Roskov, Book 7 by Geoff Wolak

Author:Geoff Wolak [Wolak, Geoff]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2021-11-04T00:00:00+00:00

Heritage

Landing at Milan, there seemed to be even more police around, and we were soon in similar buses and being treated like people that were either very popular, or about to be assassinated, and I was never quite sure which category I fitted into.

Back at the hospital, the crowds were now bigger, more nuns stood waiting, and I waved politely at the crowd as we were ushered inside and as I was escorted back to my old room. Now I had two police officers outside my room, whether I liked that or not. My arse massage would just not be the same.

Back in my hospital blues, and not at all trying to be a good patient, I went and found the baby, but now she was all happy-smiley with the nurses. I took the baby in to see Luka, who had been exercising, the police still stationed outside her room.

Luka began, ‘The nurses say that you were on the TV, at the Vatican, and that something happened…’

I handed over the chubby lump. ‘My grandfather was born Jewish, and in 1943 his family were all placed aboard a train in Denmark heading to a ferry boat and then to the death camps in Germany.

‘But a German officer, he took off my grandfather and saved him, so that – some gullible fools will believe - I could be born and rescue your baby, Katerina Mary. The German officer, his daughter died aged six months, and … her name was Katerina Mary.’

Luka gasped, a hand to her mouth as she cradled our miracle baby.

I added, ‘That baby died on April 3rd, your baby was born April 5th.’

‘My god. But I think she was born on the 4th, late at night. I was given drugs for the pain, and a woman that I paid helped me. I woke to find the baby in a cot, not even cleaned of blood.’

My features saddened, and she could see that. ‘They … will never leave you alone,’ I told her. ‘The religious people out there. They’ll make your life difficult, so I’ll get you protection away from them. They’ll think you’re Mary mother of Jesus, or some crap like that.’

‘It is very odd, the names.’

‘Why call her Katerina?’ I asked.

‘After my grandmother, she raised me mostly. My mother was OK, but she could not stop my father hurting me.’

My busty nurse stepped in. ‘A nurse must be with the baby if here, the rules,’ she said apologetically.

‘We’ll soon be in Lake Como, a private residence,’ I pointed out to the nurse.

‘A social worker must attend,’ my nurse responded.

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