When William returned to Beacon Hill, Grandmother Kane and Grandmother Cabot were sitting in silence in the drawing room. They rose as he entered the room. It was the first time William realized he was now the head of the Kane family.
The funeral took place quietly four days later at St Paul’s Episcopal Cathedral. No one but family and close friends was invited; the only notable absentee was Henry Osborne. As the mourners departed, they paid their respects to William. The grandmothers stood a pace behind him, like sentinels, watching, approving the calm and dignified way in which he conducted himself. When everyone had left, William accompanied Alan Lloyd to his car.
The chairman was delighted by William’s request.
‘As you know, Alan, my mother always intended to build a children’s wing for Massachusetts General, in memory of my father. I would like her wish to be carried out.’
21
WLADEK REMAINED at the Polish consulate in Constantinople for over a year, rather than the few days he had originally anticipated. He worked day and night with Pawel Zaleski, becoming an indispensable aide, colleague and close friend. Nothing was too much trouble for him, and Zaleski soon began to wonder how he would manage when Wladek left. The young man visited the British Consulate once a week to eat in the kitchen with Mrs Henderson, the Scottish cook, and on one occasion with His Britannic Majesty’s Second Consul, in the dining room.
Around them the old Islamic traditions were being swept away, and the Ottoman Empire was beginning to totter. Mustafa Kemal was the name on everyone’s lips. The sense of impending change only made Wladek more restless. His mind returned continually to the Baron and those he had loved at the castle. The necessity of surviving from day to day in Russia had kept them from his mind, but in Turkey they rose up before him, a silent procession: the Baron, Leon, Florentyna … Sometimes he could see them laughing and happy - Leon swimming in the river, Florentyna playing cat’s cradle in her bedroom, the Baron’s face strong and proud in the evening candlelight - but always the well-remembered, well-loved faces would melt away, and try as he might to hold them firm, it was always the last time he’d seen them that came back again and again: Leon lying dead in the castle grounds, Florentyna bleeding in agony, the Baron blind and broken.
Wladek began to feel that he could never return to a land peopled by such ghosts until he had made something of his own life. With that single thought in mind he set his heart on emigrating to America, as his countryman Tadeusz Kosciuszko, of whom the Baron had told so many enthralling tales, had done long before him. The United States, described by Pawel Zaleski as the ‘New World’. The name inspired Wladek with hope for the future, and perhaps even a chance to return one day to Poland in triumph.
It was Pawel who supplied the money for an immigrant passage to the United States. They were difficult to come by, and had to be arranged at least a year in advance. It seemed to Wladek as though the whole of Eastern Europe was trying to escape and start afresh in the New World.
In the spring of 1921, Wladek Koskiewicz boarded the SS Black Arrow, bound for Ellis Island, New York. He took with him one suitcase, containing all his belongings, and a set of papers issued by Pawel Zaleski.
The Polish Consul accompanied him to the wharf embraced him affectionately and bade him farewell. ‘Go with God, my child.’
The traditional Polish response came naturally from the recesses ofWladek’s memory. ‘Remain with God,’ he replied.
As he reached the top of the gangplank, Wladek recalled his terrifying journey from Odessa to Constantinople a year before. This time there wasn’t a lump of coal in sight, only emigrants wherever he looked - Poles, Lithuanians, Estonians, Ukrainians, Slavs, and others whose racial background he hadn’t come across. He clutched his suitcase and waited in line, the first of many long waits he would have to endure before being allowed to enter the United States.
His papers were carefully scrutinized by an official checking for Turks trying to avoid military service, but Pawel Zaleski’s documents were impeccable. Wladek invoked a silent blessing on his fellow countryman, as he watched others being turned back.
Next came a vaccination, followed by a cursory medical examination which, had he not been well fed for the past year, Wladek might have failed. At last, with all the checks completed, he was allowed to go below to the steerage quarters where there were separate compartments allocated for males, females and married couples. Wladek made his way to the male quarters, where he found a group of Poles occupying a large block of iron berths, each containing four two-tiered bunk beds. Each bunk had a thin straw mattress, a light blanket and no pillow. Having no pillow didn’t concern Wladek, who had never been able to sleep on one since leaving Camp 201.
He selected a bunk below a boy who looked roughly his own age.
‘I’m Wladek Koskiewicz.’
‘I’m Jerzy Nowak from Warsaw,’ volunteered the boy in Polish, ‘and I’m going to make my fortune in America.’ The boy thrust out his hand.
Wladek and Jerzy spent the time before the ship sailed telling each other of their experiences, both pleased to have someone to share their loneliness with, neither willing to admit his total ignorance of what to expect when they reached the shores of America. Jerzy, it turned out, had lost both his parents in the war but had few other claims of interest. He became entranced by Wladek’s stories: the son of a baron, brought up in a trapper’s cottage, imprisoned by the Germans and the Russians, escaped from Siberia and then from a Turkish executioner thanks to the silver band left to him by his father. It seemed to Jerzy that Wladek had packed more into his fifteen years than he could hope to manage in a lifetime.
The following morning the Black Arrow sailed. Wladek and Jerzy leaned over the rail and watched Constantinople slip away in the blue distance of the Bosphorus. After the calm of the Sea of Marmara, the choppiness of the Aegean afflicted most of the passengers with a horrible abruptness. The two washrooms for the steerage passengers, with ten basins apiece, six toilets and cold saltwater taps, caused queues during waking hours and a continual disruption at night. After a couple of days the stench of their quarters reminded Wladek of the dungeons in Slonim castle.
Food was served on long wooden tables in a large, filthy dining hall: warm soup, potatoes, fish, boiled beef and cabbage, brown or black bread. Wladek had tasted worse food, but not since leaving Siberia, and he was glad of the provisions Mrs Henderson had packed for him: sausages, nuts and even a little brandy. He and Jerzy shared their feast huddled in the corner of their berth. They ate together, explored the ship together and, at night, slept one above the other.
On the third day at sea, Jerzy brought a Polish girl to their table for supper. Her name, he informed Wladek casually, was Zaphia. It was the first time in his life that Wladek had ever looked at a girl twice, and from that moment he couldn’t stop looking at her. She rekindled his memories of Florentyna. The warm grey eyes, the long fair hair that fell onto her shoulders, the soft, gentle voice. He found he wanted to touch her. She occasionally smiled across at Wladek, who was miserably aware of how much better looking Jerzy was than he. He tagged along when Jerzy escorted her back to the women’s quarters.
Jerzy turned on him afterwards, mildly irritated. ‘Can’t you find a woman of your own? This one’s mine.’
Wladek didn’t admit that he had no idea how to find a woman of his own.
‘There will be enough time for girls when we reach America,’ he said scornfully.
‘Why wait for America? I intend to have as many on this ship as possible.’
‘How will you manage that?’ asked Wladek, intent on acquiring knowledge without admitting to his ignorance.
‘We have twelve more days on this awful old tub, and by the time we reach America, I intend to have had twelve women,’ boasted Jerzy.
‘What can you do with twelve women?’ asked Wladek.
‘Fuck them, of course.’
Wladek looked perplexed.
‘Good God,’ said Jerzy. ‘Don’t tell me the man who survived the Germans, escaped from the Russians, killed a man at the age of twelve and narrowly missed having his hand chopped off by a bunch of savage Turks has never bedded a woman?’ He laughed so loud that a multilingual chorus from the surrounding bunks told him to shut up.
‘Well,’ Jerzy continued in a whisper, ‘the time has come to broaden your education, because at last I’ve found something I can teach you.’ He peered over the side of his bunk, although he could not see Wladek’s face in the dark. ‘Zaphia’s an understanding sort of girl. I don’t doubt she could be persuaded to expand your education a little. I’ll see if I can arrange it.’
Wladek didn’t reply.
No more was said on the subject, but the next day Zaphia began to show a little more interest in Wladek. She sat next to him at mealtimes, and they talked for hours of their experiences and expectations. She was an orphan from Poznan, on her way to join cousins in Chicago. Wladek told her that he was going to New York, and would probably live with Jerzy.
‘I hope New York is not far from Chicago,’ said Zaphia.
‘You can come and see me when I am the mayor,’ said Jerzy expansively.
She sniffed disparagingly. ‘You’re too Polish, Jerzy. You can’t speak good English like Wladek.’
‘I’ll learn,’ Jerzy said confidently. ‘And I’ll start by making my name American. From today I will be George Novak. Then I’ll have no trouble. Everyone in the United States will think I’m American. What about you, Wladek Koskiewicz? Nothing much you can do with a name like that?’
Wladek looked at the newly christened George in silent resentment of his own name. Unable to adopt the title to which he felt himself the rightful heir, he hated the name Koskiewicz, which only reminded him of his illegitimacy.
‘I’ll manage,’ he said. ‘I’ll even help you with your English if you like.’
‘And I’ll help you find a girl.’
Zaphia giggled. ‘You needn’t bother, he’s found one.’
Jerzy, or George, as he now insisted they call him, retreated after supper each night into one of the tarpaulin-covered lifeboats with a different girl. Wladek longed to know what he got up to, even though some of the women George selected were not merely filthy, but would clearly have been unattractive even when scrubbed.
One night after supper, when George had disappeared again, Wladek and Zaphia sat out on deck. She placed an arm around his neck and began to kiss him. He pressed his mouth firmly against hers; it felt horribly unfamiliar, and he didn’t know what to do next. To his surprise and embarrassment, her tongue parted his lips. After a few moments of apprehension, Wladek found her open mouth intensely exciting, and was alarmed to find his penis stiffening. He tried to draw away, not wishing to embarrass her, but she didn’t seem to mind. She began to press her body gently and rhythmically against his, and pulled his hands down to her buttocks. His swollen penis throbbed against her stomach, giving him almost unbearable pleasure. She disengaged her mouth and whispered in his ear.
‘I think the time has come to take your clothes off, Wladek.’ She detached herself, and burst out laughing when he didn’t move. ‘Well, maybe tomorrow,’ she said, pushing herself up off the deck before kissing him.
Wladek stumbled back to his bunk in a daze, determined not to make a fool of himself a second time. No sooner had he settled in his berth, imagining what might have happened if he’d taken off his trousers, than a large hand grabbed him by the hair and pulled him out of his bunk and onto the floor. In an instant, any thoughts of Zaphia vanished. Two men he had never seen before towered above him. They dragged him to a far corner and pushed him up against the wall. One of them clamped his hand firmly over Wladek’s mouth, and held a knife to his throat.
‘Don’t make a sound, Polack’ whispered the man holding the knife, as he pushed the blade against Wladek’s skin. ‘All we want is the silver band.’
The realization that his treasure might be stolen was almost as horrifying to Wladek as the thought of losing his hand. Before he could respond, the other man wrenched the band from his wrist.
Suddenly someone leapt onto the back of the man holding the knife. This gave Wladek the chance to punch the one who was holding him pinned to the wall. The sleepy emigrants around them began to wake and take an interest in what was going on. The two intruders were no match for the Poles, and escaped as quickly as they could, but not before George had managed to stick the knife into the side of one of them.
‘Go to the cholera!’ shouted Wladek at his retreating back.
‘I don’t think they’ll be back in a hurry,’ said George. He looked down at the silver band lying in the sawdust on the floor. ‘It’s magnificent,’ he said almost reverently. ‘There will always be men who will go after such a prize.’
Wladek picked up the band and slipped it back onto his wrist.
‘You nearly lost it that time,’ said George. ‘Lucky for you I was a little late getting back tonight.’
‘Why were you late?’ asked Wladek.
‘I found some other idiot in my lifeboat tonight, already with his pants down. I soon got rid of him.’
‘How did you manage that?’ asked Wladek as he climbed back into his bunk.
‘I told him the girl he was on top of had the pox. I’ve never seen anyone get dressed so quickly.’
‘What do you do when you’re in the lifeboat?’ asked Wladek.
‘Fuck them silly - what do you think I do?’ With that George rolled over and went to sleep.
Lying in his bunk, unable to sleep, Wladek touched the silver band and thought about what George had said, wondering what it would be like to ‘fuck’ Zaphia.
The next morning the ship was hit by a storm, and all the passengers were ordered below decks. The stench of so many bodies in close proximity, intensified by the ship’s heating system, seemed to permeate every inch of their quarters, and few escaped being violently sick.
‘The worst of it is,’ groaned George, ‘now I won’t be able to make it a round dozen.’
When the storm abated, anyone who could still move headed for the decks. Wladek and George made their way around the crowded gangways, thankful to gulp the fresh sea air. Many of the girls smiled at George, but not one of them gave Wladek a second look. A dark-haired girl, her cheeks made pink by the wind, smiled when she passed George. He turned to Wladek.
‘I’ll have her tonight.’ Wladek stared at the girl and noticed the way she looked at George. ‘Tonight,’ he repeated as the girl passed within earshot. She pretended not to hear him, and walked away a little too quickly.
‘Turn round, Wladek, and see if she’s still looking at me.’
Wladek turned around. ‘Yes, she is,’ he said, surprised.
