by Avi
“Makes me feel good.”
“You feel bad that much?”
“If you were a king and nobody noticed, you’d feel bad, too.”
I looked at him. “You really believe all that King Bolesław stuff?”
“It’s true,” he said.
Not wanting to argue, I walked off.
“Don’t forget,” Jurek called after me, “I got this one first! Which means I’m in charge.”
Did I want a Russian button? Well, no. Except, well, yes. There was something about the way Jurek made his dares: If you didn’t accept, his brag stood. Then he gloated. Made me want to prove I could be as good as him. And to shut him up.
I waited until night. When I was ready to leave, I went to my father. He was in his bedroom reading a wrinkled newspaper by the yellow light of a small lamp. I wondered where he got a newspaper. They were hard to find.
“Have to see Jurek,” I said. “Something important. Can I go?”
He didn’t look up.
I waited.
Stooped from age and work, he had thin, white hair. His large hands had crooked fingers, big knuckles, blue veins, and yellow fingernails. His face and neck were full of lines, and that day, as usual, he hadn’t shaved because he saved that for Sunday church.
“How come you’re reading?” I asked. He didn’t read very often, saying he needed to save his eyes for his work.
He said, “I’m trying to learn about this war.”
“Is more coming?”
He shook the paper with both hands, as if an answer might fall out. “I’m trying to find out.”
“If it comes, will it make things different?”
“Probably.”
“What would happen?”
My father looked at me. “The Russians stagger out of the tavern drunk and beat up a villager. Not for any reason. If anyone complains, our magistrate, Mr. Stawska, says, ‘Soldiers are soldiers.’ Just know the Germans will be no more our friends than the Russians. I’ve told you what my father always used to say.”
Having heard the old saying a million times, I repeated it: “‘The far world can’t be bothered to stoop and talk to the near world. You have to listen for yourself.’”
“Still true,” said my father. He returned to his newspaper.
“May I ask something else?”
“Of course.”
“One of my friends always tries to get us to do things that are not so good.”
“Jurek?”
I nodded. “Wants to be in charge.”
“Among your friends, you’re the biggest, aren’t you?”
“Suppose.”
“And you’re strong?”
“I’d . . . I’d like to be.”
“Can’t be just like.”
“Why?”
He studied me with his sharp blue eyes. “Why do you think God made you strong?”
I shook my head.
“To help the weak.” He turned back to his reading.
I stood there a moment and gazed at him. Sometimes when I asked my father things, it came back like a challenge. I didn’t know how to respond.
When he said no more, I went through the kitchen. My mother was at the table sewing by candlelight. A small, thin woman, she was always complaining of cold — even in summer. A red kerchief covered her thin hair. Her long green dress was formless. She looked up, a worried look on her creased face.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“The bridge. To meet Jurek.”
She pursed her lips. “I’m not fond of him.”
“He’s all right.”
“Don’t come back late.”
“Won’t.”
“I’ll leave a candle. I can’t sleep until I hear you come in.”
“I know.”
I continued into my father’s workshop, where there were all kinds of wood pieces and tools. It was easy to find a small, sharp knife.
Using the back door, I stepped out into the dark, hot, and humid air. I could smell the growing fields, heard the whirr of insects, saw a sky sparked with stars, along with a clear and sharp quarter moon. Next moment, I heard an owl hoot, once, twice. If an owl hooted three times, it meant bad luck was coming, so I waited. When there were no more hoots, I went on.
On the main street, light came from inside people’s houses, and there wasn’t much. Some of the buildings were large, made of brick, and painted white. They looked like huge silent faces.
Most village people went to bed early, but as I walked, I passed a few people I knew going home. There was Mr. Jankowski, the street sweeper. Mr. Mazur who sold vegetables from a box. Mrs. Baran from the cloth store. They gave me nods and muttered greetings, but nothing much was said.
When I reached the bridge, I leaned on the railing and gazed down into the River. The water appeared black, though here and there specks glimmered, as if bits of moon had fallen into the water. The River also made a gurgling noise, which was like the sound of a warbling bird deep in the forest.
I stared up at the spread of stars. At night, it was sometimes lighter in the sky than in the village. Father Stanislaw once told us that the points of light were angels. When I was younger, I had the notion that Heaven was a lot more crowded with angels than the village was with people. I’d tried to imagine what a village of angels would be like. I couldn’t.
But looking at the sky that night made me think about the aeroplane. Soon as I did, the clatter-clatter sound came back into in my head. Hearing it reminded me of the school exploding. The burst of light. The flames. The children rushing out. Cyril on fire.
Feeling a sudden chill, I shuddered. If you felt cold during a hot summer, it meant the Angel of Death was near.
My head flooded with questions: What made that aeroplane come to our village? Can it fly at night? Will it come back and drop another bomb? On what? Do the Germans care about us, and what happened? Are more Russians coming? Will a war really come here?
I was telling myself Go home when I heard the sound of footsteps. I whirled around.
It was Jurek, small candle lamp in hand. I could hear myself wishing he hadn’t come.
“Ready?” he called.
I just held up my knife. In the lamplight, it glinted.
He said, “Let’s go.”
“Where we headed?” I said when it didn’t seem as if we were going toward his house.
“My place. We’ll make a wide circle. Don’t want my sister to see what we’re doing.”
“Those Russian uniforms still there?”
“Different ones.”
I said, “What’ll happen if the Russians notice buttons are missing?”
“People always lose buttons.”
I said, “My mother has a small box of them.”
“Looking in a box is stupid. This is better.”
“When I left my house, I heard an owl.”
“How many times?”
“Twice.”
“Then don’t worry. Anyway, it’s better when it’s a little scary.”
I said, “You said something bad would happen if we got caught.”
“Just wanted to see if you frighten easy.”
I felt I had to say, “I don’t.”
“We’ll see.”
We went on, going through crooked alleyways, the sole sound the crunch of our footsteps on the ground.
We came up behind Jurek’s tiny house, which was no more than a shack. There was a small, shuttered window, through which some flickering light slipped, as if the night had cracks in it. I could make out a rope that went from one tree to another. Hanging from it were seven Russian army long shirts, as they were called. Having seen them on the soldiers around the village, I knew they were greenish brown.
“Made of cotton,” Jurek whispered. “For summer.”
“Does it matter?”
“Easier to cut off the buttons. My sister says wool thread is tougher.” He blew out his candle lamp. “Come on.”
We came up to t
he uniforms. Since they hung between us and the house, we were well hidden.
I asked, “Which ones have the dragon buttons?”
“No idea. Just grab one. Be fast.” He pulled a shirt out, and I made a snatch, finding it soft and light.
I felt around for buttons but couldn’t find any. “Where?”
Jurek reached out. “Here, dope.”
Seeing a row of glossy buttons, I grabbed the closest, pulled at one, so it stood out from the shirt. I made a sawing motion with the knife until the button dropped into my hand. “Got it.”
“Let’s go,” he said and started running. I followed, clutching the stolen button in my hand.
We didn’t stop until we got back to the bridge. Once there, we leaned over the railing and caught our breath.
Jurek said, “Let’s see what you got.”
With care, I unfolded my fist. There wasn’t much light, but when I brought the button close to my eyes, I saw right away that it was different from Jurek’s: tin, maybe, and no double-headed bird clutching a sword and ball. No tiny dragon in the middle. Just plain and dull.
“Nothing on it,” I said, disappointed.
Jurek took up the button, and eyed it. “You’re right,” he said. “The one I got is better.” He was smiling, gloating.
I had this thought: He fixed it so that I’d get a dull button.
Before I could say anything, a voice said, “Too hot for you to sleep?”
It was Raclaw, his shining lamp making his eyeglasses glow. Right away I wished I had my button back, but didn’t want to let him know what Jurek and I had done. Or that Jurek had a better button than me.
Raclaw said, “Why are you guys here? What were you looking at?”
Jurek said, “Even with eyeglasses you can’t see anything.”
“Drop dead. What was it?”
Jurek said, “A button.”
“A what?”
“Said. Button.”
“What kind of button?”
“From a Russian uniform,” Jurek told him.
Raclaw said, “What’s so special about a Russian button?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Must be something. Let me see.”
Jurek reached into his pocket, pulled out his button, and handed it to Raclaw. Adjusting his eyeglasses and then his lamp, Raclaw studied it.
Jurek said, “See? A two-headed bird.”
“Birds don’t have two heads.”
“That does. Has a dragon, too.”
“Where?”
Jurek reached into his pocket and hauled out that magnifying glass.
Raclaw eyed Jurek for a second, and then used it. He looked up. “This really from a Russian uniform?”
“Told you,” said Jurek.
After a moment, Raclaw said, “Where’d you get it?”
Jurek said, “Give it back. It’s mine.”
Raclaw looked at me. “You have one?”
“Sort of,” I said.
Raclaw said. “As good as Jurek’s?”
Jurek glanced at me, smirking. To Raclaw, he said, “Give it back.”
Raclaw handed Jurek his button.
The three of us stared down into the River.
To Jurek, Raclaw said, “Your sister washes the Russians’ uniforms. And you’re always stealing stuff.”
“So what?”
“Bet that’s where you got the button. You stole it from her laundry.”
“Takes guts.”
“You could get into trouble for that.”
“Only if you told,” said Jurek. “You going to?”
Raclaw said, “If you helped me get one, I won’t say anything.”
Jurek shook his head.
Raclaw said, “Make a deal: help me get a dragon button, I’ll tell you a big secret.”
“What secret?” Jurek said.
Raclaw said, “Not saying till I get my own button.”
I said, “Where’d you get your secret?”
“My father speaks to important people.”
That was true. Raclaw’s father, being a lawyer, was a big person in the village.
Jurek said, “Let’s hear the secret, then we’ll help you get you a button.”
“Swear you will,” said Raclaw.
Jurek made the sign of the cross over his chest and said, “Swear.”
Raclaw said, “If you don’t keep your swear, you’ll either get sued or go to Hell.”
“Tell us!” Jurek yelled.
“Okay,” said Raclaw. “The Russians are leaving tomorrow.”
“Leaving! Tomorrow!” I cried. “Why?”
“Because the Germans are coming.”
“Here?” I said.
“Just told you, didn’t I?”
I said, “Are the Russians going to fight them?”
“That’s what my father asked Dmitrov. You know, the Russian commandant. They’re good friends. Guess what Dmitrov said? Said there’s nothing worth defending here except the forest.”
“What’s special about the forest?” I said.
“It belongs to me,” said Jurek.
Raclaw said, “You can hide there. Okay. You swore. Show me where to get a button.”
Jurek hesitated a moment, then pushed off from the bridge railing, and the three of us headed back to his house. As we walked, Jurek slipped my dull button back into my hand. Frustrated, annoyed, I stuffed it in my pocket.
Raclaw began to talk about how, when the Germans came, everything would change.
“What way?” Jurek asked.
“Don’t know. Just will. My father says German law and Russian law are different.”
“How?” I asked.
“Bet we’ll have to learn German. My father knows it.” He went on chattering, but I didn’t listen. I was trying to think what I knew about Germans. Nothing. Except the aeroplane. The moment I thought that, the clatter-clatter came back into my head. I shivered so hard I had to make tight fists to stop it.
“Keep quiet,” Jurek said as we got near to the back of his house.
We crept forward.
“There you are,” Jurek whispered. The Russian uniforms were still hanging from the rope.
Raclaw, holding his lamp up, went nearer. “I don’t see any buttons.”
“Shhh!” Jurek showed him where the buttons were, under a fold of the shirt.
“How do you get them off?”
“You read books, but you’re stupid,” Jurek said.
I handed Raclaw my knife.
Raclaw cut a button off, gave the knife back to me, held up his lantern, and peered at the button. “Got a dragon,” he announced, a big grin on his face.
I was just about to step forward and cut off another button when the shutter of Jurek’s house swung open. “Who’s there?” came a call. Jurek’s sister.
“Go!” Jurek hissed.
We ran back to the bridge. Once there, we put our open hands side by side. Holding Raclaw’s light close, we compared the three buttons.
“Mine is the best,” Jurek said, and held his button in front of Raclaw’s face as if to taunt him.
Knowing my button was the worst, I said nothing.
To Jurek, Raclaw said, “Think your sister is going to wash the German uniforms?”
“I don’t know.”
Not wanting any more of this button business, I stepped away. “Got to go home. See you,” I called.
“’Night.”
“Yeah.”
I looked back. I saw Jurek go one way, Raclaw another. I was upset. Forget it, I told myself. Buttons are nothing.
Instead, I thought about Raclaw’s news that the Russians were leaving, that the Germans were coming. How many Germans? Are the Russians afraid to fight? What will happen? I had one good thought: If the Germans come, they won’t bomb us because they won’t bomb their own soldiers. We’ll be safe.
Then I thought about Raclaw’s question: “Think your sister is going to wash the German uniforms?”
Next moment, I
realized something: if I wanted one of those dragon buttons — with the Russians leaving — I’d have to get one right away.
I stopped in the middle of the street, turned around, and made sure I was alone. This is your last chance to get a dragon button, I told myself. Should I? Shouldn’t I? Are you strong or weak? The next thing that came into my head was what Jurek said: “Just wanted to see if you frighten easy.”
The owl hooted again. Twice. I waited. There were no more hoots.
“Do the dare,” I said aloud. With that, I turned around, gripped the knife, and headed back to Jurek’s house.
I had no lamp or candle, and since it was so late, there were almost no house lights. What’s more, the sky had clouded up, so the stars had gone, making the darkness complete.
I recalled that time when Father Stanislaw told us that the points of light were angels. That made me think: What if it wasn’t just the Russians who were going? What if the angels also went? If they left, would the angels take things with them? Where would they go? I wished they would stay.
Then I remembered something my father said: “If you stare into the darkness long enough, you’ll see some light.”
It worked.
It didn’t take long before I was behind Jurek’s house again. No light was coming from inside. I liked the idea that Jurek was inside and had no idea I was outside.
The dark uniforms on the rope made me think of the souls of men — just hanging there. The thought made me shiver — the third time that day. I didn’t like doing things alone and wished one of my friends was with me. Reminding myself what Jurek said, that it’s better when things are a little scary, I made a cross over my heart.
All the same, as I stood there, the darkness deeper than the silence, I felt fearful and considered going home. But I knew I wanted a good button more than ever and that they were right there in front of me. If I didn’t get one, Jurek would say all that “king” junk.
“Saint Adalbert,” I whispered, “make me strong. Make it a good one.”
Knife in hand, I moved forward, felt about, found a shirt, fumbled for buttons, touched one, and hacked it off. Gripping it, I ran fast, heading for home.
