Now I wish I remembered the prayers. Any prayers." He glanced around at the bustling30 cellar. 'So help me, this hole looks to me now like home sweet home. I'd give anything if I could just stay here. Do you think we'll ever play bridge again one day, the four of us? In New York, maybe?" "Sooner than you think." 'From your mouth in God's cars. That's what my mother used to say." The army trucks came snorting and rattling31 up to the embassy at half past eleven; loose wobbly old machines so caked with mud and rust32 that their gray paint was scarcely discernable. At their arrival, more than a hundred Americans milling inside the fence on the lawn, set up a cheer and began singing "California Here I Come" and such ditties. The Poles of the staff, mostly girl secretaries, were sadly passing out coffee and cake. "They make me feel ashamed," Natalie said to Byron. Two of the Polish girls bearing trays had just gone by with fixed33 forced smiles and glistening34 eyes. "What's the alternative?" Byron, famished35, bit into the coarse gray cake and made a face. It tasted of raw dough36 and paper ashes. "There's no alternative." Byron said, "Mark Hartley is scared stiff of the Germans. How about you?" Natalie's eyes flashed. "What can they do to me? I have an American passport. They don't know I'm a Jew." "Well, don't tell them. I mean don't become all brave or defiant37 or anything, okay? The idea is just to get the hell out." "I'm not an imbecile, Byron." A Polish officer shouted, the gate opened, and the Americans began piling into the trucks. Some people were too old to climb up, some were trying to take extra luggage, the Polish drivers and officers were urgent and short-tempered, and nobody was in charge. Yelling, complaining, weeping, and fist-waving went on, but most of the people, hungry and uncomfortable though they were, felt so happy at starting out that they continued to sing and laugh. The trucks clanked off in single file. A black Chevrolet with American flags on its fenders brought up the rear, carrying Slote, his three highest-ranking assistants, and the wives of two of them. Outside the gate the Polish secretaries stood and waved, tears running down their faces. Byron and Natalie jolted38 along in a truck, clasping each other's waists. Slote had offered her a place in the Chevrolet. She had shaken her head without a word. The bombardment was going on as heavily as ever: the distant HRUMP! HRUMP! HRUMP! of the artillery, the blasting explosions of bombs from three small Vs of German planes passing slowly in the hazy39 midday sky, and the popping and stuttering of the Polish antiaircraft guns.
The convoy40 crawled, stopped, and crawled through the shattered streets, the canyons41 of yellow-patched structures, careening up on sidewalks to avoid holes and tank traps, once backing out of a boulevard blocked by a newly fallen building. At the bridge across the Vistula truck convoys42 flying various embassy flags were converging43. The bridge was jammed to a standsde with refugee trucks. There were more than two thousand neutral nationals in Warsaw, and every one of them evidently meant to get out. Byron kept glancing at his watch. The traffic started to move again, but so slowly that he feared they might not reach the departure point by one o'clock. German shells kept whistling by, and splashes like geysers boiled up in the river, The Germans clearly sometimes showering the bridge and the trucks. thought it all in the game if they Uled nine-tenths of the neutrals on the bridge, fifteen minutes before the cease-fire. The convoys ended in a stupendous pileup at the schoolhouse with the stone goose. Colonel Rakowski and the Swedish ambassador stood together in the road, shouting instructions to each truckload of descending44 passengers and handing out rrameographed instruction sheets. With some pride of authorship, Byron noticed that whoever had traced his sketch on the stencil45 had faithfully copied it, even to his crude pictures of the three churches. Guns in the woods all around the school were thundering away, but at five minutes to one the bombardment began to fade down. At one o'clock the guns fell silent. The loudest noise was the chattering46 of refugees in many languages along both sides of the road. Byron could hear birds, too, and the strumming of grasshoppers47. It struck him that the noise of grasshoppers was the most peaceful sound on earth. A loudspeaker bawled48 final instructions in one language after another. Groups of neutrals, picking up their suitcases, began to walk down the sloping road. Finally came the English in a heavy Polish accent, "Please keep together. Do not make wrong turns. The German command has stated it will accept no responsibility for anybody who is not at the Kantorovicz church by three o'clock. Therefore the Polish command can accept no such responsibility. It is an easy hour's walk even for an old person. The enemy will undoubtedly49 recommence hostilities50 at three. We will return the heaviest possible fire at the first shot. Please, therefore, hurry. Good luck to you all. Long live America. Long live Poland." At this, the Americans took up their luggage and walked into no man's-land. For two or three hundred yards it was no different than the rest of Praha, but then the asphalt road narrowed and trailed off into a dusty, rutted, one-lane cart track. They passed ruined houses. The barnyards had no animals, except for an occasional abandoned chicken wandering and clucking, and some slinking jumpy cats. The road entered woods where sunlight slanteddown in green-yellow bars through the leaves. The leader of the Americans, a tall gray Episcopalian minister in a black suit and turnaround collar, checked Byron's sketch at each crossroad. This strange slow walk between two silent enemy armies took a full hour by Byron Henry's watch. As he remembered it later, it was like a stroll in company in peacetime through a fragrant51 autumnal forest. Many fall flowers, blue and orange and white, dotted the dirt road and the woods; the birds chirped52 and twittered; and the wonderful song of the grassIL hoppers filled the air. He also remembered becoming very dry-mouthed and thirsty from tension, so thirsty that his legs felt weak. Two other memories stayed with him: the diplomats53' black cars going by, honking54 the walkers out of the road, with Slote laughing in the front seat and waving at him and Natalie; and then, near the end of the trek55, at the bend of the road where the Kantorovicz church appeared, Mark Hartley coming up beside him, slipping his hand through his elbow, and saying, "My name is Mark Hartley, and oy, am I a good Christian!"-smiling at Byron, his face dust-caked and terror-stricken. All at once, there were the German guns and the German gun crews in the woods. The howitzers were bigger than the Polish artillery pieces, with an appearance of better, newer engineering. Watching the walkers, the soldiers stood quietly at their weapons, in their neat field gray and formidable Wehrmacht helmets. Byron peered at the German soldiers with immense curiosity. The helmets gave them a beetling56 warrior57 look, but most of them were young and had the same German faces he had seen in Munich and Frankfurt. Many wore glasses. It was hard to believe that these were the villains58 who had been pouring flying steel and fire on Warsaw, setting pregnant women aflame, blowing children's legs and hands off, and making a general shambles59 of a handsome metropolis60. They were just young men in soldier suits and stern helmets, standing61 around in the shady woods amid the pleasant noises of birds and grasshoppers. From the first, the Germans handled the refugees better than the Poles had. A mule-drawn water cart-a large olive-painted cylinder62 on wheels-stood by the road near the church, and soldiers waited with tin cups to herd63 the thirsty people into a queue. From the water tank, other soldiers guided them toward new clean gray trucks, with thick black deeply treaded tires, so different from the Poles' dirty deteriorated64 machines. Wehrmacht officers in tailored long military coats and high peaked caps were talking amiably65, though with marked condescension66, to the arriving diplomats near a table by the roadside. As each national group came to the trucks, its ambassador or charge gave a typed roster67 to a bespectacled soldier behind the desk. He called off names, and one by one the people entered the vehicles, which unlike the Polish trucks had wooden seats. The Poles had not troubled with rosters68. There was no bunching up, no disorder69. Soldiers stood by with little stools to help up the elderly and to hand the few children to their mothers with a laugh and a playful little swing. At a field ambulance marked with a red cross medical orderlies gave restoratives. Two soldiers with movie and still cameras roamed the scene, recording70 all this good treatment of the neutrals. The loading was not quite over when the gunsnear the church all at once shot off a salvo that made the ground shake. Byron's watch read a minute past three o'clock. 'Poor Warsaw," Natalie said. 'Don't talk," Mark Hartley said in a low hoarse71 voice. "Don't say a,Nothing till we're out of this." They sat with Byron on the last bench of a truck, from which they could look out. Natalie said, 'Look at Slote, will you? Taking a cigarette from a German, for crying out loud, and laughing It's just unbelievable. All these German officers with their long coats and pushed-up caps. There they are, just like their pictures." "Are you afraid?" Byron said. "Not any more, now that it's actually happening. I don't know why. It's sort of dreamlike." 'Some dream," Hartley said. "It should only be a dream. Jesus Christ. That officer with Slote is coming here." Hartley gripped a hand on Byron's knee. The officer, a blond young man with a good-natured smile, came straight to Byron, speaking with a pleasant accent, slowly and precisely72. "Your charge tells me that your father is American naval73 attache in Berlin." 'Yes, sir, he is." 'I am a Berliner. My father is in the foreign ministry74." The officer fingered the binoculars around his neck. His manner seemed not very military and rather self-conscious. Byron thought he might be feeling compunction of a sort, and he liked the German better for that. "i believe I had the pleasure of meeting your parents in August at the Belgian embassy, and of dancing with your mother. What on earth have you been doing in Warschau?" 'I was sightseeing." "Well, you saw some unusual sights." "That I did." The officer laughed, and offered his hand to Byron. "Ernst Bayer," he said, putting his heels together. "Byron Henry. Hi." 'Ah, yes. Henry. I remember the name. Well, you are comfortable? Can I offer you a ride in a staff car?" 'I'm fine. Where are we going?" 'Klovno. It's the nearest working railroad junction75, and there you will all transfer to a special train for Kenigsberg. It's more than a threehour trip. You might enjoy it more in an automobile76.""Well, I've been travelling with these folks, you know. I'll stay with them. Thanks a lot." Byron spoke77 cordially, though this polite chitchat with a German felt exceedingly strange after all his anger at them. Slote said to Natalie, "We can still make room for you in the Chevy. That wooden slat's going to get kind of hard." She shook her head, looking darkly at the German. "Give my best to your mother," said the officer, with a casual glance at the girl and back at Byron. "She was really charming to me." "I sure will." Several guns fired in succession nearby, drowning out something the officer said. He grimaced78, and smiled. "How are things in Warschau now? Very distressing79?" "Well, they seem to be hanging on pretty well." Half-addressing Natalie as well as Byron, Bayer said, "A bad business! The Polish government was completely irresponsible, running off into Rumania and leaving the country without leadership. Warschau should have been declared an open city two weeks ago. This destruction is pointless. It will cost a lot to repair. The mayor is very brave, and there is a lot of aration here for Iiim, hue,-he shrugged80-"what is there to do but finish it off? This will be over in a day or two." "It may take longer than that," Byron said. "You think so?" Bayer's pleasant smile faded. He bowed slightly and walked off, toying with the glasses. Slote shook his head at Byron and followed the officer. "Why the hell did you get him mad?" Hartley whispered. "Oh, Christ! Blaming the Polish government for the siege!" "He meant it," Natalie said, in a wondering tone. "The man was absolutely sincere." With some shouting in German, snorting of motors, honking of horns, waving by the soldiers, the convoy departed from Kantorovicz, a haet of half a dozen wooden houses around the church, intact but abandoned. Since leaving the schoolhouse, the refugees had not seen a living Pole, nor a dead one. The trucks wound along one-lane dirt roads, passing burned-out barns, blown-apart houses, overturned windmills, broken churches, schoolhouses without windows or roofs, and much tornup, shell-plowed ground and charred81 tree stumps82. Still the scene was not at all like battlegrounds in movies and books of the last war: gray wastes of barren dead muck, tangles83 of barbed wire, dark zigzagging84 trenches85. These fields and woods were green. Crops were still standing. Only the inhabitants were eerily86 absent. It was almost as though H G.
Wells's invaders87 from Mars had passed through in their perambulating metal tripods, atomizing or eating the people and leaving only slight trails of their transit88. The first Poles who came in sight, far behind the German lines, were an old man and his wife working in a field in late sunshine; they leaned on their implements89 and solemnly watched the trucks go by. As the trucks travelled farther from Warsaw, more peasants began to appear, going about their fieldwork or repairing damaged houses, either ignoring the trucks or watching their passage with blank faces. Nearly all were old people or children. In this back country, Byron saw no young men, and only two or three kerchiefed, skirted figures that from their slimness and supple90 movements might have been girls. Yet more striking, he saw not one horse. The horse, and the vehicles it pulled, were the trademark91, the very life, of rural Poland. On the way from Cracow to Warsaw, there had been thousands of horses, clogging92 the roads, working in the fields, carrying soldiers, dragging heavy loads in the cities. Behind the German lines this animal seemed extinct. The ride was too bumpy93 for conversation, and the refugees were still tired, and perhaps frightened by the deepening awareness94 of being in the hands of the Germans. Hardly a word was spoken in the first hour or so. They came out on a tarred road, narrow and primitive95 enough, but by comparison with the cart tracks of the back country, a glassy highway. The convoy stopped at a knoll96 of smooth green lawns and flower gardens topped by a brick-walled convent, and the word passed for women passengers to dismount and "refresh themselves." The ladies happily went off, the men scattered97 among the trees or urinated by the roadside, and when the convoy rolled again everybody was much more cheerful. Talk sprang up. Natalie brought back gossip from the ladies' room. All the neutrals, she said, would be offered a choice of flying to Stockholm, or else of taking German trains to Berlin, and thence going out via Belgium, Holland, or Switzerland. "You know," the girl said, with a mild glint in her eye, "I'd sort of like to see Berlin myself." "Are you crazy?" said Hartley. "Are you absolutely crazy? You must be kidding. You go to Stockholm, baby, and you just pray they let you go to Stockholm. This girl has a screw loose," Hartley said to Byron. Byron said, "Berel's message to A.J. goes for you, too. Lekh lekha." "Lekh lekha." She smiled. Byron had told her about this. "Get out, eh? Well, maybe." "In the name of God," Hartley muttered, "stop with the Hebrew." The ride stretched out to four and five hours of grinding through farmland and forests. Alltraces of war faded from the landscape. Houses, churches, whole towns were untouched. The inhabitants looked and acted as they had in the peacetime countryside. There were few young people, no horses, and very little cattle and poultry98. In the towns a red swastika flag flew over the main square, either on a flagpole or from the town hall, and German soldiers stood sentry99 or patrolled on foot or on motorcycles. But the conquered land was at peace. The absence of livestock100 and young folks gave it a dead look, the peasants seemed somewhat more dour101 and sullen102, perhaps, but life was going on exactly as before, except that the Germans were in charge. The sun sank behind the distant Hat horizon in a brief glow of pale orange. The trucks rolled on into the night. The passengers quieted. Natalie Jastrow put her head on Byron's shoulder and took his hand in hers. They both dozed103. Commands shouted in German woke them. Lights blazed. They were in a square before a wide railroad station, and people were streaming down out of the lined-up trucks. The lower half-door of their truck was still closed, but two helmeted Germans came along and opened it with a clank. 'Bitte rausi Alle im Wartesaall" Their manner was brisk, not hostile, and they stood by to help down the women and old men. It was a cool moonlit night and Byron was glad to see darkness and stars overhead once more, instead of a smoke pall104 and a fiery105 glow. The refugees gathered in a confused mass in the waiting room, still blinking at the light. Double doors opened at one end of the room, and soldiers shouting in German shepherded them through, bearing along Byron and Natalie. Byron carried their suitcases and Hartley clung like a child to His elbow. They entered a dining hall full of long plank107 tables on trestles, laden108 with food. It was the most dazzling banquet that Byron had seen in his life-or so it seemed in the first thunderstruck seconds, famished as he was after the long ride and the three weeks of wretched food in besieged109 Warsaw. There were platters of smoking sausages and sauerkraut, there were many whole pink hams, there were mounds110 of boiled potatoes, piles of fried chicken, stacked loaves of fresh bread, pitchers111 of beer, immense whole yellow and orange cheeses. But it seemed a mockery, a cruel Nazi112 trick, a Barmecide feast, because the soldiers herded106 the neutrals along the walls away from the tables. There they stood, hundreds of them, staring at the distant food, and in the space between stood a few alert German soldiers with lowered tommy guns. A voice spoke over a loudspeaker in clear conversational113 German: "Welcome/ The German people are your hosts. We welcome the citizens Of the neutral countries in peace and friendship. The German people seek peace with all nations. Relations with Poland have now been normalized. The treacherous114 Smidgly-Rydz regime, having met its just punishment, Im ceased to exist. A new Poland will rise from its ashes, cleaned up and abiding115, wire everybody will work hard, and irresponsible politicians no longer provoke disastrous116 foreign adventures.
The Fuhrer can now seriously pursue a peaceful settlement of all outstanding questions with Great Britain and France and aafterward Europe u,-ill enter on a new order of unparallelled mutual117 prosperity. Nowwe ask you to sit down and eat. H appetite!" A dozen smiling blonde girls in white waitress uniforms made their entrance, almost like a theatre chorus, carrying jugs118 of coffee and stacks of plates. The soldiers smiled and walked out of the space in front of the tables, making inviting119 hospitable120 motions with their lowered guns. There was an awkward, shocked moment. First one and then another refugee hesitantly stepped out of ranks to cross the space. Others followed them, a few sat on the low benches reaching for food, and a noisy break and rush began. Like the rest, Byron, Natalie, and Hartley dived for places and gorged121 themselves on the richest, sweetest, most satisfying meal of their lives. Almost the best of it was the coffee-ersatz though it was-hot, all they wanted, poured again and again by willing cheery buxom122 girls. Over the loudspeaker, while they stuffed, came a cascade123 of brass124 band musicStrauss waltzes, marches, and jolly drinking songs. Many of the neutrals began singing, and even the watching soldiers joined in. Du, du, liegst mir im Herren, Du, du, liegst 1wr im SinnByron himself, relaxed by the beer and carried away by the ecstasy125 of a full belly126, the lift of the music, and the outburst of relieved high spirits all around him, swung his stein and sang: Du, du, mackst mir viel Schmerzen, Weisst night u7ie gut127 which dir bin13 ja, ia, ja, jal Weisst night uie gut which dir bin, and Mark Hartley sang right along too, though his eyes never ceased rolling at the German soldiers. Natalie, silent, regarded them both with a satirical motherly look. Returning to the waiting room, stuffed and dizzy after this incredible, this visionary &wt, they saw crudely lettered placards around the brown E. They went and tile walls: BELT-MN, BULGAr-tMN, KANADA, NMD stood under the vEREiNIGTE STAATEN Sign. Laughing, chattering, the refugees sorted themselves out, gay as though returning from a picnic. Men in black uniforms entered the waiting room. Conversation died among the Americans and the cheery noise faded throughout the station. Slote said soberly, "Listen, please, everybody. Those are the SS. I'll do any talking to them that has to be done." The men in black fanned out, one to each group of neutrals. The one who headed for the Americans did not appear sinister128. Except for the operatic black costume, with its silver double-lightning-flash insignia, he looked like an American himself, perhaps a young insurance salesman one might sit next to on a train or plane. He carried a black leather portfolio129. Slote walked out to meet him. 'I'm Leslie Slote, first secretary of the United Statesembassy and acting130 charge d'affaires." The SS man bowed, heels together, both hands on the case. "You have a gentleman named Byron Henry in your party?" His English was smooth. "This is Byron Henry," Slote said. Byron took a step forward. "Your father represents the American Navy in Berlin?" Byron nodded. "This message is forwarded to you via the foreign ministry." Byron put the yellow' envelope in his breast pocket. "You may read it now, of cours'. "Thanks. I'll look at it later." The SS man turned to Slote. "I am to collect the American passports." His tone was brisk and cool, his blue eyes distant, almost unfocussed on the Foreign Service man. "Let me have them, please." Slote was very pale. 'I'm reluctant to surrender them, for obvious reasons." "I assure you it is quite routine. They are to be processed on the train. They will be returned to you before you arrive in Kenigsberg." "Very well." At a motion from Slote, an assistant gave him a thick red portfolio, which he handed to the man in black. "Thank you. Now your roster, please." The assistant held out three clipped sheets. The SS man glanced through them, and then looked around. "No Negroes in your party, I see. How many Jews?" Slote took a moment to reply. "I'm sorry, but in our passports we make no record of religious affiliation131." "But you do have Jews." The man spoke off handedly, as though discussing doctors or carpenters. "Even if there were Jews in the party, I would have to decline to answer. The policy of my country on religious groups is one of absolute equality of treatment." "But nobody is suggesting that there will be inequality of treatment. Who are these Jews, please?" Slote looked silently at him, touching132 his tongue to his lips. The SS officer said, "You have mentioned your government's policy. We will respect it. Thepolicy of my government is simply to maintain separate records where Jews are concerned. Nothing else is involved." Byron, a couple of paces forward from the group, wanted to see how Natalie and Hartley were behaving, but he knew it would be disastrous to glance at them. Slote did look around at the whole party in a glance of caution, appeal, and great nervousness. But he produced a calm professional tone when he spoke. "I'm sorry. I just don't know if anybody here is Jewish. I'm not personally interested, I haven't asked, and I don't have the information." "My instructions are to separate out the Jews," said the officer, "and I must now do that." He turned to the Americans and said, "Form a double line, alphabetically133, please." Nobody moved; they all looked to Slote. The SS man turned to him. "Your party is in the custody134 of the Wehrmacht, in a combat zone under strict martial135 law. I call this to your attention." Slote glanced out toward the waiting room, his face harried136. In front of several parties-the Swiss, the Rumanian, the Hungarian, the Dutch -a few miserable137 Jews already stood separated, heads bowed, with their suitcases. "Look here, for your purposes you can assume we're all Jews." His voice was starting to shake. "What next?" Byron heard a shrill138 woman's voice behind him. "Now just a minute. What on earth do you mean by that, Mr. Slote? I'm certainly not a Jew and I won't be classified or treated as one." Slote turned and said angrily, "I mean that we all must be treated alike, Mrs. Young, that's all. Please cooperate as I asked-" "Nobody's putting me down for a Jew," said a man's voice from a dill erent direction. "I'm just not buying that either, Leslie. Sorry." Byron recognized both voices. He turned around as the SS officer addressed the woman: "Yes, madam. Who are you, please?" "Clara Young of Chicago, Minois, and I'm not Jewish, you can be dam sure of that." She was a dried-out little woman of sixty or so, a bookkeeper in the American movie distributor's office in Warsaw. She giggled139, glancing here and there. "Would you be kind enough to point out the Jews in your party, madam?" "Oh, no, thank you, mister. that's your business, not mine." Byron expected that. He was more worried by the man, a retired140 Army officer named Tom Stanley, who had been selling heavy machinery141 to the Polish government- Stanley was given to saying that Hitler was a great man and that the Jews had brought all their trouble onthemselves. The SS man asked for Stanley's name aind then said to him in a cordial man-to-man way, '"Who are the Jews here, please? Your party can't leave until I know. You seem to understand this matter better than your charge." Stanley, an old turkey-cock of a man with hanging jowls, a wattled throat, and a brush of gray hair, grew quite red and cleared his throat several times, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his loud green-andbrown sports jacket. all the Americans were staring at him. "Well, I'll tell you, friend, I'd like to cooperate, but so far as I know there aren't any. Not in this party." The SS officer shrugged, ran his eyes over the group, and stopped at Mark Hartley. He flicked142 two fingers forward. "You. Yes, you, the one with the blue bow tie, step this way." Again he flicked the fingers. "Stay whvre you are,-Slote said to Hartley; then, to the officer, "I would like to have your name and rank. I protest this procedure, and I warn you that this incident will result in a written protest from my government if it continues." The SS officer gestured around the waiting room, and said in a reasonable tone, 'The officials of all the other governments are cooperating. You see for yourself. This is nothing to protest. This is a simple matter of confomjing to local regulations. X"at is your name, you there?" 'Mark Hartley." The voice was steady enough, steadier than Slote's. "Mark Hartley, I see." The SS man smiled a peculiar143, chilling smile, his eyes wide and serious. It was the smile of the Polish soldier on the road to Warsaw, who had yanked the beard of the taxi driver. "Hartley," he repeated. "And under what name were you born?" 'That name." "Really! What were your parents?" 'loth Americans." "Jews?" Byron said, "I happen to know him, sir, we've been going to church together all the time in Warsaw. He's a Methodist like me." The tall silver-haired minister, standing near Clara Young, ran his fingers inside his clerical collar. "I can vouch144 for that. I conducted services when Mr. Hartley was present. Mark is a devout145 Christian." The SS officer, with a disagreeable, puzzled grin, said to Slote, "This one is certainly Jewish. I think a little physical examination would-" Slote broke in, "I would report that as personal violence. In America circumcision at birth is routine." "I'm circumcised," said Byron.
"So am I," said the old clergyman. In the rest of the waiting room the process of sorting out the Jews was over. People were glancing at the Americans, pointing and whispering. The SS were gathered at the entrance,allexceptastout baldone with goldleafin hisblacklapels,w(men) ho now approached the American party, pulled aside the officer, and murmured with him, glancing at Hartley. The officer, without a word, pushed through to Hartley, took his suitcase, and undid146 the straps147. Slote said sharply, 'Hold on, sir. This is not a customs point, and there's no reason to search personal belongings148-"-But the officer, down on one knee, already had the bag open and was rummaging149 in it, spilling its contents on the floor. He came on the New Testament, turned it over in his hands with an expression half-astounded, half-sneering, and brought it to his superior officer. The bald man examined it, handed it back, and threw his hands in the air. "So," he said in German, "in a hundred Americans, maybe not one. Why not? Any Jew would have been an idiot to come to Warsaw this summer. Come. The train is being delayed." He walked off. The SS man tossed the black book with the gold cross in the open bag, and rudely gestured at Hartley to pick up his belongings, stepping over the pile as though it were garbage. Scanning the other faces in the group, he stepped up to Natalie Jastrow and gave her a long amused scrutiny150. "Well, what are you looking at?" she said, and Byron's heart sank. 'You're very pretty." "Thank you." "Rather dark. Your ancestry151?" "I'm Italian." "What is your name?" "Mona Lisa." "I see. You step forward." Natalie did not move. The officer grunted152 and began turning the pages of the roster. eL Slote quickly said, "She's my fiancee. We'll be married next month." The bald officer shouted from the entrance and waved at the SS man, who roughly handed the roster to Slote. "Very well. You love your Jews. Why do you refuse to take in ours? We have swarms153." He turned to Byron. "You're the son of a naval officer, and yet you lie about a Jew! That fellow is a Jew." "He's not, honestly," Byron said. "I think Mark sort of looks like Dr.
Goebbels. You know short, dark, with a big nose." "Dr. Goebbels? So." The SS man glared at Hartley and Natalie, broke into a nasty laugh, and walked off. A loudspeaker called out in German, "All Jews to the restaurant. Everybody else to trark seven and board the train." The refugees went crowding out to the dark tracks. The Jews, a forlorn little group, straggled back to the dining room, with men in black surrounding them. Soldiers halted the crowd at the train to allow diplomats aboard first. Slote muttered to Byron, "I'll take a compartment154. You'll see me at the window. Bring Natalie and Mark, and by all means Reverend Glenville and his wife." Soon, through billowing steam, Byron could see the charge waving from inside the dimly lit train. Byron came aboard with the four others, in a suffocating155 crush, and found the compartment. 'Thanks," Hartley whispered when they were all seated and Slote had slid shut the door. "A million thanks. Thanks to all of you. God bless you. "Leslie Slote is the man," said the minister. "You did nobly, Leslie." 'Nobly," said Natalie. Slote looked at her with a hangdog smile, as though not sure she was serious. "Well, I was on pretty good ground. They tried to get that information from me at Kantorovicz, you know, and couldn't. They got it from all the others. That's why the separation went so fast here. But why the devil did you make that Mona Lisa joke?" 'It was very risky," the minister said. 'Idiotic," Hartley said. They were talking in whispers, though the corridor was buzzing with loud talk, the stationary156 train was hissing157 and clanging, and a public address system outside was bellowing158 in German. 'How about Byron and Dr. Goebbels?" Natalie said with a grin. "That was pretty neat, I thought." "Neither of you seems to understand," Hartley said, 'that these are murderers. Murderers. You're like kids, both of you." Reverend Glenville said, "I'm not willing to believe that, Mr. Hartley. I know the German people. They have had a cruel, unjust system imposed on them, and one day they'll throw it off. At bottom they are good.""Well, Stockholm ahoy," Natalie said. "I admit one thing. I've lost all curiosity about berlin." "You've got to get your part back first," Hartley said. His jolly face was carved in a hundred lines and creases159 of tragic160 bitterness. He looked extraorcunarily old, inhumanly161 old: the Wandering Jew, in an American sports jacket. The train started with a wrenching163 clang. Byron now pulled out the yellow envelope. The message, on a Wehrmacht official form, had these few English words: GLAD You'RE OKAY. COME STRAIGHT TO BERLIN. DAD. The long string of cars squealed164 into the Friedrichstrasse terminal Tin clouds of white vapor165, clanking, slowing. Rhoda clutched Victor Henry's arm and jumped up and down, to the amusement of the uniformed foreign ministry man who had escorted them to meet the train from Kenigsberg. Pug observed his smile. 'We haven't seen our boy in over a year," he shouted above the train noise. "Ah? Well, then this is a great moment." The train stopped, and people came swarming166 out. "My COD167!" exclaimed Rhoda. "Is THAT him coming down those steps? It CAN'T be him. He's a SKELIRTON." "Where? Where?" Pug said. "He disappeared. Somewhere over there. No, there he is!" Byron's chestnut168 hair was very long and curly, almost matted; the bones stood out in his pale face and his eyes looked bright and enormous. He was laughing and waving, but at first blink his father almost failed to recognize this long-jawed sharpnned young man with the shabby clothes and raffish169 air. "It's me. This is me," he heard Byron yell. "Don't you even know me, Dad?" Pug plunged170 toward Byron, holding Rhoda's hand. Byron, smelling of wine, embraced him in a tight, fierce, long hug, scratching his father's face with a two-day growth of bristles171. Then he hugged and kissed his mother. "Gad172, I'm reeling," he said, in a swooping173 note like Rhoda's but in a rough baritone voice. "they've been feeding us on this train like hogs174 going to market. I just finished a lunch with three different wines. Mom, you look beautiful. About twenty-five." "Well, you look ghastly. Why the devil were you running around in Poland?" The foreign stry man pulled at Byron's elbow. "You do feel you have been treated well, Mr. Henry? Dr.
Neustiidter, foreign ministry," he said, with a click of heels and a crinkly smile. "Oh, hi. Oh, irreproachably175, sir, irreproachably," Byron said, laughing wildly. "That is, once we got out of Warsaw. In there it was kind of rough." "A", well, that's war. We'd be pleased to have a little note from you about your treatment, at your convenience. My card." Leslie Slote, ashen176 and distraught, came up with two hands full of documents and introduced himself to Victor Henry. "I'd like to call on you at the embassy tomorrow, sir," he said, "once I've straightened things out a bit." 'Come in any time," Pug Henry said. 'But let me tell you right now," Slote sad over his shoulder as he left, "that Byron's been a real help." Dr. Neustiidter politely emphasized that Byron could go off in his father's custody now and pick up his documents some other time; or he himself could look after Byron's papers and drop them at Commander Henry's office. "After all," Neustadter said, "when it's a question of a son rejoining his parents, red tape becomes inhumane." Rhoda sat beside her son as they drove to Grunewald, happily clutching his arm while complaining how awful he looked. He was her secret favorite. Rhoda had thought of the name Byron at her first glimpse of her baby in the hospital: a scrawny infant, blinking big blue eyes in a red triangular177 face; clearly a boy, even in the rolls of baby flesh. She thought the child had a manly162 romantic look. She had hoped he would be an author or an actor; she had even unclenched his tiny red fists to look for the 'writer's triangles' which, she had read somewhere, one could see at birth in a baby's palm wrinkles. Byron hadn't turned out a writer, but he did actually have, she thought, a romantic streak178. Secretly she sympathized with his refusal to consider a naval career, and even with his lazy school habits. She had never liked Pug's nickname for the boy, Briny179, with its smell of the sea, and it was years before she would use it. Byron's switch to fine arts at Columbia, which had thrown Pug into black despondency, she had silently welcomed. Warren was a Henry: the plugger, the driver, the one who got things done, the A student, the one with his eye on flag rank and every step up toward it. Byron was like her, she thought, a person of fine quality, haunted and somewhat disabled by an unfulfilled dream. She noticed the scar on his temple, touched it in alarm, and asked about it. He began narrating180 his odyssey181 from Cracow to Warsaw, interrupting himself now and then to exclaim at things he saw in the streets: red vertical182 swastika banners massed around a statue of Frederick the Great, a band of Hitler Youth marching past in their brown shirts, black neckerchiefs, and short black pants, nuns183 bicycling down the Friedrichstrasse, a band concert in a park, a turning merry-goround. "It's so peaceful, isn't it? So goddamned peaceful! Dad, what's happening in the war? Has Warsaw surrendered? Have the Allies gotten off their tails yet? The Germans are such liars184, you never know." "Warsaw's still holding out, but the war there is really over.
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1
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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2
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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3
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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4
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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7
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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8
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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9
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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10
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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11
terrain
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| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
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zigzags
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| n.锯齿形的线条、小径等( zigzag的名词复数 )v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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13
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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14
binoculars
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| n.双筒望远镜 | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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16
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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21
scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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22
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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23
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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24
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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30
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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31
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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32
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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33
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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34
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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35
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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36
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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37
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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38
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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40
convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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41
canyons
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| n.峡谷( canyon的名词复数 ) | |
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42
convoys
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| n.（有护航的）船队( convoy的名词复数 )；车队；护航（队）；护送队 | |
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43
converging
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| adj.收敛[缩]的，会聚的，趋同的v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的现在分词 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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44
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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45
stencil
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| v.用模版印刷；n.模版；复写纸，蜡纸 | |
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46
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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47
grasshoppers
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| n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 )；蝗虫；蚂蚱；（孩子）矮小的 | |
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48
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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49
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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50
hostilities
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| n.战争；敌意(hostility的复数)；敌对状态；战事 | |
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51
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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52
chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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53
diplomats
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| n.外交官( diplomat的名词复数 )；有手腕的人，善于交际的人 | |
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54
honking
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| v.（使）发出雁叫似的声音，鸣（喇叭），按（喇叭）( honk的现在分词 ) | |
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55
trek
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| vi.作长途艰辛的旅行；n.长途艰苦的旅行 | |
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56
beetling
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| adj.突出的，悬垂的v.快速移动( beetle的现在分词 ) | |
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57
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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58
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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59
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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60
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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61
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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62
cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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63
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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64
deteriorated
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| 恶化，变坏( deteriorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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66
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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67
roster
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| n.值勤表，花名册 | |
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68
rosters
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| n.花名册( roster的名词复数 )；候选名单v.将（姓名）列入值勤名单( roster的第三人称单数 ) | |
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69
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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70
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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71
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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72
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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73
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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74
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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75
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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76
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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77
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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78
grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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80
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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81
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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82
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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83
tangles
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
zigzagging
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| v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的现在分词 )；盘陀 | |
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85
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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86
eerily
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| adv.引起神秘感或害怕地 | |
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87
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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88
transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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89
implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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90
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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91
trademark
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| n.商标；特征；vt.注册的…商标 | |
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92
clogging
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| 堵塞，闭合 | |
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93
bumpy
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| adj.颠簸不平的，崎岖的 | |
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94
awareness
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| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
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95
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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96
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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97
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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98
poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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99
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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100
livestock
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| n.家畜，牲畜 | |
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101
dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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102
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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103
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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105
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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106
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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107
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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108
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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109
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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111
pitchers
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| 大水罐( pitcher的名词复数 ) | |
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112
Nazi
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| n.纳粹分子，adj.纳粹党的，纳粹的 | |
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113
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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114
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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115
abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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116
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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117
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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118
jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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119
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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120
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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121
gorged
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 )；作呕 | |
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122
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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123
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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124
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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125
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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126
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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127
gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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128
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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129
portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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130
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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131
affiliation
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| n.联系，联合 | |
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132
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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133
alphabetically
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| adv.照字母顺序排列地 | |
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134
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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135
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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136
harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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137
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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138
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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139
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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141
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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142
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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143
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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144
vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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145
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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146
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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147
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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148
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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149
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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150
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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151
ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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152
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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153
swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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154
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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155
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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156
stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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157
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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158
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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159
creases
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
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160
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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161
inhumanly
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| adv.无人情味地，残忍地 | |
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162
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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163
wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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164
squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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166
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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167
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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168
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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169
raffish
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| adj.名誉不好的，无赖的，卑鄙的，艳俗的 | |
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170
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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171
bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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172
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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173
swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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174
hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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175
irreproachably
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| adv.不可非难地，无过失地 | |
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176
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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177
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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178
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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179
briny
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| adj.盐水的；很咸的；n.海洋 | |
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180
narrating
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| v.故事( narrate的现在分词 ) | |
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181
odyssey
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| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
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182
vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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183
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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184
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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