The Search

by Maureen Myant

“It’s true then, you are a deserter.”

  Wilhelm throws down his cigarette and grinds it into the ground with the heel of his boot. He looks older than his twenty years, lines etched into his forehead. “I prefer to think I’m a conscientious objector.”

  “If you’re caught, you’ll be shot.”

  “I know, but…” Wilhelm stops, unable to continue.

  The sound of their names rings through the crisp evening air. It is time for supper.

  Inside the house, Gisela serves up the soup, a thick potato broth, scented with garlic and ham. She sets down the plates in front of them. Helena starts to eat, and Gisela slaps her hand away, telling her to wait. Wilhelm snaps at her, “Leave the child alone,” and Gisela blinks, bewildered at the strength of his protest. It is left to Friedrich to calm them both. He doesn’t want his wife to know about Wilhelm, about the killings, about the desertion. What is this war about, that they kill women and children? It’s wrong, evil.

  “It’s all right, Helena. Mother just wants me to say grace, in thanks for Wilhelm’s safe return. Put your spoon down, there’s a good girl.”

  Helena, who was about to cry, obeys and, together with the others, waits for Friedrich to say a prayer of thanks. He sits at the table with his head bowed.

  “Dearest Father, thank you…”

  The others wait for him to continue, he feels their eyes upon him, but he cannot say any more. His throat has tightened so much that he thinks he will choke, and in a panic he rises and runs from the table. As he stumbles back outside, he gulps at the cool evening air, hoping it will calm him, but it makes him so giddy he has to sit down on the doorstep. Gisela joins him; she brushes some dust off the stone and gathers her skirt underneath to cushion herself before sitting down. She takes his hand and weaves the fingers of her right hand with those of his left.

  “It’s so wonderful to have him home, isn’t it?”

  ‌14

  “How can we be in Poland?” Jan’s face is red, his fists clenched.

  Pawel bends down and picks up a stone. He throws it onto the railway line. “We got on the wrong train.”

  “I don’t believe you. You did this on purpose to get home. You’re a bastard, a dirty rotten bastard, and I hate you.” Jan walks away from him.

  Pawel runs after him and grabs his shoulder. He forces Jan to look at him. “I swear, it’s a mistake. You saw the timetable – you saw the platform number. Somehow we must have read it wrong.”

  “Some coincidence though, isn’t it? Ending up near your home town? Quite frankly, it’s unbelievable, so don’t lie to me.” Jan’s heart is beating so fast he thinks it’s going to fly out of his chest. He wants to punch Pawel.

  “I’m never going to convince you, am I?” Pawel sounds weary. “What if I said I don’t want to go home? That my father beat me and my mother was a drunk?”

  Jan almost believes him for a second, but underlying the tiredness there is a hint of amusement that belies such a difficult home life. He looks Pawel in the eye. “Swear to me on the Bible that you didn’t know about this.”

  Pawel laughs. “Sure. Bring it out, and I’ll swear.”

  “On your mother’s life.”

  Hesitation, proof enough. “You bastard.”

  “All right, I admit it. I saw there was a train coming here that left at the same time from a nearby platform. I couldn’t pass it up. My family don’t know what has happened to me. They’ll think I’m dead. It was too good an opportunity to miss.” His face is scarlet, and there are beads of perspiration on his forehead. “And they’ll be able to help you. We would never have managed to get Lena back on our own.”

  “We managed to escape without any help. I got money for us. We hid on a train. We could have done it. I could have done it. I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.” Jan pushes past Pawel and runs onto the railway line.

  “Are you mad? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m walking back to Germany, to find my sister. She’s the only family I have for sure.”

  “You’re a damn idiot. Germany’s that way.” Pawel points the other way down the track.

  “No, it isn’t.” Jan sounds defiant, but he isn’t sure. They saw no landmarks on their way here because they were hidden in the guard’s van, and since they got off the train they’ve been walking round and round, so he’s lost all sense of direction.

  “Please Jan. Please come home with me. I promise you that my parents will help you.”

  There is a rumble and the screech of a train’s hooter. They turn to see an engine bearing down on them. They jump aside only seconds before the train thunders past. Jan stands at the side of the track shaking. In that instant he feels like a tiny child, vulnerable and frightened. More than anything he wants his mother. “I’ll come home with you,” he says, “but I’m not staying. As soon as I’m ready, I’ll be off to find my own family.”

  It’s dark when they reach the outskirts of Pawel’s home town. It’s a small town, more of a village really. Jan senses his friend’s excitement as they walk down the main street, past shops and cafés.

  “Our neighbour owns that shop,” he says, “and that café sells the best coffee. Tomorrow we’ll eat there. No. My mother will want to feed us up. I’ve got so thin.” Pawel chatters on as they walk along the road. He’s moving so fast that Jan is almost running to keep up with him. “Five minutes and we’ll be there. Oh Christ, I can’t wait.” He is so excited that Jan catches it from him, and despite his earlier fury with Pawel, he finds himself skipping along beside him.

  “This is it.” Pawel stands in front of a small house. It looks deserted, thinks Jan. There’s no light on, and the paintwork on the door is scuffed. There’s rubbish in the small yard. It doesn’t look like a well-kept house. He glances at Pawel, who is looking round in bewilderment, the excitement fading on his face. “I don’t understand,” he says, “this is so dirty. Not like my house at all.” He bites his lip and pushes at the door. It doesn’t budge, and he tries again. Nothing.

  Jan pulls at his sleeve. “I think it’s empty,” he says. “Wouldn’t there be a light on?”

  “Maybe they’ve gone out,” Pawel’s voice trembles. He bangs on the door and shouts, “Mother, Mother, it’s me, Pawel.”

  The shouts echo back on them. Pawel tries again. The door of the house next door opens, and a man looks out. “What’s going on there?”

  Pawel shouts over to him, “Mr Jaworski, it’s me, Pawel Zielinski. Do you remember me?”

  “Jesus Maria. So it is. Come here boy, till I see you.”

  Pawel walks up the path to the house, and the man stares down at him. “You’ve grown,” he says.

  “It’s been over a year. Do you know where my parents are?”

  The man’s face is grave. “You’d better come in.” He beckons them both inside.

  Jan feels desperately sorry for Pawel. They’d listened in disbelief as the neighbour told them how his father was arrested six months ago.

  “They came for him because he wouldn’t shut up about you. He wrote letter after letter to everyone he could think of, trying to find out what had happened. He wrote to newspapers and to politicians in other countries. The newspapers didn’t print his letters of course, so he had leaflets printed and gave them out in the town centre. I don’t know whether the people in other countries got his letters, but I doubt it. Nothing gets past the Nazis.” He whispers the last words as if the walls might be listening, looks around fearfully, then wipes his brow. “Other people came to your father and told him how their children too had gone missing, snatched from the street or from their homes.”

  His wife brings them food, a simple meal of bread and sausage, but oh, so tasty. They eat it while Miroslaw, the neighbour, continues with his story.

  “When they came they said he was a political agitator. He was sent to a concentration camp near Krakow, in Oswiecim.” He shakes his head. “These are dreadful times.”

  Pawel finishes his meal, wip
ing the bread round the plate to soak up the fat from the sausage. “What about my mother?”

  “I don’t know what happened to her. Your mother became very ill after you disappeared. She lost weight, looked miserable all the time—”

  “And who could blame her, losing a child in that way? It’s a terrible thing, terrible.” His wife interrupts them to clear away the dirty dishes. “You must stay here with us, Pawel. And your friend, of course.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Is he all right? He’s very quiet.”

  “He’s fine, a little tired I think.”

  Jan nods. “Yes, I didn’t sleep last night.”

  The couple look at each other, suspicion flitting over their faces. Miroslaw speaks slowly to him, pronouncing each word as if to an idiot. “You’re not Polish, are you?”

  Jan shakes his head. “No, my mother’s Polish though, from Warsaw. I’m Czech.”

  They smile; satisfied with this explanation. Dyta, the woman, starts to ask about Jan’s mother, but Pawel is desperate to find out what has happened to his family. He interrupts her. “My mother, is she dead?”

  Dyta blinks, startled by the rudeness of his tone. “No, no. Well, I don’t think so. The word in town was that she left to go and stay with relatives near Krakow, to try to be nearer your father. But we don’t know for sure. She was distraught when they took him away.”

  They chat for an hour or so. Jan stares into the fire as they talk on. He follows what they say for a few minutes: Miroslaw tells them of the German soldiers in the area, and how all of the townspeople fear them. Pawel in return talks about the children’s home and the Polish children there. They ask him for names to pass to the resistance fighters, so that their parents can be told. Pawel can give only a few names, and none of them are known to the couple. They write them down anyway. Jan begins to lose the thread of what they are saying. It is hard for him to understand them; Dyta’s voice is soft and Miroslaw’s accent is thick. After a while he gives up and starts to dream of home. If he closes his eyes he can imagine his house. He can see his kitchen, his mother standing by the range stirring a pot of soup, Maria sitting at the table, a frown creasing her forehead as she puzzles over her maths homework, Lena in the corner drawing on the flagstones with a piece of chalk. Any minute now, father will be home. Jan sees his mother smile as she hears father come through the door.

  “You are tired, little one.” Dyta’s quiet voice breaks into his reverie. He opens his eyes, blinks back the sudden tears. He can’t trust himself to speak, nods instead.

  “Come, I will show you where you can sleep.” Dyta stands up and waits for the boys to follow her.

  Jan remembers his manners. “Thank you for the meal. It was delicious.”

  Miroslaw interrupts. “Not at all. It was nothing.”

  Jan and Pawel know it was far from nothing. Food is rationed here, and what they have just eaten is probably the Jaworskis’ meal for tomorrow. Jan holds out some coins to pay, but the couple recoil from him, upset that he would offer them money. He puts it away, feeling foolish, even more so when he remembers that his coins are German and of little use here. In silence he and Pawel follow Dyta upstairs to a tiny room where there is a mattress on the floor. It doesn’t look all that clean, but they don’t care. They could sleep anywhere after all they’ve been through.

  After they’ve washed they lie down on the mattress and pull the blankets over them. There’s a window in the sloping ceiling through which they can see the sky. The boys lie in silence, Jan wondering where his family is and whether they too lie awake in the dark, looking at the stars.

  “I’m sorry about your papa,” he whispers.

  Pawel takes a moment to reply. When he speaks, Jan hears tears in his voice. “You’d like papa,” he says. “He’s good fun. He loves to play jokes on everyone. You know, when there was no answer earlier on, I kept thinking he was playing one of his jokes, that he was hiding behind the door and any minute he’d leap out and surprise us.”

  “He sounds great.”

  “He is. I really wanted you to meet him. I thought…”

  “What did you think?”

  “It’s silly, I know. But they always wanted more children. I know that because mama often cried about it. I thought that you could be my brother, another son for them. No one could replace your own papa, but I just know you’d get on with him and mama. And they would love you.”

  Jan can’t speak. He reaches out to find Pawel’s hand. When he does, he squeezes it tight, and Pawel squeezes back. The door to their bedroom opens, and Mr and Mrs Jaworski come in. “Good night, boys. Please God you sleep well.”

  Pawel says nothing. Jan mumbles, “Thank you,” pulls the blanket over. Before sinking into sleep, he thinks of Pawel’s parents, lost like his mother and Lena, how far away she is. How will he find her now?

  ‌15

  The following morning Mr and Mrs Jaworski let Jan and Pawel sleep till late. When they rise, the sun is high in the sky. Dyta seems happy to have someone to look after; she fusses round them, offering them bread and honey after breakfast, telling them they are thin and need fattening up. The boys accept the food gratefully, trying not to gobble it down. Sometimes Jan thinks he has a deep hunger that will never be satisfied, no matter how much he eats.

  After their lunch of a thick potato broth, Jan offers to clear up. The Jaworskis try to stop him, but he insists, asking Pawel to help him. Mrs Jaworski busies herself in the kitchen for a while, but when she sees how well they manage – the children’s home has trained them well – she leaves them to it. Jan hands another plate to Pawel to dry, looking round to check they are alone. “Pawel, we have to leave here. They’re good people, but we can’t keep on taking their food. And we have no ration cards. The four of us would be starving in no time.”

  Pawel dries the plate before he answers, “I know, but what can we do? Maybe we could get ration cards from somewhere. Perhaps mine is still in my house.”

  “After a year? No, even if it were, it would be out of date.”

  “So, what do you suggest we do?”

  Jan’s voice is firm. “Go back to Germany.” But even as he speaks, Jan knows Pawel will never agree.

  Pawel shakes his head. “I’m sorry Jan. I’ll never go back there.”

  “I don’t see why not. After all, this place is part of Germany now, an occupied country, a colony… There’s more Germans here than fleas on a stray cat. You heard what they said last night, ‘German soldiers on every street corner.’ You might as well come with me to Germany, help me find Lena.” Inwardly, Jan is crying, please come, don’t desert me, but Pawel has his own needs.

  “I’m going to find my parents, and if I can’t find them, then I’ll join the partisans. You’ll never catch me going back to Germany.”

  Jan’s lip trembles. “You’re too young, they’ll never let you.”

  “I’m nearly fourteen, old enough. We’ll see.” Pawel’s face is closed, his lips tight together, he won’t look Jan in the eye. Jan puts the last few plates away. There’s no point in talking to him when he’s like this.

  An hour later they leave the Jaworskis’ house. Mrs Jaworski pleads with them to stay, but they are determined to go.

  “No, it’s too dangerous. We have no papers, no ration books. Apart from the problem of food, if we get caught then you will be punished too. Who knows what might happen to you.”

  Mrs Jaworski continues to argue with them. “It’s not a problem,” she says, “we’ll manage. We can hide you.” In the background, her husband says nothing in spite of the glances she throws him. He sees the danger; they know he does. His wife continues to try to persuade them. “Please, stay one more night, build up your strength.” But the boys know they mustn’t get too comfortable, and they resist. At last Mrs Jaworski gives in and lets them go.

  “Promise me you’ll take care.” She hugs them. “Where will you go, how will you eat?”

  “We’ll manage,” says Pawel. He hesitates. “I want to try to
find my parents, but if I can’t, then perhaps… well, we thought we’d join the resistance.”

  Miroslaw takes his hand and shakes it. “There’s a village, twenty kilometres west of here, Jankowice, ask for Marek Kucharski. He’ll see you all right.” He pauses. “In fact, you might be best to go straight to him. The resistance has a lot of information about people who’ve been taken away. He might be able to tell you about your parents.”

  “Is he a partisan?”

  “I don’t know for sure. It’s best not to know too much, but he’s a socialist and hates the occupiers, like we all do. He has no immediate family so if anyone knows how to contact the resistance, he will.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  Miroslaw shrugs. “As sure as I can be. I’ve met him several times. He’s a good man. I know he’ll do his best to help you. Tell him I sent you.”

  An hour later they are out on the road. Miroslaw has shown them the way, assured them that they are unlikely to bump into any German soldiers as the road is a quiet one, used only by local farmers coming into town for market days. It is a warm day for autumn, the late summer sun beats down on their heads as they walk in silence. Jan’s thoughts are of his home; his mother, where is she now? The roadside is lined with trees, cherry trees like those at home. Their leaves are yellowing; they will fall within the month, and then winter will truly begin. Jan blinks to stop the tears that always come when he thinks of his mother, his family. Without warning the pictures of his father’s death flash before him: the soldiers raising their rifles, his father’s face, bleached bone-white with fear – did he imagine it, or did his father see him, hiding in the tree? Jan gasps in pain, sinks to the ground.

  Pawel’s face is above him, white, anxious. “What is it? Are you ill?”

  Jan shakes his head; he cannot speak.

  Pawel grabs his arm. “Jan, you’re frightening me, what is it?”

  Jan curls into himself and lies weeping while Pawel stands above him wishing he knew what to do. Jan stuffs his fist into his mouth to muffle his sobs. After a few minutes, he manages to control himself and struggles to his feet.