The kommandant's girl by Pam Jenoff

Author:Pam Jenoff [Pam Jenoff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Histoire
ISBN: 9780778323426
Published: 2007-03-01T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

That morning, I am reluctant to go to work. “I should stay home,” I say for what seems like the hundredth time. “My leaving will upset the child too much.”

Krysia shakes her head. “You need to go to work.” Her eyes drift to the bouquet of roses, now sitting in a white ceramic vase, and I realize then she is worried that my missing work now might set off some sort of alarm with the Kommandant.

“Okay,” I concede at last. But I linger in the doorway carrying my coat and basket, not wanting to leave.

“He’s okay,” she reassures me, bending to ruffle Lukasz’s hair. Looking at his bright eyes and pink cheeks, I know that she is right. He appears as though he was never sick. Still, I am haunted by the memory of his illness the night before, the prospect of losing him. I fight the urge to pick him up and kiss him goodbye, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that I am leaving.

At last I turn and head for the stairs. “I will be home on time,” I say as I go.

“Don’t worry,” Krysia calls after me. “We will be fine.”

Once out the door, I hurry to the bus stop. A bus appears momentarily and twenty minutes later, I am at the foot of Wawel. Still, my dawdling has made me late; Malgorzata is already in the office, wearing a smug expression as I arrive. I have barely set down my belongings behind my desk when Colonel Diedrichson steps out of the Kommandant’s office into the anteroom. “The Kommandant has been calling for you,” he says. Is he looking at me strangely? I wonder. Perhaps he knows something. But there is no time to worry about it. Grabbing my writing pad and smoothing my hair, I brace myself and step into the Kommandant’s office for our first meeting since our night together.

The Kommandant is pacing behind his desk, reading a report. I wipe my hands on my skirt, take a deep breath. “G-good morning, Herr Kommandant,” I say, trying unsuccessfully not to let my voice shake.

He freezes midstep, lifts his head. An expression flashes across his face that I do not recognize. Anger, or perhaps relief? “You’re late,” he replies, though his voice does not sound accusing.

I walk toward him. “I’m sorry,” I offer. “I…”

He raises his hand. “There’s no need to apologize. It’s just that it’s not like you. I was worried that…” He falters and looks away. I hesitate. Though he did not finish the sentence, I understand what he is trying to say. He is afraid that I did not want to come to work because of what happened between us. The Kommandant is nervous, too, I realize, astonished.

“It’s not that, Herr Kommandant,” I say quickly. I am standing beside the desk now, his face inches above me. I can smell his aftershave and it takes all of my strength to block the memories of two nights earlier. “It’s just that Lukasz was ill.

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