The Marian Martyrs of Rosica

127 Memoir “What should I do? Hide, run away? Where can I hide? Where can I run away? It would show the Germans that I have a guilty conscience when I haven't done anything wrong.” “Father Pastor, I advise you to be careful. I am warning you. The police may come today. This is a serious matter.” “Whatever, I am staying,” decided Fr. Bohatkiewicz. He chose death. The Gestapo murdered him in prison, together with several other priests. It was a sacrifice of priestly blood offered for God and nation. LOSING MYWAY I went back to Leonpol. I was watching the road carefully going from Leonpol to Dryssa to be able to find my way back without any mishaps. However, traveling without mishaps was probably not destined for a driver like myself. The forests looked the same everywhere, and the roads looked the same as well, so it looked to me as if I were driving in the right direc- tion. Alas, I drove into the forest. In fact, as I was leaving the town I really was not sure if the horse was guiding me in the correct direction. It seemed to me that I hadn’t seen this little square with a toppled monument to Stalin, but maybe I just hadn't noticed it? It was lying there in the bushes, probably made out of plaster. A bit of straw was sticking out from under the armpits of the General’s uniform. So off I went, of course, not where I need- ed to go. After an hour’s ride, all I needed was to have the dukha give way again. There was no way for me to tie it up. Luckily, I was at the edge of a village. I went to seek help. I entered a house and told them who I was and what kind of trouble I was in. The woman looked at me suspiciously, but she came out to help like a Christian. She tried, but she could not manage either. The two of us couldn't do it together, so she went back and called her neighbors. Three women tied up the worthless dukha . They smiled at me. So I asked them if I was on the right road to Leonpol. They looked at each other. They had never heard of it. So where was I?