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“Witaj!”called several of the boys when they spotted Jan and Walter.Others said a quiet “Shalom.”
“I’ve seen you around,” said one boy as he sidled up to Jan.His brown eyes were wide and solemn.“My name’s Peter.”
“I’m Jan, and this is Walter.Yes, I’ve seen you around as well.”Jan waved to several of the boys as they ran past.They grinned but kept moving, intent on stealing back the ball.
“Shalom,” said Walter.
“Why are so many boys together here?”asked Jan.
“We’re waiting for someone.”He dipped his head in the direction of the wall.“Your ball, I presume?”
Jan smiled.“Yes, that’s right.”
“Do you mind if we play?We haven’t had a game in ages.”
“We don’t mind.We’ve got things to do.But we’ll be back in a little while.”Jan scanned the street.Something was wrong.It was too quiet.A window slammed shut a few houses down.
Peter smiled.“Want to join us?”
“I don’t know,” replied Jan, looking around.“Why is it so quiet?”
Peter followed his gaze, his face growing pale.“You’re right.It’s too quiet.”He pressed his fingers to his mouth and let out a whistle.
The game stopped suddenly, and the boys’ heads all whipped in Peter’s direction.
A deep voice yelled, “Halt or we’ll shoot!”
Jan’s heart dropped as the group was quickly surrounded by Gestapo, guns raised.Jewish Police were dotted amongst them, thin and peaked-looking.Boys of every age scattered.One moment Walter stood beside Jan, and the next he was gone.Jan ran north along the street, but was halted by a knock to the head that sent him sprawling onto the tarmac.
Pain bit into his lip where it grazed the ground, and his head throbbed.The taste of blood filled his mouth.He pushed himself slowly to his feet and glanced around.The Gestapo had captured most of the group.They stood huddled together surrounded by angry black-clad officers.The soldier who’d knocked him down pushed him back to the rest of the group with a violent shove and an angry shout.
“OberführerMeisinger,we lost three of the little rats.Do you want us to look for them?”one police officer asked, clicking his heels together in front of the man in charge.He looked ridiculous in his thrown-together uniform, the waist cinched by a rope where it was too bulky for his emaciated frame.Jan wanted to scowl at his fawning—didn’t he know theOberführerwould never recognise him as an equal no matter what he did?
“Nein.”
Jan recognised Meisinger from the cathedral as the head of theEinsatzgruppewho’d callously shot the priests and other worshipers.His cruelty was renowned throughout Warsaw and all of Poland.Poles trembled when they furtively whispered his name while telling tales of mass graves and burning barns filled with Polish families.
A ball of fear knotted in Jan’s belly, and he swallowed hard.Meisinger’s cold eyes surveyed the group.His hair was brushed smoothly back in place and secured with gel like a brown skullcap against his head.He paced with hands linked behind his back to study the children as though they were objects to dispose of.
The boys stood in silence, some with heads bowed, others staring sullenly at their captors.Jan looked for a means of escape, but saw none.They were completely surrounded.He took a step backward, and the tip of a rifle pushed against one shoulder blade.
A truck pulled up with a screech of brakes.It had a wire cage on the bed, with a door in the back.A Gestapo officer opened the door and waved a hand at it.
“Get inside,” he said.
The rest of the soldiers pushed the boys forward and into the truck.Jan stumbled up the small steps that led into the truck bed.He was jostled back and forth until finally he reached the right-hand side near the front and found a seat.There were two long benches running down the length of the vehicle on either side of the cage.He sat on one and lifted his legs to hug his knees to his chest.The air was cold and the seat beneath him colder still.It sent a chill through his thin frame.
Another truck pulled up beside the first and still more boys were piled into it until all of the boys were crowded together in one of the two vehicles.Peter sat beside Jan, pressed up against him.There were boys all around him.Only about a dozen got to sit, backs pressed against the wire frame of the cage that held them captive.The rest were jammed into any space in which they could stand.
When the truck jerked forward and rumbled down the road, Peter leaned closer to Jan.“You should tell them.”
“Tell them what?”
“That you’re Catholic.They’ll let you go.”
Jan rested his chin on his knees.The rattling of the truck made his teeth chatter.“But they won’t letyougo.And besides, they’ll ask me what I was doing in the ghetto wearing a Star of David armband.They’ll try to get me to talk, to betray my family.I won’t do it.”
Peter sighed.“You’re right.”
Jan felt an affinity with the group of boys.Some of the younger ones sniffled into their sleeves.The older boys sat or stood with pale faces, not speaking, only staring into the distance.He couldn’t leave them.Even if the Gestapo cared whether he was Catholic or Jewish, he had no intention of telling them.It wasn’t likely they’d let him go.But if they did, he’d be leaving the other boys behind or betraying his family.
He’d heard the rumours about what happened to the Jews rounded up in the ghetto and taken away in trucks.No one knew for sure what happened to them, but there were whispers.The only thing they were certain of was that none ever returned.
