The Things We Cannot Say(108)

“I’m not much good to them dead, am I?” Jakub interrupted me, but not unkindly. “I built it once, I can build it again. You best be making your way to the river. I don’t know what time your boat is coming. Do you have some food left?”

“Some,” I whispered, but I was reluctant to drop the issue of the crate so quickly. “Maybe you could leave it here—”

“Take these,” Jakub said, and he tossed me a handful of carrots. I didn’t catch them—instead, they scattered around my feet, and I scrambled to collect them. “Try to convince your friend to eat some too. He looks like he’s going to need the sustenance if you two are going to walk soon.”

“But...”

Jakub nodded toward the woods.

“You ready for this?” he asked me quietly. “Things are still going to be tough from here, you know.”

We both looked to Saul, who had slumped against a tree. It was dawn again—we’d been inside the crate for an entire day—and my companion looked no more lucid after the long stint inside the truck. He was slight, but so was I—there was simply no way I could physically carry him if he stopped walking, nor would I leave him behind. I’d made Tomasz a promise and I intended to fulfil it.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Jakub’s gaze was sympathetic.

“Get moving, girl. And good luck.” Jakub waved toward Saul, who raised his hand in return.

“Thank you,” I whispered numbly. I picked up the suitcase and walked stiffly across to Saul. Behind me, I heard the sound of the crate crashing to the ground, and then the splintering crashes as Jakub destroyed it. Tears filled my eyes, but I couldn’t let myself look back. Instead, I slid my hand into Saul’s arm, and led him into the tree line, then helped him to sit on the ground. He slumped forward, elbow on his knee, palm over his eyes.

I hastily threw away the jam jars containing our waste, and then withdrew the last of our biscuits and dried bread, and what little water we had left.

“You need to eat again,” I murmured.

Saul opened his eyes. It was as if he’d emerged from a deep, god-awful sleep and was, at last, conscious again.

“Alina,” he said suddenly.

“Yes?” I said, startled by the unexpected speech.

He inclined his head toward me, and he said softly, “Thank you.”

I’d feared the river crossing would be an ordeal, but we simply boarded a little boat with a gruff old farmer and were rowed across to the other side—no drama, no tension, no struggle. We were some miles to the west of the front, so while we could hear shelling in the distance, it was certainly no threat to us. If anything, the crossing was a moment of pleasant peace after the most stressful twenty-four hours of my life. When the boat stopped at the other side, the farmer nodded toward the riverbank. He didn’t speak Polish, and neither Saul nor I knew his language, but we murmured our thanks anyway then moved to climb out of the boat. This seemed to inspire an almost violent reaction in the farmer, who blocked our way with an oar and started pointing to the suitcase.

“I think he wants money,” Saul whispered.

I reached deep under my clothes, fumbled with the bag and withdrew some coins, then offered my palm to the farmer, who scooped them all up with a frown and grunted at us. I had no idea how much I’d given him—nor how much I had left—but he was no longer waving the oar at us, so we were free to go.

I helped Saul down onto the riverbank, and then I stepped down myself. As my feet hit Soviet soil, I stopped and drew a deep breath into my lungs. If Tomasz were with me, I’d have grabbed him right then and I’d have kissed him full on the lips. Then I’d have told him all of the thoughts as they raced through my head—how much sweeter the air tasted here, how amazing it was to be alive and to have made it this far, how much closer we were to the life we’d dreamed about. Instead, though, I had Saul—who ambled up to the top of the bank, then glanced back at me questioningly. All I could do was make a note of my thoughts. I promised myself that one day I’d tell Tomasz every single thing about that moment. Until then, I had to carry on.

“Come on, Saul,” I murmured, as I climbed up the riverbank to stand beside him. “We’re not there yet, but we’re much closer than we were.”

“How many miles?” he asked me.

“I don’t even know,” I admitted. “But I know it’s to the east, and it’s not far.” I offered him my arm. Saul leaned on me just for a moment, then he seemed to lift himself to his full height, and he shook himself.

“Enough,” he murmured. “It is time to carry on.”

And after that, he walked all the way to the township. We had to stop a few times so he could rest, but he made it the whole way without much help at all.

We had to wait a full day for the train that would take us toward Buzuluk, and there was nowhere for us to go in the meantime, so we slept on the platform—Saul and I crammed ourselves into a tiny alcove near some bathrooms and we protected the suitcase and our meager food with our bodies while we slept. Despite the hordes of hungry Polish souls around us waiting for the same train, despite the concrete behind us and the cool breeze that never really stopped all night, I actually slept so well that when I woke the next morning I thought the entire trip had been a dream.

I left Saul to find a bathroom, and while I was gone happened upon a local woman who was selling dried bread to the refugees. I handed over more coins—again no concept of how much or how little I’d given her—and when I returned to Saul I was carrying not one but two entire loaves hidden beneath my coat. I was worried for a while that I’d purchased too much and it would go to waste—but in the end, that bread likely saved our lives.