He ate, he slept, he dreamed. And finally, after five nights and four days, the train chugged into the terminal at Odessa. The same check at the ticket barrier, but his papers were all in order and the guard barely gave Wladek a second look. Now he was on his own. He still had 150 rubles in the lining of his sleeve, and no intention of wasting any of them.
Wladek spent the rest of the day walking around the town trying to familiarize himself with its geography, but he found he was continually distracted by sights he had never seen before: big town houses, shops with windows, hawkers selling their colorful trinkets on the street, gaslights, and even a monkey on a stick. Wladek walked on until he reached the harbor and the open sea beyond it. Yes, there it was—what the Baron had called a sea. Wladek gazed longingly into the blue expanse: that way lay freedom and escape from Russia. The city must have seen its fair share of fighting: burned-out houses and squalor were all too evident, grotesque in the mild, flower-scented sea air. Wladek wondered whether the city was still at war. There was no one he could ask. As the sun disappeared behind the high buildings, he began to look for somewhere to spend the night. Wladek took a side road and kept walking; he must have seemed a strange sight with his sheepskin coat practically dragging along the ground and the brown paper parcel under his arm. Nothing looked safe to him until he came across a railway siding in which a solitary old railroad car stood in isolation. He stared into it cautiously: darkness and silence; no one was there. He threw his paper parcel into the carriage, raised his tired body up onto the boards, crawled into a corner and lay down to sleep. As his head touched the wooden floor, a body leaped on top of him and two hands were quickly around his throat. He could barely breathe.
“Who are you?” growled the voice of a boy who, in the darkness, sounded no older than himself.
“Wladek Koskiewicz.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Moscow.” Slonim had been on the tip of Wladek’s tongue.
“Well, you’re not sleeping in my carriage, Muscovite,” said the voice.
“Sorry,” said Wladek. “I didn’t know.”
“Got any money?” His thumbs pressed into Wladek’s throat.
“A little,” said Wladek.
“How much?”
“Seven rubles.”
“Hand it over.”
Wladek rummaged in the pocket of his overcoat, while the boy also pushed one hand firmly into it, releasing the pressure on Wladek’s throat.
In one moment, Wladek brought his knee into the boy’s crotch with every ounce of force he could muster. His attacker flew back in agony, clutching his groin. Wladek leaped on him, hitting out at him fiercely. The advantage had suddenly changed. He was no competition for Wladek; sleeping in a derelict railroad car was five-star luxury compared to living in the dungeons and a Russian labor camp.
Wladek stopped only when his adversary was pinned to the car floor, helpless. The boy pleaded with Wladek.
“Go to the far end of the car and stay there,” said Wladek. “If you so much as move a muscle, I’ll kill you.”
“Yes, yes,” said the boy, scrambling away.
Wladek heard him hit the far end of the car. He sat still and listened for a few moments—no movement—then he lowered his head once more to the floor and in moments he was sleeping soundly.
When he awoke, the sun was already shining through between the boards of the car. He turned over and glanced at his adversary of the previous night for the first time. He was lying in a fetal position, still asleep at the other end of the car.
“Come here,” commanded Wladek.
The boy awakened slowly.
“Come here,” repeated Wladek, a little more loudly.
The boy obeyed immediately. It was the first chance Wladek had had to look at him properly. They were about the same age, but the boy was a clear foot taller, with a younger-looking face and fair scruffy hair.
“First things first,” said Wladek. “How does one get something to eat?”
“Follow me,” said the boy, and he leaped out of the car. Wladek limped after him, following him up the hill into the town, where the morning market was being set up. He had not seen so much wholesome food since those magnificent dinners with the Baron. Row upon row of stalls with fruit, vegetables, greens and even his favorite nuts. The boy could see that Wladek was overwhelmed by the sight.
“Now I’ll tell you what we do,” the boy said, sounding confident for the first time. “I will go over to the corner stall and steal an orange and then make a run for it. You will shout at the top of your voice ‘Stop thief!’ The stallkeeper will chase me and when he does, you move in and fill your pockets. Don’t be greedy; enough for one meal. Then you return here. Got it?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Wladek.
“Let’s see if you’re up to it, Muscovite.” The boy looked at him, snarled and was gone. Wladek watched him in admiration as he swaggered to the corner of the first market stall, removed an orange from the top of a pyramid, made a short unheard remark to the stallkeeper and started to run slowly. He glanced back at Wladek, who had entirely forgotten to shout “Stop thief,” but then the stall owner looked up and began to chase the boy. While everyone’s eyes were on Wladek’s accomplice, he moved in quickly and managed to take three oranges, an apple and a potato and put them in the large pockets of his overcoat. When the stallkeeper looked as if he was about to catch Wladek’s accomplice, the boy lobbed the orange back at him. The man stopped to pick it up and swore at him, waving his fist, complaining vociferously to the other merchants as he returned to his stall.
Wladek was shaking with mirth as he took in the scene when a hand was placed firmly on his shoulder. He turned around in the horror of having been caught.
“Did you get anything, Muscovite, or are you only here as a sightseer?”
Wladek burst out laughing with relief and produced the three oranges, the apple and the potato. The boy joined in the laughter.
“What’s your name?” said Wladek.
“Stefan.”
“Let’s do it again, Stefan.”
“Hold on, Muscovite; don’t you start getting too clever. If we do it again, we’ll have to go to the other end of the market and wait for at least an hour. You’re working with a professional, but don’t imagine you won’t get caught occasionally.”
The two boys went quietly through to the other end of the market, Stefan walking with a swagger for which Wladek would have traded the three oranges, the apple, the potato and the 150 rubles. They mingled with the morning shoppers and when Stefan decided the time was right, they repeated the trick twice. Satisfied with the results, they returned to the railway car to enjoy their captured spoils: six oranges, five apples, three potatoes, a pear, several varieties of nuts and the special prize, a melon. In the past, Stefan had never had pockets big enough to hold a melon. Wladek’s greatcoat took care of that.
“Not bad,” said Wladek as he dug his teeth into a potato.
“Do you eat the skins as well?” asked Stefan, horrified.
“I’ve been places where the skins are a luxury,” replied Wladek.
Stefan looked at him with admiration.
“Next problem is, How do we get some money?” said Wladek.
“You want everything in one day, don’t you, oh master?” said Stefan. “Chain gang on the waterfront is the best bet, if you think you’re up to some real work, Muscovite.”
“Show me,” said Wladek.
After they had eaten half the fruit and hidden the rest under the straw in the corner of the railway car, Stefan took Wladek down the steps to the harbor and showed him the many ships. Wladek couldn’t believe his eyes. He had been told by the Baron of the great ships that crossed the high seas delivering their cargoes to foreign lands, but these were so much bigger than he had ever imagined, and they stood in a line as far as the eye could see.
Stefan interrupted his thoughts. “See that one over there, the big green one? Well, what you have to do
is pick up a basket at the bottom of the gangplank, fill it with grain, climb up the ladder and then drop your load in the hold. You get a ruble for every four trips you make. Be sure you can count, Muscovite, because the bastard in charge of the gang will swindle you as soon as look at you and pocket the money for himself.”
Stefan and Wladek spent the rest of the afternoon carrying grain up the ladder. They made twenty-six rubles between them. After a dinner of stolen nuts, bread and an onion they hadn’t intended to take, they slept happily in their railroad car.
Wladek was the first to wake the next morning and Stefan found him studying his map.
“What’s that?” asked Stefan.
“This is a route showing me how to get out of Russia.”
“What do you want to leave Russia for when you can stay here and team up with me?” said Stefan. “We could be partners.”
“No, I must get to Turkey; there I will be a free man for the first time. Why don’t you come with me, Stefan?”
“I could never leave Odessa. This is my home, the railway is where I live and these are the people I have known all my life. It’s not good, but it might be worse in Turkey. But if that’s what you want, I will help you.”
“How do I discover which ship is going to Turkey?” asked Wladek.
“Easy—because I know how to find out where every ship is going. We’ll get the information from One Tooth Joe at the end of the pier. You’ll have to give him a ruble.”
“I’ll bet he splits the money with you.”
“Fifty-fifty,” said Stefan. “You’re learning fast, Muscovite.” And with that he again leaped out of the car.
Wladek followed him as he ran between other railroad cars, again conscious of how easily other boys moved and how he limped. When they reached the end of the pier, Stefan took him into a small room full of dust-covered books and old timetables. Wladek couldn’t see anyone there, but then he heard a voice from behind a large pile of books saying, “What do you want, urchin? I do not have time to waste on you.”
“Some information for my traveling companion, Joe. When is the next luxury cruise to Turkey?”
“Money up front,” said an old man whose head appeared from behind the books, a lined, weather-beaten face below a seaman’s cap. His black eyes were taking in Wladek.
“Used to be a great sea dog,” said Stefan in a whisper loud enough for Joe to hear.
“None of your cheek, boy. Where is the ruble?”
“My friend carries my purse,” said Stefan. “Show him the ruble, Wladek.”
Wladek pulled out a coin. Joe bit it with his one remaining tooth, shuffled over to the bookcase and pulled out a large green timetable. Dust flew everywhere. He started coughing as he thumbed through the dirty pages, moving his short, stubby, rope-worn finger down the long columns of names.
“Next Thursday the Renaska is coming in to pick up coal—probably will leave on Saturday. If the ship can load quickly enough, she may sail on the Friday night and save the berthing tariffs. She’ll dock at Berth Seventeen.”
“Thanks, One Tooth,” said Stefan. “I’ll see if I can bring in some more of my wealthy associates in the future.”
One Tooth Joe raised his fist, cursing, as Stefan and Wladek ran out onto the wharf.
For the next three days the two boys stole food, loaded grain and slept. By the time the Turkish ship arrived on the following Thursday, Stefan had almost convinced Wladek that he should remain in Odessa. But Wladek’s fear of the Russians outweighed the attraction of his new life with Stefan.
They stood on the quayside, staring at the new arrival docking at Berth 17.
“How will I get on the ship?” asked Wladek.
“Simple,” said Stefan. “We can join the chain gang tomorrow morning. I’ll take the place behind you, and when the coal hold is nearly full, you can jump in and hide while I pick up your basket and walk on down the other side.”
“And collect my share of the money, no doubt,” said Wladek.
“Naturally,” said Stefan. “There must be some financial reward for my superior intelligence or how could a man hope to sustain his belief in free enterprise?”
They joined the chain gang first thing the next morning and hauled coal up and down the gangplank until they were both ready to drop, but it still wasn’t enough. The hold wasn’t half full by nightfall. The two boys slept soundly that night. The following morning, they started again, and midafternoon, when the hold was nearly full, Stefan kicked Wladek’s ankle.
“Next time, Muscovite,” he said.
When they reached the top of the gangway, Wladek threw his coal in, dropped the basket on the deck, jumped over the side of the hold and landed on the coal, while Stefan picked up Wladek’s basket and continued down the other side of the gangplank whistling.
“Good-bye, my friend,” he said, “and good luck with the infidel Turks.”
Wladek pressed himself in a corner of the hold and watched the coal come pouring in beside him. The dust was everywhere, in his nose and mouth, in his lungs and eyes. With painful effort he avoided coughing for fear of being heard by one of the ship’s crew. Just as he thought that he could no longer bear the air of the hold and that he would return to Stefan and find some other way of escaping, he saw the doors close above him. He coughed luxuriously.
After a few moments he felt something take a bite at his ankle. His blood went cold as he realized what it had to be. He looked down, trying to work out where it had come from. No sooner had he thrown a piece of coal at the monster and sent him scurrying away than another one came at him, then another and another. The braver ones went for his legs. They seemed to appear from nowhere. Black, large and hungry. He stared down, searching for them. It was the first time in his life that Wladek realized that rats had red eyes. He clambered desperately to the top of the pile of coal and pushed open the hatch. The sunlight came flooding through and the rats disappeared back into their tunnels in the coal. He started to climb out, but the ship was already well clear of the quayside. He fell back into the hold, terrified. If the ship were forced to return and to hand Wladek over, he knew it would mean a one-way journey back to Camp 201 and the White Russians. He chose to stay with the black rats. As soon as Wladek closed the hatch, they came at him again. As fast as he could throw lumps of coal at the verminous creatures, a new one would appear in some spot. Every few moments Wladek had to open the hatch to let some light in, for light seemed to be the only ally that would frighten the rodents away.
For two days and three nights Wladek waged a running battle with the rats without ever catching a moment of quiet sleep. When the ship finally reached the port of Constantinople and a deckhand opened the hold, Wladek was black from his head to his knees with dirt, and red from his knees to his toes with blood. The deckhand dragged him out. Wladek tried to stand up but collapsed in a heap on the deck.
When Wladek came to—he knew not where or how much later—he found himself on a bed in a small room with three men in long white coats who were studying him carefully, speaking a tongue he had never heard before. How many languages were there in the world? He looked at himself, still red and black, and when he tried to sit up, one of the white-coated men, the oldest of the three, with a thin, lined face and a goatee, pushed him firmly back down. He addressed Wladek in the strange tongue. Wladek shook his head. The man then tried Russian. Wladek again shook his head—that would be the quickest way back to where he had come from. The next language the doctor tried was German, and Wladek realized that his command of that language was greater than his inquisitor’s.
“You speak German?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, so you’re not Russian then?”
“No.”
“What were you doing in Russia?”
“Trying to escape.”
“Ah.” The man then turned to his companions and seemed to report the conversation in his own tongue. The three left the room.
A nurse came in and scrubbed Wladek clean, ta
king little notice of his cries of anguish. She covered his legs in a thick brown ointment and left him to sleep again. When Wladek awoke for the second time, he was quite alone. He lay staring at the white ceiling, considering his next move.
Still not sure of which country he was in, he climbed onto the windowsill and stared out of the window. He could see a marketplace, not unlike the one in Odessa, except that the men wore long white robes and had darker skin. They also wore colorful hats that looked like small flowerpots upside down and sandals on their feet. The women were all in black; even their faces were covered except for their black eyes. Wladek watched the bustle in the marketplace as the women bargained for their daily food; that was one thing at least that seemed to be international.
It was several minutes before he noticed that running down by the side of the building window was a red iron ladder stretching all the way to the ground. He climbed down from the windowsill, walked cautiously to the door, opened it and peered into the corridor. Men and women were walking up and down, but none of them showed any interest in him. He closed the door gently, found his belongings in a closet in the corner of his room and dressed quickly. His clothes were still black with coal dust and felt gritty to his clean skin. Back to the windowsill. The window opened easily. He gripped the fire escape, swung out of the window and started to climb down toward freedom. The first thing that hit him was the heat. He wished he were no longer wearing the heavy overcoat.
Once he touched the ground Wladek tried to run, but his legs were so weak and painful that he could only walk slowly. How he wished he could rid himself of that limp. He did not look back at the hospital until he was lost in the throng in the marketplace.
Wladek stared at the tempting food at the stalls and decided to buy an orange and some nuts. He went to the lining in his suit; surely the money had been in his sleeve. Yes it had, but it was no longer there, and far worse, the silver band was also gone. The men in the white coats had stolen his possessions. He considered going back to the hospital to retrieve the lost heirloom but decided against returning until he had had something to eat. Perhaps there was still some money in his pockets. He searched around in the large overcoat pocket and immediately found the three notes and some coins. They were all together with the doctor’s map and the silver band. Wladek was overjoyed at the discovery. He slipped the silver band on and pushed it above his elbow.
Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Page 11