The Button War Page 7

  Jurek said, “To fight the Russians.”

  “A battle?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Getting killed?”

  “What do you think, idiot?”

  I halted. “But . . .”

  “Don’t come if you’re too jumpy,” he said. There was mockery in his voice.

  I stood still, listening to the constant booming and watching the flashes of light.

  I was scared and knew I should go home. But I went forward, following Jurek.

  “If there are bodies,” Jurek said, “might be some great buttons. Best chance ever. For me, anyway. Told you I’d win.” Before I could reply, he began to run after the Germans.

  I watched him. I also heard my father’s voice in my head saying, “Stay out of their way. Do you understand? It’s dangerous.”

  But what I was also telling myself was, If I let Jurek win, it would be what Makary said: awful.

  “Wait up!” I called as I ran after him.

  We had to stop about two miles beyond the village. The German soldiers had gathered in a milling crowd, the officers clustered in their own group. They seemed to be debating something.

  Before them the whole forest seemed to be on fire, with red-and-yellow flames reaching gigantic heights. It roared, along with sounds of crackling, snapping, and what I thought were the thuds of crashing trees. Even from where we stood, behind the troops, I felt great heat. The air was thick with heavy smoke, making it hard to breathe. My eyes smarted. Sparks, like swarms of fiery insects, flew everywhere.

  Jurek and I held back awhile, but with him leading the way, we stepped around the troops until we were alongside the foremost of them, facing the flaming forest. The Germans had reached the place where the aeroplane had made a crater in the road.

  The soldiers paid us no mind. They were too intent on the inferno, their wide-eyed, apprehensive faces made ruddy by the light of the fire. A few had cigarettes dangling from their lips.

  A shrill whistling sounded, followed by a flash of light, then a loud whoomp!

  I jumped back, bumping into Jurek. He shoved me away. “Just a cannon shot,” he said.

  Putting my hand into my pocket, I squeezed the stolen button and thought of cannons and cannonballs.

  I said, “Why would the Russians set the forest on fire?”

  “Know how we like to hide in the forest?”

  I nodded.

  “Same. They don’t want Germans hiding there.”

  Jurek and I continued to stay where we were. There was more shelling, more explosions. A large scarlet chunk of wood dropped out of the sky and landed a few feet from where we were standing. Startled, we leaped away and watched it turn from rosy to gray ash, as if dying.

  There was a shouting of German commands. As soon as they were given, the soldiers turned, formed into lines, and began to march back toward the village, rifles on shoulders. The machine-gun wagons followed. Within moments, almost all of the soldiers were gone. Four soldiers were left, plus Jurek and me. One of the remaining soldiers yelled and pointed, telling us to get away.

  Relieved to be ordered away, I said, “We better go.”

  With a last look at the burning forest, Jurek and I headed back to the village. As I went, I felt the heat on my back.

  We walked in silence, now and again turning to look at the burning. It wasn’t only flashes we saw, but what seemed like a vast dome of trembling light where we knew the forest was. Or had been.

  “That was an old forest,” I said.

  “Least a thousand years old. Belongs to me.”

  “Do you think it means the Russians are going to come back?”

  “You sound like Drugi. But I’ll answer you anyway: they are back.”

  Jurek had a way of making you feel like a fool. I shut my mouth.

  When we got back to the village, burning torches on poles had been stuck up on the street to give light. The stench of burning was heavy, and layered smoke drifted through the air. From a distance, the booming continued.

  There were lots of German soldiers on the main street. It looked as if they were just waiting to be told what to do. I saw the soldier who had been at our house sitting on the machine-gun wagon. He looked tired, and sad, as if he wanted to go back to bed. He paid no attention to me.

  Jurek and I went to the pump platform. Makary had come back. Ulryk, Raclaw, and Wojtex were there, too. But not Drugi.

  “Where you been?” called Raclaw.

  We told them what we had seen.

  “Is the whole forest gone?” asked Ulryk.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Looks like it,” said Jurek.

  “What do you think the Germans will do?” Raclaw asked.

  I shrugged. Feeling safe made it easy to act indifferent.

  “What about the Russians?” said Wojtex.

  “They’ll attack,” said Jurek with his usual authority.

  “Here?” said Ulryk, alarmed.

  “Sure.”

  Raclaw squirmed on his seat. “That’s not so good.”

  For a while, no one moved or spoke but remained seated on the pump pedestal. We were facing east, listening to the booming, watching the light. The flashes flickered on the faces of my friends. Everyone was tense.

  Jurek said, “Anyone get buttons?”

  I said, “We should forget about buttons.”

  “Why?” asked Raclaw.

  “It’ll get us into trouble. The Germans might shoot us.”

  No one said anything until Makary said, “Here’s what I got.” He pulled out his button. It had the number ten on it.

  Ulryk showed his button, which had a number six. We took turns peering at them.

  Jurek said, “Ten beats six.”

  Makary said, “That’s the first math problem you’ve gotten right all year.”

  That broke the tension. We all laughed.

  Raclaw held out his hand with his button. Jurek snatched it up and studied it. “Same as the one I got,” he said. “The German’s king’s crown.” He sounded disappointed.

  Ulryk took the button and squinted at it. “It’s got a crown with a cross on its top,” he announced.

  “Same as mine,” said Ulryk.

  “And mine,” said Wojtex, showing it.

  Makary asked Ulryk, “How’d you get it?”

  Ulryk said, “There was a soldier staying at our house. I told him I was an altar boy at our church, and if he gave me a button, I’d pray for his soul. He gave me the button.”

  “That’s asking,” said Jurek. “Doesn’t count.”

  Makary said, “You sound like you already won.”

  “I did,” said Jurek. He showed his crown button.

  Knowing I had the best button, I held it out so I could put an end to all this talk.

  “Wow,” said Raclaw. “Cannons. And bright. Might be gold.”

  The others crowded in to see it.

  “Brass,” said Jurek.

  “It’s the best,” I said. “Contest over. I win.” I lifted my hand. “I get the cane. Button king.”

  “No, you’re not,” Jurek said. “Drugi isn’t here. Maybe he got a better one.”

  “Never,” said Raclaw.

  “Got to be fair,” said Jurek. “We have to check.”

  I looked toward the east. “Now?”

  Jurek said, “Have to settle the contest, don’t we?”

  I said. “It’s too late.”

  “Fine,” said Jurek. “In the morning.”

  “Sure,” said Wojtex. “Morning.”

  I said, “Won’t matter. I’m the winner.”

  We sat there and watched the forest fire glow and listened to more booming. One by one, we went off.

  Far as I could tell, Jurek was the last to leave.

  I got into my house through the back door. My parents were awake, sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Where were you?” my father demanded.

  “Just looking around,” I said, and sat down. Nervous about spe
aking, I glanced toward the bedroom.

  They understood my meaning. “He’s gone,” said my father. Then, as my mother served us, he said, “What have you seen?”

  I said, “The whole forest is burning.”

  My mother put down her pot. “What do you mean?”

  “The Russians did it with cannons.”

  “Did you see it?” my father asked.

  I nodded.

  My father said, “Were you in danger?”

  I shook my head.

  “But . . . why did they do it?” my mother asked.

  I gave Jurek’s answer: “Probably don’t want the Germans to hide there.”

  My father said, “I told you not to do stupid things.”

  “It was fine,” I said, acting easy, but I was glad to be home.

  My father reached out and grasped my arm. “Please,” he said, “be careful.”

  I said, “Do you think the Russians will attack the village?”

  My father said, “I don’t know anything.”

  We finished eating and then my parents went into the workroom to sleep. I climbed onto my sleeping shelf and lay down. For a while, I listened to the booming. After a while, I reached into my box and put my cannon button into it. As the booming continued, I fell into uneasy sleep, thinking, What if the Russians attack the village tonight?

  When I woke up in the morning, it was raining, a heavy rain that beat down on our roof the way that Russian had beat on his drum, a constant rattle. I listened but could hear no booming. When I looked down from my shelf, I saw my mother at the table, sewing. Her needle was moving fast, which happened when she was tense.

  “Did the German soldier come back?” I whispered, pointing to the front room.

  She shook her head.

  “Think he will?”

  One shoulder lifted. She said, “Don’t go into the room.”

  I took out my German button, looked at it, squeezed it, put it back in the box, then sat up and listened to the steady beating of the rain. Now and again, it thundered, rolling thumps and crashes, with an occasional crack of lightning. It was a big storm, but I thought how much safer it sounded compared to what I’d seen and heard the night before.

  For breakfast, I had a bowl of milk and some bread. I wanted to get out and meet my friends, but the hard rain continued. That meant no one would be at the pump. I thought about Drugi. If he didn’t have a good button, I’d be the contest winner. I’d be done with it and wouldn’t have to worry about Jurek winning.

  With the rain continuing all day, I spent my time working with my father. The German soldier did not come back. It rained that night, too, and into the middle of the next day, when it stopped.

  Once it ended, I asked, “Do I need to get water?”

  “Your mother got some.”

  “Can I go?”

  “Where?” my father asked.

  “My friends.”

  He said, “Remember what I said: be careful.”

  “I will.”

  I went out into the alley, which was deep in mud from the rain. There was no fresh after-rain smell in the air, just a stench of burning. Low clouds were churning gray. Was I seeing smoke? I hoped the day and a half of hard rain had put out the forest fires.

  I headed for the pump, my feet splashing in puddles. The main street was crowded with German soldiers standing about, all wearing their spiked helmets, rifles on their backs. Other equipment hung on their belts. Pokey and prickly, they looked like an army of wet hedgehogs. They seemed restless, wanting something to happen.

  Villagers were trying to avoid the soldiers, stepping around them or keeping to the fringes of the street.

  Machine-gun carts and a couple of cannon wagons were sitting near the pump. The soldier who had stayed in our house was on a wagon. I stole a glance at him. He paid me no mind. In fact, as I walked among the soldiers, no one paid me any attention at all.

  When I got to the pump platform, there was short line of women, buckets in hand, waiting to get water. Turning the pump wheel were Raclaw and Ulryk.

  I climbed up. “Want some help?”

  “Thanks,” said Raclaw, and stepped aside. I worked the wheel for a while.

  The line of women ended. By that time, Jurek, Wojtex, and Makary had shown up. We took our usual places on the platform.

  “Do you think the whole forest burned?” asked Makary.

  Jurek said, “Sure. It was still burning when I saw it.”

  “When was that?”

  “Before,” said Jurek, not being very precise.

  “Wish I’d seen it,” said Wojtex. He sounded wistful.

  Ulryk said, “What do you think the Germans are going to do?”

  Raclaw nodded toward the magistrate’s house, across the way. “The German officers are in there. Bet they’re trying to decide.”

  Makary said, “Maybe they’ll attack the Russians before the Russians attack them.”

  “Where?” said Jurek. “Can’t be the forest. That’s the whole point of what the Russians did.”

  “My father,” said Wojtex, “is worried that the Russians will attack here.”

  “I’d like to see that,” said Jurek.

  That’s when Ulryk said, “Father Stanislaw told me we might have to leave the village.”

  I said, “Why?”

  “There’ll be a lot of fighting.”

  “Just soldiers,” said Jurek.

  I said, “Anyone know where Drugi is?”

  Jurek turned to me and said, “You think you’ve won the contest, don’t you?”

  I grinned and said, “Yeah.”

  Raclaw said, “Have to be fair. If we’re going to decide, we need to see what Drugi got. Let’s go.”

  As one, we leaped off the platform and, with me leading the way, ran through the muddy puddle-pocked town.

  Drugi and his family lived in a small wooden house just south of the village, next to a field where they grew potatoes. The family consisted of him, his mother, father, and an older brother named Arek.

  As we approached the house, we didn’t talk. Though pleased with myself, I tried not to show it. Jurek was silent. I was sure he knew I had won the contest and wasn’t happy.

  When we reached Drugi’s house, I was so eager to find out what he’d gotten that it was me who pounded on the door. When there was no answer, I pounded again.

  The door opened a crack. We could see an eye peering out. When the door opened a bit, we realized it was Arek, Drugi’s brother. He said, “What is it?”

  I said, “Is Drugi home?”

  “Why do you want him?”

  “Need to talk to him.”

  Arek said, “He can’t talk.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “He’s sick.” Arek opened the door farther. A teenager, he was short and stocky, with a thin thread of a mustache. He had a big purple bruise on his cheek.

  “What kind of sick?” Jurek called out.

  Arek was silent for a while, as if deciding what to say. “Beat up sick,” he said.

  “Beat up?” cried Ulryk.

  “We had a soldier staying here.”

  “A German?” asked Makary.

  “Austrian.”

  “We had a German one,” I said.

  “You know Drugi,” Arek went on. “Not too bright. He got a notion to steal a button from the soldier. From his cap. Don’t ask me why. The soldier caught him at it and beat him. Badly. I tried to stop the soldier. But he had a gun. Couldn’t.”

  Shocked, we boys eyed one another but didn’t say anything. We just stood there.

  It was Ulryk who asked, “Is . . . is he hurt bad?”

  Arek nodded and fingered his own bruise. “In the middle of the night — when all that cannon shooting began — the soldier rushed off. He hasn’t come back. If he does, I’m going to kill him.”

  It was Jurek, after a moment, who said, “Can we see Drugi? Tell him we feel sorry. Maybe it’ll make him feel better.”

  I look
ed at Jurek with disgust. I was sure he didn’t mean what he said. He just wanted to know if Drugi had a button.

  After a moment, Arek pulled the door open farther, saying, “He’d like that.”

  We squeezed into the small house, stepping into the main room. As in my house, a big bed took up most of the space. In the bed was Drugi. He was a small kid. Now he looked tiny.

  We crowded around the bed and stared down. It was ghastly. Drugi’s face was swollen and covered with dark-purple bruises and cuts, which stood out because his skin was as pale as bread dough. His puffy eyes were closed. There was dry blood around one eye and his mouth. One arm was atop the blanket, the other underneath. The arm we could see had a cloth wrapped around it. The cloth was stained red.

  Sitting in a chair right next to the bed was Drugi’s mother. His father stood next to her. He looked at us and said, “Drugi’s friends are welcome.”

  “Is he . . . dying?” Ulryk asked the parents in a whisper.

  Drugi’s mother’s lips moved but I didn’t hear her words. She also made the sign of the cross over her chest.

  Ulryk leaned over the bed. “Drugi?” he said. “Can you hear me?” He was trying to act like the priest.

  Drugi made no response.

  “Drugi?” called Ulryk, a little louder.

  No answer.

  Jurek turned to Drugi’s brother. “Did he get the soldier’s button he was after?”

  “Why would you ask that?” asked Drugi’s father.

  “Just . . . was.”

  To Drugi’s mother, Ulryk said, “Should I get Father Stanislaw?”

  She nodded, and tears came down her cheeks even as she made another sign of the cross. Ulryk pushed his way through us to the door.

  Though we didn’t talk, the rest of us hovered about the bed for a few more moments. I could hear my friends’ agitated breathing, but we avoided looking at one another. I didn’t know what I felt more, sick or angry.

  No one told us to go, but we murmured something and then left.

  With a small click, the door closed behind us.

  We stood outside Drugi’s house, not talking. It didn’t matter that the brother didn’t know why Drugi did what he did. We knew.

  Jurek said, “Drugi never was that smart.”