THE LAST GOOD WAR: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

meet his family.
    Zbig was irked, too, and disappointed. Anna was leaving the week after Christmas hanging.
    “Turn about does seem fair play. I met your family.”
    Not exactly the same thing as an exhausting, seven hundred kilometer train trip, thought Anna. Her parents had visited her in Poznan; that's when they met Zbig. And why should he worry about fairness, anyway?
    “I'd like to think about it,” she replied. “And check with my family first.”
    “Your family? Shouldn't my family be given some consideration, too?”
    There it was. Fairness. Again.
    The small band struck up a Viennese waltz. Zbig knew how much Anna loved to waltz, but seemed preoccupied. When Anna gazed toward the dance floor, he finally took the cue. Would she like to dance?
    As they returned to the table, she wanted to avoid a squabble about Christmas, and changed the subject. “Your courses—anything interesting?”
    “Not really. Well, yes. Yesterday, in psychology, we were talking about pets. How they take on the personality of their owners.”
    “Like Hitler and his German shepherd?” asked Anna. “They both love to wolf down tasty morsels. Countries, in Hitler's case.” She wished she hadn't said that; she wasn't supposed to mention politics.
    “Or perhaps Napoleon.”
    “Hunh? He had a German shepherd, too?”
    “No, no. I mean your hamster. You let him roam around in his ball, rather than keeping him in a cage. The psych prof would have fun with that. You're expressing yourself. You don't want to be trapped in a cage either.”
    Unlike other people? Anna thought to herself.
    But Zbig was dead right. She didn't want to feel trapped. At least, not in a romance with him.
     
    T he first Monday of the New Year, as Anna entered the Special Meteorology Project, she glanced around the building which, she guessed, might become her home for the next few months. The reception area was Spartan, with a secretary seated in a tiny cubicle in front of a telephone switchboard.
    Glancing down the halls, Anna saw that all the walls were the same dingy, insipid air force blue. She wondered when they had last felt the stroke of a paintbrush. Not since it was built, she was willing to bet. The building was standard military—not the least imagination in its design, with everything perfectly rectangular and straight. Except for the floor, which was already beginning to sag in spots, even though she guessed the building was less than twenty years old. Suddenly, she felt uneasy, even more out of place than when she first arrived at the university.
    It was too late for second thoughts.
    She introduced herself. The secretary fumbled with a cable, finally managing to plug it in. She buzzed twice. Zygalski appeared almost immediately.
    "Delighted to see you.... Well?"
    "I'm inclined to accept. But I need to know something first."
    “Of course. Hope I'll be able to help.” He led her around to his office, a spacious room at the corner of the building. A large window looked out toward the Gothic tower of the Arts building. The newly-fallen snow was still crisp; Anna imagined the crunch, crunch as students trudged to class.
    “You wanted to find out about something?” Zygalski asked.
    “I was wondering if you offered me a job because I understand English. My first loyalty is to Poland. But, as you know, my mother is English. I won't spy on Britain.”
    Zygalski laughed. “No need to worry. Your job will have nothing to do with the English language.”
    “Then yes, I'm happy to accept.”
    "Marvelous. Just a few formalities, in the administrative offices in A3. Then you can join us in B8. Just around the corner," Zygalski said, leading her down the hall and stopping in front of A3.
    Most of the paperwork was routine. But there were a few added features: mug shots and fingerprints. There were security forms to sign, threatening dire consequences, up to death, for violation of the Secrets Act. Anna paused, then signed. In for a penny, in for a pound.

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