The Button War Page 5

  “Got one!” called Makary. “Double-headed bird!”

  Everyone hurried over. Makary held out his hand with a button on it.

  Within moments, Wojtex cried, “Me too.”

  “That’s just like mine,” said Raclaw.

  They kept searching.

  It didn’t take long before they all had at least one double-headed button. Even Drugi got one. They climbed out of the crater and bunched together to compare buttons. All were just as good as the one I had.

  Drugi said, “Who won the contest?”

  Jurek said, “No one. Because they’re all the same. Have to wait for German buttons.”

  “Why?” asked Drugi.

  “Because they’ll be better.”

  “How we going to get them?” Drugi asked.

  “I told you, dumbhead. That’s the whole point of the contest. It takes brains.”

  No one spoke for a while until I said, “I think it’s a stupid idea.”

  Jurek said, “That’s because you’ll lose.”

  Ulryk said, “I better tell Father Stanislaw what happened.”

  “Fine,” said Jurek. “But no telling about the button contest.”

  “Why?” asked Drugi.

  “It’s just about us, right?” said Jurek. “Whoever wins gets to be button king. Everyone bows to the king. Whack! Whack!” He punched Drugi’s arm. Then Jurek looked over to me and said, “Just Patryk is out.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Did,” said Jurek.

  Feeling I had to, I muttered, “I’m in.”

  There were murmurs of agreement, and we all started back along the road, not running this time, but walking.

  Drugi clutched his button. Now and again he peeked at it and smiled, as if he knew a secret.

  As we walked, I began to think about what had happened; scavenging in a bomb hole for buttons. It wasn’t exactly stealing, but it made me feel uncomfortable, as if my friends had done something wrong. And that horse head was awful. I looked up into the sky. There was no aeroplane. But I was sure another would come, sometime.

  Jurek and I walked side by side. When we were a little separate from the others, Jurek whispered, “I’m glad the Germans are coming.”

  “Why?”

  He took out his Russian buttons. “Because I’m going to get the best button, beat you, and win the contest.”

  I said, “It’s stupid.”

  “You came back last night to get one.”

  “So what?”

  “Fine with me. I’ll laugh when I’m king. Can’t wait for you to bow down. I’ll make sure you’re the first.”

  “You’ll be first,” I shot back. “Because I’m going to win.”

  We went by a few of the farm laborers. “What happened?” one of them called.

  Raclaw shouted, “The Germans bombed the road. You can’t go anywhere that way.”

  Back in the village, we wandered around and told people what we had seen. Villagers were upset, but they didn’t know what to make of it. Some said the bombing was an accident. Others said it was to keep the village people penned up. Most of the talk was about trying to guess when the Germans might arrive. People were gathered in small groups, talking loud or whispering. We kept hearing the word “Germans.”

  After a while, we went back to the pump pedestal, sat around, and talked about everything that had happened. Didn’t take too long before that chatter faded. Then we just sat there, all talked out, and just watched people going about their business. Though we knew things had changed, everything looked normal.

  It was Raclaw who said, “It’s strange not going to school.”

  No one said anything about that until Makary said, “We should go back to the school wreckage. Maybe we can find stuff.”

  Soon as he said that, we jumped off the pedestal and ran to the schoolhouse — or what had been the schoolhouse.

  That first time — when we hid in the school because the aeroplane was coming — we had jumped into the rubble. Now we stood at the edge of it and gazed at what had been our schoolhouse. What we saw was a confused bundle of broken things, all partially buried in the collapsed and splintered wooden walls. There was even a piece of the roof. A lot of it was scorched. But I could recognize some things — busted for the most part — like desks and chairs. It was hard to believe we had spent so much time in it and now it was all scrap.

  Jurek — who always went first — waded in and pulled out half of a map, its edges singed. It used to be pinned to the wall. Next moment, we were all stumbling about, looking for things.

  Wojtex found the Russian dictionary that Mr. Szujski made us use to find right spellings. Only half the pages were there.

  Drugi found a torn picture of the Russian czar.

  “Look what I found,” cried Ulryk. He held up Mr. Szujski’s cane, the one he used to hit us when we got wrong answers. Amid all that wreckage, it had remained whole.

  We stopped our searching and stared. That cane was something we hated, feared. It reminded me of Mr. Szujski, who was so mean. Only he had been killed. To see it in Ulryk’s hand was disturbing.

  Suddenly Jurek shouted, “That’s what the button king should get: the cane!”

  Raclaw said, “Right. Like a scepter.”

  “What’s a scepter?” asked Drugi.

  I said, “It’s what a king holds to prove he’s king.”

  “Right!” cried Jurek. “The perfect contest prize.” Next moment, he scrambled forward, snatched the cane from Ulryk’s hand, and began to swing it about.

  “You going to hit us with it?” asked Drugi, who was standing next to him.

  “Maybe,” said Jurek, his big grin announcing how pleased with himself he was. Right away I remembered Jurek with that stick in the forest. I had no doubt: he would use the cane to whack people, like Mr. Szujski had.

  Sure enough, the next moment Jurek struck Drugi hard on the arm.

  “Ow!” cried Drugi, cringing.

  Shocked, for a moment we just stood there, unsure what to do. But the next moment Drugi, even though he was rubbing his arm, laughed.

  His laughter released us. It was as if nothing had happened.

  Except I was upset. Knowing that if Jurek won the cane, he would use it in the worst way — as he just had. And that told me that I absolutely couldn’t let Jurek be the button king. He’d go crazy.

  Jurek held up the cane. “The cane goes to the contest winner,” he proclaimed. “And I’ll keep it because that’ll be me.”

  No one said or did anything. We all just looked at him.

  I had no idea what the others were thinking, but as I stood staring at Jurek, the only way I could figure out how to stop him was by winning the contest myself. When I did, the first thing I’d do was chop up that cane and burn the pieces.

  That evening, when my friends and I gathered at the pump, it was Jurek who said, “Since the Germans knew when the Russians were leaving, they’ll know when to get here.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Jurek said, “First the bomb, then soldiers. Can’t be an accident. Bet you anything, they’ll come tomorrow. Someone is telling the Germans.”

  “Who?” said Drugi.

  When no one said anything, Raclaw said, “Can’t wait to see their buttons.”

  “Why?” Drugi asked.

  “He thinks he can win the contest, stupid,” said Makary.

  I said, “I’m going to win,”

  “Forget it,” said Jurek. “I’ll be the winner.”

  “Maybe,” said Makary, and gave Jurek a shove.

  “I’d like to win,” said Drugi.

  “You’re too stupid,” said Jurek.

  We all laughed, including Drugi.

  Raclaw said, “I just realized something: There are no soldiers here. We can do anything. No laws.”

  “We should go to church and pray,” said Ulryk.

  “For what?” asked Wojtex.

  “Us. The village.”

  “Waste of
time,” said Jurek. “Just wait for the Germans.”

  No one said a word, but I was sure we were all thinking about the same thing: buttons.

  One by one, the others went off until Jurek and I remained.

  “Going,” I said, pushing off.

  Jurek called after me, “Hey, Patryk! Accept it! I’m going to win. Whack!”

  I wanted to snap out a smart remark, but I couldn’t think of one. I didn’t even look back. All I could think about was buttons. Not that I wanted them, just better ones than Jurek could get.

  I went home and told my parents about the bomb hole.

  My father said. “People are saying the Germans will come tomorrow.”

  “How do they know?”

  “Rumors.”

  “Do you believe them?”

  “Rumors are like clouds. Sometimes they bring rain. Sometimes they don’t. But there are always clouds.”

  “What do you think will happen?”

  “We’ll have to see.”

  “But,” I said, “who are our enemies, the Russians or the Germans?”

  All he said was “Neither one are Polish.”

  I waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, I went to bed.

  It was the next day, in the late afternoon, with that hot August sun still beating down, when Jurek stuck his head through the door of my father’s sweltering workshop and shouted, “The Germans are coming!”

  I dropped the wheel work I’d been doing — smoothing spokes with a file — bolted out of the house, and raced for the main street. By the time I arrived, it seemed as if the whole village had gathered again. People were standing about in small groups, talking, their voices tense and uneasy. But they kept turning from their conversations to watch the western road.

  I took one look at the pump platform, saw that my friends had already climbed up, and joined them.

  “Seen any Germans?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry — they’re coming!”

  “When?” said Drugi.

  “Soon!” said Raclaw.

  “With buttons!” said Jurek.

  “Holding up their pants!” shouted Makary.

  While they watched the road, I kept searching the sky. Though I saw nothing, I kept looking. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Jurek looking at me.

  “What?” I said.

  He mouthed the word button and pointed to himself.

  Drugi said, “Hope they have buttons.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “I’d like to be king,” Drugi responded with a shy smile.

  “Not a chance,” said Jurek.

  Drugi’s smile vanished. I thought he might cry.

  The Germans announced their arrival with sudden and loud music. The abrupt blare caused a flock of birds to burst into flight, black spots against the sky. Little aeroplanes, I thought.

  Villagers scurried to either side of the street. We boys stayed on the pedestal, eager for a sighting. Jurek had climbed up on a pump wheel, determined to be the first one to see them.

  The music drew nearer, more raucous, full of power. There was something stirring about it. It made us boys just about dance on the platform.

  “I see them!” shouted Jurek from his perch.

  The first of the Germans to appear were their drummers, pounding loud and insistent. Following them were soldiers playing shiny, blaring trumpets. Then came soldiers with bright and booming tubas.

  Right behind the marching band came a flag bearer. He was holding up a large, flapping flag with a big black-and-white cross. In its middle was a single-headed eagle, its bloodred tongue sticking out like a red flame.

  There was another black cross in the upper left corner, the cross like the ones on the aeroplanes, on a black, white, and red field. Officers came next, five of them, all on fine horses. The first officer, in the lead, was on a coal-black horse, which nodded its head and pranced with grace. To my eyes, it was all fine.

  The captain’s uniform was a tight-fitting tunic with a high collar and a double row of gold buttons down his chest. On his head, a cap with a visor. Black boots almost reached his knees. On his right side, hanging from the shiny leather, was a pistol in a holster. On his left, dangling from the same belt, was a sword. His tunic had an emblem, the same black cross that I had seen on the aeroplane.

  Four other officers, looking much the same, followed their commander. Just behind were a few soldiers who had pale-blue uniforms.

  Then the regular German soldiers arrived. At least a hundred of them — maybe more — marching in step one with the other. Their trousers were dark green, their jackets the same color, but bordered in red. All wore a brown helmet with a pointy spike on the top along with the number 136 in red. Each one had calf-high boots and a brown leather belt, to which leather pouches were attached. On every soldier’s back was a rifle fitted with a bayonet.

  Faces were stiff, eyes looking straight ahead. I didn’t see one smile or frown, and their arms swung in perfect harmony. The firm tramp-tramp of their feet upon the street stones was sharp and precise. The whole troop moved like a single multilegged insect, fierce, so much more powerful looking than the Russians.

  No wonder the Russians retreated! I thought, and decided if I were to become a soldier, I’d be with the German army.

  As powerful as the Germans appeared, what most interested me were the shiny-looking buttons running down each soldier’s jacket.

  “Do you think those buttons are silver?” said Raclaw.

  “Don’t worry,” said Jurek. “I’ll get one soon and tell you.”

  “Me too,” said Drugi.

  “This is the best dare ever,” said Makary.

  Just before the troops reached the pump, a mounted officer who had been behind the captain cantered forward, approached the pump platform, and made a waving motion with some kind of stick. It was clear he wanted us to get off. We leaped. The same officer got off his horse, climbed on the pump pedestal, and with arms on hips, feet spread wide, spoke in a loud, slow voice.

  “Citizens!” the officer called out in Polish. “Is there one among you who can speak German?”

  Raclaw’s father came forward. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and gray cravat. He had his hat in his hands.

  “Name?” demanded the officer.

  “Wozniak. I am the lawyer here.”

  “You will translate what the captain says.”

  The German captain spoke, and Raclaw’s father — speaking in a loud voice — translated his words into Polish.

  “The armed forces of Kaiser Friedrich Wilhelm have come here to liberate you from the tyrannical Russians. From this moment on, you are free.”

  The village people just listened.

  “Do as you are told and we shall live in perfect harmony. Long live Kaiser Friedrich Wilhelm!

  “Some of His Majesty’s soldiers shall occupy the Russian barrack. The rest of them you shall welcome into your homes. Treat them well, and they shall treat you well.

  “I congratulate you on your new freedom!” With that, the captain made a sharp salute and climbed down. He even shook Raclaw’s father’s hand.

  There was no cheering from the village people. Rather, they turned and moved away in sullen silence.

  When the German captain and his officers marched off with the magistrate and Raclaw’s father, the regular soldiers broke ranks and dispersed, many crowding into the tavern.

  We boys went back to the pump platform.

  First thing Jurek said was, “See all those buttons?”

  “Lot of different ones,” said Raclaw.

  Once again, Drugi said, “How am I supposed to get one?”

  Jurek said, “What do you think?”

  “Won’t they mind?” said Drugi.

  “Just don’t be dumb about it,” said Makary, and he smacked Drugi on the head.

  Wojtex said, “Remember Jurek’s rule. You can’t ask. You have to take.”

  Ulryk said, “But don’t steal.”

 
“Watch out for bayonets,” said Jurek.

  “I’m going home,” I announced.

  “Everyone!” Jurek yelled as we scattered. “Tonight. Midnight. Meet at the pump! Bring your new buttons!”

  Makary walked with me. It was when we started off, and we chanced to look back, that we realized that following the German soldiers were large wagons pulled by horses. On the wagons were cannons. Two other wagons came by, mounted with some kind of smaller guns. We stopped and looked.

  “Machine guns,” said Makary.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I think they shoot very fast.”

  Those wagons were followed by other wagons that were full but covered with canvas.

  “Full of ammunition,” said Makary. “Lot of people going to get killed.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Russians, I guess. You going to get buttons?” Makary asked me.

  “Can’t let Jurek be king. He’d be awful.”

  “I know,” agreed Makary. “You saw: he’ll use the cane to pound everyone. I’d like to win, but if I don’t, I hope it’s you.”

  “Why?”

  “You won’t beat on us.”

  I liked Makary for saying that. But it made me feel I absolutely had to do what he said.

  When I got home, it was almost as if nothing had happened. My mother was in the kitchen, sewing. The soup in the iron pot was simmering. Made me feel hungry.

  “Did you see the Germans?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said. She put down the needle and rubbed her hands.

  I stood there, waiting for her to say more. When she didn’t, I said, “Do you think they will be bad?”

  “We’ll have to see.”

  I went into my father’s workshop, where he was working, balancing a new wheel.

  “They brought cannons,” I said. “And machine guns.”

  My father sighed and shook his head.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked.

  “What we do is work,” he said. Then he faced me. “Soldiers’ work is to carry guns and use them. Stay out of their way.”

  “Russians have guns, too.”

  He held up both hands and shook one. “The Russians are here.” He shook his other hand. “The Germans are here.” He shook the other hand. “Who do you think is in the middle?”