22 Britannia Road - Amanda Hodgkinson [36]
Bruno picked through the remains of the chicken. ‘We’ll fight for our country and when we come back, we’ll go to my house in Torun. I was the manager of a soap factory and I have a large house. We’ll drink Polish vodka until we fall down dead drunk. Then we’ll wake up and do it again. Of course, that’s if the looters haven’t stolen everything. The crime rate in the city has gone up crazily this summer. I can only imagine it’s worse in Warsaw?’
‘There were stories in the papers,’ said Janusz. His head was throbbing and his throat felt dry. Sleep was weighing down his eyes.
‘Thieves like wartime,’ said Bruno. He finished the last drops of vodka in the bottle and threw it on the floor. ‘All of them: Polish thieves, Jews, Lithuanians, Russians, Germans, Slovakians. They’re all at it. Don’t believe the newspapers who talk of our brave people working against the Germans. There are spies and criminals who are profiting from this war already.’
‘I’ve never been to France,’ said Franek. He was cleaning his fingernails with the blade of his pocket knife. ‘I’d never been out of my village before I joined up. What about you, Janusz?’
Janusz looked at the fire burning in the hearth. ‘I have to get back to Warsaw. I have to see my wife.’
‘Be my guest.’ Franek waved his knife in the air. ‘Warsaw is in that direction. Just follow the German tanks and the guns. Nice knowing you, dead man.’
Bruno wiped his hands clean on his trousers. ‘The best you can do is get out of Poland. There are truckloads of men heading to Romania and Hungary. Come with us while you can. The borders are still easy enough to cross, but they won’t stay that way for long.’
Janusz stood up. He didn’t feel like having this conversation. ‘I’ll get some logs in. It’s cold tonight.’
He stepped outside and felt the night air clear his head. He trudged across the yard. Out there, under the starless night, with the damp smell of vegetation, it was possible to believe that the men sitting in the cottage were just figments of his imagination. They’d leave tomorrow and it would be as if he had never met them. And then he’d go home. He began to pile logs into his arms. Footsteps came across the yard and he stopped, peering into the blackness. Bruno stepped towards him, smelling of chicken fat and woodsmoke.
‘I thought I’d give you a hand. What I was saying inside earlier? I meant it. I can’t get to France with Franek on my own. I need someone with me who’s got his head screwed on right. You can’t stay here. Franek’s right about you being judged as a deserter …’
‘I got separated from my unit.’
‘And then you hid up here. I’ve seen what happens to deserters. Nobody knows what the hell is going on any more. People are scared. They don’t know who to trust. I saw an execution just days ago. A lad in civilian clothes wearing military boots. He was picked up by a lieutenant. He was made to stand in the middle of the road as the troops went past. The lieutenant said deserting was a sign of cowardice. Then the crazy bastard shot him. There was no court-martial, nothing. The lad had military boots and civilian clothes and that was enough. There are army units marching all over the country. If they find you here …’
Janusz picked up a log and balanced it with the others in his arms. ‘I’m not a deserter.’
‘That’s for them to judge. Come with us. I’ve got money. Enough to get us to France.’
Janusz didn’t want to ask how Bruno had got his money. He thought it would be better not to know. As he straightened up he saw a flash in the darkness.
‘There’s a light. Over there.’
A soft yellow beam moved through the trees. The sound of an engine echoed in the distance.
‘It’s a motorbike,’ said Bruno. ‘It must be about half a mile away. There are troops nearby.’
‘Polish?’
‘Russians, I’d have thought. There it is again. Look, you can stay here and get picked up by them. Or come with us.’
‘You make it sound like I don’t have a choice.’
‘You don’t.’
Franek opened the