by John R Burns
That night Leon thought about what else his mother had said. It felt the air was full of tension, of a dull sense of dread. He hated seeing her reduced to a constant worry. Even the kingdom of her kitchen seemed no longer as secure. Father tried to sound reasonable as he always did. He wished that Hella was still at home so he could talk to her, could share some of what he was feeling. Whatever her reaction might be he wanted to tell her about Polyna, about how desperate he was becoming. Still he had not attempted to speak to her and now the situation in Volnus made it impossible.
‘It would be suicide, plain and simple suicide. Have you seen her two brothers? They’d cut you in pieces Leon and feed you to the carp in the river,’ Benjamin had told him.
‘Fuck off Yid!’ he heard the next evening as he crossed the main square, three small mouths shouting at him, three small bony heads and arms that tried to fling stones from one side of the square to the other.
Usually on a summer evening the square would be full of families and couples strolling about in their best clothes and stalls selling sweet buns, beer and wine and sometimes the town band playing in front of the town hall steps. Now the square was empty. Like uncle David had recently said, nobody was talking, or if they were, they were doing it very quietly, as though now there was so much to hide.
Outside his uncle’s tavern he stopped, trying to control his breathing. He waited while a horse and cart approached, the man on his seat staring down at him.
As he pushed open the heavy door the old smells of beer and tobacco blew past him. Because the windows were shuttered there were a few lamps burning, shedding quivering light over the empty tavern.
It was then he noticed David sitting at a table in the far corner.
For a moment Leon was unsure what to do. Nothing now felt the same. Even his uncle seemed a stranger.
It was then he raised his head before calling him over.
‘I’ve....I’ve come to see you,’ Leon tried.
‘’So I gather.’
‘I hope that’s alright.’
‘Well,’ uncle sighed, ‘As you notice, we are not exactly busy at the moment. Come, come and sit down,’ he gestured.
Leon could smell the spirits on his breath.
‘They’re all away planning how to try and burn me down again.’
‘I heard about the fire.’
‘Of course you did.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s only the beginning Leon, my dear nephew, only the beginning.’
His voice was slurred. There was saliva shining on his beard and his large hands kept moving over the table.
‘I thought you would come.’
Leon felt a sudden tension before he asked him why.
‘Because like I said Leon there are no secrets in this town. In this place you can’t hide anything.’
The tavern’s old furniture was creaking. One of the lamps flickered out. Sawdust still covered the floorboards and in the corner near the shuttered windows was a piano covered with empty bottles.
‘And if you think about it, half the population of this town are the sons and daughters of Abraham. And what do we do? What do we do for this miserable mess of a place? The Poles might have the arms and legs but we have the heart and soul of this town. You will understand Leon. You will have no choice but to understand.’
At that uncle leant over to grip his nephew’s arm, ‘Just tell me you haven’t.....haven’t done anything, with this girl, this girl from Vrni street.’
In a shocked voice Leon asked him how he knew.
‘That doesn’t matter. What matters is your answer to my question.’
‘I....I haven’t done anything uncle. I haven’t even spoken to her.’
He lowered his head, aware of his uncle watching him. There was the sound of a truck passing along the road outside. He had never felt such hopeless confusion, and the sense that everything was closing in on him.
‘It’s not the time,’ uncle said then, ‘They’ll kill us if they can. They won’t wait for the Germans. People love to join things and at the moment the Poles are all joining the same club. There’s going to be a war and unless we’re careful we’re going to be its first victims.’
‘So...so what are you going to do?’ Leon heard himself say, as though he had suddenly matured enough to ask such a question of his uncle.
‘Me? I’m going nowhere. I’ll burn the place down myself if it comes to it.’
At that he got up, shoved back his chair and walked unsteadily over to the cupboard behind the bar, bringing back another bottle of brandy.
Even though it was summer Leon noticed he was wearing his thick waistcoat that was too tight for him. He had only managed to fasten a few of its many buttons.
‘Your mother and father are frightened. We’re all frightened,’ he said in a low voice.
A cat appeared out of the darkness then, rubbed up against David’s leg before it jumped onto the table.
‘Just think of all the towns in Poland, in Russia, in Germany, and everywhere else, places full of Israel’s children,’ he said while stroking the cat, ‘Tell me, do you know what German sounds like?’
Leon nodded.
‘And Russian?’
‘Yes uncle.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘A friend of my father’s speaks some Russian and there was a boy at school who was always showing off by talking in German.’
‘And French Leon, Paris, for you to become the great artist.’
‘It can’t happen uncle. I understand that. It’s not possible.’
‘There’s a lot that’s not possible now. Your father should have got you all out a long time ago. I told him. I would have lent him the money, but the pride of the man. Not a chance, depending on his wayward brother, not a chance, the fool Leon. Sometimes your father is such a fool.’
The church bells sounded from the square as a thin shaft of sunlight pierced the gloom.
‘And Hella’ uncle said, ‘In Warsaw. She should be here.’
‘She was desperate to go.’
‘I know. She never stopped talking about it. Your sister is a determined lady Leon, like you I think.’
At that he took another mouthful of brandy and then the stub of a cigar from a waistcoat pocket.
‘Anyway Polish girls are not a good idea at the moment.’
‘No uncle.’
‘So you’ve never even spoken to her. Maybe that’s the best way. Keep the mystery going, the romance. Then you can’t destroy the fantasy. Leave it like that Leon. Leave it like that.’
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Radek came over and told his son to go back to the camp and take the Jew with him.
‘You’ve done what’s needed,’ he added.
Kas tried to argue but his father was having none of it.
‘You get yourself back. You hear me. Show your mother you’re safe.’
‘I want to stay here,’ was the boy’s last attempt before his father grabbed him by the arm and pushed him away.
‘And don’t get lost. No wandering around. You get yourself back. Go on and take him with you.’
At the camp Kas was met by his mother who immediately started crying at the sight of her son, leaving Leon to go off to his shelter. He was exhausted, his whole body aching with the cold and the journey back. It all seemed pointless, a few men waiting to kill a few more men, until he again thought of Brucker. He had become the reason to go on.
The first to appear that evening had blood smeared over his face. The second was holding one arm stiff by his side. The next was supported by Radek and one of the others. Paul and the rest dragged themselves in a few minutes later. The women and children gathered around.
It was Kas who came over later to tell his friend what he had heard.
‘The Germans came alright.’
‘Brucker?’ was Leon’s inevitable question.
‘No officers,’ said Kas, ‘Only a ser
geant and seven others, enough for our men to have a go. We lost three. The two Poles we saw before doing the felling ran off with some of the Germans. But we got some of them. We killed four of the bastards.’
Leon could hear the uncertainty in his voice, seven Germans for three of them, when each man was essential for their survival.
‘Who....who died?’ Leon asked then.
‘Druski, Taler and Linski. That’s Linski’s wife you can hear,’ Kas said at the noise from the camp, a cry of anguish that grew louder, the woman’s moans echoing from tree to tree.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why should you be? They were nothing to you.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Fuck off,’ Kas muttered as he turned away.
‘Kas, why say that?’
‘They’re not Jews, not Yids,’ the boy answered before running off.
Leon watched him. The noise of the woman became a slow wailing sound. It was the sound of all he had lost, his mother, father, Uncle David, Polyna, all the others, even Hella. They were the people of his grief. It was his survival now that held them as memory. There was nobody else. He was the only one, a realisation that was almost unbearable.
As more snow began to fall the decision was made for the camp to be abandoned. The wounded had been patched up. It was Paul who had managed to find Linski’s wife. She had gone off to find her husband’s body but had got lost. The rest set about clearing their shelters.
Leon pulled out his extra clothes, a pair of shoes that were useless in the forest, a spoon cut out of wood and a child’s Russian story book with pictures in it, both given to him by Kas. His hole stank of his piss and the dank soil. He was told to fill it in quickly, told to leave as little sign of his being there as he could.
Within an hour the group was ready. Kas was one of the first to set off behind his father and big Paul. Leon joined at the end of the line behind the women, telling himself repeatedly that he had to keep walking.
There were guards posted whenever they stopped. Radek appeared more edgy than usual, telling everyone to be quiet as he paced around the edge of the group, his finger on his rifle’s trigger guard.
They marched on through the rest of the night. When they finally came to a halt they sank to the ground, resting on their bundles. A faint light appeared through the higher, snow layered branches. The early morning silence seemed to drone around them. The forest was even quieter than usual. There were only the intermittent sounds of a child crying and some of the men talking together. Radek allowed no fires. The women gathered what food they had and gave it out between the group. This time Kas made no attempt to bring any over to Leon who as always sat away from the rest of them.
He thought of the last time he had seen Polyna alive. She had been coming across the bridge with a small child in hand. He had been standing on the other side of the road pretending to watch some men fishing. He presumed the young one with Polyna was the child of one of her relatives, the girl skipping along to keep up. It had been Polyna’s look, the first and last look. He knew it was not imagined, the way she glanced across at him. In her eyes had been a questioning, a sympathy and worry. In her eyes she had been speaking to him. For those brief moments so much had been expressed, a contact, a response, and then she had turned to the child and speeded up her walk. He knew then that she had been aware of the many times he had been waiting to see her. She had in her look confirmed everything he was feeling. Without a word she had spoken to him, showing him that his love had a response, however slight.
He closed his eyes but felt too cold and hungry to sleep. He could hear Radek organising the group for another move. There was little response. This time he could not rouse them. Leon looked over at Kas digging angrily into the ground with a stick, his usual action when he was upset. Leon was scared of how much he cared for the boy. Without him he would not have survived this long. To care was too much of a risk. He wanted to be emptied of all feeling, all response. But there was still Brucker and always Kas, his humour and quick way of talking and his talent at stealing.
Finally Radek had to accept that the group would stay there for the night. One of the men badly injured at the attack was dying. Leon watched some of the women trying to make him as comfortable as possible. They had laid him under a canopy of thin branches as more snow began to fall, small flakes flickering through the darkness.
It was then Kas approached, jerking the stick from side to side.
‘Don’t....don’t tell me you’re only coming over here to tell the Yid to fuck off again.’
This stopped the boy in his tracks, his filthy face hidden under several layers. Only his eyes and nose could be seen, dark eyes that narrowed in uncertainty.
‘We’re staying here tonight,’ Kas finally said.
‘So come and sit down,’ Leon tried.
‘Stefan is bad.’
‘I know.’
‘They refused to leave him. My father wanted them to but they wouldn’t have it. Even big Paul thought it was a bad idea.’
‘And what about you?’
Kas crouched down near him and said, ‘Makes no difference.’
They both waited for the other to speak then.
‘We get on alright most of the time, don’t we?’ Leon finally asked.
Kas shrugged his shoulders before saying, ‘I suppose so.’
‘Well that’s good.’
‘Nothing’s good.’
‘No, you’re right. It’s better than nothing though. What about that?’
‘Are you trying to be smart again?’ Kas asked.
Painfully Leon pulled himself up as he said, ‘I...I haven’t got the energy.’
They listened to the low voices in the shadows from the low firs. Flakes of slow falling snow flickered past the two of them.
‘We’ll never get out of here,’ Kas said then, ‘We’ll never get out of this fucking forest.’
‘Your father is doing all he can,’ Leon tried.
‘So what, we’re getting nowhere, going round in circles. And I’m so hungry I could eat myself.’
The rest of Kas was bundled up in a huge padded jacket, three pairs of trousers and sacking tied round his boots.
‘I hate the forest,’ Leon said then.
His friend thought about this before saying, ‘Jews like living in cities.’
‘And who told you that?’
‘Big Paul, he says Jews are scared of the countryside.’
‘Maybe he’s right.’
‘He’s never right.’
‘Well maybe he’s wrong then.’
‘You’re being smart again.’
‘I want to sleep but I’m too cold.’
‘You look like a Polish soldier,’ said Kas.
‘Thanks to you, this coat is the best thing.’
‘So, can you sing?’
At that Leon had to give a painful smile.
‘No. I can’t. Can you?’
‘I wouldn’t be asking you if I could.’
‘Jews don’t sing.’
‘Oh fuck off!’ Kas exclaimed.
‘You see. I said that’s all you’d come over here to say.’
For a while they leant against each other, using a tree as support. The rest of the group was quiet as the forest settled into its winter silence. The cold seemed to make a ringing sound around the high trees shifting slightly in a breeze, sending more snow falling off their branches. The Poles were huddled up together. After a time Kas got up and went over to join them, his bulky shape quickly merging into the darkness.
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It happened as the light began to change. One moment Leon thought he heard something and the next something smacked into the side of his head as the first bullets ripped bark off the nearest trees. As he fell towards the approaching earth his last glance was of the Poles moving quickly away from each other, their bodies twisted forwards as the first screams started.
Muc
h later there was the start of a gradual focus, his senses producing several connections, the weight on top of him, the smell of the soil, pine needles, damp clothes, the touch of material against the back of his hands and metal against the left side of his face. He was aware of his own breathing and again the pressure on the rest of his body, but already his brain was telling him not to move, but to listen, only to listen.
There were voices, deep, sonorous, foreign voices. There was a slight space between his ear and the now recognisable weight of a body on top of him, enough to pick up the sounds of the voices. Now there were other smells, gun smoke, faint leather, oil.
He knew he must not move. He remembered the sounds of gunfire and Kas running behind some of the other Poles who were trying to escape the sudden shots. He forced himself to try and breathe more slowly. The fear was like an acid burning through him, the dread of what had happened, of what was happening.
He waited. The other side of his head was thumping pain. It was as though he was being pushed into the earth, flattening deeper into it. Something warm was dribbling across his nose as his sight began to blur.
Again he heard the first shots, the bark of the trees immediately splintering into flying shards of bright wood as the blackness hit against him and the group of Poles was suddenly exploding outwards.
But quickly he could feel himself drifting away from it all. He bit into his lower lip as hard as he could but understood that he must not move the rest of his body.
The warm moisture dribbled over his mouth onto his chin, blood mixing with his own, a taste of another, a taste of himself. His legs felt slightly freer. Most of the other’s body was laying over his back and head, pushing him into the damp earth as though they were both within the shape of the shelter. Echoes of Kas were sounding, his shriller voice emerging from his memory of a few hours before the changes had taken place. Now were the smells of metal and wet, heavy cloth and pine mixed with smoke that he imagined trailing through the forest, the land of trees where now the voices were louder and he instinctively tightened and closed his eyes and stopped breathing.
