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12
They were taken to the Gestapo headquarters.There was no sign, but Jan recognised it.The lines of flag-bearing staff cars parked outside and in the courtyard gave the place away, along with the constant stream of black uniforms.Clouds gathered in the sky, obscuring the sunlight and giving their surroundings the look of twilight even though it was only afternoon.
The building itself was intimidating, with towering columns around the driveway.A pale cream colour, it rose above the trucks as they drove into the courtyard, like a sentinel on watch over prey that would find no escape.Jan shuddered as the shadow of the columns fell over him, then was gone again as quickly.
The trucks parked in front of a massive doorway, and the engines fell silent.The boys whispered amongst themselves, shuffling to pull back from the gate.None wanted to be the first to step out of the vehicle.So, Jan pushed himself forward through the crowd to wait for the gate to be opened.
Peter followed him, his breath warm on the back of Jan’s neck.He looked over his shoulder to give Peter a nod.The boy’s brown eyes were wide, but his jaw was set and head high beneath a jaunty grey fedora.
Overhead, the first raindrop fell.It landed on Jan’s nose, and he dashed it away with the back of his hand.His heart hammered against his rib cage, and his rapid breathing made his head feel light.He didn’t allow thoughts about what was to come to cloud his mind.Unlike the sky above him, he wanted a clear head.No matter what happened, he’d never betray his family.It was the only thought that occupied his consciousness in that moment.
Tell the Gestapo nothing.Tell them nothing.
A guard lumbered to the back of the vehicle and unlatched the door.It swung open, and he indicated for Jan to climb down.Jan took the steps carefully, his eyes on the ground.If he staggered or stumbled, he knew the guard would take it out on him.He’d seen the way they treated the Jews in the ghetto, and the guard saw him as Jewish.The guard wouldn’t hesitate to assault Jan.His best approach would be not to draw attention to himself.
The moment his foot hit the pavement, he felt the first strike to his head.The guard’s baton came down again, this time smiting one shoulder.He pitched forward and covered his head with both hands as he fell.The baton came down again and again, this time on his forearm, the next on his back.He grunted with the pain of it and scrambled away from the guard, out of reach.The man turned his attention to Peter, and after him the next boy.Each of the boys received blows as they scuttled from the truck bed and into the courtyard.But none so bad as Jan.It was the generally recognised curse of going first.
Jan nursed his bruised arm, holding it against his side as they were shuttled through the courtyard and into a darkened doorway.The boys jogged along in pairs, the guards rushing after them shouting in German, punishing them with blows and kicks.
Finally, they were pushed into a series of cells side by side along a hallway.Jan sank gratefully to the ground, his back leaning against a frigid stone wall.Peter landed beside him.The heavy door swung shut.Boys crowded towards the back of the cell, shivering.A few sobbed, but most were silent.
It was soon after that the first boy was taken.The door creaked open with a suddenness that surprised the group.Guards grabbed the nearest boy, a tall lad with gangly legs and a pointed nose.They pushed him roughly from the cell and let the door clang shut behind them.
A chink of daylight gleamed dully on the floor through a small barred window in the wall behind Jan.He studied the window.He stood on tiptoe to test out the strength of the bars, but could barely reach them.Peter lifted him up and he shook them with all his strength, grimacing at the pain in his arm, but it was no use.The bars were too strong and the gaps between them too small.Even the slimmest boy in the group wouldn’t be able to squirm through.
He slid to the floor with a grunt of disappointment.
“I’m going to look around,” he whispered.
“I don’t think you’ll find anything useful,” Peter said.
Jan knew the Nazis had every possibility covered.They were meticulous, systematic and thorough in everything they did.But he couldn’t sit still and let himself think.His thoughts would go to his mother and sisters, to Nacha and her family, and he’d lose his resolve.He had to stay busy and keep the images of the people he loved from his mind.
He walked around the small room, fingers to the wall.He felt something rough and looked closer to see messages scrawled into the paintwork.Written in Polish and Russian, Romani and Yiddish, they were everywhere.It was difficult to read them in the dim light, but he could make out some of the Polish words.
Peter joined him, running his hands over the scratched surface.“‘I love you, Mama and Papa,’ this one says.”
Jan swallowed back a ball of emotion that climbed up his throat.
“Don’t give up on me.”
“I wish I’d left when I had the chance.”
“I am here because of you, Alek.”
“Never surrender to them!Those maggots dressed in black with their long, snivelling faces.”
“If only you’d let me go.”
“Mother, your daughter is here and I don’t have long.Farewell.”
The boys whispered the etchings, carved with the end of a nail or screw, back and forth to each other.Soon, other boys crowded around them, joining in reading or listening to the words.Some began looking for implements and carved their own messages into the walls.
They spenttheir time shuffling back and forth around the cell that first day and night.There was little room to move and none to lie down.They dozed where they stood or sat, leaning on the walls or each other for support.
Thirst clenched at Jan’s throat, suffocating him with its longing.He swallowed repeatedly, seeking relief, but found none.Several of the boys cried for their mothers throughout that first night.But by the second day, they were all silent, and the shuffling had given way to lethargy and hopelessness.
“I’m so hungry,” said Peter, his back pressed against Jan’s.
