Men of Snow (22 page)

Leon lay with his memories. He had no control over them. He was too exhausted and hungry to try. The forest seemed to shift around him like tall, thin figures stood waiting.

Again was the man with the axe and the way the headless body had been carried to where the trees were so close together they were in darkness.

Often Uncle David appeared, the one who he had always loved and admired, the one who understood why he wanted to draw. Not only did he own the carpentry business he ran the biggest tavern in Volnus, something that Leon’s mother and father always found awkward.

‘Death is such a crazy notion when I feel how good it is to be alive. And what do we Jews do? We bury as soon as we can, not giving the unlucky person a chance to change their mind.’

It was one of Uncle David’s jokes. Leon enjoyed his frequent visits to their house. He liked to watch him drink and smoke and slap his thigh when he laughed, which he did a lot when he was in the right mood.

‘And it can be anything, drinking this wine, sitting in this room, smoking my cigar or feel the spring sun shining through the window. It doesn’t take much, so long as you don’t take anything for granted. You realise then how lucky you are. That’s when life gets you. Oh yes. Then it’s good. And it’s absurd that all this stops and then there is just nothing. Because whatever the rabbis might say I know there is only a long sleep without dreams afterwards. We might be buried too quick to catch the train to heaven but unfortunately it doesn’t exist.’

His uncle would sometimes sit and let Leon draw him.

‘It’d better be good mind or we won’t be doing this again. I’m a busy man Leon. I have responsibilities. You know that. So you’d better do a good job.’

‘You know I like drawing you uncle. You have such a...such a...’

‘What?’

‘An interesting face.’

‘You mean old and ugly, that’s what you mean.’

‘So if that’s true why do you pin up some of my pictures behind the bar in your tavern?’

‘And how do you know they’re there?’

‘Somebody told me.’

‘A likely story, anyway Jews are not supposed to get involved in art. No images, remember. I’m sure that’s what old Moses had as one of the commandments. No images of God.’

Leon smiled then, ‘But you’re not God uncle.’

‘No I might be the devil instead. So hurry up and tell me when you’re finished.’

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He was dozing when he smelt the boy approach. He watched his small shadow stop a few feet away. Leon tried but could not manage to speak.

‘Alright?’ the boy said as a way of a greeting.

The drizzle had stopped and the pine smells were strong from the forest, that and the odour of the dark earth freshly moved.

‘Here,’ the boy tried again as he offered him a potato, ‘It’s not much.’

‘Thank you,’ Leon finally said as he started to chew on it, letting the moisture trickle down his throat.

‘Do Jews eat different?’ was the boy’s question.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because you’re only nibbling, if I get that hungry I stuff the lot down as fast as I can.’

It made Leon more aware of eating the potato as slowly as possible, putting all his effort into being conscious of the process, biting a piece, holding it between his teeth, then rolling it around his mouth before he began chewing it until there was just a tiny amount to swallow.

‘My name is Leon,’ he said then.

The boy pulled a face, ‘I never asked.’

‘I know, but I’m telling. So who are you?’

‘I’m Kas. That’s what everybody calls me.’

‘Glad to meet you Kas.’

Leon offered a filthy hand that the boy ignored.

‘I’ve been told not to speak to you.’

Leon nodded, ‘Well you shouldn’t be here then. I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

‘Sounds daft that.’

‘I suppose it does, things being as they are.’

Kas was squatting with is hands on his knees watching Leon.

‘Some say I’m small for my age. I don’t like fighting, but if you don’t fight everybody will think you’re soft.’

‘Yes.’

‘But you’re a Jew, right?’

‘I’m a Jew from Volnus.’

‘That’s near where I lived but I’ve never seen you before.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘They say that all Jews are stinking rich.’

‘And that’s not true. It’s just gossip. My father is a school teacher. We don’t have that much money.’

Kas was silent, looking around.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Leon.

‘They say they’re all dead, all the Jews. The Germans shot them all. That’s what they say.’

Leon tried hopelessly to blank out what the boy was saying.

‘I...I don’t think about it.’

Kas picked up a small stick and started poking into the earth.

‘I hate the Krauts. What did we ever do to them? They’re just bastards. Anyway I’d better be going. My mother said I wasn’t supposed to talk to you. Nobody is supposed to talk to you. But I think that’s a shame like. Things are bad enough as it is. Who wants to live in a hole in the forest because I don’t, but at the moment that’s the only idea there is. Big Paul, he’s the one who had the idea. Not that he’s the leader of us lot or anything because we don’t have one, not a proper one. My father wouldn’t be any good. He never has any ideas. If anybody asks tell them you were talking to yourself, alright?’ were the last words before the small shadow of Kas stretched and turned away.

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Uncle David was always arguing with his brother. If it was about politics then Leon’s father rose to the bait. Often Leon felt sorry for him when he started losing his temper, which he usually did when David started making his exaggerated comments.

In the winter uncle would come round two or three times a week, just before dinner was served. Leon’s mother always left a place for him. He was the constant visitor.

‘When you have money it makes more. The more you have the more it makes.’

David knew his brother believed in the Bund. It was his strongest opinion, that the Jews had to organise themselves under socialist principles. It was the only way forward as far as he was concerned, which was in direct conflict with the capitalist ideas of his brother, the business man, the one who owned one of the only cars in Volnus and smoked cigars and liked to play cards with some of his rich associates.

His father’s love for Leon was a very quiet affair. There was no physical contact, no kisses or hugs when he had been younger, no stories at bed time, only a careful distance between them. But Leon knew he was deeply loved by his father. It might be a smile, a look that lasted longer than it should. For Leon these were not clues. They were examples of his father’s love.

‘Do you teach them the truth?’ David would ask about his brother’s profession.

‘Are you staying for tea?’ would be mother trying to prevent an argument.

She was stout and round cheeked, with dark eyes that looked often surprised. Of all the family she had the best sense of humour and loved to invite her friends for a good afternoon gossip. As a child Leon had loved to sit on the carpet colouring in some picture book listening to what the women had to say. It was the most secure feeling, surrounded by their voices and warmth and the smell of his mother’s baking. He would hear the latest tales. He would watch the different ways the women had of eating his mother’s currant buns. They were huge and golden and fluffy and would fall in pieces if you didn’t manage them properly.

‘Why do you do this?’ father would ask when things had gone too far between him and his brother.

David would pull a face of astonishment, realising his dinner might be at stake if he pushed it any further.

‘Jonathon. I’m innocent. Ask Miriam, ask Hella. I mean no harm. All I say is that through the centuries Poland has hardly existed. It’s hard to be patriotic about a country that has had so little history.’

‘And you know that’s nonsense.’

‘Come and eat,’ would be mother’s interruption, words that always stirred Leon’s sister.

Hella liked her food. She would be always first to the table and the last to leave. She managed portions that were as large as her uncle’s.

‘Why don’t you draw me?’ she often asked her brother.

‘Because you won’t sit still, you’re always wriggling about,’ Leon would tell her.

After the meal they would sit by the fire, David in his usual chair with his waistcoat unbuttoned. He always brought two bottles of wine with him from the tavern, one for himself, the other for rest of the family. Hella and mother would go to the kitchen to prepare the coffee. Leon’s father would pretend to read the paper while David would ask his nephew about school.

‘Is Levin as strict as they say he is?’

‘Worse uncle, he has every pupil petrified, including me. He has the biggest hands I’ve ever seen and can smack two heads together if somebody’s not listening.’

‘But does he teach you anything?’

‘He tells us that imagination comes from dreams and memories and that we cannot imagine anything that isn’t based on something that already exists.’

‘Sounds like a load of mysticism to me. Did you hear this Jonathon?’ David would try but father would remain hidden behind his paper.

‘Imagination is a mysterious gift. Teacher Levin knows that none of us have ever seen a mountain, but we can all imagine what one looks like. The most creative people he says are those who can use their imagination the best.’

‘And is that what you want to do?’

‘Yes. I want to be able to draw things from my imagination, but first I have to learn to draw from what I see around me. It’s only then, when I’m good enough, that I can start being really creative.’

‘Listen to the boy. Sounds cleverer than us two put together Jonathon.’

This finally stirred father to say, ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’

If it was the summer Leon would sit out with his uncle on the veranda while he smoked his cigar, something he was not allowed to do inside the house.

‘Those who succeed, like myself, have to be bloody minded and that’s not swearing my boy,’ David started one evening, ‘That’s just an expression which means you have to go at things as hard as you can. It’s a battle. You already have an advantage because you’re a Jew. We’re the smartest race of people, smart enough to leave the Poles standing because they’re not bothered. They have no real drive to get on. Just think about it. Who in Volnus owns the banks, the most successful tavern, the hardware shops, the clothes’ shops, the printers, the tanners, my carpentry business, the bookshop, the jewellers, and I could go on. This is a successful town because half its population is Jewish. My boy you have to realise how fortunate you were the day you were born into the blessed race. Whatever anybody says you were lucky that day. In the future you’ll have so many choices you won’t know where to start.’

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In the night the rain started again, a soft sound against the higher branches. Leon tried to sleep. His stomach felt tight and soured. The weakness in his limbs began to ache. He forced himself to concentrate on his body’s pain, attempting to avoid any thoughts, any memories. Nothing was left in him. He was too hungry and weak to cry.

The forest pressed close. He could smell the Poles, could hear the three guards watching the rest of the group stepping carefully and then stopping, as though they were listening as intently as he was.

He knew when he slept he would dream, would be unable to avoid his mind’s tricks, the clever tortures, memories becoming quick plots of nightmares that woke him sweating and struggling to recognise his surroundings.

Mist and light merged together in the early morning. The bark of the tree was ridged against the back of his head. The hunger was thudding through him as he watched the Poles begin to wake, wondering if they were going to have anything to eat, trying to prepare himself for the smells that would emerge if they did.

But this morning was immediately different. They started packing their things together, all of them silently clearing up the camp. The women were bundling clothes into their sacks and the men were collecting up the digging equipment as the children were removing all the pine branches off the shelters and taking them back into the forest.

Leon sat and watched. The mist started to clear. Pigeons flapped from tree to tree. There was the drone of more planes The Poles were working quickly, filling in the holes they had dug and clearing the ground.

‘I have to tell you,’ came the boy’s sudden voice from behind him.

‘Tell me,’ Leon muttered.