Chapter One BY THE TIME I was five years old I had spent half my life hidden away in a barn loft. I had vague memories of the world outside and I listened to stories people around me told of that world, but it was hard for me to believe in its existence. Was there really anything beyond the wails of this barn? I knew that there were people out there, people other than my mother, my aunt, my cousin and another family who shared our hide-out, but it was hard for me to imagine them. At certain times, when a German patrol passed nearby and I was forced to remain still, I would try very hard to see beyond the walls of our shelter. Curiosity, doubt and fear coloured my images. Within their spectrum I recreated the world from which I was banished. Half invented and half remembered, it grew in my mind and satisfied the longings that sometimes came over me. Yet there was no urgency to my game; I was content to go on with my life indefinitely. Some weeks after my fifth birthday, I became aware that something different was happening nearby. We began to hear new sounds. The silence inside our loft was shattered by the regular booming of artillery guns. Planes passed overhead and bombs exploded close enough to shake the walls of the barn. My aunt, my mother and the other grown-ups became very agitated. Our food supply stopped almost entirely, yet everyone's spirits seemed to rise. The fatigue and listlessness which had reduced us to a state of muteness vanished as we heard the sounds of battle around us. People cried and laughed and talked on and on, as if they had just come together. I moved among them, looking at them with new curiosity, not understanding their words but affected by the contagion of their emotions. I too felt restless, anxious, uncertain. I was waiting for something I couldn't even visualize. Then one day I was awakened by strange voices just outside the wall where I slept. I sat up, but my mother motioned to me not to speak. The others were awake and listening as well. Were these friendly voices? I couldn't tell. They spoke words that were strange to me. I kept my eyes on the familiar faces of the people around me. These were the only clues I trusted. The voices moved away. Then they came close again. Whoever these people were, they had now entered the barn. They were just beneath us. If they climbed the ladder that led to the loft we would be discovered. My heart was pounding with fear. The tension of silence seemed unbearable. My mother looked at me and sensed my feelings. She put one arm around me, and with her other hand she held back the scream that was rising within me. For some moments we remained silent, listening, afraid to stir. Then I saw my cousin Alexander move cautiously to the edge of the loft. I held my breath as he leaned over the edge. When he turned back to us I saw that he was smiling. I heard him whisper to the others: "It's all right. They're Russians. I'm sure of it." Still no one moved. The habits of long months of hiding could not be abandoned without an effort. We waited. Then someone began to sing. It was a song I knew. One of the Russian refugees in our loft, a man whom I called Uncle Joseph, had taught it to me. At first I thought that it was he who was singing. I turned to look at him and I saw that his lips were not moving. Then I realized that the voice was a woman's and that it came from below us. I became very excited. Again I looked to the others to see what it meant, and I saw that they were crying. My confusion increased. When the song was over, a man spoke in Polish: "We are your friends. There are Jews amongst us. Trust us." He repeated these words again slowly. My cousin returned to the edge of the loft and leaned down. "We are up here. There are seven of us and a child. Please help us to come down." Then it seemed to me as if everyone around me went mad. My mother no longer covered my mouth with her hand, but in any case I had become mute. I looked at the people I knew so well and they seemed almost strangers in their behaviour. Weeping and laughing at the same time, they hugged me and embraced one another. I felt smothered in their arms. These embraces were not the ones I was used to; too tight, too close. I was frightened. A young man appeared at the top of the ladder. I saw him pick up my aunt and carry her down. I had to see what he was doing to her. I crept closer to the edge. Below me I saw other soldiers, men and women in uniform, with rifles in their arms. My aunt and the young man reached the ground and they sat down in the straw. He continued to hold my aunt and I saw him rock her gently as my mother rocked me sometimes. I wanted to go to my aunt and comfort her. But I had forgotten that for the last few days I had been too weak to stand. Now as I tried to rise, my legs folded beneath me and the walls of the barn seemed to tilt away from the ground. Someone, another stranger, his arms stronger than those that usually held me, picked me up and carried me down the ladder. We stopped near the doorway. I could see past his shoulder. For the first time that I could remember I looked out and into the forbidden world. A large orange circle covered the sky and coloured the world below. The fields, the animals, the farmhouse, all were illuminated in this strange, intense, blood-like colour. Suddenly i felt terrified in a way that was worse than all my previous experiences of fear. I heard myself scream, again and again. I couldn't stop. At the same time my body went rigid with the effort of trying to get away from the doorway. I was certain we were in a trap. The enemy I had so often been warned about had tricked everyone around me. My mother was trapped in the arms of a stranger. My aunt sat peacefully close to another, her long hair spread trustingly over his arm. I would not be fooled like this. I would rather die than leave the barn to step into the horror outside. My past fears of bombs, probing bayonets and tracking dogs were nothing compared to the terror I now felt. I would never leave. Never. The scream that I had kept inside me for so long continued to pour forth. Everyone stopped. A look of familiar fear returned to their faces. They rushed over to stifle my noise. For them I was still a source of danger in their midst, the most vulnerable point in their defence. In the past they had doubted my mother's reassurances. Now a hand came over my mouth, and my arms and legs were held as I continued to struggle. The soldier who held me managed to calm them. I was extricated from those desperate arms and carried over to a corner away from the doorway. My new protector soothed me with his gentle voice. He spoke Russian, and I could only understand a little of what he said, but it felt good to listen to him and be near him. I was fascinated by his appearance--so different from the hollowed faces that I knew reflected my own. We stayed inside for some hours, waiting for a vehicle to be brought around to move us. During this time the soldiers shared some of their bread with us. One of them took out a harmonica. While he played, his friends sang. Once again I saw that people were crying, but their faces had a new expression. I began to understand that there were many different reasons for tears. It was evening when the carriages arrived. Outside the barn the world now appeared a soft blue colour. My new friend, whose name I had learned was Yuri, picked me up and carried me outside. All the while his soft voice reassured me, and the sound of those words made me feel safe. They also bound me to him forever. The fresh air of the summer evening felt soothing against my skin. I looked around me. I was no longer afraid. Excerpted from Dobryd by Ann Charney. Copyright © 1996 by Ann Charney. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
