by Maria Kiely
I’m amazed by how easily Honza helped each of us push our fears aside—maybe we’re braver than we think.
Chapter 19
MUD
“I CAN’T BELIEVE we made it!” I exclaim as we catch our breath on the other side of the ravine. “Maruska and I pretend to do brave things like this when we play Storm at Sea—but I never thought I’d really have to do anything like this!”
“What’s ‘Storm at Sea’? Honza asks.
“It’s a game my cousin and I play where we have to save people from drowning in a terrible storm that’s wrecking our ship.”
“Well, you are pretty good at being brave in real life,” Honza says.
I’m surprised when Ruzena smiles at me, and I feel the warmth of pride fill me up.
“Now,” Honza says, turning to Ruzena, “tell me about the concert you’re supposed to be playing at.”
“I’m a pianist and I was going to have my first solo concert in Prague, but then we had to leave . . .” Ruzena trails off.
“I’m sorry you had to miss it,” Honza says. “I’d love to hear you play someday.”
“I’d like that too,” Ruzena tells him. “Do you play an instrument?”
“No, I took recorder lessons for a few months when I was eight, but then I lost my recorder and I haven’t played since.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“Actually, I think my mom threw it away. I was terrible.”
Ruzena laughs with Honza, and I marvel at how happy she seems around him.
Now that everyone has settled down, Mama starts walking and we follow. The path on this side of the ravine is wet and muddy. Mama takes a few steps, trying to avoid the worst spots, but she suddenly lurches forward and almost falls. Honza reaches out to steady her, and when she pulls her foot up, her shoe is missing. It has sunk so deep into the mud that none of us can see it.
Honza helps Mama to a dry place, and she stands against a tree while Honza, Ruzena, and I crouch around the puddle searching for her shoe and trying not to get stuck. The mud is thick like clay, and it makes loud sucking noises as we scoop it aside. Finally, my fingers grasp the heel of my mother’s shoe and I proudly pull it from the muck.
It is almost unrecognizable, but Honza wipes it with some large leaves and Mama is able to put it on again.
“You’re a mess!” Ruzena exclaims. But she says it in a gentle, teasing way that makes me smile, not in her usual know-it-all big-sister way.
“A little dirt never hurt anyone,” I say.
“Well, then,” Honza says, handing me a pile of fresh leaves. “May I offer you a washcloth from our finest collection, mademoiselle?”
He and Ruzena try to help but only succeed in spreading more mud all over me—and some on themselves. We collapse into fits of laughter, and I almost feel like I’m playing with Maruska and Pavel again.
Finally, Mama comes to the rescue when she finds two handkerchiefs in her bag. She dips them into a fairly clean puddle of water. “Wipe off as much mud as you can with the leaves, and then you can use these for your hands and faces.”
“I have some water in my canteen,” Honza offers.
“Thank you, Honza,” Mama says. “But let’s save that for drinking. The puddle water is fine to wash with.”
While Mama helps me clean off, I watch Honza and Ruzena. Honza says something that makes my sister smile as he wipes her cheek with the handkerchief, and she takes it back and tries to rub some mud off his nose.
“Okay, I think we’re all as clean as we’re going to get for now,” Mama says, looking us over. “We should start walking.”
She turns back toward the muddy path, but I notice a narrow road through the trees. “Why don’t we take that road? It seems to go parallel to this path and doesn’t look as muddy. We should be safe—we’re in Germany now.”
“I like the idea of no mud,” Ruzena says. “But are we sure it will lead us to the German post?”
“Both roads seem to go in the same direction,” Honza says. “I think we should try it and keep our eye on the path too.” He slings his satchel over his shoulder and picks up Ruzena’s bag. “May I take your bag too?” he asks my mother.
“No, thank you. I can manage. Just help the girls if they need it,” she replies.
“Your loyal pack mule at your service,” Honza says to me with a grin. He reaches out for my bag, but I hold the handle tight. For some reason, even though my arms are tired, it makes me feel safer to carry my own bag.
“No, thanks. It’s okay—I can carry it myself.”
I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that Honza understands why I don’t want to give him my bag.
“Anna, brave—and strong!” he says.
Chapter 20
ROAD TO NOWHERE
THE ROAD’S ONLY a little wider than the path, but it’s much easier to walk on. As we walk, we can see a few other trails weaving in and out of the trees, but we seem to be heading in the same direction as our original path, so we keep going.
We travel for about an hour, but no German post comes into sight.
“Mama, didn’t the guide say it was only a mile to the post?” Ruzena inquires. “We’ve gone much farther than that by now.”
“Maybe he was mistaken and it’s really more like two miles, but I’m sure we’ll be there soon.”
My throat is parched and my legs ache. I wish we could sit and rest. Streaks of sunlight reach between the trees and play on the road. It’s beautiful, and I try to let it distract me from my discomfort. Honza is walking a little ahead of me, and I hurry to catch up with him.
“Do you have all the Boy Scout badges? My cousin Pavel is a Boy Scout, too, but he still has a lot of badges left to get.”
“I have almost all of them. I was working toward the last one in boating just before I left, but I didn’t have the chance to get it.”
“What do you have to do to get the boating badge?” Ruzena asks.
“My friends and I were building a canoe, and we were supposed to take it down the Vltava.” A look of sadness passes over Honza’s face when he mentions his friends.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“I’m worried about my friends. We were supposed to leave together, but I got delayed. They went without me, but I don’t know what happened to them.”
“Why’d you have to leave?”
“What delayed you?”
Ruzena and I speak at the same time, so the words come out in a jumble.
“I was originally going to leave Czechoslovakia with my family,” Honza tells us. “My grandfather worked for the government, but he resigned when he realized the Communists weren’t going to allow a real democracy to be reinstalled. He decided it’d be best for all of us to go before things got worse. But then my father got jailed for speaking out against a Communist official, and it was arranged for me to leave with my Boy Scout leader and some of my friends who’d gotten into trouble for protesting. On my way to the train station to meet them, I got stopped by Russian police. They asked me lots of questions about my family’s political views, but I pretended I didn’t know anything. I guess I played dumb so well, they finally gave up on me and let me go. But by that time, I’d missed the train and my friends were gone.”
“Oh my goodness! The same thing happened . . .” I catch myself, worried that Ruzena or Mama will ask me what I’m talking about, but fortunately, at that moment, Ruzena cries out.
“Look,” she says, pointing through the trees to where an elderly woman is picking mushrooms. “Shall I go ask her where we are? Maybe I can find out how much farther it is to the German post . . . if we’re even going in the right direction—”
But my mother cuts her off. “No, Ruzena. You mustn’t speak to her. We can’t let anyone see us.” Mama ushers us behind a cluster of bushes by the sid
e of the road.
“But why?” I ask softly. “What harm could come of asking a woman for directions? Isn’t it supposed to be safe for us in Germany now?”
“First, we don’t know exactly where we are,” Mama says. “We haven’t come to any official post yet. Second, even if we are in Germany, during the war, the Nazis convinced most Germans that Czechs were enemies and that they should hate us. That woman could very well still believe that and send us in the wrong direction.”
As Mama speaks, I feel my stomach tighten. Another person who might send us into a trap.
It’s getting harder and harder to believe that we could ever trust anybody again—and yet this whole journey depends upon us doing just that.
Mama can tell we’re all upset and suggests we rest for a while and eat. She finds some dry grass that’s hidden from view by a large bush and lays her scarf on the ground for a picnic. There are four lemons, a packet of sugar cubes, a large loaf of my grandmother’s good Czech bread, and some of her homemade bacon. Honza cuts one of the lemons into quarters with his Scout knife, and my mother gives each of us a sugar cube and a section of lemon. I alternate sucking on the sugar with sucking on the lemon and begin to feel better.
After a few moments, Honza jumps to his feet.
“I’m going to walk ahead a bit to see if I can find out where we are and if we’re following the right path,” he announces.
We watch in silence as Honza walks up the road, bathed in the golden afternoon light. Ruzena breathes a small sigh, and I know she is also thinking about how glad she is that he’s with us.
Honza hasn’t gone far when the sound of a car engine causes all of us to freeze.
Seconds later, a jeep drives up the road.
Chapter 21
THE JEEP WITH A STAR
AS THE JEEP gets closer, I see something on its hood that sends terror racing through me. It is a star, a symbol that means one thing to me: Russians. This is it. We’ve been caught. All of our walking in the forest and Mama’s codes and everything has been for nothing.
But Honza doesn’t seem worried. He turns back to us and calls out, “I’m going to flag them down.”
“Yes, go ahead,” Mama answers.
I’m shocked. Is Mama just giving up? What about Papa? But then I realize that whoever is driving the jeep has most certainly seen us and that running and hiding would only make us look suspicious.
Honza waves his arms as the jeep draws near, and it slows to a stop just a few feet in front of him.
Ruzena and I move closer to Mama, and she puts her arms around us. “It’s all right,” she whispers.
We watch as two soldiers climb out—and my heart leaps when I see their uniforms.
They’re American!
Two real live American GIs!
I can’t believe I was so scared of getting caught that I didn’t notice that the star on the jeep is white, meaning American, not red, meaning Russian. No wonder Mama wasn’t worried about Honza flagging them down.
Mama introduces us to the soldiers, and I learn that their names are Private Babbit and Private Mayfield. I smile at the soldiers and stand quietly, listening to them talk to Mama. My English isn’t great, but I’m able to understand some of the words they’re saying. It’s odd because I know Mama speaks English very well, but they seem to be having difficulty understanding each other. Finally, one soldier asks Mama a question. She answers, Private Mayfield says something in response, and they all laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I ask my sister.
“I don’t know. Private Babbit just asked Mama where she learned English, and she told him at school from nuns educated in England. Then Private Mayfield told her they were from somewhere called Alabama, and they all laughed.”
I’m not sure why that’s so funny, but it’s nice to hear Mama laugh. They talk a little longer, and I notice Private Babbit is short, with a cheerful round face, and Private Mayfield is thin and tall—taller than Honza—with a kind expression in his green eyes. I can see that they are both young, probably not much older than Honza.
The soldiers start talking to Ruzena, Honza, and me, and Mama tells them that our English isn’t very good, so they begin to speak more slowly and use lots of gestures so it’s easier for us to understand. The soldiers tell us how surprised they were to see us, that we’re in Germany but still a long way from the border post, and we weren’t even walking in the right direction to get there. I wonder if the guide sent us the wrong way but figure it doesn’t really matter now, because these men will help us.
“Well, ma’am,” Private Babbit says to my mother, “we’re going to give y’all a lift to the German post and get this figured out.”
“Let’s grab your things and we’ll get going,” says Private Mayfield, following us to the bushes by the side of the road where our suitcases are lying.
“Looks like you were having a little picnic. Would you like to finish eating before we go?” he says, indicating the scarf with the food laid out on it that we had abandoned when the jeep pulled up.
“Well, the girls were hungry, but we don’t want to delay you,” Mama replies.
“Please don’t worry about that, ma’am. Let the girls eat,” says Private Babbit.
“We’re in no rush, ma’am, and it might be hard to eat in the jeep. You probably won’t get a chance to eat for a while when we get to the border post, because they’ll have lots of questions for you,” adds Private Mayfield.
“Thank you. In that case, won’t you please join us?” says Mama, gesturing to the food.
Private Mayfield looks as though he is about to decline, but Private Babbit says, “We’d be glad to. Thank you, ma’am.”
We all sit around the scarf in a circle, and Mama hands out the bread and bacon. The soldiers only accept small portions, but there is plenty for everyone. Private Mayfield chews for a moment and then says, “We raise pigs and make mighty fine bacon on my farm back home, but this is the best bacon I’ve ever tasted.”
Mama smiles at him. “Thank you. It comes from our farm in Czechoslovakia.”
“You come from a farm too?” he responds in surprise.
“Yes,” I say in halting English. “It’s beautiful.” I don’t know very many English words, but I am determined to talk to these kind men.
“Hey, you speak good English!” says Private Mayfield with a smile.
“Thank you,” I say, returning his smile.
“What’s your farm like?” asks Private Babbit—and just like that I am telling him about the animals in Roven and he is laughing about my “pet” geese. I use lots of hand gestures to explain what I am trying to say, and Mama helps me when I don’t understand or don’t know how to say something, but I am having a real conversation with two American soldiers. Pavel will never believe it!
Honza joins in, and it turns out his English is better than mine. They are curious about his uniform and tell him that there are Boy Scouts in America too.
Ruzena asks the soldiers how long they have been in Germany. They tell us they were too young to fight in the war, but they joined the army as soon as they turned eighteen and have been stationed in Germany for over a year.
Private Mayfield swallows a mouthful of food and says, “I’m proud to be serving my country, but I sure do miss home.”
When the food’s gone, Mama stands up, shakes out the scarf, and puts it back in her bag. Honza and Private Babbit carry our bags to the jeep.
The jeep has no roof and no doors. There is a high bench for the back seat and two seats in front. Private Babbit climbs into the back of the jeep and offers me his hand to help me in. Then Honza helps Ruzena climb in next to me and jumps on board after her. Private Mayfield helps Mama into the front passenger seat and then gets into the driver’s seat. Before he starts the car, Private Mayfield takes a small paper packet out of his pocket. He removes something
thin wrapped in silver foil and hands the packet back to Private Babbit.
Private Babbit offers it to me. “Want some gum?”
I look quizzically at him. Not only do I not understand what he is saying, but I don’t recognize the thing he is holding out to me.
“Don’t you know what gum is?” he asks, surprised.
He removes the foil paper to reveal something flat and white that gives off a sweet smell.
“It’s like candy. You can chew it, but don’t swallow it.” He puts the gum in his mouth, makes an exaggerated chewing motion, and nods his head. Then he points at his throat, swallows, and vigorously shakes his head. Ruzena and Honza are both watching with amused interest. Private Babbit removes three more pieces of gum from the packet and hands a piece to each of us.
I unwrap mine cautiously. As I begin to chew, a sweet minty flavor fills my mouth. It’s almost juicy. I smile at Private Babbit and he smiles back. Private Mayfield starts the jeep and off we go.
The wind whips through my hair as the jeep speeds along. The road is bumpy and we bounce around, but I am tucked so snugly between Ruzena and Private Babbit that I’m not afraid.
It seems strange that I left Roven only two days ago. So much has happened that I could have never imagined—yet we still have so far to go. I long for the family I have left behind and for Papa, whom we are going to find.
It is hard to feel so many emotions tumbling over me all at once, so I close my eyes and breathe deeply. I concentrate on the sweetness of the gum. I feel the fresh air on my face and can’t believe how wonderful it is to be riding in a real American army jeep—with people we can trust.
Chapter 22
THE GERMAN POST
THE GERMAN POST is a small group of single-story, whitewashed, concrete buildings. The American soldiers lead us into the main building, which is slightly larger than the others. A German officer greets us and speaks briefly with Private Babbit. Then he leads us into a small room with a table and several chairs and asks us to sit.