22 Britannia Road - Amanda Hodgkinson [52]
It was true that Hanka looked as if she belonged in the city. Her limbs were too fine for farmwork, her hands too soft.
‘I’m going back to see my lover,’ continued Hanka. Silvana watched her face grow still, the tiredness settling in the shadows under her eyes.
‘He’s a musician. He plays American jazz, and the last time I saw him he told me to get out of the city. He said he didn’t want me having to sing for a German audience. So I left. But I miss him. I have to go back: I have to see him again. And I don’t care who I sing to. I just want my life back.’
Silvana rocked Aurek on her lap and Hanka smiled at her.
‘So, little Silvana, will you come with me?’
Silvana felt her heart ache. ‘Yes,’ she said. Though the thought of returning to Warsaw filled her with dread.
Janusz
On a moonless night, a guide took Janusz, Bruno and Franek to the Hungarian border. They were used to each other now, and Janusz had even begun to feel fond of Franek and his mad ways. The boy’s heart was in the right place and he was as brave as they came. They’d been given papers, but it was still best to cross at night, in secret. They reached a rocky promontory and watched as border guards with dogs patrolled the path below them.
‘The guide said we’ve got about fifteen minutes before they come back,’ said Bruno as the guards rounded the corner out of sight.
‘I need a machine gun,’ said Franek.
He was shivering and shaking, and Janusz wanted to tell him to stop bloody moving.
‘I’d take them all out,’ Franek said. ‘Bang, bang, bang. Shoot them all down. If I had my old gun from home, I could do it.’
‘When do we go?’ asked Janusz. He felt sick, and realized he too was shaking.
‘We go now,’ said Bruno. ‘The guards won’t be expecting anything tonight. Nobody would want to be out on a night like tonight. Even the wolves would find it too cold. One at a time. Every three minutes. That gives us plenty of time to make it across. You go first, Jan. Then Franek and I will follow you. Don’t worry, we’ll be right behind you.’
Janusz couldn’t feel his legs any more. He doubted his ability to run. His breath was coming in quick gasps. He was trembling with tiredness and his heart was hammering.
Bruno nodded. He gave Janusz a push. ‘OK, it’s time,’ he whispered. ‘Good luck. Go!’
Janusz got up and started running, scrambling down the rocks.
He didn’t look back. If he was going to die, so be it. He stumbled. His legs were not listening to his brain; they buckled under him, but he forced himself to keep going. There was no one on the road. He crossed it and threw himself into the deep snow, where he rolled downhill. He slithered and slid and slammed into a fir tree. Getting to his feet, he ran. Finally he reached the shelter of trees and, on hands and knees, crawled into a forest of dark pine trees and lay there. He could taste blood on his lip, and a pulse thumped in his neck. He could feel it: the blood pushing through him, the feeling of being alive. He lay still and his heart pumped, fear twitching his eyelids, pulling at a nerve in his cheek. He worked his way further into the trees and dug himself into the snow. Shivering, he heard noises around him. Cracking branches and scuffling sounds. He hoped Bruno was right. That the night really was too cold for wolves.
Franek came into view, running and jumping through the snow, smashing full pelt into Janusz, knocking him in the face with his elbow.
‘Sorry,’ panted Franek. ‘I didn’t see you.’
‘Jesus, Franek,’ whispered Janusz. ‘I think you’ve broken my bloody nose.’
‘Christ, no, I’m sorry