More shouts, this time on the verge of tears, followed by a man’s scornful laughter. Tadek thought he recognized it as Turner’s. He straightened up and listened closer, the book forgotten on his lap.
Suddenly, Gerlinde stomped into the library and hurled herself onto the settee – apparently, to weep in solitude. In her distress, she failed to notice Tadek in his corner. Regarding her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, her arms folded to conceal her face, he moved noiselessly out of the library to investigate.
In the drawing-room, Turner was busy stuffing forks and knives into a canvas bag. On the coffee table, an opened box stood, with its red-velvet lining exposed. It was almost entirely empty.
“What are you doing?” Tadek’s voice was surprisingly steady despite some odd feeling already brewing inside.
The American looked up and grinned broadly, recognizing the Pole.
“The cunning little Nazi hid daddy’s treasures all over the house. I have just found this silverware set stuffed under the cushion of the chair.” Turner waved a fistful of forks in front of Tadek’s darkening eyes. “You want some? I don’t mind sharing.”
“Why are you taking it?”
Turner started as though Tadek had asked him something incredibly moronic. “What do you mean, why? Souvenirs.”
“That’s stealing.”
“That’s property of the US by right of conquest,” Turner countered, unimpressed.
The Russians had the same logic but with them, it was somewhat understandable. The Germans came to their land and robbed them of not only material possessions but their very homes and sometimes entire villages and cities. The Red Army soldiers considered taking at least something back, as the only fair thing to do. In Tadek’s eyes, the prosperous Americans raiding the Germans’ personal belongings “for souvenirs” could have never been justified in the same manner.
He clutched the American’s bag before he could stuff more spoons into its bottomless abyss. “Put it all back.”
Turner’s face darkened but he didn’t budge.
“Put it back,” Tadek repeated, his voice gathering force along with the volume. It was strangely liberating, to be able to raise it once again and Tadek felt himself shivering from its unexpected power. “It’s not yours to take.”
“What blooming nonsense is this? Why do you care about some Nazi’s silver? They must have stolen it from you, Jews!”
“Must have. And your stealing it from them makes you no better than those Nazis who stole it from the original owners.”
“Do you want it all for yourself then, original owner?” Turner said mockingly, narrowing his eyes and tugging the bag slightly toward himself.
“No. I want you to put it back into the case and give it back to Miss Neumann. It belongs to her.”
“Fat chance.”
“Put it back.”
For some time, they stood and eyed each other without uttering another word. In Turner’s eyes, suspicion was gleaming along with greed. In Tadek’s, calm resolve.
“Why do you care about that little broad so much?” Turner began talking, slowly and quietly. “She can’t stand your type. Had you appeared here just a few months ago, her own daddy would have dispatched you on that very front porch, like a rabid dog.”
“Perhaps so. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re taking what doesn’t belong to you. So, put it back before I report you to Agent Morris; it is my profound conviction that he won’t fancy your views on the right of conquest.”
Before he knew it, the bag was shoved at his chest and Tadek caught it just in time before all of its contents tumbled onto the expensive Iranian rug.
“Suit yourself,” the American threw over his shoulder, stalking off. “They must have dropped something on your head there, in the camp, to scramble your brains to this extent.”
With that last courtesy, Turner was gone. Feeling oddly triumphant, Tadek regarded the bag, emptied it onto the chair and began sorting the silver. He nearly jumped when cool fingers touched him by accident and Gerlinde Neumann’s pale face materialized from behind his back.
“Forgive me, please. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said in her usual, cultivated tone but this time there was unexpected warmth hiding behind the words. For some time, they sorted the family heirloom in silence.
“It’s not stolen from anyone,” she began again, in a much softer voice and turned one of the forks to demonstrate him the stamp on it, Wellner Patent 90 30. “It’s made in Germany. See? It’s our silverware. We bought it. We’ve had it for as long as I can remember. We didn’t steal it from any Jews. We’re not thieves.”
“All right.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I do.”
He helped her stack the spoons and knives and forks neatly into the case. On top of it, a familial coat of arms was embossed.
“Are you nobility of some sort?” Tadek regarded it with curiosity.
“No. Well, not in the old sense of the word, I suppose. Not like Margot. She’s a countess, we were nothing of that sort.” She smiled briefly. “It’s neo-Germanic. The new leaders of the Reich were allowed to create these for their families.”
“I see. It must have been nice for you in that new Germany.”
“It was nice. While it lasted.” Another smile, albeit passing and still strained.
“I can keep it in my room if you’re afraid that he’ll try to take it again. They don’t come into my room.”
“It’s all right. They don’t come into mine either.”
Tadek nodded and turned to take his leave. Suddenly, she called his name. When he turned around, she stood there with the case pressed to her chest, clasping it tightly as one would a child.
“Thank you, Tadeusz.”
He just nodded again. It must have been difficult for her to say it but he was grateful for the effort.
7
Days grew gradually shorter but it was still stiflingly hot. They were lucky in their little safe haven for they had running water and the sewage system
