After Read online

  ‘Do you know how to look after yourself?’ she says.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Gabriek has been looking after me for a couple of years, but that’s only because I had to stay hidden. Normally I’m good at cooking and washing and mending. And when I’m not having leg cramps, I can trim my own toenails.’

  ‘I mean do you know how to fight,’ says Yuli.

  I hesitate. I haven’t actually fought anybody since I was in the Catholic orphanage, and mostly all we did then was hard pushing.

  Yuli takes my hand and puts my fingers under her chin.

  ‘Feel the jawbone?’ she says.

  I nod. I’m too surprised to actually speak.

  ‘Feel the soft part behind the jawbone?’

  I nod again.

  ‘That’s where you attack,’ she says. ‘Doesn’t matter what weapon you’ve got, go for that spot.’

  She picks up a dry stick and snaps it in half. The ends are jagged, but blunt.

  ‘Doesn’t have to be a very sharp weapon,’ she says. ‘If you stab hard enough, you’ll usually kill in that spot.’

  I try to look like I’m grateful for the advice, but actually I’m feeling weak and a bit dizzy at the thought of stabbing someone with a stick.

  Yuli gets back on her bicycle.

  ‘Good luck, Felix,’ she says. ‘A lot of good luck.’

  Just for a moment her voice wobbles. Not as much as my insides, but a bit.

  She rides off.

  I sit on a log to try to pull myself together. As well as everything else, I’ve just been a whole night without food.

  As I sit, I smell something.

  It’s Yuli’s shirt. The smell is quite strong, but sort of familiar. I think maybe Mum smelled a bit like this. I can’t be sure, but maybe.

  A sound startles me.

  Yuli’s bicycle bell.

  I look up. Yuli has stopped and is looking back at me.

  ‘You can do it, Felix,’ she calls. ‘I know you can.’

  She rides away.

  I’m grateful to Yuli for saying that. It helps me pull myself together. Gives me courage to do what I have to do.

  As I stand up, I feel something in the pocket of my coat. It’s the birthday present Gabriek left for me in Dom’s stall. The one wrapped in his hanky. I completely forgot about it.

  I unwrap it. I put Gabriek’s hanky and the string carefully back into my pocket, then I open the small box. Inside is what looks like a brass watch without a strap. Quite a big watch, with only a few scratches on the glass.

  But it’s not a watch. It’s a compass. I can tell because it’s got the first letters of north, south, east and west on it. The little metal needle is pointing to the north, the same direction as the town.

  I’m puzzled. Why would you give a compass to a person who lives in a hole?

  Did Gabriek know that sooner or later the Nazis would burn down the farm and I’d be roaming in a forest with no signposts? Even Gabriek couldn’t know something like that, surely.

  There’s something about this birthday present that doesn’t feel right. But I haven’t got time to worry about it now.

  I’ve got to come up with a plan.

  The sooner I get a gun, the sooner I can be with Gabriek and Dom.

  I came out of the forest, I started to get nervous again.

  The town was bigger than it looked from a distance. Street after street of stone houses, all with an upstairs, except for the bombed ones.

  I look around anxiously.

  Bigger towns have more Nazi soldiers.

  I try to be positive. Bigger towns have more guns too. And the more guns there are, the better chance I have of getting one.

  I hope.

  So far I haven’t seen anybody. People must still be sleeping. They probably think there’s not much point getting up early in winter. It just uses more firewood and disturbs horses if they’re asleep in the same room.

  I walk along a street, trying as hard as I can not to look Jewish. That’s the good thing about winter. You can wear a hat with earflaps and people don’t think you’re just trying to hide your face.

  I’ve got a plan.

  When I see smoke coming out of a chimney, I’ll knock at the house and ask if they have anything that needs mending. I’ll explain I’m very good at repairing hydraulic valve systems in hand-operated water pumps. And all types of clocks except cuckoo ones. And boots that need extra pieces of leather sewn into them for people whose feet have grown. And lamps. I’m good at mending lamps because I can work in the dark.

  After I’ve fixed their stuff I’ll tell the people not to worry about giving me money, I’d rather have an old broken gun if they’ve got one.

  Money’s scarce in wartime but there are plenty of guns around, so I think they’ll prefer that. And I think I can teach myself to mend a gun.

  I hope I can.

  What’s that noise?

  It’s coming from the far end of the street.

  It sounds like a crowd of people murmuring. And some louder voices shouting.

  I remember those sounds.

  In our town when I was little, those were the sounds of market day.

  Maybe this town isn’t asleep after all. Maybe it’s market day here and everybody’s up early to grab the bargains.

  A market would be a better place for my plan. If I see somebody buying a new clock or new boots, I can offer to save them money and mend their old ones.

  I’d better go and see.

  Oh.

  It’s not a market.

  A big crowd of people are gathered in the market square, but they’re not here to buy or sell. They’re here to look.

  They don’t want to look. It’s a horrible sight. But Nazi soldiers are everywhere, making them look. If people hide their eyes, the Nazis scream at them and they have to uncover their eyes and keep looking at the big wooden posts in the middle of the square.

  And at the dead people hanging from the posts.

  I don’t want to look either.

  But I do, because the Nazis mustn’t notice me.

  I stare and try not to think of Zelda and Genia. I struggle not to. But it’s no good, I can’t help it. I am thinking of them.

  I blink a lot. If the Nazis see me crying, they’ll get suspicious. They’ll think I’m sympathising with the people on the posts. And disagreeing with the signs on the people.

  Traitor, some of the signs say. I Betrayed Hitler, say others. I Helped The Enemy, say quite a lot.

  The Nazi soldiers are glaring at the crowd.

  I duck my head and slip in among other people so I won’t stand out.

  ‘Serves them right,’ says a man next to me. He’s scowling at the dead people and looks almost as angry as the Nazis. ‘They deserve it for helping those partisan bandits.’

  I know I should keep quiet, but I can’t.

  People who stand up to the Nazis aren’t bandits. Mum and Dad and Barney and Zelda and Genia weren’t for a start.

  ‘Partisans aren’t bandits,’ I say to the man.

  He looks at me like I’m an idiot.

  ‘Of course they are,’ he says. ‘They’re all thieves and murderers and Jews.’

  I struggle to stay quiet. My head is thumping with crossness and tiredness. I’m tempted to tell the man he’s the idiot.

  But I don’t say anything. The Nazi soldiers are watching. I remember how often I had to persuade Zelda not to start an argument in front of Nazis. You couldn’t blame her, she was only little. I’m old enough to control myself. I take a deep breath and force myself to look like I agree with the idiot man.

  The Nazi soldiers are staring at the crowd even more closely now. They’re looking for more traitors, but they’ll jump at the chance to kill a Jew if they find one.

  Time to get out of here.

  I hurry to the outskirts of the town.

  On the way I think up a new plan. The old plan won’t work. Not when people are being hung in the town square for helping partisans. Even if
I tell people I need a gun for rabbit hunting, they’ll still be suspicious because I could be planning to make a rabbit stew for the partisans.

  I need to carry out the new plan quickly, before people get back to their houses. Breaking into a house and stealing a gun isn’t something I like the idea of, but I’m desperate.

  This lane looks like a good one. The houses are behind trees so I won’t be seen so easily, and there’s a field next to the lane with rabbit holes, so some of these houses will probably have guns.

  I crouch behind a clump of bushes next to a ditch and try to decide which house to break into first.

  Before I can choose, I hear footsteps.

  Lots of them.

  And voices shouting in German. It sounds like a gang of Nazi soldiers marching down the lane.

  I jump into the ditch and wriggle into a drain. It’s wet and smelly and very cold in here, but I can’t be seen.

  The footsteps are very close now.

  Except now they’re this close, most of them don’t sound like the thud thud of Nazi boots. Most of them sound more like shuffling.

  I peek out of the drain.

  And wish I hadn’t.

  It’s an awful sight.

  Jewish people, hundreds of them, thin and pale and ill, are struggling to walk along the lane while Nazi soldiers prod them and hit them.

  The poor Jewish people must be freezing. Their clothes are in tatters. The biggest piece of clothing some of them have on is the patch of cloth the Nazis make them wear with the Jewish star on it.

  I wish they had horses with them. Horses like Dom they could flop onto and snuggle into.

  But they don’t.

  They just have each other to lean on.

  Which isn’t enough for some of them. Like that man who’s just fallen down.

  A Nazi soldier walks over to where he’s lying and shoots him.

  Oh.

  Other Nazis are whipping people to keep them moving.

  I know where these poor people are going. I saw a sight like this once before with Zelda and Genia.

  They’re going to a Nazi death camp.

  Like Mum and Dad did.

  I wish I had a gun. I wish I’d already broken in and stolen one so I could use it on these Nazis now. Starting with the vermin one who shot that man.

  The Nazis have gone.

  Just as well. If I’d spent much longer in this drain listening to what they were doing, I’d have done something berserk and violent myself.

  That’s the thing about spending time in small spaces. You go into your imagination and think about how the people you love have suffered.

  Like I’m doing again now.

  Stop it. Get out of the drain.

  Except I can hear more footsteps. Just one person. But this time definitely marching.

  I peek out.

  Shiny boots.

  Nazi vermin shiny boots. They all wear them. The one who killed the Jewish man earlier had them. And I bet the ones who killed Mum and Dad had them too. And the ones who killed Zelda, and Barney, and Genia.

  As the boots get closer I squeeze myself as small as I can in the drain. But I can’t squeeze away the feelings those boots are making me have.

  I start to get leg cramp. I let the pain get worse, to blot out the feelings.

  But the feelings just get bigger. They feel like they’re going to explode.

  From down here I can only see the shiny murdering boots. I can’t see the actual vermin Nazi soldier, so I can’t see his actual gun, but I know there’ll be one.

  I want it.

  I listen carefully. No other footsteps coming down the lane.

  Just me and him.

  I peek further out of the drain.

  The soldier has marched out of sight, but I know he’s not far ahead. I can still hear him. And I can see what I’m looking for. Next to the ditch.

  A stick.

  I slide out of the drain, not caring about the pain in my legs, and grab the stick.

  I snap it in half. Good, it’s strong and dry.

  The ends are jagged, but blunt.

  Doesn’t matter. Yuli showed me the spot. If you stab hard enough you’ll usually kill in that spot, that’s what she said.

  I still can’t see the Nazi soldier, but I can hear his boots crunching on the path near one of the houses.

  There are trees between us, which will help me creep closer.

  No, creeping isn’t the way.

  Running is the way. Running at him as fast as my legs will go and stabbing him as hard as I can.

  He’ll be bigger than me but that’s good. I can get under his chin without any fuss.

  I pause for a moment and think of Mum and Dad, ill and in pain and stumbling towards a death camp.

  This is for both of you.

  And you, Zelda.

  And you, Barney.

  And you, Genia.

  I grip the stick tight and run full-pelt between the trees towards the crunching boots.

  And stop.

  And stare.

  It’s a boy.

  He isn’t much older than me. He’s wearing shiny boots and a whole Nazi uniform, but he doesn’t even have a gun.

  Just a bike.

  Confused, I duck behind a tree.

  I realise what he must be. A Hitler Youth boy.

  He hasn’t seen me. He’s leaning his bike against the wall of a house.

  The door of the house opens and a man and a woman come out. The woman hugs the boy. The man gives him a Nazi salute and the boy gives him one back.

  They look like proud parents.

  The boy takes his boots off and the three of them go inside and shut the door.

  I’m hot with sweat. Partly because of what I was going to do, and partly because of what I can see on the bike.

  The things strapped to the front mudguard, one on each side. They look like explosive shells on the end of long sticks.

  I think I know what they are. I read about them in the newspaper. They’re special weapons for blowing up tanks. I think they’re called bazookas.

  I don’t hesitate.

  I walk over and get on the bike.

  Then I get off again and crouch down and pull my boots off. I put the Nazi ones on. They’re a bit big, but much better than my old ones that leak where I sewed in the extra bits of leather.

  I jump on the bike and pedal as fast as I can down the lane.

  I haven’t ridden a bike for seven years and pedalling makes my legs hurt, but I don’t care. As I speed up, the cold air stings my face.

  It feels good.

  I’ve got a bike and two bazookas.

  I’m wearing boots that killers wear.

  The partisans will have to think that’s better than a gun any day.

  two partisans on lookout duty in the forest saw me riding towards them and took aim at me and I said don’t shoot and explained I was bringing Mr Pavel something better than a gun, they took me to the partisan camp.

  Well, almost to it.

  I think the camp is close because I can hear Dom snorting in the distance.

  I stand where I’m told, next to some bushes.

  One of the partisans stays with me, holding the bike with the bazookas on it. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at the bazookas. I think he likes them because he gives me a smile.

  The other partisan seemed to like them too before he left, so I think Mr Pavel probably will.

  The partisan with me is scratching himself a lot.

  ‘If you’ve got lice,’ I say, ‘you should really do a lice hunt each night.’

  The partisan slaps me round the head.

  Luckily the earflap of Gabriek’s hat absorbs most of the pain. I pick my glasses up.

  I think I’m meant to keep quiet.

  So I do. I’m learning that obeying orders is important if you want to be a partisan.

  The other lookout partisan comes back. Mr Pavel is with him.

  Mr Pavel looks grumpy and sleepy. H
e rubs his eyes and blows his nose by pressing one nostril and snorting. He’s an even louder snorter than Dom.

  I wait for Mr Pavel to see the bazookas.

  He does. He stares at them without saying anything, glances at me, nods to the guards, then turns and goes back the way he came.

  The guard who slapped me does it again, on the back this time, so hard I almost fall over.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he says. ‘You’re a partisan.’

  The camp isn’t far, but at first I don’t see it even when I’m standing in it.

  I do see Dom, who’s tethered to a tree with the ammunition belt harness.

  ‘Dom,’ I call happily.

  ‘Sshhh,’ hisses the partisan who slapped me. ‘People are sleeping.’

  We’re in a clearing in the forest. I look around. It’s bright daylight, but I can’t see anybody sleeping. I look up into the trees. Nothing.

  Then I smell something, just a whiff. It reminds me of how I smell sometimes when the barn is too cold and I have to go a few days without a wash.

  I see where the smell is coming from. A flap has opened in what looks like a grassy slope, except now I can see it’s a kind of bunker built into the ground with dirt and grass all over it.

  The partisan who recognised Gabriek last night is coming out, stretching and yawning and scratching himself.

  I go over to him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘Where’s Gabriek? Gabriek Borowski?’

  The partisan blinks at me.

  I think he recognises me because his face falls.

  ‘They just took him to Zajak the surgeon,’ he says. ‘Emergency operation.’

  I try to stay calm. When I get stressed I get leg cramps and then I’m no good to anybody.

  The partisan is hesitating from saying any more. But he’s already shown me what I need to know by glancing across to the other side of the clearing. There’s another grassy slope, a smaller one, which must be another bunker.

  I head towards it.

  The partisan follows and grabs my arm.

  ‘Don’t go in there,’ he says.

  I pull my arm away and run to Gabriek.

  When I climb down into the bunker, I almost faint.

  So much blood.

  At first I think they’re torturing Gabriek.

  Two partisans are holding him down on a table. I can’t see exactly what’s going on because the door flap closes behind me and the only light is coming from candles.