Rag and Bone by James R. Benn Page B

and saucer in hishands. They trembled, and the china made a clattering, clinking sound as he spilled coffee into the saucer. Kaz took it from him gently and touched his arm.
    “Then we spent two days and two nights in railcars. There was bread and water. It was bad, but not as bad as the basement. There was fresh air, and we had something to eat. Do you understand?” He raised his voice, the question insistent.
    “Yes, I do. It wasn’t as bad.”
    “No, and then they marched us to the camp. There were showers, and barracks. Soup for dinner. We thought the worst of it was over. They let us write home. They questioned us, each of us, alone. They seemed to know a great deal about us, what our parents did, what youth groups we belonged to. There were many rumors, always about going to Romania. They were going to send us there any day. But that day never came.”
    “What happened next?” Kaz prompted him.
    “They came for me one morning. I thought it would be more of the same. More questions about school, the other cadets, and about Marxism. They wanted us to believe in Marx and Stalin, but no one listened. I thought it was going to be more of the same. But they beat me. A big NKVD sergeant, he started beating me while an officer sat in a chair and watched. No one said anything. Then they threw me out into the snow. The next day, they came for me again. This time the officer sat at a table. He had a confession for me to sign. It was in Russian, and he told me it was my confession about spying for the Germans.”
    “But you were just a kid,” I said.
    “They said my father was a spy. He had been to Berlin, for business meetings. He was an architect, so it was normal for him to travel. I tried to explain, but they said we were all spies, all capitalists, my father, mother, and little sister, we were all enemies of the people. He told me my father had confessed, and showed me a piece of paper with his signature. It was his, I recognized it. I knew they had forced him, I knew he was not a spy, not an enemy of anyone. He was an architect, do you understand?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. They told me it was important for you to understand. I wouldn’t talk about it otherwise. It’s too painful.”
    “You don’t have to, you know.”
    “Yes, I must, it is my duty. I did not sign. They told me they would be lenient with my mother and sister if I signed. But I was smarter than that. I knew that if my mother and sister had confessed, they would have shown me their signatures. But they hadn’t. They beat me. They put me in solitary confinement. But I didn’t sign.”
    “Good for you.”
    “Perhaps, but I am not sure. One day the officer who interrogated me was gone. They stopped coming for me. Spring came, and then one day they announced we would be leaving the camp. Romania, we thought. Finally. They took us out in small groups, marching out the main gate, everyone in good spirits. The most senior officers went first. I was in one of the last groups. We marched to a train. NKVD guards stood along the road and prodded us with bayonets, forcing us into railcars, like the ones that had brought us to the camp. It was springtime, but it was cold, very cold. We wore everything we owned.” Tadeusz shivered and rubbed his hands together. “Someone realized we were not traveling south toward Romania. I didn’t know what to think. The train stopped and they had buses and trucks back right up to the cars. They shoved us in, packed us in tight, so we almost couldn’t breathe. When the truck finally stopped, they hauled us out and tied our hands behind our backs. No one knew what was going on, and the guards cursed at us, kicked us, hit men with their rifle butts. They marched us into the woods, on a muddy road, still screaming at us to hurry, hurry. I began to hear popping noises, like firecrackers, lots of firecrackers. The noise would start up and then stop, start and stop. More guards came, with pistols in their hands. One had