22 Britannia Road - Amanda Hodgkinson [20]
He knew he was near to it by the cloud of flies that flew up to meet him. Her body was covered in them, a metallic-blue mass moving in glistening shivers. He retched at the sight of them. It was his fault for leaving her there so long. He realized now that all the tidying and mending had been a way of putting off this moment. He lifted the blanket and threw it over the body, bundling it up, flies and all. Carrying her back to the house, he was half afraid the old woman was still alive and it was her, not the flies, pushing and pulsing under the blanket.
He dropped his burden into the ground and began shovelling the earth on top of her, working as fast as he could, until the noise of the flies became muffled and he could slow down and take his time.
When he had finished, he recited the Lord’s Prayer. He leaned on the spade, looking out across the fields. Now this final act was done, he knew he couldn’t stay much longer. There was nothing else to do here. He figured he’d stay for another week. Then he’d have to leave. He had to go back to Warsaw.
His best plan would be to find a village and get news of the war. Then he’d go home and see Silvana and Aurek. He’d see his family. Let everyone know he was safe and start again as if none of this had happened. He’d fight for his country and nobody would ever need to know about the train and how he had stayed behind when it left.
He stood up and was about to cross himself when he saw something that made him take up the spade in his two hands again. Two men coming across the fields. Two men in uniform.
He met them in the yard. Close up they looked all wrong to be soldiers. One was a lanky kid, bony-faced, with hands that were too large for his wrists. The other one was stout, heavy black eyebrows and a nose big enough to be Jewish. Short-legged and barrel-chested, he walked heavily. Their uniforms didn’t fit them properly. The boy’s jacket was too short in the arm; the other man’s too tight in the chest.
‘Dzien dobry,’ said the boy. ‘Good day to you.’
‘You can put that down,’ said the older man, holding his hands up in mock surrender. ‘We only want a bit of food and then we’ll be on our way.’
Janusz didn’t lower the spade. ‘Where have you come from?’
‘Lwow. We escaped from the Russians.’
‘Russians?’
‘They’re against us now,’ the boy said. ‘Didn’t you know?’
‘I don’t know anything. I lost my regiment a while ago.’ He frowned. Exactly how long had he been here now? He looked at the other man. ‘So what’s happening?’
‘The Germans took Warsaw three weeks ago. They came across the borders from Pomerania, East Prussia, Bohemia, Moravia and Slovakia. We weren’t prepared at all. Now the Russians want a piece of the action too …’
‘We’ve been betrayed. Poland’s been pissed on from both sides.’ The boy rolled his eyes when he spoke, showing the whites, like a horse about to take flight.
Janusz looked at their stubbled faces, saw the tiredness in their eyes. He couldn’t understand how things had moved so quickly. The older man must have seen the confusion on Janusz’s face. He spoke slowly and carefully, explaining what was happening. Warsaw had surrendered to the Germans. The Russians had first entered Poland as allies and had quickly become occupiers, too quickly for anybody to understand. Now the country was being divided up between the two of them.
‘Bruno Berkson,’ said the older man, holding out his hand. ‘And this is Franek. Franek Zielinski. We were part of the defence on the eastern border. When the Russians came, our officers told us not to attack. We laid down our guns and the Russians took everything, our weapons, tanks, food. They took it all. Franek and I escaped when they were marching us to a prison camp. We’ve been on the run ever since. Hiding in woods and barns. If you could give us something to eat we’ll be on our way.’
Janusz put down the spade, dusted mud off his trousers. ‘And Warsaw? What do you know about Warsaw? My wife is there …’
‘From what we’ve heard, the city’s in ruins.’
Franek sniffed. ‘And full of szkops.