The Search

by Maureen Myant

  Jan watches as they are herded together. Occasionally someone asks what is happening, but the Germans don’t reply. He feels himself drifting off to sleep in spite of his terror, and lays his face on the bark of the cherry tree. It feels warm beneath his skin. His eyes close, and he forces them open. Mustn’t sleep, he might fall out of the tree.

  It’s been hours. In the east the sky lightens from black to indigo to deep blue. He must have dozed off, for his mouth has the thick taste of sleep. Jan scans his surroundings. Down in the village, the trucks have gone. But the farmyard is full of men. Jan scans their faces looking for his father. He cannot see him. Of course, he was on night shift at the steelworks. He’ll be safe if only he doesn’t come back. How can he warn him? Even as he thinks this, the rumble of a truck shakes the earth. It draws up nearby and stops. A soldier shouts an order, and two others run across and open the doors. Several men stumble out, Jan’s father among them. They are all workers from the steelworks. This cannot be happening. The men are pushed into the centre of the farmyard with the others. As it grows lighter, Jan recognizes many of them: his uncle standing with his father, the farmer Horak, Arnost who lives next door, his wife, clinging to his arm, sobbing – and there on the edge, Josef and Frantisek. What are they doing there? They’re only fifteen, not yet men.

  Dawn. The sky is clear, promising a beautiful day. The villagers have been put into the barn with a guard of soldiers, and the door barricaded. Another truck appears, and two policemen unload some mattresses. They must be for the prisoners to sleep on. But no, the mattresses are piled up outside, standing upright against the wall. One of the soldiers – he must be their leader – calls his troops to attention and speaks to them for a minute or two. Jan wishes he knew what was being said, but he can’t hear the words, and even if he could he wouldn’t understand them. When the commander finishes his speech, two of the soldiers open the barn door and bring out a group of villagers. They make them stand in front of the wall, the striped mattresses a strange backdrop to the group of dazed men. Without thinking, Jan counts them.

  Ten soldiers stand before the ten men. Rifles appear, and as they do, a cacophony rises from the villagers. Their pleas – “Why are you doing this?”; “Have mercy, I beg you” – are muddled with shouts from the soldiers – ruhig. Shots, followed by a brief silence which is torn apart by a wail from the barn. As the bodies are dragged away, another ten men are marched out. Up in the tree, Jan watches; he wants to shut his eyes to this horror, but he can’t, he has to see what is happening. He can’t believe it’s real, and tells himself it’s a bad dream, all the while knowing that if it were a dream he’d be screaming. Here, now, in this place, he remains silent, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

  There’s a pause, a break from killing. The soldiers in the farmyard are quiet. Mainly they stand apart from each other, smoking, eating, drinking. Most are silent, lost in thought. One soldier walks towards the cherry tree where Jan is hiding. He rests his forehead against the trunk of the tree. Jan looks down and sees the man is shaking – is he crying? A moment later he retches loudly, vomits. Jan flinches from the acrid stench. He holds his breath, petrified. When the soldier finishes, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. As he does so, he looks up and his eyes meet Jan’s. Jan stops breathing. The moment stretches into two, three, four seconds, but still the soldier does not speak. Jan cannot look away; he thinks he will always remember this face: the wide mouth, the tiny scar the shape of a horseshoe on his forehead, the light brown fuzz of hair on the chin. His eyes are pale-blue, bloodshot and weary, with no expression. Jan waits for him to shout the others over, but instead the soldier shakes his head and walks away. Without a word he rejoins the rest of his company. Jan swallows the bile rising in his throat. He’s dizzy with terror.

  Two hours later. The farmyard is full of dead bodies piled together in untidy lines. Jan doesn’t know how many have been shot. After he saw his father brought out, he stopped counting. His mind is frozen at that scene, as if he has a photograph in his head. Over and over he sees his father standing beside the other men. He said nothing, didn’t flinch when the soldiers raised their rifles, but the impact of the bullets made his body twitch like a puppet as it folded to the ground.

  The soldiers are taking another break. The one who was sick earlier is approaching the tree. When he gets there he glances behind to check if any of the others are watching. Most of them are gathered in a group, smoking, uninterested in anyone else. The soldier pees against the tree and speaks to Jan without looking up. His Czech is faltering, and it takes Jan a moment to understand what he is saying.

  “Go. To the village. If they see you, they…” He mimes shooting. “In village, safe with other children. Go.” He buttons his flies, and looks up. His pale-blue eyes are intense. “Go. Now.”

  Jan slides down the tree. He doesn’t care whether he’s caught or not. The soldier walks back to the rest of the company. Jan stands for a moment, uncertain what to do. Then, as he sees the barn door open and another ten villagers dragged out, he turns away and stumbles over the rough grass to the road. He staggers down to the main part of the village, the sound of gunfire deafening him, blind to where he is going.

  Barely conscious, he reaches his house. It looks the same as it did when he last saw it. He had thought it would be changed. The door is ajar, and he pushes it open and creeps inside. There is no one there. His only thought is to get some food and drink. Thank God there’s some stew left in the pot on the stove. Jan grabs a handful and stuffs it into his mouth. It’s delicious, it always is; his mother is a great cook. Within a minute he’s eaten it all. The door creaks, and he spins round. A grim-faced soldier gestures to him. Jan puts the pot aside and wipes his hands on his shorts. He looks round, but there’s no escape. Walking slowly, he approaches the soldier, who pulls him outside and pushes him towards a nearby truck. He opens the door and shoves Jan inside, slamming the door shut behind him. Jan is terrified; it’s dark inside the truck. Only a crack of light by the door, a thin line of brightness, stops it from being unbearable. Jan sits down by the doors and tries to peer through the tiny gap. He can see very little, a tiny patch of road with weeds growing up from a crack. He bangs on the side of the truck, but no one takes any notice. For an hour, maybe more, he waits, occasionally kicking the side of the truck, hoping someone will come and find him, but no one does.

  Just as he thinks the soldier has forgotten him, the engine starts. Jan runs to the front of the truck and shouts in to the driver, “Let me go, what’s happening?” There is no response. The driver changes gear, and the truck lurches forwards throwing Jan to the floor. He lies there without moving, tries to hold back the tears, which are threatening to spill over. But what’s the point? There’s no one here to mock him. Jan buries his head in the crook of his arm and sobs. God knows where he’s going.

  ‌2

  The truck judders to a stop, throwing Jan to one side. The journey has been short, but uncomfortable. It was impossible to sleep with the noise of the engine and the smell of diesel, and Jan lay on the floor, tossed from side to side as the truck rumbled over the bumpy road. He sits up, grateful that the bruising movement has ceased, and brushes the dust off his clothes. It sticks to his sweaty fingers, and he wipes his hands on his shirt, leaving filthy smears on the red cotton. He has never been so dirty in his life; his mother will be furious with him. He can hear her voice now, her Polish accent stronger, as it always is when she’s annoyed – Look at you Jan, always so dirty. How will I get that shirt clean? – It’s so clear that he looks round to see her, but of course she is not there, and it dawns on him that he might never see her again, that if the Germans killed all the men, they might also have killed the women. Tears sting at the back of his eyes, and he blinks to keep hold of them, but they spill over anyway. Before he can wipe his face, a noise at the door draws his attention and he stills, fearful and wary. Metal scrapes on metal as the bolt is drawn, and when the light and air spill in
from outside, Jan knows where he is. The burnt metal smell of the furnace is unmistakeable. This is the town where his father works, worked. No – he mustn’t think of his father now.

  Jan uses his heels to press himself back as far as he can; he doesn’t want to leave the truck to go God knows where. He squints past the soldier, who looms in the doorway, to try to make out exactly where he is. The truck has come to a standstill in what seems to be a schoolyard. He can see a school building nearby, much like the one in his village, only bigger. The soldier jerks his head to indicate that Jan should come out. Jan’s knees are shaking; he knows they won’t support him. He whimpers and curls in on himself as the soldier jumps up into the truck and strides towards him. The vehicle pulsates with each step. There’s nowhere for Jan to go; he can’t dodge the soldier’s grasp. Several people stop to watch as he is dragged from the van. A little girl clasps her mother’s hand tight, her mouth shocked open. After a moment or two, her mother pulls her away, but the child continues to stare, her eyes wide and wondering. The woman doesn’t look at him as she hurries away. Jan longs to cry out for help, but he is too frightened; voiceless he stumbles across the yard into the school, the soldier pushing him forwards. The tarmac is sticky beneath his feet; it is a hot day, even hotter than yesterday.

  The school gymnasium is full with children and women from his village guarded by a cordon of police. In the centre of the room there is a girl from his class, Karla. Her face is strained, pale. She is looking at him, but something in her eyes tells him that she is not really seeing him. Jan is pushed into the hall and told to sit down. He staggers across the threshold, his legs shaking, unable to take in what he is seeing: a haze of faces, tired and fearful. When he reaches a spot that is clear, he sinks to the straw-covered floor and puts his head in his hands. He doesn’t want to look at anyone, he wishes…

  A hissing whisper: “Jan, come here.” He turns in the direction of the sound, sees his sisters and mother beckoning. Their faces are pallid, blurred, as if someone has tried to rub them out. He thinks he’s dreaming; Jan is no longer sure what is real and what is not, and wonders what will happen if he crawls over to be beside them. Perhaps they’ll disappear and he’ll be alone once more. He wants to keep them there, to be able to see them, so he doesn’t move. A few seconds later and his mother is beside him. She grabs his hand and pulls him to her. She has been crying; her round face is crumpled and stained with tears. “Where have you been?” she says in an undertone, looking behind to make sure none of the soldiers or police is watching.

  Jan opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. A picture of his father twitching on the ground flickers in his mind, and he retches. He looks down at the floor unable to speak. His mother draws him closer. Jan, who has been too old for cuddles for a year now, and who never offers his mother or his sisters a goodnight kiss, accepts this, leaning his head on her shoulder.

  “Let’s join the others. You can tell us later what happened.” They crawl back to his sisters. Lena is asleep, her head using Maria’s lap as a pillow. Maria wavers a smile at him. She is no longer angry with him. It is good to be near his family. Mother strokes his hair, and after a while he is almost lulled into a doze. When he shuts his eyes, though, the vision of his father folding onto the ground appears, and he forces himself awake. He sits up and moves away from the others, frightened that they can see what’s in his head. Mother draws him back towards her. He wants to shake off her arm, but the dull pain in her eyes stops him. Jan tries to speak, but she shushes him.

  “Hush, sweetheart. It’s all right. We’re together now.”

  It’s not true; papa will never be with them again. How can he tell his mother and his sisters what he witnessed? His mother rocks him in her arms, calming him with the steady motion. He looks round the room at the people there; no men whatsoever, the boys are all young, the oldest is thirteen, maybe fourteen. Everyone is huddled in family groups. Jan wonders if anyone escaped, or whether they managed to get every villager. He can’t understand what is going on, why they chose to do these things to his village.

  Maria catches his eye and begins to speak. Her voice is low and flat, lifeless. “We were going to bed when they came. There were three of them,” she says, shuddering. “I thought they were going to kill us.”

  Jan gags, puts a hand to his mouth.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He shakes his head, a tiny movement, all he has energy for. He wants to sleep, for then he can wake up from this nightmare. Maria looks at him for several seconds: he counts, seven, eight, nine… He can’t bear the expression in her eyes, as if she knows exactly what he has seen, and he looks away.

  She continues, “They burst into the house… they may have knocked, I’m not sure. There was a lot of noise, but they didn’t wait for us to answer. Mother was half undressed. They wouldn’t let her put anything else on.” He glances at his mother; it’s true, he hadn’t noticed before, she is wearing only her undergarments, the white petticoat grubby with sweat and dirt. Jan blushes for her shame.

  Maria falls silent; perhaps she too finds it hard to talk of what she’s seen. Jan’s eyelids droop; he’s exhausted, but too agitated to sleep, too frightened of what he might see in his dreams. He tries to distract himself, gives himself a meaningless task: on what day will his birthday fall this year? His birthday is in November, five months away, but when he thinks of this, his father, whose birthday is a few days after his, comes to mind. A tear runs down his cheek. Mother shakes him, asks why he is crying. He doesn’t answer and, after a few seconds, she carries on with the story that Maria couldn’t finish.

  “They dragged us downstairs and made us give them everything of any value. One of them held Lena while I went through our things. He had a gun in his right hand, and he kept staring at me while I brought out all our valuables.” Her lower lips trembles, and her voice shakes as she goes on. “It was horrible. He was smirking, and the whole time he stroked the trigger with his finger. “I thought if I gave them what they wanted they’d go away. I gave them everything, even my wedding ring, but it was pointless.” His mother pulls him closer. “When I took out the secret brick, you know, the one in the fireplace, I thought, that’s it, they’ll go now. All our money was there, and some jewellery that was my mother’s. But they didn’t. They took us outside where everyone was being gathered. The street was full of trucks and soldiers. Dozens of them. There seemed to be more of them than us.” Her eyes are full of tears. “They took the men away… I… I don’t know where, and put the women and children into the trucks and brought us here. God knows how long ago that was, but it was very early this morning, just after dawn.” She stops speaking and pushes a fist into her stomach. “They’ve given us nothing to eat, only some water. I’m so hungry.” She squeezes his arm. “And you, I didn’t know where you were. You must be starving.”

  Jan shakes his head. Lena stirs, and Maria rocks her gently. It’s better if she doesn’t wake up. He wonders if he can speak, and opens his mouth to try, but the only sound that comes is a croak.

  The day drags on. There are well over two hundred women and children in the hall, maybe as many as three hundred. All of them are tired and frightened. Every so often, some of them are allowed to go to the toilet. The smell is overpowering; a mixture of unwashed bodies, piss and shit. Jan watches as a toddler pulls at her sodden nappy until it falls to the ground. The child’s mother sits nearby, looking on, but she does nothing. Her eyes are dead, as lifeless as the coal that lies in slag heaps near the mines. One of the other women picks up the nappy by the tips of her fingers and takes it over to a growing pile of dirty clothes. The child’s mother turns away as the infant pulls at her dress. Jan hears someone say that the woman’s husband was badly beaten by the soldiers: “He couldn’t have lived after the beating he took.” But no one does anything to comfort her.

  Late in the afternoon, soup is brought in, a hellish grey brew. It stinks as if made from bad meat. Most people eat it holding their noses so
they don’t have to smell it. Jan won’t touch it, even though his mother begs him to eat. He can’t bear the thought of food. When night falls, they lie down on the straw and try to rest, but the air is tense with fear and crackles with the cries of babies too hungry to sleep. Jan lies awake in the darkness listening to his mother sob. He hasn’t told her what he saw, but Maria whispers that they heard shots from the direction of the farm, did he know what they were. He pretends not to hear.

  Another day passes. Everyone is fearful, tight with anxiety. Lena sucks her thumb so fiercely that it worries her mother. She plays finger games with Lena to distract her, and encourages Jan and Maria to join in. For a brief half hour they almost forget their predicament until one of the women tries to speak to a soldier in German. He ignores her, stands aloof, his head turned away from her. When she persists, he hits her with the butt of his rifle, and she falls down. No one moves. Five, ten minutes pass. To Jan’s horror, his mother struggles to her feet and walks towards the woman, her hands in the air as a gesture of surrender. He tenses, waiting for her too to be felled. She leans over the woman and wipes the blood from her face. Jan closes his eyes. He hears his mother speak: “I would like some water.” Surely now someone will hit her. But no, his mother is walking towards the door accompanied by a soldier. In a moment she returns with a bowl. Everyone in the room watches as she washes the woman’s head, then tears a strip from her petticoat to make a bandage. The soldiers look on also, leaning on their rifles. She finishes what she is doing and returns to her children.

  Two more hours go by. It’s almost dark, nearly two days since they were taken away from their homes. They haven’t had any food since lunchtime. Jan is troubled, whispers to his mother: “What do you think will happen to us?” She strokes his hair, smiles down at him. “We’ll be fine as long as we’re together.” She doesn’t mention father. Jan thinks she knows something’s wrong, but he isn’t going to say anything about what happened. He can’t.