Then

by Morris Gleitzman

  ‘Wait here,’ I say to Zelda.

  I hurry outside with the book.

  This is all I can do. Give the book to the soldiers and say I’m sorry. Explain that Cyryl told me it was junk. Hope that when they see my Polish Wilhelm identity card, they’ll have mercy.

  At least they haven’t got their killer dog with them today.

  I crouch outside the door of the barn. I don’t want to just barge in. Everyone knows you never creep up behind a horse or a Nazi.

  I peep through a crack in the door so I can choose a moment when the soldiers haven’t got their heads in the straw.

  My eyes get used to the gloom and I blink with surprise and alarm.

  The Nazis aren’t doing a book search at all. One of them is grabbing the chickens and stuffing them into a sack. The other is putting a rope round Trotski’s neck.

  Trotski isn’t happy. He’s trying to bite the soldier. The soldier is swearing.

  Genia is very upset.

  ‘You can’t take them,’ she’s yelling. ‘You can’t.’

  One of the Nazi soldiers has got his gun pointed at Genia, but apart from that they’re ignoring her.

  Leopold is very upset too. He’s barking and growling. Genia is holding him by his collar, but he’s jumping and leaping, trying to get at the soldiers.

  I know I should be doing the same. Or at least pleading with them.

  Before I can move, I hear a voice calling out.

  ‘Hey, Nowak.’

  At first I don’t understand what that means. I’m too numb to think. But slowly I realise.

  That’s me.

  I turn round.

  Cyryl and three other boys are walking towards me across the farmyard. Cyryl is grinning, but not in a friendly way. As he gets closer, I see that his face is badly bruised from when the Hitler Youth bashed him the other day.

  I hurry forward to meet the boys so I can find out what they want before they get too close to the barn.

  ‘This is my gang,’ says Cyryl, pointing to the other boys, who aren’t looking very friendly either.

  Now I’m thinking fast. Cyryl must have decided to come here in person to report me to the Nazis for book stealing. And Zelda as well probably. So he can gloat while the Nazis arrest us. And there’s nothing I can do. I’ve got the book in my hands. He must have seen it already.

  Cyryl and the other boys come and stand very close to me. But Cyryl isn’t even looking at the book.

  ‘Do you want to join my gang?’ he says.

  I stare at him, surprised. I don’t know what to say. I just want to get back to the barn.

  ‘We want you to join,’ says Cyryl.

  The other boys all nod.

  My thoughts are whirling. Maybe his gang do a lot of stealing and that’s why they’re inviting me. Maybe if I’m in his gang he won’t press charges about the book.

  ‘All right,’ I say, stuffing the book inside my shirt.

  ‘And me,’ says another voice. ‘I want to join too.’

  It’s Zelda. She’s standing next to me, hands on her hips, looking sternly at Cyryl.

  ‘Go back to the house,’ I plead with her.

  ‘Not unless you do,’ she says.

  Cyryl scowls at Zelda.

  ‘No girls,’ he says. He turns back to me. ‘Before you can join, you have to do the test.’

  ‘What test?’ I say.

  ‘Pull your pants down,’ says Cyryl.

  I don’t understand. But after a couple of seconds I do. Fear starts to churn inside me.

  ‘You’re rude,’ says Zelda to Cyryl.

  Cyryl ignores her.

  ‘It’s the entrance test for the gang,’ he says to me. ‘You have to prove you’re not a Jew.’

  My insides are quivering. I try not to show it.

  ‘That’s stupid,’ I say. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to join.’

  ‘Too late,’ says Cyryl. ‘You said you did. If you don’t pull your pants down, we will.’

  The other boys take a step towards me.

  Cyryl is looking me right in the eye, his wet lips gleaming. I can see exactly what he’s thinking.

  He’s hoping I’ve got a Jewish private part.

  He can’t wait to show the Nazi soldiers.

  If my pants come down, we haven’t got a chance. The Nazis’ll take me into town and kill me on a post. Same with Genia for hiding me. And Zelda doesn’t stand a chance either. Even Nazi kids get executed if they protect Jews.

  You know how when you’re trapped and terrified and your insides are squeezed up with fear, you get an urgent need to do a poo?

  I’m getting that now.

  ‘Pull his pants down,’ says Cyryl.

  The boys all grab at my trousers and start to undo the buttons. I try to fight them, but two of them hold my arms.

  ‘Get off him,’ yells Zelda.

  Cyryl pushes her away. She sprawls onto the ground. I kick and struggle but it’s no good. The boys have got two of the buttons undone already.

  There’s only one thing I can do. It’s my last chance for us to survive.

  I let the poo out.

  Cyryl has got his hands on the back of my pants, trying to drag them down.

  ‘Urghh,’ he says. ‘What’s that smell? Yuck, it’s warm.’

  I don’t say anything.

  He’ll realise.

  He does.

  ‘Arghh,’ he yells, jumping back. ‘He’s pooed his pants.’

  The other boys jump back too.

  I look down. I don’t want to see their faces and what they think of me.

  ‘Disgusting,’ says one of the boys.

  ‘Filthy maggot,’ says another.

  They’re right, but what choice did I have?

  Zelda is scrambling to her feet.

  ‘You made him do it,’ she yells at the boys. ‘He doesn’t usually do it.’

  She puts her arms round me.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ she says. ‘Sometimes poo just comes out.’

  The barn door bangs open. One of the Nazi soldiers appears, carrying a sack full of squawking chickens.

  Cyryl runs over to him, crowing loudly, pointing at me.

  ‘He pooed his pants.’

  Maybe he hopes the Nazi soldier will shoot me for being disgusting.

  The Nazi soldier isn’t in the mood. His hands and face are covered with chicken scratches. He swipes at Cyryl and almost knocks him over.

  ‘Get lost, all of you,’ he yells at us in bad Polish.

  But we don’t.

  Cyryl stomps back towards me and I can see he’s determined to get my pants down, poo or no poo.

  Zelda is staring at the sack of chickens, horrified, and I can see she’s determined to rescue them.

  I step forward to try and stop them both.

  I’m still moving forward when something else happens.

  Something even worse.

  Inside the barn, loud and terrible.

  A gunshot.

  Then we froze.

  Me and Zelda and Cyryl and the other boys.

  A gunshot can do that. Make your whole body go cold and rigid, even if the bullet doesn’t actually hit you.

  The Nazi soldier with the sack of chickens doesn’t freeze. He just tosses the sack into the back of the truck. He doesn’t even look concerned. He probably hears a hundred gunshots a day, most of them probably killing innocent people like Genia or innocent pigs like Trotski.

  Suddenly, with a jolt of panic, I come back to life.

  So do Cyryl and his gang. They stop gawking at the barn and swap scared looks.

  ‘I haven’t finished with you, Nowak,’ Cyryl snarls at me, and I can see he means it.

  He and the other boys sprint away.

  Zelda is storming towards the chickens.

  I lunge forward and grab her just as the other Nazi soldier comes out of the barn. He’s putting his pistol back into its holster and dragging an angry Trotski at the end of the rope.

 
; More panic hits me.

  If it wasn’t Trostski who was shot…

  ‘Let that pig go,’ Zelda yells at the soldiers. ‘And those chickens.’

  I put my hand over her mouth.

  Before I can see what terrible thing has happened in the barn, I have to keep Zelda safe.

  ‘Be a good girl, Violetta,’ I say loudly, just like Genia would. ‘The officers are just collecting food for the Nazi army.’

  Zelda bites my hand.

  I try not to let the soldiers see I’m in pain. I pretend I’m wiping dirt from round Zelda’s mouth. While she grunts into my hand, I smile and wave with my other hand to the soldiers. They grunt too as they lift Trotski up and dump him in the back of the truck.

  Please understand why I can’t rescue you, I beg Trotski silently.

  I keep smiling and waving while the Nazis drive away. It’s incredibly hard, smiling with full pants and fear in your guts and an aching heart, but I do it for Zelda.

  ‘You let them take Trotski,’ Zelda yells at me when I finally take my hand off her mouth. ‘You let them take the chickens.’

  I try to explain but I can’t speak. Zelda probably thinks it’s because I’m ashamed, which I am.

  But mostly it’s because of what might be waiting for us in the barn.

  I stop in the barn doorway, not wanting to look. From inside I hear sobbing.

  A person can only sob when they’re alive.

  ‘Genia,’ I whisper, weak with relief.

  But my relief doesn’t last long. My eyes get used to the gloom. What I see isn’t a relief at all.

  Leopold is lying on the ground. Not barking. Not growling. Not even moving.

  Genia is kneeling next to him, her face in her hands.

  ‘Leopold,’ screams Zelda, rushing past me.

  She flings herself down next to Genia and tries to lift Leopold, but his head just flops against her chest.

  ‘Leopold,’ sobs Zelda. ‘Don’t be dead.’

  Genia looks at me and Zelda. Her eyes are red and her face is wet.

  ‘I tried to hold him back,’ she says, her voice croaky with grief. ‘But his collar snapped. So they shot him.’

  Now I can see how red the fur on his neck is.

  Zelda is shaking with sobs, pressing her face against Leopold’s limp body.

  I crouch down and gently close his eyelids and stroke his soft untidy fur.

  ‘Good boy,’ I whisper.

  After that I have to close my own eyes because they’re so full of tears.

  We bury Leopold at sunset in a corner of the cabbage field.

  ‘It was his favourite field,’ says Genia.

  We lay some wild flowers and ferns onto the mound of soil.

  ‘Why are Nazi monsters so mean and horrible?’ says Zelda.

  Genia and me don’t reply. We don’t know the answer. Instead we stand quietly by Leopold’s grave and say some prayers for him.

  I ask Richmal Crompton, out loud so Genia and Zelda can hear, if she can arrange for Jumble, the dog in her books, to end up in the same part of heaven as Leopold. I think they’ll like each other.

  ‘Jumble will like Trotski and the chickens too,’ says Zelda.

  I smile at her through my tears.

  ‘He will,’ I say.

  Zelda rummages around in her coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. She unfolds it and gives it to Genia.

  It’s a drawing of Leopold and Trotski and the chickens all being fed automatically.

  ‘So you can remember them,’ says Zelda.

  Genia looks at the drawing for a long time.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says softly. ‘Both of you.’

  She takes a deep breath and turns to me.

  ‘Wilhelm,’ she says.

  ‘Yes?’ I say nervously.

  I’m worried about what Genia’s going to say next.

  While she was washing my trousers earlier she didn’t say anything. Not about the poo or about how my private part nearly got us killed. But I could see her thinking about things.

  What if she’s decided now she simply can’t protect such a dirty and dangerous boy?

  Genia gives me a hug.

  ‘I’m proud of you,’ she says. ‘What you did this afternoon was very brave and very quick-thinking.’

  I’m a bit dazed, but glowing too.

  ‘He can do it any time he wants,’ says Zelda, hugging me from the other side. ‘Any time he sees a Nazi, he can just do a poo.’

  We stand with our arms round each other for a long time and I don’t ever want to stop because I’m so lucky to have a family like Zelda and Genia.

  Finally we walk back towards the house.

  ‘We’re going to be hungry this winter,’ says Genia, looking sadly towards the barn. ‘The Nazis have taken everything now. All I’ve got is a few cabbages and a few potatoes and a few onions.’

  ‘And a few turnips,’ says Zelda.

  Genia smiles and gives her a squeeze.

  ‘You’re right, Violetta,’ she says. ‘We mustn’t forget the turnips.’

  Poor Genia. If she didn’t have to feed us, at least she’d have a bit more for herself.

  That’s when I decide to do it.

  I may not be big or tough or muscly enough to be a fighter, but there is one thing I can do.

  Get more food for my family.

  Then I racked my brains about where you can get food in this part of Poland with winter coming on and all the fields empty because the Nazis have stripped them bare.

  Grow cabbages in the barn?

  Catch birds?

  Boil up acorns?

  I try everything, but it’s no good. You need sunlight for cabbage seeds to grow. Candles just aren’t bright enough. And you can’t catch birds when they’ve all gone to Africa to get away from the cold. And boiled acorns taste yucky and give you a belly ache.

  ‘What about mushroom soup?’ says Zelda one morning.

  I look at her hopefully.

  ‘Have you found mushrooms somewhere?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ she says, handing me a piece of paper. ‘But I thought about them really hard. Like we did that time with chocolate. And I remembered what they looked like.’

  I stare at a drawing of mushrooms.

  ‘Be careful,’ says Zelda sternly. ‘They might be poisonous.’

  In bed one night I suddenly remember the rabbit holes. That hillside me and Zelda climbed up when we were escaping from the Nazi train was full of rabbit holes.

  Rabbit holes mean rabbits.

  Tender juicy rabbits.

  Perfect for winter stews.

  I wait till Genia and Zelda are asleep. Carefully I slip out of bed. In the darkness I put on my boots. I leave my coat, I can move faster without it.

  I creep into the kitchen.

  I’ve never killed a rabbit before, so I’m not sure exactly what I’ll need.

  A net?

  A rope to strangle them?

  A knife?

  I can’t find a net or a rope, so I borrow Genia’s vegetable knife. On my way to the door, I have another thought and I borrow her shopping bag too. It’s a nice one made of string.

  I’ll try not to get blood on it.

  I creep out of the house.

  It’s a cloudy night, but as I hurry across the cabbage field, the moon comes out. The cabbage stumps gleam white in the moonlight.

  Shame the rabbits don’t know they’re here. I bet rabbits love cabbage stumps. A field of rabbits on my doorstep would make my job a lot easier.

  Well, a bit easier.

  I’d still have to kill them.

  ‘Wish me luck, Leopold,’ I whisper as I pass his grave.

  I’m sure he does. And I know he’d come with me if he could.

  There’s a chill breeze whipping across these fields, but I’ll stay warm as long as I move quickly. In the distance I can see the hills, and the ragged line of forest that runs along the top. That’s where the rabbit holes are, in those hills.

>   I try not to think about what’s also there.

  The poor dead children in their grave.

  I reach a lane and go along it in the direction of the hills. But the lane isn’t straight. It’s got bends and turns. And corners. There’s a high hedge on both sides and now the moon is back behind a cloud and I’m not sure any more which direction I’m going.

  I leave the lane and cut across a field towards what I hope are the hills looming in front of me. I start climbing a slope. Except, as I climb, I can’t see any rabbit holes. Or any trees.

  Suddenly I hear voices talking loudly in the distance.

  I fling myself to the ground, praying that the moon will stay hidden so I can too. Now, as I peer ahead, I can make out a faint haze of lights.

  More voices.

  The growl of engines.

  The moon comes out. I have to find a better hiding place than this open hillside.

  I crawl up the rocky slope, hoping to find a bush or a burrow. What I see at the top is so amazing I forget all about bushes and burrows.

  I even forget about rabbits.

  Down the slope on the other side is a big house. About fifty times bigger than Genia’s place. There’s even an upstairs. Plus other buildings that look like stables or garages. Lamps are burning in just about all the rooms. A motorbike is sitting out the front with its engine running even though it’s not going anywhere.

  These people must be very rich.

  I can see some of them, walking around outside, dark against the lit-up windows. They’re talking and laughing and…

  … wearing uniforms.

  I wipe the sweat off my glasses and look again.

  Nazis.

  Now I can see trucks with swastikas on them. And guards at the gate. And machine guns.

  I know I should run as far away as I can, but I can’t stop looking.

  I’ve heard how the Nazis always take the best country houses for themselves. The big ones with wine cellars and bathrooms. Which explains why they haven’t moved in to Genia’s place.

  ‘Don’t move.’

  A voice hisses at me from behind.

  I feel a cold sharp blade prick the skin on the back of my neck.

  A bayonet, probably.

  ‘Turn round,’ hisses the voice. ‘Slowly.’

  I turn round. And find myself facing a kid.

  It’s a kid I’ve seen before. I recognise the scar on his forehead.