by Avi
“What about your other sister?” Ulryk asked.
“Don’t know where she is.”
“You going to live alone, then?”
“With the cane. Better that way.”
After a few moments, Makary said, “Everyone’s going. Won’t be anyone left.”
“I’m staying,” said Jurek.
We were silent for a moment until Makary said, “Wojtex wasn’t a spy.” He slapped Jurek’s leg. “You were.”
“Button kings do what they want,” said Jurek.
“We’re finished with buttons!” I screamed. “Get rid of them.”
“Only if you agree I won,” said Jurek.
To my frustration, Makary and Ulryk said nothing.
I don’t know how long we sat there, not talking, when we heard a rumble of horse hooves: It was a troop of soldiers on horseback coming along the street. The horses, having come through the River, were dripping.
These soldiers were wearing long black coats and, despite the heat, tall fur caps. All of them had belts into which were stuck what looked like long sheathed knives. Rifles hung on their backs.
Jurek cried, “Cossacks!”
Makary said, “Who are they?”
“Russians,” said Jurek. “Their best soldiers.”
There were about forty of them, and they paraded through town. People on the street stopped whatever they were doing and stared at them.
It was Makary who said, “Good. No buttons.”
“Have to have them,” said Jurek, “somewhere.”
“Patryk’s right,” said Ulryk. “We should forget buttons.”
“When you all admit I won,” said Jurek.
As I watched the Cossacks go by, I noticed something stuck to their hats. At first it was hard to make sense of what they were. Only as I looked harder did I realize they were some kind of badge or insignia, a grinning skull and crossbones, the color of brass.
Is it, I wondered, a button or not? Then I remembered Jurek taking the button from the dead Austrian’s cap. If that was a button, weren’t these skull things on the Cossacks’ hats also buttons?
Get one of those, I thought, and no matter what, I’ll win. That would put an end to this stupid contest.
I glanced at Jurek, wondering if he had noticed the Cossacks’ buttons. His face showed nothing. I couldn’t tell if he had seen those skulls and crossbones, because if he had, I knew he’d try and get one. I turned away, hoping I was the only one who’d seen them. I also told myself that if Jurek had seen them, I had to stop him from getting one.
“I keep trying to understand.” said Makary. “Why would they think Wojtex having a button meant he was a spy?”
“Because they’re dumb,” said Jurek. “Anyway, now there are just four of us. Good.”
“Not good,” said Ulryk.
“Unless you’re quitting,” said Jurek. “Then there’d be just three.”
Ulryk sat there, looking uncomfortable.
I thought about leaving and going home, but I was afraid Jurek would come after me and make me show him the pistol.
It was Makary who stood up and cried, “Hey, look!”
Two horse-pulled wagons were coming down the street, moving in the same direction as had the Cossacks. Holding the reins in the first wagon was Raclaw’s father. He was wearing his black suit. Raclaw’s mother was sitting next to him.
“It’s Raclaw’s family,” cried Makary. “They’re leaving.”
Jurek said, “Heading for the German side.”
“Where’s Raclaw?”
Rattling and jangling, the wagons lumbered by. The first wagon had just passed us when some Russian soldiers stepped in front of it, one of them holding up a hand. Raclaw’s father pulled hard on the reins, bringing the horses and wagons to stop.
We looked on as Raclaw’s father pulled some papers from his coat and handed them down to the soldier. The soldier appeared to read them, shifting from one paper to another.
“Bet you he’s showing permission to leave,” said Jurek. “Probably bribed someone. That’s what you can do when you’re rich. Get to go anywhere.”
The Russian soldier handed the papers back to Raclaw’s father and waved him on. The wagons began to roll again.
It was as they went forward that we saw Raclaw. He was sitting in the back of the second wagon, settled atop what looked like a heap of blankets. His left arm was in a sling. He had his cap pulled low, as if shielding his eyes.
Soon as we saw him, we leaped off the pump platform, and ran after the wagon. “Hey, Raclaw!” cried Makary.
Raclaw, squinting, saw us, grinned, and waved.
“Where you going?” I called as we caught up to him and walked right behind the wagon.
Raclaw called, “My father said we can’t stay here anymore.”
“Why?” asked Ulryk.
Raclaw looked from side to side, as if uncertain about saying anything, but then he called, “The war is going to get worse. Besides, the Russians took our house.”
“What do you mean, took it?” I said.
“Walked in and said we had to leave.”
Makary said, “You going over to the Germans?”
Raclaw shrugged. “Just going.”
“Where?” I asked.
“Not sure.”
“How’s your arm?” I said.
“Hurts.”
“What did you do with your buttons?” Jurek called out.
“My father threw them away.”
“Where?”
“Don’t know.”
“You ever coming back?” asked Makary.
“Don’t know that, either.”
Jurek said, “Drugi died. The Germans shot Wojtex.”
“Shot him . . . ? Why?”
“Said he was a spy,” said Jurek.
“Because he had a Russian button,” I added. “His family is leaving. I think they’re going the other way. East.”
By that time, we had reached the western edge of the village and the wagons began to move at a faster pace. We stopped and watched them go.
“So long!”
“Good luck!”
“Hope you come back!”
Ulryk called, “God bless you!”
Raclaw, with his good arm, waved good-bye to the four of us. We stood there until he was out of sight.
“I liked him,” said Makary.
“He always thought he knew everything,” said Jurek.
“Now it’s just us,” said Ulryk.
“Fine with me,” said Jurek. “Makes it easier for me to win. You’ll see. You’re going to have to bow down to me.”
Having followed the wagons to the west side of the village, we were near the old barracks. Long ago it must have been a barn. It was long and low, with a high, steep roof. Its white-painted walls were peeling. Its roof shingles curled with age. Along the side facing the road was a long bench. Soldiers were sitting on it. From the look of their uniforms — blue jackets, red trousers — I supposed they were the French. A few were smoking pipes, others cigarettes, their booted legs stretched before them. Three of them had musical instruments — the Germans must have left them — and the French were trying to play them, laughing as they squeaked and blatted.
The four of us stood and watched.
Makary pointed a little farther west of the barracks. “Look over there,” he said. The troop of Cossacks had tethered their horses and were erecting tents.
Jurek, however, seemed to ignore them, showing interest just in the barracks and the French soldiers.
“Why do you think they wear red trousers?” said Ulryk.
“I don’t care,” said Jurek. “I just want to see what kind of buttons they have.”
“I’m not doing this anymore,” said Makary.
“Because you’re losing,” said Jurek, who was already moving toward the Frenchmen. “Anyone coming with me?” he called.
Ulryk turned away. “I need to go to confession with Father Stanislaw.” He hurried away. I
was sure he was escaping.
Jurek said, “Patryk? Makary?”
“I suppose,” I said, and started after Jurek. After a moment, Makary came, too.
We had walked a bit when Jurek said, “It might as well be just the three of us.”
“Why?” said Makary.
“Ulryk is an idiot. All that church stuff. I knew it from the start: the button contest is just between us three.”
Makary stopped walking. “I told you,” he said. “I’m not doing this anymore.”
“Patryk?”
“Not sure, either.”
“Then you can both start bowing to me now. And you have to give me that pistol.”
I said, “Just saying I haven’t made up my mind.”
“Same,” said Makary.
Jurek went forward. We followed a step behind.
The three of us approached the barrack where the French soldiers were sitting. Jurek stopped and studied them. “See? Lots of buttons,” he said.
I could see them, all bright and shiny.
One of the soldiers lifted a hand and waved at us. I think he was trying to be friendly.
Jurek said, “Come on. I’ll show you something.”
Instead of approaching the French soldiers, he led the way around to the back of the barrack. Once we got behind, he said, “See those?” He pointed to two poles, about twenty feet apart. A rope went from one to the other. “Know what that they are?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Forget? I used to come here to collect washing from the Russians. For my sister. That’s a clothesline. Bet you anything the French will hang their uniforms there, too.”
Makary and I said nothing.
To me, Jurek said, “Remember how that night we got those Russian buttons from behind my house?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, same thing,” said Jurek. “I’m coming back tonight. Grab a button. You two want to come with me?”
Makary said, “What if those French soldiers see us?”
To me Jurek said, “You could bring that pistol.”
“Why would I do that?”
Jurek didn’t say anything, just looked at me and grinned, making me feel uneasy.
Even as we stood there, a French soldier came around the barrack. In his hands was a full basket of clothing. When he saw us, he put down his basket and yelled at us, waving us away. He even put a hand to the pistol at his hip, as if making a warning.
As we turned away, Jurek, low voiced, said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m coming back. Tonight. Get some French buttons. No one will be here. If you don’t come, I promise I’ll get one and win. Because you won’t dare to get one. But if you want to show up, meet at the pump when it gets dark. Late.”
Makary had a troubled look on his face. After a while, he said, “I told you, I’m not coming.”
“Patryk?” said Jurek. “You scared, too?”
I didn’t say anything. I was trying to decide how to stop Jurek once and for all. I looked toward the Cossack camp, wondering if I could get one of those skull and crossbones buttons. But the camp seemed too crowded. Too risky.
As we walked back to the village, I kept thinking about Drugi. And Raclaw. And Wojtex. What happened to them was all because of Jurek and the buttons. As far as I was concerned, I had the best button, that Russian cannon one. Sure, Raclaw had that English button. But he was gone. So right then I was the winner. But I knew Jurek would try to find a way to top it. I needed to keep him from getting anything better. Like a French one.
Makary said he wouldn’t go along to get French buttons. That meant the contest was just between me and Jurek. With that thought, I got an idea how to stop him from getting a French button.
As we approached the pump platform, I stopped. “Need to go home,” I said.
“You guys can always change your minds about tonight,” Jurek said to me and Makary.
“Maybe” was all Makary said, and he headed off.
I waited until Makary left and then I turned to Jurek. “I’ll go with you,” I said.
“Great. Now the contest is just you and me.” He gave me his best smile. “Best ever. Tonight, when it’s dark, meet at the pump. Head for the French.”
“Sure,” I said, and started for home. Once, twice, I looked back. I saw Jurek go toward the river, in the direction of his sister’s house. He’s really going to live alone, I thought.
Certain he was going, I changed direction and headed back to the barrack, where we had just come from, where the French soldiers were.
When I got close, some of them were still sitting on the benches. I went up to them. I said, “Do any of you speak Polish? Russian?”
One of the French soldiers took his pipe from his mouth and said in Polish, “What do you want?”
I said, “A friend of mine is going to come back tonight, and if there are any of your uniforms hanging out in the back, he intends to steal some of your buttons.”
“Buttons?”
“He wants some.”
Sucking on his pipe, the soldier studied me. “If he’s your friend, why are you telling me?”
I was ready for the question. “I don’t like stealing,” I said.
“He’s coming tonight, you say?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Does he know what we do to people who steal from us?”
I shook my head.
“We shoot them. Better tell your friend that.”
“I will,” I said, thinking, just like the Germans.
I turned around, took a glance at the Cossack camp, and then headed back into town.
When I reached the pump platform, I found Makary sitting there with Ulryk. I sat next to them.
To Makary, I said, “Thought you went home.”
He said, “Changed my mind. I’ve been talking to people. You know what they’re saying? That the Germans are going to come back. Chase the Russians and French away.”
“How do they know that?”
“What people say.”
“When?”
“Don’t know. Soon.”
“Think they will?”
Makary shrugged.
“I do,” said Ulryk.
Makary said, “All I know is, I don’t want to be in the middle of it. Do like Raclaw. Get my family to leave, too.”
“Which side?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just get away.”
I said, “What about the button contest?”
Ulryk said, “I went to confession and told Father Stanislaw about the contest.”
“Why’d you do that?” I asked.
“That’s what you’re supposed to do in confession. Father said taking those buttons was wrong. Didn’t matter that they were small. He said, ‘Small leads to big.’ Said it was stealing. A sin. If I kept doing it, he said, he wouldn’t help me become a priest. So I’m quitting. I already threw my buttons into the river. Besides, Father Stanislaw might be leaving. If he does, I’m going with him.”
I said, “Jurek won’t stop. He’s going to be king.”
“Not for me,” said Ulryk.
We sat there for a few moments, but then Ulryk got up and walked away. Just left. He didn’t say anything.
Makary and I remained where we were.
“Just so you know,” said Makary, “I changed my mind: I’m going with Jurek tonight.”
“How come?” I said.
“I can’t stand the idea of Jurek being king. Can you? I hate it when he calls me scared. Don’t worry. I’ll go after buttons just this last time. Get the best and beat Jurek. You know how fast I run. After that, I’m finished.”
“Don’t,” I said.
“Why?”
I was afraid to say what I’d done at the barracks. Or what the French soldier told me. All I said was “It won’t be safe. Don’t.”
“You’re just saying that so you can win.”
“Told you,” I said, “I’m not going. And those French soldiers saw us hanging around back there.
The one who told us to leave had a gun. They’ll be on the lookout. Remember what happened to Wojtex.”
“You tell that to Jurek?”
“He was there.”
Makary shook his head. “You’re trying to fix it so you go by yourself.”
“Told you, I’m not going!”
“Well, I am. You can be scared. I’m not.”
Stymied, I sat there. The two of us didn’t say anything more. All we did was watch the villagers and people going about their business. It wasn’t the way it used to be: everything moved slower, as if people were dragging invisible rocks. We also saw more people in wagons, possessions piled up, leaving. Others were going with sacks on their backs. It was as if the village was shrinking, disappearing.
We might have stayed there an hour. In all that time, Makary and I didn’t talk. Just watched. Then I said, “You think the Russians know about the Germans coming back?”
Makary shrugged and stood up. “I’m heading home. But I’m going with Jurek tonight. You coming or not?”
I shook my head.
“Fine.” He headed away.
I sat there for a while, trying to decide what to do. Then I pushed off and went home, knowing I needed to get rid of that pistol.
I went in through the front door. My mother was in the kitchen.
She said, “That friend of yours, Jurek, was just looking for you.”
“Here?”
She nodded.
“What did he want?”
“Didn’t say. He was waiting here when I got back from the market. Without the bridge, it took a lot longer. And the lines at the market are very long. People keep saying the Germans are coming back. Everyone is frightened. They’re fleeing.”
“You saying Jurek was here, alone, when you came home?”
She nodded. “He left soon as I got back. I want you to tell him he’s not welcome here.”
I looked at her and then climbed halfway up to my sleeping shelf. Standing on the ladder, I pulled over my wood box and flipped the lid open. The pistol was gone.
My parents and I sat around the kitchen table.
My father said, “I’ve decided; we have to leave.”
“Why?” I asked.
“The village is being destroyed. And they say the Germans will be back. There will be nothing left.”
