第 13 页

Help? Wladek gazed at him stonily.

'I am going to give you a train ticket. Where do you want to go?'

'Odessa,' said Wladek, ignorant of where it was or how much it would cost, knowing only that it wa3 the next city on the doctor's map to freedom.

'Odessa, the mother of crime - an appropriate destination,' sneered the station master. 'You can only be among your own kind and come to harm there!'

'Then let him stay with us, Piotr. I will take care of him, I will ...'

'No, never. I would rather pay the bastard!'

'But how can he hope to get past the authorities?' the woman pleaded.

'I will have to issue him a working pass for Odessa.' He turned his head towards Wladek. 'Once you are on that train, boy, if I see or hear of you again in Moscow, I will have you arrested on sight and thrown into the nearest jail. You will then be back in that prison camp as fast as the train can get you there if they don't shoot you first.'

He stared at the clock on the kitchen mantlepiece: five after eleven. He turned to his wife. 'There is a train that leaves for Odessa at midnight.

I will take him to the station myself. I want to be sure he leaves Moscow. Have you any baggage, boy?'

Wladek was about to say no, when the woman said, 'yes, I will go and fetch it.'

Wladek and the station master stood, staring at each other with mutual contempt. The woman was away for a long time. The grandfather clock struck once in her absence. Still neither spoke, and the station master's eyes never left Wladek. When his wife returned, she was carrying a large brown paper parcel wrapped up with string. Wladek stared at it and began to protest, but as their eyes met, he saw such fear in hers that he only just got out the words, 'Thank you.'

'Eat this,' she said, thrusting her bowl of cold soup towards him.

He obeyed, although his shrunken stomach was now overfull, gulping down the soup as quickly as possible, not wanting her to be in any more trouble.

'Animal,' the man said.

Wladek looked at him, hatred in his eyes. He felt pity for the woman, bound to such a man for life.

'Come, boy, it's time to leave,' the station master said. 'We don't want you to miss your train, do we?'

Wladek followed the man out of the kitchen. He hesitated as he passed the woman and touched her hand, feeling the response. Nothing was said; no words would have been adequate. The station master and the refugee crept through the streets of Moscow, hiding in the shadows, until they reached the station. The station master obtained a one-way ticket to Odessa and gave the little red slip of paper to Wladek.

'My pass?' said Wladek defiantly.

From his inside pocket the man drew out an official looking form, signed it hurriedly, and handed it over furtively to Wladek. The station master's eyes kept looking all around him for any possible danger. Wladek had seen those eyes so many times during the past four years; the eyes of a coward.

'Never let me see or hear of you again,' he said, the voice of a bully.

Wladek had also heard that voice many times before in the last four years.

He looked up, wanting to say something, but the station master had already retreated into the shadows of the night where he belonged. He looked at the eyes of the people who hurried past him. The same eyes, the same fear; was anyone in the world free? Wladek gathered the brown paper parcel under his arm, checked his hat, and walked towards the barrier. This time he felt more confident, showing his pass to the guard; he was ushered through without comment. He climbed on board the train. It had been a short visit to Moscow, and he would never see the city again in his life, though he would always remember the kindness of the woman, the station master's wife, Comrade ... He didn't even know her name.

Wladek stayed in the general class standing carriages for his journey.

Odessa looked less distant from Moscow than Irkutsk, about a thumb's length on the doctor's sketch, eight hundred and fifty miles in reality. While Wladek was studying his rudimentary map, he became distracted by another game of pitch-and-toss which was taking place in the carriage. He folded the parchment, replaced it safely in the lining of his suit and began taking a closer interest in the game. He noticed that one of the gamblers was winning consistently, even when the odds were stacked against him. Wladek watched the man more carefully and soon realised that he was cheating.

He moved to the other side of the carriage to make sure he could still spot the man cheating when facing him, but he couldn't. He edged forward and made a place for himself in the circle of gamblers. Every time the cheat had lost twice in a row, Wladek backed him with one ruble, doubling his stake until he won. The cheat was either flattered or considered he would be wise to remain silent about Wladek's luck, because he never once even glanced in his direction. By the time they reached the next station, Wladek had won fourteen rubles, two of which he used to buy himself an apple and a cup of hot soup. He had won enough to last the entire journey to Odessa and, pleased with the thought that he could win even more rubles with his new safe system, he silently thanked the unknown gambler and climbed back on to the train ready to resume the strategy. As his foot touched the top step, he was knocked flying into a corner. His arm was jerked painfully behind his back and his face was pushed hard against the carriage wall. His nose began to bleed and he could feel the point of a knife touching the lobe of his ear.

'Do you hear me, boNr?'

'Yes,' said Wladek, petrified.

'If you go back to my carriage again, I take this car right off, then you won't be able to hear me, will you?'

'No, sir,' said Wladek.

Wladek felt the point of the knife breaking the surface of the skin behind his ear and blood began trickling down his neck.

'Let that be a warning to you, boy!'

A knee suddenly came up into his kidneys with as much force as the gambler could muster. Wladek collapsed to the ground. A hand rummaged into his coat pockets and the recently acquired rubles were removed.

'Mine, I think,' the voice said.

Blood was now coming out of Wladek's nose and from behind his ear.

When he summoned up the courage to look up from the corner of the corridor, it was empty, and there was no sign of the gambler. Wladek tried to get to his feet, but his body refused to obey the order from his brain, so he remained slumped in the corner for several minutes. Eventually when he was able to rise, he walked slowly to the other end of the train, as far away from the gambler's carriage as possible, his limp grotesquely exaggerated. He hid in a carriage occupied mostly by women and children, and fell into a deep sleep.

At the next stop, Wladek didn't leave the train. He undid his little parcel and started to investigate. Apples, bread, nuts, two shirts, a pair of trousers and even shoes were contained in that brown-papered treasure trove. What a woman, what a husband.

He ate, he slept, he dreamed. And finally, after six nights and five days, the train chugged into the terminal at Odessa. The same check at the ticket barrier, but the guard hardly gave Wladek a second look. This time his papers were all in order, but now he was on his own. He still had one hundred and fifty rubles in the lining of his suit, and no intend on of wasting any of them.

Wladek spent the rest of the day walking around the town trying to familiarise himself with its geography, but he found he was continually distracted by sights he had never log seen before: big town houses, shops with windows, hawkers selling their colourful trinkets on the street, gaslights, and even a monkey on a stick.

Wladek walked on until he reached the harbour and stopped to stare at the open sea beyond it. Yes, there it was - what the Baron had called an ocean.

He gazed into the blue expanse longingly: that way was freedom and escape from Russia. The city must have seen its fair share of fighting: bumt-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 spent the night. Wladek took a side road and kept walking. He must have looked a strange sight with his skin coat 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 carriage 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 on to the boards, crawled into a comer 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?' hissed 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 Wadek.

'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 movement, Wladek brought up his knee with every ounce of force he could muster into the boy's crotch. His attacker flew back in agony, clutching his testicles. Wladek leaped on him, hitting him in places the boy would never have thought of. The rules had suddenly changed. He was no competition for Wladek; sleeping in a derelict carriage was five-star luxury compared to the dungeons and a Russian labour camp.

Wladek stopped only when his adversary was pinned to the carriage. floor, helpless. The boy pleaded with Wladek.

'Go to the far end of the carriage 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 carriage. He sat still and listened for a few moments - no movement - then he lowered his head once more on to the floor, and in moments he was sleeping soundly.

When he awoke, the sun was already sliining through the slits between the boards of the carriage. He turned over slowly and studied his adversary of the previous night for the first time. He was lying in a foetal position, still asleep at the other end of the carriage.

'Come here,'commanded Wladek.

The boy woke 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 scruffy fair hair. His general appearance suggested that talk of soap and water would have been treated as an insult.

'Firse things first,' said Wladek. 'How does one get something to eat here?'

'Follow me,' said the boy, leaping out of the carriage. Wladek limped after him and followed the boy 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 favourite nuts. The boy could see 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, Moscovite.' 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 some 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 the stall owner looked up and immediately 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 were about to catch his 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 round in the horror of having been caught.

'Did you get anything, Moscovite, or are you only here as a sightseer?'

Wladek burst out laughing with relief and produced the three oranges, apple and 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 my scheme 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 now, 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, apple, potato and his one hundred and fifty 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 carriage 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 one. 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.