A snap of a twig hurls him back into the present. Jan tenses; he can feel the muscles in his back tighten. It’s probably only an animal, but he can’t be sure. He wants to turn round and look, but if it is an enemy he doesn’t want them to know he’s heard them. He carries on walking, trying to control his fear, making himself walk at a normal pace. The sun is low in the sky and will set in a few minutes. Not long after, it will be completely dark. Twilight is brief at this time of year. Jan can’t believe he was so stupid as to fight with Pawel, his only ally. After Pawel walked away, Jan had sat down by the side of the road and watched him until he was just a dot in the distance. Then he let his feelings out. Like a tiny baby he howled. The birds sitting in a nearby tree flew off at the sound of his rage. He punched and kicked the ground, not caring that his knuckles were grazed. He cried and cried, letting out his grief and frustration until, exhausted, he’d fallen asleep. There was no way of knowing how long he slept, but when he awoke his eyes were swollen; he couldn’t open them properly. He saw clearly, though, that he had been wrong to let Pawel go; he couldn’t go back into Germany alone, he would have to stick with Pawel. Jan had stumbled to his feet, grabbed his things and started to run along the road after his friend, but although he ran fast and didn’t stop for an hour or more, there was no sign of Pawel.
He is deep in the forest now. Pine trees, thirty metres high, stretch above him like ancient giants. Some time ago the road deteriorated into a track, Jan isn’t sure he remembers exactly when, and he’s worried that he might have lost his way completely. It is so dark he can scarcely see his own feet, and reluctantly he realizes he’ll have to find shelter of some sort where he can sleep for the night. He strains to see ahead of him, but the sun has now set, and all he can see are vague shapes. The trees block out most of the sky, and although there’s a moon, its light is intermittent.
A rustle behind him. Jan can’t help himself: he whirls round, but there’s nothing to be seen. He holds his breath and listens: more rustling, heavy breathing like someone panting, and the sound of something or someone running. Jesus, Maria! Where can he hide? He runs to what he hopes is a tree, aware of the noises not far behind him, his heart bursting with fear as he thinks of the soldiers he saw earlier that day. Somehow, without knowing it, he must have caught up with them, walked straight into a trap. The noise is right behind him now. The breathing is laboured, like a grunt almost. Something hard pushes into him and knocks him to the ground. Jan crouches down, protecting his head, waiting for the inevitable blows. There is a scuffling noise, then nothing. The night is once more silent round him. Slowly he sits up, tense, ready for something to hit out at him. Still nothing. He tries to remember exactly what happened: the feel of the thing as it knocked him over, the noises it made. It comes to him what it was: an animal, perhaps a boar. In Czechoslovakia the forests are full of wild boar; perhaps it is the same here. But at least it is not a German soldier. Jan’s mouth has dried up with fear. He tries to moisten his mouth with saliva, breathes deeply and steadily until his heart starts to slow down once more. He is exhausted. He scrabbles around on the ground to find his bundle of clothes which he has dropped in his fright. Thank God he finds them. He fluffs them up, lies down and puts his head on the makeshift pillow. A few minutes later he is asleep.
Jan is hauled to his feet, slapped awake. He flails around trying to fight off his assailants with his hands and feet. Rough hands grab his arms and pull them behind his back where they are tied together with rough rope. He opens his mouth to protest, but before he can say anything, he is gagged. Thank God he’s not been blindfolded; not that it matters, the night is so dark he can’t see the end of his own nose. No one says a word as he is pushed forwards and marched through the forest. He tries to guess how many soldiers there are: he gets a sense of two, maybe three, and wonders if it’s worth making a run for it. Probably not: with his hands tied, his balance will be impaired, and he’s unlikely to get more than a few feet before being captured again. He stumbles on, cursing his foolishness at letting Pawel go. What had he been thinking? Now things were worse than ever. Who knew what was going to happen to him now?
The march through the forest continues in silence. If he trips he is hauled back to his feet. They are with him at all times. For an hour, maybe more, they walk deeper into the forest. Jan had thought it was dark before. Now the trees are so thick there is never even a glimpse of the moon to give any idea of what is around him.
They are slowing down. Jan can smell burning, a fire and the fragrance of roasting meat; his stomach growls at the thought of food. It is hours since he has eaten. He wonders if the men have picked up his bundle of clothes. He has a dim memory of someone carrying something. There is some bread in the bundle. Jan wishes he could have it to chew on. He feels weak with hunger. A pinpoint of light ahead, Jan tries to focus on it. It’s a fire. The flicker of flames is unmistakeable. It is not far away, a hundred metres, maybe two.
Round the fire are twenty or so men. Jan tries to see their faces, to read their purpose. He has never been so scared in his life. Not since the night… No, he won’t think of that, he won’t. He closes his eyes to try to think of something else and falls over. This time he is left where he is. The men who captured him, he can see now that there are only two of them, go up to the fire and hold out their hands to warm them. One of the men sitting near the fire gets up and comes towards Jan, a knife glinting in his hand. Jan stops breathing. He stares at the man in terror, but the man is avoiding his look; he bends down and cuts the rope that is tying Jan’s hands. Jan is light-headed with relief. He flexes his fingers to get the blood flowing, reaches up to untie his gag, but immediately someone is beside him to pull his hand down.
“Leave it,” the man says.
Jan blinks in surprise. The man is Polish, his accent similar to Pawel’s. He’s desperate to speak to them, tries to talk through the gag.
“Shut the fuck up,” says another man, who joins them. “Any sound out of you, and you’re dead.”
Jan shakes his head frantically, points to his mouth and joins his hands in a gesture of prayer. This disconcerts the men. They look at each other.
“Take the gag off,” says one of them. “But we’ll ask the questions. You keep quiet until we tell you.”
Jan’s hands shake as he tries to untie his gag. The man nearest him is holding a knife very close to his throat. His fingers can’t get a grip on the knot, and tears of frustration run down his face. The man pushes his hands away and unties the knot himself.
“Thank you,” whispers Jan.
“Quiet until you’re spoken to.” Someone approaches with a mug of water and hands it to Jan. He takes it and gulps it down. Nothing has ever tasted so good.
“You’re not from around here.” A statement, not a question.
Jan stares at them. Several of the men have gathered round him now. They’re a rough-looking bunch, dirty and unshaven. The stench from their bodies is overpowering. It must be weeks since they’ve bathed. He’s as sure as he can be that they’re partisans, decides to tell the truth. He tells them the name of his village.
To his surprise they seem to recognize it. They look at each other, eyebrows raised. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”
Jan thinks quickly, and then asks, “Do any of you speak Czech?”
One of them nods. “A little.”
Jan starts to speak in Czech, to tell them about what happened on that day in June last year. He only says a few sentences before the man raises his hand to stop him. “Enough,” he says. He turns to his comrades. “He’s Czech all right.” Then he asks Jan to speak in Polish, tell them what happened.
“Can I… may I have something to eat? It’s hours since I had anything.”
“Jozef, get the boy some meat.”
Jozef, a boy of perhaps fifteen with livid spots all over his face, brings Jan some meat and potatoes. Jan takes a few mouthfuls before starting on his story. The men listen carefully, occasionally interru
pting to ask him questions – how many men were killed? How many soldiers were there? What happened to the children? Jan answers as best as he can. Once or twice someone interjects to add a detail. Gradually Jan realizes that they already know his story. He finishes his meal, and feeling braver now that he has some food inside him he asks them about it.
“You seem to know about my village already. How can that be?”
“What is your name, boy?”
Jan tells him.
“Jan, your village is known of throughout the world. The Nazis made an example of it after Heydrich was assassinated. Do you know who Heydrich was?”
“No, I’ve never heard of him.”
“He was the man the Germans put in charge of the Bohemian protectorate when they invaded Czechoslovakia. You do know your country was invaded?”
Jan flushes. They are speaking to him as if he is a silly child. “Yes, of course.”
“When he was assassinated, the Germans attacked your village as a reprisal and as a warning to others. They killed all the men and sent the women to camps. All of the buildings were destroyed. They wanted to make it look as though the village had never existed. No one was ever sure what happened to the children. There has been no sign of them in over a year, and it was thought that they were most probably dead. Your village and what happened to it, is known about all over the world. Many people wrote about it.”
Jan can’t imagine his little village being famous. It’s ludicrous. Cities are famous, not villages where nothing happens. But of course, something did happen there. Something terrible. Jan’s stomach tightens. “Do you know where they sent the women?” he asks.
“As I said, they were sent to camps, concentration camps. They’re a sort of prison. They were sent to Ravensbruck, I think.”
“So the women are still alive?” Jan can hardly dare to hope. There must be something in his voice for the man’s rough voice softens.
“I hope so, Jan. But you must realize that these camps… they’re not good places, and although the women were taken there alive, not all of them will survive.”
“Why not?”
“Well, there’s a lot of illness for one thing.”
“And?”
“And for another, well you saw what the Nazis are capable of.”
Jan is silent for a moment, taking it in. When he speaks his voice wobbles, though he tries to keep it steady. “You mean…”
“In these camps, terrible things happen. There’s a camp not far from here in Oswiecim, where they’re murdering Jews, thousands of them each day.”
“But my mother isn’t Jewish.”
“No, but sometimes they murder other people too. Well, you know that, you saw what happened to the men of your village.”
Jan shakes his head. “I don’t believe my mother is dead, I’m going to find her, to rescue her, and then we’ll go find my sisters.”
One of the men laughs. It’s not a cruel laugh, but neither is it kind. He sounds impatient. He reaches into a pocket and brings out some cigarettes. Taking a twig from the ground beside him, he sticks it into the fire until it starts to burn, then uses it to light a cigarette. He draws on it deeply before starting to speak.
“Jan, we’re far from Ravensbruck here, many many miles. How do you think you’ll make it across Poland into Germany, find a concentration camp and get your mother out?”
Jan flushes. When it’s put like this, he realizes how silly it sounds. He’s eleven years old; he has no money, no way of finding his family. It all seemed so easy when he and Pawel planned it. Now he’s lost Pawel, and he’s here in a Polish forest, many miles from Lena, God knows how far from his mother and Maria. He looks down at the ground, not wanting the men to see the tears in his eyes.
“Listen, little one. You can stay here with us. A boy will be useful, less suspicious to the enemy. You’ll be safe with us, you’ll see.” The man grins, showing large yellow teeth. Jan can’t help it, the teeth make him think of a wolf, but the man’s smile is kind, and he has no option, not here, at this time of night when he longs to sleep. He half smiles back and nods. The man holds out a hand. “You can call me Marek.”
Jan shakes his hand. Marek calls to Jozef and tells him to take Jan to a place where he can sleep. Jan gets up from the fire and follows Jozef to a nearby hut. It’s makeshift, covered with branches to disguise it. Inside, it stinks like a farmyard, but it’s warm, and Jozef points to a grubby mattress where Jan can sleep. He sinks down on it, thinking he’ll never sleep, there’s so much to think about, but the warmth stupefies him, and within minutes he is fast asleep.
18
Marguerite joins Gisela and Friedrich at the table. She sits down and puts her head to one side as she talks. Her eyes fill with tears; she is full of sorrow for their loss, repeats this several times. Her wide face crumples as she talks about her own son and her fears for him. All through this, Friedrich and Gisela sit impassive, too scared to speak. Marguerite tells them how brave they are, and brings out a cake she has made. Gisela studies her face closely, looking for signs that she has heard what they were talking about.
The floor above them creaks. Marguerite glances at the ceiling, surprised. “You have visitors?” she says.
Gisela half-smiles at Marguerite. “You haven’t heard then?”
“Heard what?”
“We’ve adopted a little girl, an orphan from Hamburg. Her father was a war hero, died at the front.” She sighs and glances at Friedrich. “Why don’t you go and get Helena, bring her down to meet Marguerite.”
Friedrich grunts and goes to the bottom of the stairs. He climbs up, praying that Wilhelm won’t call out. His prayers are answered. Wilhelm is in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring into space. Friedrich puts his finger to his mouth as he goes into the room. “Stay very quiet and don’t move. We’ve got a visitor. I’ll give you a shout when she’s gone.”
Wilhelm nods and gets back into bed as Friedrich goes in to get Helena. She’s asleep, but doesn’t make a sound when he wakes her up, just smiles at him. He smiles back. “Come on, petal. There’s someone for you to meet downstairs.” He lifts her out of bed and carries her downstairs.
“What a pretty child!” exclaims Marguerite. She reaches out to stroke Helena’s hair, but the child shrinks from her, hides her face in Friedrich’s chest.
“She’s very shy,” says Gisela. “She’s been through a lot.”
“What happened to her?” asks Marguerite.
“Shortly after her father was killed in action, her mother died when Hamburg was bombed.”
“Poor thing, was she with her mother when she died?”
Gisela looks to Friedrich to answer.
“Well, we don’t know for sure what happened – whether she was with her mother or…” He tails off.
Marguerite tries again to touch Helena’s hair, and the child burrows deeper into Friedrich’s arms. He hugs her protectively.
Marguerite tuts. “You don’t want to encourage this bashfulness. She needs to mix with other children. What about kindergarten? That might help her.”
Gisela’s voice is firm. “No, I don’t think so. She’s fine at home with us for the time being.”
Marguerite nods. “Ah well, you know best.” She looks once more at Helena, the longing shining through her eyes. “I would have loved to have a daughter, and such a beauty as this. The Führer himself would be proud to have such a child.”
“If you would excuse me, I have things to do…” Gisela pauses, takes out a hanky and wipes her eyes.
Marguerite nods, rising from her seat. “Of course, your poor Wilhelm. I should go. I’ll see myself out.”
“I’ll be at the service for Wilhelm, let me know when—”
“There will be no service.” Friedrich interrupts.
“What do you mean? You have to have a memorial service.”
His eyes narrow, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. “Wilhelm is missing. Who knows, miracles can happen. Perhaps he’s wan
dering around, a lost soul, with no memory of who he is.”
“Perhaps,” she says. “But still, you should have a service for him.”
“There will be no service,” repeats Friedrich firmly.
Marguerite raises an eyebrow and turns to leave.
Friedrich and Gisela stand at the door and watch until she disappears out of sight. Helena has stayed inside, playing with a piece of wood that Wilhelm has started to carve into a doll for her.
Gisela lets out a long sigh. “Do you think she suspects anything?”
“I don’t know.” Friedrich shakes his head. He looks exhausted. “I don’t think so, but we must be careful. Let’s go inside and talk to Wilhelm.”
The day has almost gone. Little work has been done for the family have argued all day about what to do. The plan to hide Wilhelm in the attic has been abandoned. Although they are as sure as they can be that Marguerite did not hear them, they cannot take the small risk that she might be dissembling. Gisela especially doesn’t trust her. She’s a fanatic. Before Hitler she had been a fervent Catholic, never away from the Church. That was the type of person she was, never did things half heartedly. It was all or nothing for her. No, that plan had to go. But where else could he hide? Wilhelm wanted to leave; he knew he was putting them all at risk.
“There’s nowhere for you to go,” argued Gisela.
Wilhelm put his head in his hands. “It would have been better if I’d died.”
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