different for me. I love this country, and I will always try to build something beautiful here, but I want no part in any resistance now. The fight has left me. I have seen enough conflict and enough violence—I have felt violence in my body. All I want for the next phase of my life is to adjust and to find peace.”