It’s not true of course, but I’m hoping Nazis like those sorts of stories. I’m hoping they’ll forgive an escaped Polish slave worker once they know he’s been tirelessly hunting down a Jew.
I think they will. Two years ago I heard a Nazi say that a dead Jew is worth ten dead slave workers.
I’m pretty sure Gabriek will understand what I’m doing. It’s the story game we play together in the barn, where I start telling a story and he thinks up the next part.
Gabriek’s a clever storyteller, which is just as well because his part of the story will be really important.
He has to tell the Nazis that he wants to finish the job and shoot me himself. That he needs to take me to another part of the forest where the ground is softer so I can dig my own grave. That the Nazis should call it a night and go home and have a hot drink by the fire and leave us to it.
So after they’ve gone, we can escape.
I’m fairly certain Gabriek will be able to come up with that part of the story. I hope so, because if he doesn’t …
What’s that?
Lights through the trees, down that slope.
Torches.
Please Richmal Crompton, if that’s the Nazi hurting place, don’t let me be too late.
I slither through the undergrowth until I can see down the slope.
Oh no.
Down there, gleaming in the moonlight, is a railway line running over a huge wooden bridge. The secret police are all standing around Gabriek, who’s kneeling with his head close to the ground and his arms across the train tracks.
That is horrible.
I can see exactly what’s happening.
The Nazis and their assistants have killed so many people in this war, they’ve got bored with doing it the normal way and they’re trying to find new ways to do it for entertainment. Like making someone lie on a railway track so a train will chop their arms off.
And I can hear a train. In the distance. Getting closer.
I have to rescue Gabriek now.
But I hesitate.
There’s a chance the Nazis won’t wait for Gabriek’s part of the story. There’s a chance they’ll just listen to my part, then shoot me themselves.
It’s a chance I have to take.
The way I see it, I don’t know for sure what happens after we die, but whatever happens to me will also be what happened to Mum and Dad.
So in a way, if I die, I’ll be with them.
And Zelda.
Which makes me feel not quite so scared. As long as the shooting is quick. And as long as Gabriek doesn’t have to see it because he’s suffered enough grief already.
For a moment I don’t move. I imagine Mum and Dad with their arms round me.
Then I stand up and run down the slope.
‘Don’t,’ I yell at the secret police. ‘Don’t hurt him. I surrender.’
I started yelling, the secret police all turned and pointed their guns at me, and for a moment I thought they were going to kill me before I could get my story out.
‘Don’t shoot,’ I pant as I stumble down the slope towards them. ‘I’ve got something important to tell you.’
My blanket gets stuck on a branch so I wriggle out of it and stagger on, keeping my hands in the air so the secret police can see I’m not ambushing, I’m surrendering.
‘Felix,’ yells Gabriek. ‘No.’
He’s on his feet and running towards me.
I’m terrified we’ll both get shot now, which would totally ruin my plan.
‘I give in,’ I say to him loudly. ‘You’ve won. You’ve worn me down. You’re just too good at Jew-hunting.’
Gabriek, looking puzzled, grabs me by the shoulders.
‘Back up the hill,’ he says. ‘Fast.’
He half-drags, half-carries me up the slope away from the railway line. There’s no gunfire. Are we escaping already? That would be the best plan of all.
Then I see that the secret police are scurrying up the slope as well.
Not chasing us, running with us.
Now I’m even more puzzled than Gabriek.
‘Down,’ says Gabriek, pulling me onto the ground. ‘Keep your head down.’
The secret police dive onto the ground and keep their heads down too. They lift them only enough to peer at the railway track.
The train is very close, the czuk-czuk of the engine getting louder. The last time I heard this sound, me and Zelda were escaping from a train that was transporting Jewish people to a Nazi death camp.
I have a wild thought.
Are the secret police going to stop the train and put me and Gabriek on it?
If they are, why are they lying on their tummies up here with us?
I open my mouth to ask Gabriek what’s going on.
Before I can, I’m suddenly rolling over and over in a roaring explosion of wind and grit and bits of branches.
I huddle till it’s finished, then rub my eyes and squint around and find my glasses.
Gabriek and the others are on their feet.
Down the slope, things are broken. Lots of the trees, and the train. A carriage is on its side, part of it hanging over the edge of the bridge.
The rest of the train, including the engine, is gone. So is half the bridge. Smoke and steam and dust are billowing up from the deep valley below.
‘Stay here,’ says Gabriek to me. ‘Don’t look.’
I think that’s what he says. My ears are still stunned.
So is the rest of me. Gabriek is holding a gun.
He hates guns. We both do. Guns are what Nazis point at innocent people’s heads and pull the trigger. Gabriek doesn’t even like hunting rabbits with a gun. If the traps are empty he’d rather we both just eat pickled cabbage.
The other men are running down the slope shooting at the train. So is the woman with the red headscarf.
Gabriek joins them.
Nazi soldiers are trying to scramble out through the windows of the broken carriage. Before they can, they go all floppy.
Oh.
Gabriek and the others keep shooting them even after they’ve stopped moving. The woman in the red scarf jumps up onto the side of the broken carriage and shoots in through the spaces where the windows used to be.
Mum would never do that.
I don’t want to look, but I can’t stop.
I’m not stunned any more. I can tell I’m not because I’m learning new things and Gabriek always says that’s the sign of an active brain.
One thing I’m learning is that these people with Gabriek probably aren’t secret police. Polish secret police don’t shoot Nazis, not even a little bit, and these people are doing it a lot.
The other thing I’m learning I wish I wasn’t.
It’s that Gabriek isn’t just good at mending, he’s also good at killing.
I’m hungry and I want to get back to my hole, but there’s a problem. The people who probably aren’t secret police won’t let us go.
They’re standing in a huddle on the forest path and I can tell they’re talking about me and Gabriek because they keep giving us scowling looks. Even the woman with the red headscarf is, though she did just throw me my blanket.
‘What’s happening?’ I whisper to Gabriek.
‘These people are partisans,’ he says. ‘They live in the forests and fight the Nazis. They have to stay secret and hidden, so they’re very suspicious of outsiders.’
I think about this.
‘If they’re suspicious of outsiders,’ I say, ‘why did they bring you here with them?’
‘I’m not an outsider,’ says Gabriek. ‘They make me help them sometimes. You’re the outsider.’
Gabriek doesn’t say that in an unkind way, but I can tell he wishes I wasn’t here. I wish I wasn’t too. I wish I was back in my hole like normal.
Except it won’t ever be the same. Every night from now on, when Gabriek should be pickling cabbage or asleep in bed, I’ll be wondering if he’s out helping people blow up trains.
/> ‘What do the partisans do to outsiders?’ I say.
‘Don’t ask,’ says Gabriek.
One of the partisans, who I think must be the leader because he’s the only one not loaded down with Nazi guns, comes over to us.
He stares at me as if he’s making a difficult decision. I get the feeling he’s a man who has to make a lot of difficult decisions. Such as killing a kid who might not be able to keep his mouth shut.
‘I can keep my mouth shut,’ I say to him.
The leader’s expression doesn’t change.
I feel sick.
The leader looks at Gabriek.
‘Don’t let it happen again,’ he says.
He walks away.
Gabriek doesn’t move for a moment. Just breathes.
Then he grabs my arm and pulls me in the opposite direction along the forest path.
We’re hurrying through the dark forest and I’m still waiting for Gabriek to say something.
I’m also trying to get used to what I’ve learned about him. How he’s not just a mending person, but also a shooting person and a blowing-up person and a killing person. I don’t like it, but I think I understand.
The Nazis killed Genia, who Gabriek loved most in the world. So even though good people don’t usually break things, I think he should be allowed to for a while. But not for too long because it’s dangerous.
Gabriek still isn’t saying anything, so I decide to.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
Gabriek looks at me. As far as I can tell in the darkness, his face is tired and worried and cross all at once.
I don’t blame him. All parents must feel that way sometimes, specially volunteer parents.
‘I thought it was a simple rule,’ says Gabriek. ‘You never leave the barn.’
I nod. It is a simple rule. And a good one.
I don’t normally make excuses. I lived for four years in a Catholic orphanage, and one thing you learn with nuns is not to make excuses.
But I can’t bear for Gabriek to think I’m stupid or careless or ungrateful.
So I try to explain why I left the barn.
Explaining is taking longer than I thought.
I keep getting out of breath. Gabriek is making us walk through the forest as fast as my painful legs can go because he says the place will be crawling with Nazis soon.
Finally I finish talking.
Gabriek doesn’t say anything for a while.
When he speaks, his voice is kind of husky.
‘So that’s why you yelled those things,’ he says.
‘It was a story,’ I say. ‘So they wouldn’t hurt you. I pretended you were good at Jew-hunting so they wouldn’t know you’re actually very good at Jew-protecting.’
Gabriek breathes for a while before he speaks.
‘If they were the secret police,’ he says, ‘they’d have killed you.’
I don’t say anything. Gabriek is looking even more tired and worried and cross, and I don’t want to make it worse.
I can see the edge of the forest coming up. Just some fields and we’ll be home.
Gabriek stops and puts his hands on my shoulders.
‘Thank you,’ he says.
His voice is even more husky now, but it also sounds grateful.
‘I’m sorry I broke the rule,’ I say. ‘I won’t break it again. Not unless there’s another emergency.’
Gabriek thinks about this. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it and thinks some more.
‘Let’s agree something,’ he says after a bit. ‘Let’s agree we’ll both do our very best to stay alive, OK?’
I nod.
‘Happy birthday, Felix,’ he says.
We give each other a hug. We don’t often do that, but this feels like a special occasion.
I should feel happy, but as we walk towards the edge of the forest, there’s a thought I can’t stop having. I can’t stop wishing that just for this special night the war would stop and I could have a real birthday with a cake like I used to have with Mum and Dad.
A cake with real candles.
Gabriek gives my shoulder a squeeze.
‘I made you some turnip bread,’ he says.
That’s incredible. He must have read my mind.
We step out of the trees into the fields. And for an even more incredible moment I think my dream has come true. Over on the horizon, in the direction of the farm, flames are flickering like candles on a huge turnip cake.
But it’s not a cake.
It’s the farm, burning.
staring for a few stunned moments, me and Gabriek started running across the fields towards the burning farmhouse.
Tripping over cabbage stumps.
Stumbling and frantic.
I pray to Richmal Crompton that the fire began in the house and hasn’t spread to the barn yet. Hasn’t spread to Dom.
Gabriek stops and grabs me.
‘Stay here,’ he says. ‘If the Nazis did this, they might still be around. Wait here and hide in a ditch.’
Before I can say anything, Gabriek runs on towards the farm.
I hesitate, but only for a moment. Hiding in a ditch won’t help Dom. And Gabriek can’t put that fire out by himself. They need me.
As I stumble on, urging my stiff legs to move faster, I think about what Gabriek just said about the Nazis burning the farm.
I don’t get it.
Even if the Nazis already know about their train being at the bottom of a valley all blown up and broken, how would they know we were involved?
Unless an informer told them about Gabriek helping the partisans …
What’s that noise?
It sounds like a truck engine.
For a moment I hope it’s the local fire truck. Then I remember what Gabriek told me recently. The Nazis have sent our local fire truck to the east to help repel the Russians, who’ve decided they don’t like the Nazis and are fighting them.
I drop to the ground and crouch low and try to see whose truck this is.
Gabriek is doing the same up ahead in the next field.
There’s the truck, revving its engine in swirls of smoke in front of the farmhouse. It’s a Nazi truck. I can see Nazi soldiers clambering into the back.
The smoke is getting thicker. I can’t see if the barn is burning or not.
Hang on, Dom.
We can’t do anything while those soldiers are there. I wish Gabriek hadn’t given his gun back to the partisans. I wish he could take careful aim and kill those Nazi soldiers one by one.
But he can’t.
All we can do is wait while the truck drives away. And pray that while it’s turning out of the farm gate it gets a puncture and rolls over and squashes those Nazi firebugs.
But it doesn’t. It just drives off.
Gabriek is on his feet again and running towards the farm.
So am I.
Gabriek gets there before me.
I’m half a field back, but I can see how bad the fire is now. Flames after flames after flames. I don’t think we’ll be able to get water onto that many flames from just one well with a small bucket.
Gabriek has taken off his jacket. He holds it up in front of his face and goes into the farmhouse, which is burning all over.
The barn is burning too, but not as badly.
Why didn’t Gabriek get Dom first?
Unless Dom is already … no, I don’t want to think that.
Gabriek must have gone into the house because there are things inside that are even more precious to him than a really strong and loyal workhorse.
Genia things.
I’m almost at the last fence.
I beg Richmal Crompton to give Gabriek and Dom the strength to survive the heat and the smoke.
Me too.
I clamber over the fence and sprint as fast as I can to the pig trough. The ice in the trough has melted and I plunge my blanket into the water, then wrap it round my head and go into the barn.
The smoke is
thick but I can hear Dom. He’s making noises I’ve never heard him make before. Screaming noises, and noises that sound like gunshots. He must be stamping his feet.
Which isn’t good. If he stamps too hard and the wooden floor of his stall gives way he’ll be down in my hole and I’ll never get him out.
‘Dom,’ I call. ‘It’s alright. I’m here.’
The flames are close, but only on one side. I turn my back to them and force myself towards the stall.
Dom’s gate is latched with a special security latch Gabriek invented. Dom is a very smart horse and we were worried he might work out how to open a normal latch.
I know how to open this one, but not when the metal is this hot. I wrap the wet blanket round my hands, but that makes me too clumsy.
The smoke is choking us both. Dom is stamping really hard now. I grab Gabriek’s axe and smash the latch off the gate. Gabriek is right, sometimes you do have to break things.
‘Come on, Dom,’ I say gently, putting the blanket over his head.
I keep the axe ready in case any burning beams block the way, and lead Dom out of the barn and over to the pig trough.
There’s probably a taste of old pig in the water, but Dom drinks without complaining.
I peer around the farmyard.
The flames are so bright I have to squint. The heat is making the metal frames of my glasses burn my face.
I can’t see Gabriek. He must still be getting things.
‘I’ll be back soon,’ I say to Dom.
I wrap the blanket round my head again and go back into the barn. I feel guilty about not going to help Gabriek, but the flames will be in the hole soon and Gabriek’s not the only one with things he wants to save.
I hold my breath all the way over to Dom’s stall. My lungs are almost bursting. I open the trapdoor and drop down into the hole.
My eyes are raw and weeping from the smoke and I have to close them, but I don’t need to see because down here I know where everything is.
I grab my books and my important pieces of paper and the locket Zelda gave me two birthdays ago.
The air down here is a bit fresher and I take a deep breath.
‘Thanks,’ I whisper to the hole. ‘Thanks for the good protection.’
I climb out.