“How can we be in Poland?” Jan’s face is red, his fists clenched.
Pawel bends down and picks up a stone. He throws it onto the railway line. “We got on the wrong train.”
“I don’t believe you. You did this on purpose to get home. You’re a bastard, a dirty rotten bastard, and I hate you.” Jan walks away from him.
Pawel runs after him and grabs his shoulder. He forces Jan to look at him. “I swear, it’s a mistake. You saw the timetable – you saw the platform number. Somehow we must have read it wrong.”
“Some coincidence though, isn’t it? Ending up near your home town? Quite frankly, it’s unbelievable, so don’t lie to me.” Jan’s heart is beating so fast he thinks it’s going to fly out of his chest. He wants to punch Pawel.
“I’m never going to convince you, am I?” Pawel sounds weary. “What if I said I don’t want to go home? That my father beat me and my mother was a drunk?”
Jan almost believes him for a second, but underlying the tiredness there is a hint of amusement that belies such a difficult home life. He looks Pawel in the eye. “Swear to me on the Bible that you didn’t know about this.”
Pawel laughs. “Sure. Bring it out, and I’ll swear.”
“On your mother’s life.”
Hesitation, proof enough. “You bastard.”
“All right, I admit it. I saw there was a train coming here that left at the same time from a nearby platform. I couldn’t pass it up. My family don’t know what has happened to me. They’ll think I’m dead. It was too good an opportunity to miss.” His face is scarlet, and there are beads of perspiration on his forehead. “And they’ll be able to help you. We would never have managed to get Lena back on our own.”
“We managed to escape without any help. I got money for us. We hid on a train. We could have done it. I could have done it. I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.” Jan pushes past Pawel and runs onto the railway line.
“Are you mad? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m walking back to Germany, to find my sister. She’s the only family I have for sure.”
“You’re a damn idiot. Germany’s that way.” Pawel points the other way down the track.
“No, it isn’t.” Jan sounds defiant, but he isn’t sure. They saw no landmarks on their way here because they were hidden in the guard’s van, and since they got off the train they’ve been walking round and round, so he’s lost all sense of direction.
“Please Jan. Please come home with me. I promise you that my parents will help you.”
There is a rumble and the screech of a train’s hooter. They turn to see an engine bearing down on them. They jump aside only seconds before the train thunders past. Jan stands at the side of the track shaking. In that instant he feels like a tiny child, vulnerable and frightened. More than anything he wants his mother. “I’ll come home with you,” he says, “but I’m not staying. As soon as I’m ready, I’ll be off to find my own family.”
It’s dark when they reach the outskirts of Pawel’s home town. It’s a small town, more of a village really. Jan senses his friend’s excitement as they walk down the main street, past shops and cafés.
“Our neighbour owns that shop,” he says, “and that café sells the best coffee. Tomorrow we’ll eat there. No. My mother will want to feed us up. I’ve got so thin.” Pawel chatters on as they walk along the road. He’s moving so fast that Jan is almost running to keep up with him. “Five minutes and we’ll be there. Oh Christ, I can’t wait.” He is so excited that Jan catches it from him, and despite his earlier fury with Pawel, he finds himself skipping along beside him.
“This is it.” Pawel stands in front of a small house. It looks deserted, thinks Jan. There’s no light on, and the paintwork on the door is scuffed. There’s rubbish in the small yard. It doesn’t look like a well-kept house. He glances at Pawel, who is looking round in bewilderment, the excitement fading on his face. “I don’t understand,” he says, “this is so dirty. Not like my house at all.” He bites his lip and pushes at the door. It doesn’t budge, and he tries again. Nothing.
Jan pulls at his sleeve. “I think it’s empty,” he says. “Wouldn’t there be a light on?”
“Maybe they’ve gone out,” Pawel’s voice trembles. He bangs on the door and shouts, “Mother, Mother, it’s me, Pawel.”
The shouts echo back on them. Pawel tries again. The door of the house next door opens, and a man looks out. “What’s going on there?”
Pawel shouts over to him, “Mr Jaworski, it’s me, Pawel Zielinski. Do you remember me?”
“Jesus Maria. So it is. Come here boy, till I see you.”
Pawel walks up the path to the house, and the man stares down at him. “You’ve grown,” he says.
“It’s been over a year. Do you know where my parents are?”
The man’s face is grave. “You’d better come in.” He beckons them both inside.
Jan feels desperately sorry for Pawel. They’d listened in disbelief as the neighbour told them how his father was arrested six months ago.
“They came for him because he wouldn’t shut up about you. He wrote letter after letter to everyone he could think of, trying to find out what had happened. He wrote to newspapers and to politicians in other countries. The newspapers didn’t print his letters of course, so he had leaflets printed and gave them out in the town centre. I don’t know whether the people in other countries got his letters, but I doubt it. Nothing gets past the Nazis.” He whispers the last words as if the walls might be listening, looks around fearfully, then wipes his brow. “Other people came to your father and told him how their children too had gone missing, snatched from the street or from their homes.”
His wife brings them food, a simple meal of bread and sausage, but oh, so tasty. They eat it while Miroslaw, the neighbour, continues with his story.
“When they came they said he was a political agitator. He was sent to a concentration camp near Krakow, in Oswiecim.” He shakes his head. “These are dreadful times.”
Pawel finishes his meal, wiping the bread round the plate to soak up the fat from the sausage. “What about my mother?”
“I don’t know what happened to her. Your mother became very ill after you disappeared. She lost weight, looked miserable all the time—”
“And who could blame her, losing a child in that way? It’s a terrible thing, terrible.” His wife interrupts them to clear away the dirty dishes. “You must stay here with us, Pawel. And your friend, of course.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Is he all right? He’s very quiet.”
“He’s fine, a little tired I think.”
Jan nods. “Yes, I didn’t sleep last night.”
The couple look at each other, suspicion flitting over their faces. Miroslaw speaks slowly to him, pronouncing each word as if to an idiot. “You’re not Polish, are you?”
Jan shakes his head. “No, my mother’s Polish though, from Warsaw. I’m Czech.”
They smile; satisfied with this explanation. Dyta, the woman, starts to ask about Jan’s mother, but Pawel is desperate to find out what has happened to his family. He interrupts her. “My mother, is she dead?”
Dyta blinks, startled by the rudeness of his tone. “No, no. Well, I don’t think so. The word in town was that she left to go and stay with relatives near Krakow, to try to be nearer your father. But we don’t know for sure. She was distraught when they took him away.”
They chat for an hour or so. Jan stares into the fire as they talk on. He follows what they say for a few minutes: Miroslaw tells them of the German soldiers in the area, and how all of the townspeople fear them. Pawel in return talks about the children’s home and the Polish children there. They ask him for names to pass to the resistance fighters, so that their parents can be told. Pawel can give only a few names, and none of them are known to the couple. They write them down anyway. Jan begins to lose the thread of what they are saying. It is hard for him to understand them; Dyta’s voice is soft and Miroslaw’s accent is thick. After a while he gives up and starts to dream of home. If he closes his eyes he can imagine his house. He can see his kitchen, his mother standing by the range stirring a pot of soup, Maria sitting at the table, a frown creasing her forehead as she puzzles over her maths homework, Lena in the corner drawing on the flagstones with a piece of chalk. Any minute now, father will be home. Jan sees his mother smile as she hears father come through the door.
“You are tired, little one.” Dyta’s quiet voice breaks into his reverie. He opens his eyes, blinks back the sudden tears. He can’t trust himself to speak, nods instead.
“Come, I will show you where you can sleep.” Dyta stands up and waits for the boys to follow her.
Jan remembers his manners. “Thank you for the meal. It was delicious.”
Miroslaw interrupts. “Not at all. It was nothing.”
Jan and Pawel know it was far from nothing. Food is rationed here, and what they have just eaten is probably the Jaworskis’ meal for tomorrow. Jan holds out some coins to pay, but the couple recoil from him, upset that he would offer them money. He puts it away, feeling foolish, even more so when he remembers that his coins are German and of little use here. In silence he and Pawel follow Dyta upstairs to a tiny room where there is a mattress on the floor. It doesn’t look all that clean, but they don’t care. They could sleep anywhere after all they’ve been through.
After they’ve washed they lie down on the mattress and pull the blankets over them. There’s a window in the sloping ceiling through which they can see the sky. The boys lie in silence, Jan wondering where his family is and whether they too lie awake in the dark, looking at the stars.
“I’m sorry about your papa,” he whispers.
Pawel takes a moment to reply. When he speaks, Jan hears tears in his voice. “You’d like papa,” he says. “He’s good fun. He loves to play jokes on everyone. You know, when there was no answer earlier on, I kept thinking he was playing one of his jokes, that he was hiding behind the door and any minute he’d leap out and surprise us.”
“He sounds great.”
“He is. I really wanted you to meet him. I thought…”
“What did you think?”
“It’s silly, I know. But they always wanted more children. I know that because mama often cried about it. I thought that you could be my brother, another son for them. No one could replace your own papa, but I just know you’d get on with him and mama. And they would love you.”
Jan can’t speak. He reaches out to find Pawel’s hand. When he does, he squeezes it tight, and Pawel squeezes back. The door to their bedroom opens, and Mr and Mrs Jaworski come in. “Good night, boys. Please God you sleep well.”
Pawel says nothing. Jan mumbles, “Thank you,” pulls the blanket over. Before sinking into sleep, he thinks of Pawel’s parents, lost like his mother and Lena, how far away she is. How will he find her now?