Page 433 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

Cam's wedding took place at a modern Catholic church in the small town of Otwock, on the outskirts of Warsaw. Cam had embraced Catholicism. Dave had no doubt the conversion was entirely cynical.

The bride wore a white dress that her mother had got married in: Polish people had to recycle clothing.

Lidka was slim and attractive, Dave thought, with long legs and a nice bust, but there was something about her mouth that suggested ruthlessness to him. Perhaps he was being harsh: fifteen years as a rock star had made him cynical about girls. They went to bed with men to seek some advantage for themselves more often than most people thought, in his experience.

The three bridesmaids had made themselves short summery dresses in bright pink cotton.

The reception was held at the American embassy. Woody Dewar paid for it, but the embassy was able to secure plentiful supplies of food, and something other than vodka to drink.

Lidka's father told a joke, half in Polish and half in English. A man walks into a government-owned butcher's shop and asks for a pound of beef.

"Nie ma--we don't have any."

"Pork, then."

"Nie ma."

"Veal?"

"Nie ma."

"Chicken."

"Nie ma."

The customer leaves. The butcher's wife says: "The guy is crazy."

"Of course," says the butcher. "But what a memory!"

The Americans looked awkward, but the Poles laughed heartily.

Dave had asked Cam not to tell anyone that his brother-in-law was in Plum Nellie, but the news had got out, as it usually did, and Dave was besieged by Lidka's friends. The bridesmaids made a big fuss of him, and it was clear that Dave could go to bed with any of them, or even--one hinted--with all three at the same time, if he was so inclined.

"You should meet my bass player," Dave said.

While Cam and Lidka were doing their first dance, Beep said quietly to Dave: "I know he's a creep, but he's my brother, and I can't help feeling pleased he's found someone at last."

Dave said: "Are you sure Lidka isn't a gold digger who just wants an American passport?"

"That's what my parents are afraid of. But Cam's thirty-four and single."

"I guess you're right," Dave said. "What has he got to lose?"

*

Tanya Dvorkin was full of fear when she attended Solidarity's first national convention in September 1981.

The proceedings began in the cathedral at Oliwa, a northern suburb of Gdansk. Two sharp stiletto towers menacingly flanked a low baroque portal through which the delegates entered the church. Tanya sat with Danuta Gorski, her Warsaw neighbor, the journalist and Solidarity organizer. Like Tanya, Danuta wrote blandly orthodox reports for the official press while privately pursuing her own agenda.

The archbishop gave a don't-make-trouble sermon about peace and love of the fatherland. Although the Pope was gung ho, the Polish clergy were conflicted about Solidarity. They hated Communism, but they were natural authoritarians, hostile to democracy. Some priests were heroically brave in defying the regime, but what the church hierarchy wanted was to replace a godless tyranny with a Christian tyranny.

However, it was not the church that bothered Tanya, nor any of the other forces tending to divide the movement. Much more ominous were the threatening maneuvers by the Soviet navy in the Gulf of Gdansk, together with "land exercises" by one hundred thousand Red Army troops on Poland's eastern border. According to the article by Danuta in today's Trybuna Ludu, this military muscle-flexing was a response to increased American aggression. No one was fooled. The Soviet Union wanted to tell everyone that it was poised to invade if Solidarity made the wrong noises.

After the service the nine hundred delegates moved in buses to the campus of the University of Gdansk, where the convention was to be held in the massive Olivia Sports Hall.

All this was highly provocative. The Kremlin hated Solidarity. Nothing so dangerous had happened in a Soviet bloc country in more than a decade. Democratically elected delegates from all over Poland were gathering to hold debates and pass resolutions by voting, and the Communist Party had no control whatsoever. It was a national parliament in all but name. It would have been called revolutionary, if that word had not been besmirched by the Bolsheviks. No wonder the Soviets were frantic.

The sports hall was equipped with an electronic scoreboard. As Lech Walesa stood to speak, it lit up with a cross and the Latin slogan POLONIA SEMPER FIDELIS, "Poland ever faithful."

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