Jan is welcomed into the band of partisans. He’s not sure he’s happy with this, but there seems little he can do about it. With the disappearance of Pawel, a lot of his hope went too, and he is resigned to living rough in the forest and doing whatever is asked of him. For some time he hopes that Pawel will somehow find him, but as the days turn to weeks his hope fades.
His tasks are simple to begin with. Easy jobs that anyone could do: picking up supplies from a village, taking messages to other partisans. He and another boy, Zygmund, who is just a little older than he is, are often sent together to do this. The idea is that even if they are seen, they are unlikely to be suspected as resistance fighters because of their age. Gradually they are trusted with more difficult tasks – laying traps, digging holes; Jan doesn’t like to think about this for the holes are deep, and he thinks they might be for graves. He hates the Nazis, but it scares him to think of bodies tumbling into these holes. Soon he learns to block out these thoughts in the same way that he never thinks of that day in June last year.
He’s becoming stronger. The winter is harsh, and he’s always hungry even though there is usually enough to eat. The men are well supplied by people willing to help with food even if they are not prepared themselves to endure the hardships of the forest. But even though he’s hungry he can feel muscles developing through all the hard work, digging these holes. And he can run fast too. He found this out one day when he was picking up supplies and was spotted by a German army patrol. They chased him for a mile or more, but he easily outran them and was careful to run in the opposite direction from where the partisans were. This act earned him extra rations that night.
“You’re a bright boy, Jan,” said Marek.
Jan thinks every day about this. He thinks that if he earns their respect, maybe the partisans will help him find his family. When he confides in Zygmund, though, he laughs at him.
“Don’t you understand? They are only interested in destroying the Nazis. Helping you is the last thing on their mind. And don’t go thinking they rely on you. You’re expendable. All of us are. Even Marek.”
“I don’t believe that. They’d be lost without Marek.”
“Maybe so, but it’s the greater good that counts.”
“The greater good?”
“I’ve just told you, defeating the enemy. Besides that, everything else is unimportant. If a few of us were to die, so what? There will be others left to fight, others who will run their errands.”
Jan looks at his friend. “You sound bitter. You’ve never told me how you came to be here.”
Zygmund shrugs as if he doesn’t care, but his eyes are burning with anger. “I am Jewish. The choice was between here and a concentration camp. My family arranged for me to be hidden on a nearby farm, but the woman became nervous, and eventually I felt I had no choice but to go. She didn’t try to stop me. It was lucky for me that a few days later I met Marek and he helped me. I was starving by then, pretty desperate.” He smiles at Jan. “I’m not bitter, just…” he falls silent.
Jan takes a chance; this is the longest conversation they’ve had. Usually Zygmund does what he has to do in near silence. “What happened to the rest of your family?”
He’s gone too far. Zygmund gets up as though the question was never asked. “We have work to do, let’s get a move on.” The conversation is over. Jan doesn’t really understand what has happened, but he recognizes a sadness in his friend that is at least as great as his own. He follows him into the forest where they start to gather firewood. Jan chatters on, tries to get him to speak again, but he remains silent. A few days later one of the men tells him that they found out some months ago that Zygmund’s whole family was murdered. Gassed and cremated in a concentration camp. Jan never asks him about his family again.
One day, not long after this, Marek takes Jan to one side. He offers him a cigarette, which Jan takes, feeling very grown up. “What age are you, Jan?”
Jan draws on the cigarette, and immediately the smoke catches in his throat. He splutters, can’t stop coughing. What a baby he is. After what seems like an age he gets himself under control. “What month is it?” he asks. Not so long ago he would have felt stupid asking such a question, but there is nothing to differentiate the days, and he has lost track of the weeks.
“It is December, December the eighteenth. A week to Christmas.”
Christmas. The word sets off so many memories that Jan is almost overwhelmed, but he only says, “Then I am almost twelve. My birthday is two days after Christmas day.”
“Nearly twelve, eh? You are a good size for twelve, Jan. Tell me, do you like what we do here?”
Jan is flattered by this conversation with Marek. He’s noticed how the other men respect him, how they fight to sit beside him at meals, laugh at his jokes, keep the best seat for him. It’s flattering that Marek is treating him like a grown up. He thinks carefully before he speaks. “I think what we do, we do because it’s for the greater good.”
Marek throws back his head and laughs; his white teeth glint in the firelight. “You’ve been listening to the comrades, Jan. The greater good! Marvellous.”
Jan doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He knows he’s being laughed at, and it hurts, but he doesn’t want to show it. He gives Marek a wavering smile. Marek smiles back.
“Jan, you’re a good worker. You do what you have to do, and you never complain. I don’t know if you realize it, but recently we’ve had a few losses.”
Jan nods. Over the past few weeks there have been times when the men come back from raids or ambushes depressed and angry. He knows of at least six men who have died.
“I’d like you to do more direct work for us. Not killing, you’re too young for that. But I have a very important job for you.”
A flutter in his stomach; no, it’s more than a flutter, an ache. Jan’s scared, but he doesn’t want to show it. He waits for Marek to say more, but Marek is getting up, stretching his arms and yawning.
“I’m off to bed now. Take your time and think about it. There’s no pressure, but it would be a great help to us.”
Jan stares after him, lost. What can it be that they want him to do?
Marek ignores Jan for the next week. He is always with the older men, laughing and joking, plotting. Jan longs to be one of them, wishes Marek would speak to him like that, but he never does. One of the older men, Wlacek, has been delegated to give the boys their tasks. The usual sort of things: cleaning up, peeling vegetables, nothing that seems to Jan to be important. Nothing that would gain him an approving word from Marek. One day, as Jan is gathering firewood, he flings down his load and stamps his foot. Zygmund looks round, his eyebrows raised. “What’s up with you?”
“I’m better than this!”
“And?”
“I’m not going to do it any more.”
Zygmund stands very still, his eyes are enormous in his pale face. “Has Marek asked you to do something else?”
“Yes, what of it?”
“Nothing. But I think you should know: he asked me first, and I said no.”
Jan shrugs. “So?”
“So, think carefully about what you’re getting into.”
Jan doesn’t want to admit he doesn’t know what he is being asked to do, so he starts to pick up the firewood that lies scattered all around him and says nothing.
Zygmund helps him, and they start the walk back to the camp. When they reach it, Zygmund holds out his hand to Jan. “No hard feelings?”
“Of course not.”
“Have you told Marek yet that you’ll do it?”
Do what? wonders Jan, but he is nonchalant as he says, “No, I’ll catch him later.”
Zygmund grasps his hand tight. “Good luck,” he whispers.
Later that evening, Marek comes to him. “I’ve been watching you for the past week. You seem unhappy. No, that’s too strong. Dissatisfied. I get the feeling you’re ready to move on. Am I right?”
Jan nods.
“So, you’ll help us?”
“Yes,” Jan’s voice is barely audible.
“Good man! Tomorrow evening. I want you ready and fresh. Make sure you get a good sleep tonight.”
Jan is swelling with pride at being called a man, but it’s not enough to divert him; he has to know. Swallowing hard, he says, “Marek, what is it that you want me to do?”
Marek shakes his head. “Tomorrow, Jan. Tomorrow, all will be clear.”
Jan can’t sleep. Try as he might, it is impossible to relax. There are too many things to think about. It’s clear that he wasn’t the first choice for this special task; they asked Zygmund, and only came to Jan when Zygmund refused. But he is a year older than Jan. Still, it’s not as flattering as it might have been. He is their second choice. And he has not yet been told what it is he has to do. It’s not killing, though. At least it’s not killing. He knows someone has to do it, but it’s a man’s job, not for a boy. And despite what Marek said earlier, he’s not a man. Not yet. Jan’s thoughts continue to whirl for hours until at last he falls into a deep sleep. For the first time in months, he dreams of his father. At dawn, he wakes with tears running down his face.
The forest is darker than anything he’s known since the night the partisan group found him. Jan can barely make out the figures of the other men as they make their way to the ambush point. Marek has told him that there is a group of soldiers expected along that road late that night. They are on their way to a village where two of them have sweethearts, or think they have. The girls are actually members of the partisan group and have told their “boyfriends” that there will be a party with plenty of girls for any soldier they might care to bring with them. The soldiers have told the girls there will be ten of them.
The plan is to ambush them. The partisans will hide in trees, and on Marek’s signal will shoot. Jan worries about this; what if someone hears? But Marek is clear that it is far enough away from the army camp for gunfire not to be heard. If their bodies are found, however, the girls will be blamed, so it has to look as if there has been a mass desertion. This is not as unlikely as it sounds as the regiment is due to be sent to the Eastern Front in a few days’ time, and according to Marek’s information there is widespread unhappiness about this; one of the soldiers has already told his “girlfriend” that he’ll kill himself rather than go to the east, where the Russians are massacring the Germans.
Marek ordered the group to dig a mass grave. Most of the day has been spent digging it, a narrow trench six or seven feet deep, and maybe thirty feet long. Jan was one of those who dug it, and he’s terrified he’ll fall into it in the dark, though as Marek pointed out this is unlikely, because of the huge mounds of earth surrounding it.
When they reach the ambush spot, Marek tells Jan what he has to do. He gives him some matches and a feather. Jan looks at them, bewildered.
“It will be clear in a minute what they’re for. You’ll be up a tree with the rest of us. I want you to watch carefully to see where the soldiers fall. As soon as the gunfire stops you must find each soldier. We have to be sure they’re dead, so I want you to hold the feather under their noses. Count to one hundred. If there’s any movement in that time, call one of us, and we’ll finish them off.” Marek wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Do you understand?”
Jan nods. His heart is hammering in his chest; he’s not sure whether it’s apprehension or excitement. Marek shoves him towards a tree, and he shimmies up it. There are already two men up there. They’re ready to shoot; he can make out the outline of the rifles, and prays they won’t shoot him by mistake. He tries to make himself comfortable, but the bark is scratching his skin, and he has cramp in his right calf. He flexes his foot to try to ease the cramp. Above him, one of the men whispers that he should try to keep still. It’s not easy to stay in the same position when he’s so uncomfortable.
The night is full of sounds: the wind in the branches, scuffling below them, the grunting of a boar as it looks for food. Nothing that could be soldiers on their way to a good night out, though. Jan closes his eyes wishing he’d slept better last night. He’d love to go to sleep now, but forces his eyes open. It would be dreadful to let Marek down. But it’s so boring…
A song, men’s voices. Jan grips his branch. This is it. His tiredness flees; he’s wide awake, listening for Marek’s signal. Above him, one of the men shifts slightly, must be to get a better line of sight. The moon’s up now, but it’s still hard to see anything clearly. The singing’s getting louder. Any moment now. Yes, there it is, three hoots like an owl.
The sound of the gunfire is deafening. Jan almost falls out of the tree; he has to grab on to his branch to stop himself falling. A bullet whistles past his ear; he’s sure it’s grazed him, but when he touches his ear it seems fine.
One of the soldiers almost escapes. He was last in line, a little behind the rest, and when the shooting started he was quick off the mark, but Wlacek pursues him through the trees and gets him.
Jan climbs down from the tree. The ambush was so sudden and so bewildering he’s not sure where all the bodies are. He strikes a match and looks around. The match is dropped as he stumbles over something. He strikes another and gasps at what he sees. He is standing in a mess of blood. There is a soldier with a hideous wound in his head. His brains are all over what was his face. No point in wasting time holding a feather under his nose. He’s dead for sure. Jan calls out to Marek, and he and one of the other men come over and lift the body to take it to the pit. Jan continues with his search. Ten metres away there is another body. He lights a match and holds the feather under the man’s nose. Nothing. Once more he calls to Marek.
Jan isn’t sure how many soldiers there were. Marek expected at least ten, and he’s only found five bodies. His eyes are tired from straining to see. Wlacek cries out; he’s found another. Marek creeps up behind Jan. “You’re doing well, but there’s still four to be found. Try over there,” he points to the east.
Ten bodies. They seem to have found them all. Jan stands back and watches the men shovelling earth into the mass grave. He’s dizzy, feeling sick, walks a little way away from the rest, stumbles over another body. Jan bends over the body with the feather and starts to count. He’s used to this by now, one, two, three. A movement. Jan holds his breath and waits. The man opens his eyes.
“Bitte,” his eyes close again.
Did he imagine it? Jan’s so tired he thinks he must be dreaming. He opens his mouth to shout to Marek.
A tight grip on his wrist. “Please, let me go. I have a wife, children.” There are tears running down the man’s face. “I don’t want to die, please.”
Jan can’t move. He is back at Horak’s farm, watching ten men at a time being lined up to die. He looks down at the man; his face has been replaced by that of his father. “Father,” he says. “Tati, is that you?”
The grip is tightening. Jan winces from the pain. When he looks again, his father has gone, the German soldier is there instead, eyes open wide in fear; there is a shot. A hole appears in the centre of his forehead. Jan looks round to see Marek standing there.
“You should have shouted for us at once,” says Marek. “They’re the enemy. Do you think they’d show any mercy to you?”
Jan gets to his feet. His head is lowered; he doesn’t want anyone to see his tears. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I wasn’t thinking.” He pushes past Marek and hurries off. When he is sure he is out of sight, he leans against a tree and vomits, wishing he’d never agreed to go with the group that night.
The men are jubilant. It’s been a while since they managed to kill so many in one strike. There were eleven in all, even better than they’d thought. The mood is good, and when they get back to the camp there is more rejoicing. One of the men gives Jan a drink. He gulps it down, thinking that it’s water, wondering why it’s in such a small glass. As it hits his throat he gasps. It must be vodka. He clutches his throat, and the men laugh, not unkindly. One of them says, “Take your time, little one. This is firewater, and a child like you should drink it slowly. Try again.” He hands Jan another small glass. Jan looks at it wishing he could throw it away. But he realizes it’s a compliment to be given a drink by the men, and so he sips at it. This time it’s not so bad. He takes another sip. His head feels light, it must be because he slept so little last night. But it’s not sleepiness, it’s more than that, it feels good. It takes away the bad feelings he has about tonight. Marek’s right, he would have killed him if it had been the other way round. If only he hadn’t seen his father’s face, though. He takes another sip. It wasn’t his father; he has to hold on to that. His glass is filled up, and he gulps down some more vodka. It’s getting easier to think about all the things he normally hides from himself: the killing of his father, the loss of his mother and sisters. He tries this out, and no, it doesn’t hurt as much as it usually does. This vodka is good stuff. Jan empties his glass and holds it out for some more, but one of the older men spots him and immediately tells him off.
Jan is feeling bold. Isn’t he now a man after all? And this old guy, what does he know? He ignores him and waves the glass at Maciej, who has the bottle and is offering it round. Maciej fills it up without a glance, and Jan lifts it to his lips, letting out a cry as Wlacek knocks it out of his hand.
“Did you not hear me, boy? This is not a drink for youngsters. Get yourself off to bed!”
“Leave me alone,” says Jan, but it comes out all wrong. Something isn’t working right. His words are slurred. He looks up at the man who is smiling down at him.
“You’ll be sorry in the morning,” says Wlacek. “You’ll have a head like a bear.”
“Better than a head like an ugly old pig,” says Jan and giggles.
Wlacek cuffs him. “I won’t tell you again, bed.”
Jan tries to hit him back, but when he stands up he finds his legs are not holding him properly, and when he takes a swipe at Wlacek, not only does he miss him by several feet, he falls in a heap at his feet. He tries to get up, but can’t. The last thing he remembers before falling unconscious is the sound of everyone laughing at him. Bastards.
Jan opens his eyes to bright sunlight and closes them again at once. The light hurts not only his eyes, but his head too. It feels as though someone has put it in a vice and is squeezing it. He groans. Even that hurts.
“Drink this,” Marek hands him a cup.
“What is it?”
“Water. No more vodka for you, little one. We had to clean you up last night before you went to bed. There was vomit everywhere.”
Jan sips the cool water. Somewhere in his mind is a memory of everything spinning, like being on a swing and a roundabout at the same time. His stomach lurches just to think of it. He gulps down the water and holds out the cup for more.
“So, little one,” says Marek, “you’re a man now. You’ve seen things that only men should see.”
“You forget what I saw in my village,” says Jan.
“So I do, so I do. And what you saw in your village – does that make you want to kill the men who did that to your father?”
Jan doesn’t reply. The memory of his father falling has come to him with full force. Last night he thought he could think of it without pain. Now he realizes that he was wrong to believe that the pain had gone; it will never go. He pushes the memory aside, but it is replaced at once by a vision from the night before: the face of the man as he spoke of his children, the look of terror as he was shot. Jan closes his eyes to try to get rid of the memory, but it won’t go away.
“Jan?”
“I… I don’t know.” Jan looks up at Marek as he says this and catches a glimpse of something fleeting in his eyes. Disappointment perhaps, or sadness. Maybe even relief. It is gone before he can decide what it is.
Marek smiles at him, ruffles his hair. “Maybe one day, little one, maybe one day.” He strolls off to join the other men.
Jan lies down again, his head still aching. He’s feeling sick. But whether it is from last night’s drink, or from what he saw, he isn’t sure. He clutches the blanket close to him, wishing it were his mother.