Beyond the Shadow of Night(59)

Josef’s hand immediately fell to his pocket, but the guard pulled his arm away. He stood in front of Josef, their faces inches apart, and put his hand into the pocket Josef had reached for.

Again, a pistol was pulled out.

Then the officer, standing behind the guard, said something to him. It was intoned as a question, and Asher heard the word Josef being mentioned.

The guard stepped in front of Josef and said, “Du bist Josef Kurowski?”

Josef gulped, then took a few breaths, but didn’t speak.

“Josef Kurowski?” the guard said, their heads now inches apart. “Ja oder nein?”

Josef spat in his face.

The man sneered, took a step back, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleaned his face, taking his time to wipe every last drop of spit from every last crease and wrinkle.

While this was happening, Asher decided he would do the same as Josef. Yes, he would spit in the man’s face, perhaps punch him, even knock him over. They were all going to be shot anyway, so what did he have to lose?

The guard folded the handkerchief, again clearly taking more time than necessary, and turned back to face his officer. A few words were exchanged.

The guard shouted down the street, toward the armored vehicle and the man holding the flamethrower. He made a beckoning motion with his hand, and the man with the flamethrower started walking toward them.

Josef started speaking, then babbling, and finally pleading. As the guard talked to the man who had just arrived, Josef fell to his knees and put his hands together. Asher didn’t understand the words, but he knew the man he had come to respect and admire was now begging.

The guard took a step back and barked “Ja!” to the man, who pointed his contraption at the still kneeling, still praying Josef. He pulled the trigger and Josef became a whirling, screaming fireball, his arms flailing, his body thrashing around on the ground. But the man didn’t stop, adding more fire just to make sure.

Time was meaningless in Asher’s state of mind, but it probably took something in the region of a minute for the flamethrower to do what a bullet would have accomplished in half a second. Josef’s slumped figure was motionless, but still the flames caressed it. Asher felt the coldness of a dribble coming from the corner of his mouth. He took a few gasps to stop himself from being sick, then turned to see that Rina was lying motionless on the ground, eyes closed. For a second his eyes searched her coat for blood-soaked holes, then he came to his senses. Whereas he had almost been sick at the punishment, she had fainted.

He lowered his arms and bent down to reach for her, but a guard screaming in his face changed his mind. The smack of a rifle butt on his cheekbone sent him down to the ground. He was told to get up, and obeyed without question. All thoughts of punching or spitting at the guard were placed back in their box, locked there for as long as the flamethrower was around. Even then, the guard only stopped screeching once he’d given Asher another thump, this time in the middle of the chest.

Another guard stood over Rina, opened his water bottle, and splashed her face. She groaned. He bent down and gave her a slap across the face, then another. She stirred, bringing her hands up to protect herself. The man shouted at her, and within a minute she’d struggled to her feet, albeit staggering and stumbling.

The guard who had searched the other three men now did the same to Asher, and Asher felt unable to do anything other than hold his breath, brace himself, and pray.

The guard found no gun. He stepped back and looked Asher’s dust-caked figure up and down. “You have no weapon?” he said in confident Polish.

Asher could do no more than cough. They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Asher gasped as the guard’s pistol was raised, the muzzle pressed low against his forehead. For a moment he looked the man in the eye, saw the rash of stubble on his chin, the greasy sweat on his cheeks. Then he closed his eyes.

“They wouldn’t let us have weapons,” he heard Rina shout.

Words were exchanged between the guards, but still Asher felt the cold, hard steel against his forehead, pressing against his skull. Now he opened his eyes, and beyond the blurred image of the gun at his head, he saw another guard searching Rina.

“They didn’t trust us,” she said. “Told us we were only children.”

The guard found no weapon on her.

And still Asher had the gun against his head.

There were more heated discussions between the guards. “Nur Kinder,” one of them kept repeating. Asher heard the guard in front of him sigh, and felt hot breath momentarily warm his face. Then the man took the gun away.

Now Asher was being shoved forward, staggering and gasping like he’d just run a mile. Soon, he and Rina were walking down the street, helped by the muzzle of a gun occasionally prodding them in the back.



A few minutes later, Asher and Rina were deposited at the meeting point next to the railroad station. They sat down on the earth next to each other. Asher put his arm around his sister and looked left and right. The square was contained on all four sides by either brick or solid fencing, and was patrolled by those armed guards the authorities seemed to have an endless supply of, whether SS, Gestapo, or Stormtroopers.

Asher had often walked past the square over the past couple of years, and each time it had been thronged with people waiting to be taken away.

Today it was less than half full.

They had chopped off all the meat and were now scraping away the gristle.