Part 11 (1/2)

'I've cleaned them. Aurek helped me. A bit of shoe polish brought them up like new. English leather. You remember the doctor we took Aurek to? He had the same shoes, I'm sure.'

'I'm glad you like them.'

'I'll keep them for best, of course.'

'That's right,' she says, sinking into a chair and beckoning to Aurek to come and sit on her lap. 'Keep them for best.'

Poland

Silvana

As the months went by, Aurek delighted Silvana and entertained Hanka. Full of energy, he played in the rabbit cages and ran with the farm dogs, his back bent, shoulders rounded, touching the ground with his hands for balance, pus.h.i.+ng himself off from outstretched fingers. He was fast like that.

Hanka called him a little bear. She told Silvana a story about a boy brought up by bears in a Lithuanian forest. The three of them were wrapped in blankets in their straw bed, Aurek curled tightly against Silvana's breast.

'n.o.body knew where he had come from,' said Hanka, tickling Aurek's fingers. 'The bears took him as their own. He went about on all fours and grew hair down his back. He lived on a diet of crab apples and honey. A hunter caught him and gave him to the king of Poland, who tried to teach him to speak, but he never learned to do anything other than grunt.

Aurek laughed at the story. Hanka grunted and growled like a bear until Silvana was worried Aurek would hurt himself laughing so hard. They giggled and growled and roared and, finally, when they fell back on the straw exhausted by their laughter, Silvana pressed her face against the top of her son's head and felt tears run down her cheeks.

'My little bear,' she whispered to him. 'My lost little bear.'

'Here,' Hanka said one night when the stars looked sharp enough to slice the black velvet sky into icy ribbons. She held out a dried plum, dark and wrinkled. Silvana's mouth watered at the sight of it.

'Would he like this?'

Silvana looked at Aurek, curled up in her arms, head tucked in. She wasn't sure. Hanka tutted.

'All children like them.'

She held the piece of fruit out to Aurek and he pushed it greedily into his mouth.

'See? I knew he would.'

'What will we do when the summer comes?' Silvana asked. 'Will we stay here?'

'Warsaw.' Hanka leaned across her and wiped a dribble from Aurek's mouth. 'I'm going to Warsaw. You can come if you want.'

'You're going to the city?'

Silvana was surprised. She had thought Hanka would go home. Hanka had told her about her family home: a white stucco house with an avenue of lime trees leading to it and Virginia creeper trailing across its facade. A pavillon de cha.s.se pavillon de cha.s.se, she called it. She had described the shooting trophies in the hall, heads of boar and roe, gla.s.s domes containing blackc.o.c.k and capercaillie and the floors made of marble. Outside were kitchen gardens, a lake full of carp, a dairy and a laundry. It sounded like a wonderful place.

'Why don't you go home?' she asked.

Hanka shook her head.

'I was a child during the Great War. The Germans took over our house. They had their motor-repair shops in the barns alongside the vegetable gardens. My family hid almost all our possessions, the paintings, sculptures, the silver and so on; all walled up in the cellar. At the end of the war, all the valuables were safe but my mother died. She caught typhus from one of the soldiers. And now another war, and our house is taken over again. My father didn't bother hiding the family heirlooms this time. The only thing he asked was that his children would be safe. He's forbidden any of us to go near the house until the war is over. I can't go home and I can't carry on living like this. I need to be in the city.'

It was true that Hanka looked as if she belonged in the city. Her limbs were too fine for farmwork, her hands too soft.

'I'm going back to see my lover,' continued Hanka. Silvana watched her face grow still, the tiredness settling in the shadows under her eyes.

'He's a musician. He plays American jazz, and the last time I saw him he told me to get out of the city. He said he didn't want me having to sing for a German audience. So I left. But I miss him. I have to go back: I have to see him again. And I don't care who I sing to. I just want my life back.'

Silvana rocked Aurek on her lap and Hanka smiled at her.

'So, little Silvana, will you come with me?'

Silvana felt her heart ache. 'Yes,' she said. Though the thought of returning to Warsaw filled her with dread.

Ja.n.u.sz

On a moonless night, a guide took Ja.n.u.sz, Bruno and Franek to the Hungarian border. They were used to each other now, and Ja.n.u.sz had even begun to feel fond of Franek and his mad ways. The boy's heart was in the right place and he was as brave as they came. They'd been given papers, but it was still best to cross at night, in secret. They reached a rocky promontory and watched as border guards with dogs patrolled the path below them.

'The guide said we've got about fifteen minutes before they come back,' said Bruno as the guards rounded the corner out of sight.

'I need a machine gun,' said Franek.

He was s.h.i.+vering and shaking, and Ja.n.u.sz wanted to tell him to stop b.l.o.o.d.y moving.

'I'd take them all out,' Franek said. 'Bang, bang, bang. Shoot them all down. If I had my old gun from home, I could do it.'

'When do we go?' asked Ja.n.u.sz. He felt sick, and realized he too was shaking.

'We go now,' said Bruno. 'The guards won't be expecting anything tonight. n.o.body would want to be out on a night like tonight. Even the wolves would find it too cold. One at a time. Every three minutes. That gives us plenty of time to make it across. You go first, Jan. Then Franek and I will follow you. Don't worry, we'll be right behind you.'

Ja.n.u.sz couldn't feel his legs any more. He doubted his ability to run. His breath was coming in quick gasps. He was trembling with tiredness and his heart was hammering.

Bruno nodded. He gave Ja.n.u.sz a push. 'OK, it's time,' he whispered. 'Good luck. Go!'

Ja.n.u.sz got up and started running, scrambling down the rocks.

He didn't look back. If he was going to die, so be it. He stumbled. His legs were not listening to his brain; they buckled under him, but he forced himself to keep going. There was no one on the road. He crossed it and threw himself into the deep snow, where he rolled downhill. He slithered and slid and slammed into a fir tree. Getting to his feet, he ran. Finally he reached the shelter of trees and, on hands and knees, crawled into a forest of dark pine trees and lay there. He could taste blood on his lip, and a pulse thumped in his neck. He could feel it: the blood pus.h.i.+ng through him, the feeling of being alive. He lay still and his heart pumped, fear twitching his eyelids, pulling at a nerve in his cheek. He worked his way further into the trees and dug himself into the snow. s.h.i.+vering, he heard noises around him. Cracking branches and scuffling sounds. He hoped Bruno was right. That the night really was too cold for wolves.

Franek came into view, running and jumping through the snow, smas.h.i.+ng full pelt into Ja.n.u.sz, knocking him in the face with his elbow.

'Sorry,' panted Franek. 'I didn't see you.'

'Jesus, Franek,' whispered Ja.n.u.sz. 'I think you've broken my b.l.o.o.d.y nose.'

'Christ, no, I'm sorry...'

'Forget it, you big oaf. You made it. We both did.'