The Day of the Lie (20 page)

It was a painstaking
exercise. He classified the types of information presented. He examined the
authorial viewpoint. He grouped similar phrases. He looked for recurrent
motifs. He made some lists. He did some maths. Gradually certain features began
to emerge forming another narrative behind the words, like a palimpsest: a
wholly different picture, drawn by the hand of the subconscious. Between readings
he went for a walk, trying to resist the suspicion that someone was following
him. He looked around, finding ambiguity at every corner. Every now and then he
remembered that John had told Róża the truth about his mother and the cut
opened wide again.

The job complete, he
joined Sebastian for tripe and vodka. After the plates had been cleared,
Sebastian produced an envelope containing the ‘search fee’ and the one thousand
Euro ‘payout’, funds obtained — after some special pleading — from the IPN
investigation budget. Displaying the controlled agitation of the hunter,
Sebastian barely spoke. His hands shifted restlessly There was excitement, too,
because he knew that Brack was ignorant of their approach. At one p.m. on the
third day the phone rang in Anselm’s bedroom.

‘Your guest is in the
dining room.” said Krystyna, the cheery girl at reception.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The ambience was plush; the seats an ivory
white; the carpet a fractured pattern of different red and black squares.
Frenzel had booked a table in a corner. Dressed .in a grey pinstripe with a
Burberry check tie, he’d already drunk half a glass of champagne and was busy
trying to prise apart an oyster. Scowling contentment, he dragged the knife
along the sealed lips, feeling his way towards a weakness.

‘First class, Father,’
he said, as it snapped open. ‘The taste of the sea. Nothing like it. Do you get
these at Larkwood? No matter, I’m sure you dine well when you’re not sucking
blood, and why not, hey?’

Anselm sat down and
Frenzel paused, his eyes rigid and severe, as if some social sin had taken
place. Anselm passed over the envelope and Frenzel’s mouth started working
again. He slipped the money inside his jacket pocket and began talking.

‘I can’t remember
everything,’ he said, pulling the bottle out of its cooler. ‘I had other fish
to fry and Brack, well, he kept things to himself. This was his case. Only case
he cared about. My view? I thought it was chicken slit.’

He dabbed his lips on
the white towel and hung it back over the bottle.

‘He wanted the
Shoemaker. He’d been after him since … God knows when. You don’t mind the
theological references, do you, Father? Sure you don’t. Well, he’d had an agent
in place since fifty-two. A wimp named Kolba. Edward. Date of birth, third of
August nineteen twenty-three. Don’t write anything down —’ he pointed with his
oyster knife at Anselm’s hand as it moved towards his pocket; his eyes were
unseeing and severe again — ‘that’s not meant to happen in confession, is it? Maybe
that’s what you get up to, when you’re all boxed up in the dark. I wouldn’t be
surprised. But not here.’ He snatched an oyster off the ice bed. He locked his
thumb against the shell and twisted the blade in a crack. ‘He’d come on board
to get his wife out of custody Stupid idiot. They’d have let her out if he’d
waited. But that’s love for you. Said he’d keep an eye on Mojeska — the slut,
not the hubby. Pavel. You don’t want the date of birth. He’d been seen to by
the … shall we say. the properly constituted organs of state security Not
sure he had one of you lot in his final moments. Gray’s Inn, wasn’t it? Roddy
Kemble’s Chambers? Anyway. he could’ve done with a lawyer and a priest. But
there you go, times change. We didn’t need ‘em back then. Where was I?’

Anselm didn’t reply He
didn’t even touch the stiff white tablecloth for fear of having some kind of
connection to this man. Frenzel was sucking the juice from the shell, holding
it like a spoon at an English tea party He smiled, happily distracted, ‘The
taste of the sea. Nothing like it.’ Anselm flinched. This pantomime of life’s
pleasures, held in the palm of one strong hand, wasn’t the only salt that
Frenzel savoured. It was power. Even though the Wall had come down, he still
licked his fingers, knowing he could point at anyone and have their life
delivered on a plate. His mocking eyes flicked over Anselm as if he hadn’t been
worth a single phone call — except that it was good fare, afterwards, to show
your biceps to the weak. Part of the saltiness was other people’s fear. That,
too, had the taste of the sea.

‘FELIKS was next to
useless,’ he resumed, pouting at his glass. ‘According to the monthly reports
he cried every time he clocked in. Imagine that. A grown man. Ponce.

‘Wanted out. Said
Mojeska did nothing but work and pray — she was your sort, you know, diligent
and reflective — that she had no dealings with anyone, blah, blah. No mention
of the Shoemaker. He produced nothing in over fifteen years.

‘We had to put the
screws on him in sixty-eight. The son, Bernard, date of birth second of May
forty-six, was running amok. Ungrateful swine. We educated that little runt.
But he stood up for Kołakowski. To keep him in at his books Daddy agreed
to watch a childhood friend of Mojeska’s, a Zionist, Samovitz.’ Magda, date of
birth—’

Anselm closed his ears,
mind and eyes. He’d met some seriously bad men in his life — calculated
murderers, blackmailers, pimps and thieves — but there was something unique
about this boor slurping salt water from a shell: he spoke with authority; the
confidence and carelessness of someone once backed by a system. Instinctively,
Anselm jolted back his chair.

‘You’re not off, are
you? I haven’t finished yet.’ He sipped his champagne and, tilting his head,
halted naturally, as if he’d touched the wall in his office. ‘After a year or
so the Jew cleared off of her own accord … well, to be fair, we’d kicked her
out of a hospital job. Surgeon. Ears, nose, throat. Anyway, the kid went too
far. Started chucking stones in the street, 1 suppose. I don’t know Don’t care.
He didn’t know which side his bread was buttered. He’d hooked up with other
Jews and pro-Zionists who hadn’t seen the light — not your Light, Father, ours,
the light put on this land after years of toil and sacrifice and dedicated
service to raise something permanent out of the darkness, something
enduring
…’ He half-smiled, mocking his own remembered passion; puzzled perhaps
that he’d cared that much. Lost love, he seemed to say, raising his glass,
nothing quite like it. The tide comes in, the time goes out. That taste of the
sea again. Wonderful.

Frenzel had joined the
Shoemaker bandwagon in eighty-two when a special unit was set up with the Stasi
to stamp out underground printing. German speakers only need apply, He’d been
assigned to Brack, effectively being second in command and taking all the noise
from the Germans. He didn’t like Germans. Then or now He’d only learned the
language because his stepfather had beaten it into him. He didn’t like the
English, or, no offence, the French … anyway, first off.’ Brack told him the
Shoemaker had turned up again.
Freedom and Independence
had appeared,
first with lists of names, of terrorists and mob leaders, extremists … and
then there’d been articles about tomorrow When — listen to this — there’d be
justice, rule of law, fairness. What a bloody joke. Frenzel refilled his glass
and held up the bottle to check how much was left.

‘Brack was obsessed with
the Shoemaker. You’d have thought he
mattered.
Christ — oops, sorry —
all he had was words. Nothing else. We had the sticks and stones. Who read the
thing anyway? Who cared about ideas? Don’t get me wrong, if I’d caught him I’d’ve
put him and Mojeska against the wall and pulled the trigger myself, the point
is, there were bigger fish in the sea. Big ones with teeth. But Brack wanted
him, and he knew Mojeska was the way to his door.

‘So Frenzel went to have
a chat with FELIKS. He was worse than useless. More tears and hand wringing. Is
there anything more pitiful than a man who pities himself? The country was
falling apart. They’d even dragged school kids on to the streets, and here was
this selfish, spineless piece of … I won’t say it, Father. He gave us weekly
reports on his wife and the daughter-in-law but there was no meat on the bone.
We had him over a barrel, of course. The bolshy son was where he should’ve been
since the sixties — locked up. He’d just become a father himself and the
granddad, well, he was beside himself.

‘But we still got nothing.’
He held his breath and seemed to lose colour round his loose cheeks, but
seconds later he let out a low belch and sighed relief.
‘Rien
— your
mother was French, wasn’t she? — just a last sighting before Mojeska vanished.
She walked out of the door after the birth of the child. A couple of weeks
later, the rag appeared.’

From a tangent, Anselm
noticed that there were no other diners near them; that the waiter didn’t check
on his customers; that Frenzel’s power reached right up to Anselm’s feet. Nothing
had changed in his world, just the furniture. It was plush, now He was very
much at ease. He’d never had it so good. Unable to bear the man’s presence any
more, Anselm found his voice. He wanted out.

‘Could you just confirm
that Edward Kolba was the only informer? That he brought about Róża
Mojeska’s arrest in November nineteen eighty-two?’

Frenzel didn’t seem to
have heard. There was no response. He’d turned the champagne bottle upside and
down and was pretending to wring its neck, squeezing out the remaining drops.
One by one, they fell into his glass.

‘You know, my memory’s
beginning to fade,’ he moaned, reading the label, head back to angle his
glasses on to the tiny writing. ‘Must be my age. You begin to forget the good
times. Fact is, I didn’t only work for Brack. I helped out against you lot.’

Anselm didn’t allow a
trace of interest or confusion to flicker on his face. And there was nothing
wrong with Frenzel’s memory. Shortly, he’d be asking for more money.

‘I said you lot.
Department Four. The Church. We had a file on every one of you. Got a lot of
inside help, too, thank you very much. And not always unwilling. But that’s
another story.’ His sneer moved like a wave as his tongue slid beneath his
upper lip. ‘But if you want my opinion on how things stood before I moved to
sunnier climes, I’d have said FELIKS wasn’t your man. I’m sure he’d have told
us how to get Mojeska if he knew, but the bitch wasn’t stupid. She kept away
from everyone she knew You’ve got to keep things
simple.
Don’t they
teach you that when you’re learning about sin and the sinner? Back then, I’d
have put my money on the son. The runt we educated. He hadn’t even seen his
child. He was locked up. If anyone could get to Mojeska.’ it would have been
Bernard but —’ he held up splayed fingers, admitting the limitations of his
humble view — ‘I was a busy boy with lots of things to do. And you can’t always
trust your memory, do you know what I mean?’

Looking over Anselm’s
shoulder Frenzel made a nod. Dabbing his lips with his serviette, he became
confidential. ‘You know, Brack was never …
swój człowiek,
one of
us. I even wondered if he fancied Mojeska. It happens, you know Sleeping with
the enemy Nothing like it. Forbidden Fruit. It tastes good. You should know
that. And Brack’s banging on about the Shoemaker just didn’t add up. Sure we
all believed in socialism, but come on, get a life. He was too … involved.’

He drew out the last
word as if he were trying to remember its flavour. Shaking his head, he pointed
at Anselm. The waiter had emerged and come to Anselm’s side, one hand behind
his back. He placed a large plate on the table.

‘Pierogi,’
said
Frenzel, waving away the young man. ‘Dumplings. A speciality of the chef. I was
going to eat them myself but, frankly, I’m bored.’ He eyed Anselm from afar,
perhaps with a few of those files in mind. ‘You’re not good company. You don’t
say anything. You sit there thinking you’re better than me …’ He held himself
in check, his bottom jaw moving lazily He stood up and dropped his napkin on
his plate. With big hands, he tucked his shirt back into his trousers and
hitched his groin. Anselm hadn’t noticed, but he was a thick-set man, with
heavy, lumbering movements. ‘To find out who pulled in Mojeska, you’d have to
look at the file on
Polana.
I understand the payout on that baby is two
and a half grand. Used notes. Worth every centime to a man like you, I’d say
Think about it and keep a pen and paper by the phone.’ He nodded assurance and
competence. ‘Thanks for the lunch, priest.’

Anselm slowly worked his
way through the
pierogi,’
drinking lots of water, unable to forget the
creamed hair, the imposing glasses, the delicate lips. Having signed for the
bill, he went to his room and was violently sick.

Chapter Twenty-Four

IPN/RM/13129/2010

EDITED TRANSCRIPT OF A STATEMENT
MADE BY

RÓŻA
MOJESKA

1h.22

Although I’d only met him once — and even
then only for a few minutes — I had enormous respect for Father Nicodem. If I
include my next few meetings, I’ve only known him — to this day — for about two
hours. And yet he remains immensely important to me. It explains something
about the nature of friendship and loyalty.

This was the man my
husband had trusted implicitly And I did, too. He was our link to a voice we’d
only heard, someone we’d never seen — the Shoemaker. All we had were his words.
Whoever he might have been — and I still don’t know, and don’t want to know —
what he said was more important than who he was. His identity, if revealed,
would have been a distraction, for in the great struggle for truth,
personalities don’t matter. It was his words that kept hope alive, spoke
honestly at a time of lies, said what you thought but couldn’t or dare not say,
reduced the big ideas to phrases you could easily understand. He educated,
cajoled, amused … revealed. His words were free. They flew round Warsaw They
gave you a taste of freedom that was within reach … beginning inside
yourself.