The Silver Sword (12 page)

Ruth, who had followed the gist of this, began to plead with him in Polish. She told Edek to beg him to take their case direct to the Americans.

“Quite hopeless,” said the Burgomaster wearily. “It has been tried many times, and with no success. The only thing they would consider is a pass from the Swiss authorities, and that is out of the question.”

“In twenty-four hours, yes,” said the farmer. “But it might be obtained if you would grant them longer.”

“The time limit has been fixed, and not by me,” said the Burgomaster curtly. “Goodbye.” He bowed stiffly and went.

Ludwig, who was no fonder of the Burgomaster than anybody else, was growling and barking, and Jan clung on to his collar. “Shall I let him go, Ruth? I’d love to see him bite a hole in the seat of the Burgomaster’s trousers — and his shirt tail hanging out.”

Ruth slipped her hand into Ludwig’s collar. She did not let go till she heard the jeep’s engine start up.

In a cloud of dust the jeep sped off down the farm track towards the main road, with Ludwig an inch or two behind. And the hills all round echoed his indignant barking.

The farmer did not normally milk the cows himself — that was left to others. But when he felt depressed or in need of a little reflection, he sometimes took his turn. To sit on a stool with his forehead pressed against a cow’s flank and the milk splashing between his fingers into the pail — this, he found, was an attitude which inspired reflective thought.

All afternoon he had been wondering how to beat the Burgomaster and get the family safely away. Telegrams to the International Tracing Service, to Berne and to the Swiss consul in Munich, a hide-out in a cave in the hills — these and other unfruitful ideas had flashed across his mind. Having by milking-time found no solution, he took himself to the cowshed.

And there, at the fifteenth splash into the pail, the idea sprang into being.

As soon as the milking was done, he assembled the family and took them up into the attic. Under a dusty heap of brown paper, broken cases, the boys’ skis and some old boots, he found two long canvas bags. Their leather handles were green with mildew. It must have been years since anyone had touched them.

“Ruth and Jan can take this one, Edek can help me with the other,” said the farmer. “Mind — they’re heavier than they look. Bronia, you come down last and close the trapdoor behind us. Be careful not to fall down the ladder.”

Wholly mystified, the family did as they were told.

In a pother of dust by no means to Frau Wolff’s liking (she was rolling pastry), the bags were dumped on the kitchen floor. She made them take them into the yard.

So out they staggered with their burdens. A few stray hens flew clucking away. And the children clapped their black hands against their clothes.

“Gently, gently,” said the farmer, as the fumbled clumsily with the fastenings.

Ruth’s bag was the first open. On top of musty lengths of stuff — was it canvas, was it rubber? — lay a bundle of sticks with metal clasps at the end. Whatever could it be?

Now the other bag was open, and the contents looked similar.

“Don’t mix the two up,” said the farmer. “I’ll assemble the one while you all watch. You can do the other yourselves.” And when asked for the umpteenth time what it was all about, all he would say was, “Ah!”

Out came the sticks first, and with the metal clasps the farmer joined them together — six sets of much the same length, which he fastened at the ends. The sticks grew into a skeleton. And before the farmer had started to give it flesh, Jan cried out, “A canoe!”

“It’s a bit of a gamble,” said the farmer, “but your only chance. Has any of you ever canoed before?”

“Yes,” said Ruth and Edek both together.

“Father took us one summer in the Pieniny mountains,” said Ruth. “We hired two-seaters to take us downstream, then sent them back by train.”

“One of these is a two-seater,” said the farmer. “They belonged to my sons. Have you tried wild water?”

“The Dunajec wasn’t particularly wild, except in one place where there were some rocks sticking out,” said Edek.

“There are only two difficult patches on the Falken River,” said the farmer, “the rapids ten kilometres below the village, and the part where the river joins the Danube. Keep to midstream and clear of the broken water and you’ll be all right.” He did not tell them just how tricky the rapids were, and that it was a long time before he had allowed his boys to tackle them unaccompanied. Nor did he drop a hint of his other fear. The canoes were years old. Would they still hold the water out?

Working together, Edek and Jan assembled the second canoe according to the farmer’s directions. After a time, soiled and battered but recognizable, two canoes lay stretched out on the ground.

“Of course we’ll have to try them out,” said the farmer, “and it’s advisable to leave that till after dark.”

“What about the paddles?” said Edek.

A second visit to the attic produced three double paddles, one of them snapped in two, another with a broken blade. The farmer saw to the carpentry, having packed the family off to a meal and bed. They must get a few hours’ rest, for the plan would not work unless they were away in the small hours of the morning while it was still dark. There were many other things that could go wrong. Parts of the river were highly dangerous. Was any watch kept upon it where it ran past the village? Much luck and not a little skill would be needed for the venture to succeed. But it was their only chance.

It took him till dark to repair the paddles and the cracked floorboards. Of the four buoyancy balloons (one for each end) three were punctured and the fourth had perished. There was no time to get hold of a new one, so they had to be patched up as well as possible.

The moon had not yet risen when, with tractor and trailer, he carried the canoes down to the river to try them out. The larger one was all right, but the single-seater leaked in several places. The top skin of waterproof linen seemed sound enough. It was the under skin of rubberized cloth which needed attention. All he had to help him was some talc, and, working by torchlight, he made the best job of it he could.

Soon after 3 a.m. four sleepy-eyed youngsters were bundled into the trailer and driven over the bumpy track down to the river. Frau Wolff sat with them.

“I found the waterproofs which go with the canoes and I’ve mended them for you,” she told them. “Mind you fit them tightly round the splashboards, or you’ll get swamped. And I’ve packed you up some food as well.”

“Go easy with the food, dear,” shouted the farmer, above the noisy splutter of the tractor. “We don’t want to sink them.”

Reaching the river, he shut off the engine. Under the dark trees they could see the river only dimly, but the gentle rushing sound of the water was music in their ears. On, on to the Danube. On to Switzerland, it sang.

“Say goodbye to Ludwig for me,” said Jan. “I shall miss him dreadfully.”

“Ludwig’s in the wood somewhere. I heard him bark,” said Bronia.

“Ludwig’s asleep in his basket at home,” said Frau Wolff.

“Listen, all of you,” said the farmer. “Your safety depends on your not making any stupid mistakes. Edek and Jan — you’d better have the two-seater. We’ll stow the luggage with you. Put on these waterproofs — the elastic grips round your faces and wrists and round the splashboard. They’ll keep the water out of the canoe. Ruth and Bronia — you’ll both have to fit into one waterproof as best you can. Keep the waistband tight round the splashboard.”

When they were all aboard and the little luggage they had was safely stowed, he gave them final instructions. “It’s only fifty kilometres to the Danube, so you’ve not far to go. Keep to midstream where you can — the river’s fastest there. There’s no need to paddle much, except in the broken water where there are rocks. For the rest, just keep the canoes headed straight and the current will do all the work. If you get into difficulties, draw in to the side. The water’s sluggish there and quite shallow. Remember — not a sound as you pass the village. There’s no moon now and you shouldn’t be seen. But if there’s any firing, lie as flat as you can. Goodbye, and good luck to you.”

“God bless you, my dears,” said Frau Wolff.

“We can never thank you enough for all you’ve done for us,” said Ruth.

“I’ll paint a picture of the farm, with both of you in it — and I’ll remember you for ever,” said Bronia.

The two boys waved their paddles.

The farmer gave each bow a gentle push. Ruth, tightly squeezed with Bronia inside the ash-wood rim of the single-seater, drove hard in with her paddle and headed for midstream, with Edek and Jan close behind. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw the two pale figures under the trees waving silently — silently and, she thought, rather sadly. The darkness quickly swallowed them.

“It’s lovely and warm in here — like being in a nest,” said Bronia. “I’m so glad I’m in your boat, Ruth. I bet the others are envious.”

They were in the grip of the current now, floating gently and steadily downstream. Edek and Jan were a length behind. She could hear the splash of their paddles in the water and Jan’s voice calling. Had something gone wrong?

She backed water till they drew alongside.

“Don’t shout, Jan,” she said.

“We’re down at the bows. There’s something very heavy inside, Ruth,” said Jan.

“Pass the stuff back to me. There’s room astern,” said Edek.

Jan lifted the waist of his waterproof clear of the rim and reached underneath.

“Ow! It’s wriggling — it’s alive — and wet!” said Jan.

“Perhaps a fish has come up through the bottom,” said Bronia, much alarmed.

But Jan had guessed already what was hiding there. The wet thing was a nose. The stowaway was Ludwig. He thrust up eagerly for air, licking Jan’s fingers and wriggling with delight at the success of his plans. As for Jan, even if this unexpected passenger meant shipwreck, he could not have been better pleased.

The current was swift. In the darkness the great wooded hills swept by. For a moment the moon peeped from a cloud and turned the rippling surface of the stream to silver.

“Stay away, moon,” Ruth muttered. “Don’t come out again till we’ve passed the village.”

Side by side, the two canoes sped on.

On the left bank the line of the hills curved downwards. were those dim shapes houses? Had they reached the village?

Again the moon appeared. It had chosen quite the wrong moment, for this was indeed the village, with houses crowded about both banks, and on the left bank suddenly an open space with lorries in it. They were so close together that they were almost touching, and there were several rows of them. These must be the lorries that were to take the Polish refugees back to Poland. With a tightening of fear in her throat, Ruth realized that if they were spotted now, they would be taken back too.

“Look out for the bridge,” said Edek.

He and Jan shot ahead, aiming for the centre of the three arches. Edging away from the square, Ruth paddled towards the right-hand arch.

Edek’s canoe shot under the arch and disappeared into the shadows. Too far to the right, Ruth got caught in sluggish water. She drifted broadside on to the base of the arch.

The water was noisy and Ruth did not hear the footsteps on the bridge. But she saw a man’s shadow on the water and it was moving. She paddled frantically to get free.

“The water’s coming in. I can feel it damp under me,” said Bronia.

A man shouted, and his shadow leaned far out over the water.

The canoe was still across the base of the arch, with the water thrusting against each end, threatening to break its back. She jabbed hard with the paddle and managed to ease it a little.

The man was right overhead, shouting and waving, but she could not understand what he was saying. In the distance a dog was barking.

A pair of legs dangled over the parapet and scraped against the stone. An American soldier.

With a last effort she thrust at the stonework, and the canoe broke free. But the soldier had clambered down and jumped into the water where it was shallow at the side. He caught at the paddle and clung on.

Ruth tugged, twisted, then let go of it, and the canoe swung sideways into the shadows under the arch. The soldier, not expecting her to let go, toppled over backwards and fell with a splash into the river.

As the canoe shot out beyond the bridge, Ruth realized that she was at the mercy of the current. Bronia had no paddle and could not help.

Two or three shots from the bridge whizzed past her cheek, and she pushed Bronia’s head down against the canvas. She peered ahead to see if she could see anything of the other canoe.

Then the moon went behind a cloud, and the darkness hid her.

There were no more shots now, but she felt helpless as the current drove them wherever it chose. On and on they sped, the water foaming against the bows, spitting and bubbling against the canvas.

“I’m sitting in the river,” said Bronia.

But Ruth took no notice. “Edek! Jan!” she shouted.

As they rounded a bend, they were thrust towards the right bank. The river was quieter here, and soon they felt the bottom of the canoe scrape over pebbles and slow them to a halt.

Ruth put her hand over the side and down into the water and tried to shove them off. But they were stuck. There was a pale light in the sky now, and the rim of the hills stood out dark against it. It was still too dark to see much, but she could make out rocks in the water, rounded like hippos’ backs.

“We’ll have to get out and push,” she said.

They stepped into the water, which was little more than ankle-deep, and at once the canoe floated. With the painter in her hand and Bronia beside her, she drew it gently along till they came to a large V-shaped rock that seemed to project from the bank. She pulled the canoe high and dry on to a shoal of pebbles, then lifted Bronia on to the rock.

“We must wait here till daylight,” she said.

And they sat there shivering and clinging to each other till the shadows brightened and they could see the whole sweep of the river, white and broken in the middle, rock-strewn and shallow at either side, with the wood-muffled hills hemming it in, and not a soul in sight. No sign of Edek and Jan. They could not have felt lonelier.