The Button War

by Avi

  I knew exactly what it was he had taken.

  Fearing for my life, I sprinted back to my house. It had stopped burning, but the roof was gone, as was one wall. The front room was scorched and ruined. I squatted down near the front.

  I waited all day for my parents. It was almost night and they hadn’t come. At some point, I went into my father’s workshop. The fire had not touched it. I rummaged about to see what remained, what I might take. It was under his work bench that I noticed a piece of paper that had probably fallen there. I snatched it up. In my father’s hand was written:

  Where are you?

  We have gone west

  Will wait

  5th mile

  Follow!

  I decided it would be safer to wait by our wrecked house until it grew completely dark, when the moon cast the sole light. Cold, I put my hands in my pockets. The reek of burning filled the air. That’s when I felt the German button. I pulled it out. Gleaming, it lay in the palm of my hand. As I looked at it, I felt disgust and tossed it away.

  I worked my way out of the alley and went out onto the main street, or what had been the main street. It was littered with rubbish and broken things; a bed, a kettle, an empty picture frame. Bodies still lay there, among them the Cossack who had been shot. Nobody had touched him.

  The village seemed populated with shadows. When I looked up, I saw no stars. I saw no living persons. I assumed that everyone, if able, had fled. I supposed those on the western side of the river went west, those on the east went east. I felt as if I was the only one left.

  Then, out of force of habit, I looked toward the pump platform. To my surprise, I didn’t see it. Puzzled, I walked over to where it had been, then realized it, too, had been reduced to rubble. The iron spigot, with its pump wheels, lay, all crumpled, to one side. A pipe stuck up, and I could see a trickle of water flowing out. It was as if the earth was bleeding.

  As I stood there, to my amazement, I saw someone climb atop the wreckage. I recognized him right away: Jurek.

  I’m sure he didn’t see me.

  As I watched, he held up his hand. There was moonlight enough for me to see what he was holding in his right hand. Something shined even in the meager light. I had no doubt: it was that Cossack skull and bones button.

  The other hand held the cane.

  He held them aloft and then, not to me, not to anybody, he cried out, “Everyone! Look at me! I’m the king! Jurek the Brave! King of everything!”

  I spun around and began to run along the road, racing from what had once been my life, praying I could find my parents.

  I did find them, waiting by a mile marker. They didn’t even ask what happened, and I didn’t tell them. They silently hugged me and then we started walking together toward a city whose name I didn’t know.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2018 by Avi Wortis Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  First electronic edition 2018

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending

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  Somerville, Massachusetts 02144

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