A Light in the Forest

Jakob crouched inside a thick, thorny bush. The sharp points pricked his skin through what was left of the rags he wore. In another time, another place, he might have given a yelp. Not now. Now, he kept very still. If the thorns caused any bleeding, it wouldn’t be too much. He’d bled before, under other bushes, and squeezed into places not meant for little boys like stinky barns and even stinkier outhouses. And once in a chicken coop. In those, sharp nails scratched him and ripped his clothing. It was alright. It was best that he stay hidden. At least he got a few eggs from the coop. Not too many, though. He didn’t want to attract any attention.

The bush he was in had berries on it, bright yellowy orange berries. They looked like some marbles he once lost in a shooting game he played in at school. It was with some friends. Danny won them, then lost them all to Jan. Jakob thought he’d win them back, but they never played after that day. He wondered what happened to them all. When they talked about running away, being like pirates in the forest, like Robin Hood, they all thought it was a grand idea. But here he was, by himself; no band of Merrymen for him.

He wanted to give the berries a try. He was hungry, very hungry. And getting cold. That might be a good thing. There’d been a frost that night. His father had told him that berries would taste sweeter if they’d been frozen. Or was that grapes? He couldn’t remember. Maybe when it got dark he’d try. If they were bitter he’d spit them out. If they were sweet, he’d try one and see if it made him sick again, like the red berries did a few days earlier. It was just a belly ache so not so bad.

That’s the way it was. He had to eat after all. Eat something. There was a stale crust of bread in his pocket. The old lady had given it to him after she saw him scrounging in the potato field. At first she yelled but then stopped when she got closer. “Are you alone? Where are your parents?” she asked. He said he didn’t know, that they told him to go into the forest after the banging on their door. That was a few weeks ago, maybe more. He told her the name of the town. She nodded to herself and crossed herself twice.

She let him keep the potatoes he’d stolen. “Stay,” is all she said. She turned to look around, squinting as if her eyes were weak. There was no one around though a thin cow looked up at her then went back to eating. The old woman gestured for him to follow her to her home where she gave him the bread with some butter. Then she told him to leave quickly but not before giving him an old blanket that had a heavy odor of animals, sweat, and barn. Before he left she give him a gentle pinch on his cheek. He was so thin she could barely capture any flesh. She said a few word; he thought it might be a prayer.

His grandmother used to pinch his cheeks, too. But she wasn’t like his grandmother. His grandmother always dressed well. Grandma wore necklaces and pins. She was always laughing and telling jokes. She was obsessed with being clean, washing his hands, insisting he take a bath every night when she was around. This old lady smelled of horses and pigs and chickens and her face was so craggy he couldn’t tell if she was angry or smiling. Her hands were thick with yellow calluses. Her dress, a long heavy woolen thing, had feathers and leaves and hay stuck to it. His grandmother would have given him something sweet by now, a buttery pagach if he was lucky. He dreamed of just one more pagach.

Still, this old woman didn’t throw rocks or try to hit him with a stick like others he’d encountered. Even when she commanded him to leave she didn’t sound mean. She whispered, as if anyone else was nearby, that she would leave a bundle at the far end of the potato field, near the forest, that he couldn’t miss. She held up five fingers. “In five days, not before,” she said. “If you don’t take it, the wolves will eat it. Understand?” He nodded.

He was glad he had the blanket. After a while, he forgot that it smelled. It was thick and large enough to cover him. The weather was cool, especially at night. From his days as a Boy Scout, he learned to create a huge pile of leaves, as big as a cart, and crawl in. Even when it rained, he stayed pretty dry. And with the blanket, he was almost comfortable. One night, the wind picked up and blew his shelter away. He thought he was like one of the little pigs in the story, imagined he might even smell like one. He said “oink, oink” and laughed a little. It was his first laugh since he’d run from his home. That thought, the story of the little pigs, made him cry.

I have no time for that, he thought. He collected more leaves to rebuild his shelter and covered that with branches from the pine trees lying about. They would keep the leaves from blowing away.

He made a little fire with the matches he had left. When he’d run away, his father had draped a bag, like a mail bag over him, before yelling for him to go. There was some food in it, clothing, the matches, a small pot, and even a first aid kit. And a knife with a red handle. His father had got it on a trip to Switzerland. He’d used it to cut some vegetables from a garden he was raiding until the farmer started yelling and throwing things. Most did that; except for the old lady.

He was boiling water in the little pot making sure to wave away the smoke so no one would know where he was. He cracked the three eggs he’d stolen from the coop. The chickens squawked when he got went, but he was quiet and they didn’t seem to mind. He’d go back but had to be careful not to be too greedy, too obvious. For now, though, he had the old lady’s bundle to get. Who knew what might be inside? Maybe a pagach! Probably not.

The dense line of thorn bushes blocked his view of the potato field. It also blocked anyone else from seeing him. He couldn’t see a bundle, but it was time; five days. He waited, sitting still, protected by the bushes from…he knew he needed protection. He knew people like him, even boys, waifs, were in danger though he didn’t know why they were in danger. The soldiers, yes, they were the enemy even to people who were not soldiers. But those people were dangers. They threw rocks, they beat you even if you weren’t stealing. Maybe they were trying to impress the soldiers, to be their friends. He didn’t know. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that bundle and the wonders it might hold.

Wonders, he thought. Even though he was just a boy. Wonders used to be toys and cake, maybe a book of adventures. He loved stories about the American West and explorers. Wonders, he thought. He’d be happy with more food, some matches. A candle, yes, now that would be a wonder. The sack his father gave him had a flashlight, but the batteries had gone dead, and he wasn’t about to buy new ones. One birthday, his aunt had given him some zlotys, which he relished. He bought a scout knife but lost it. What good would money be now? He couldn’t go to a shop, that would be risky, and, anyway, there were no shops for him. No, she’d have bread, butter if he was lucky, maybe raisins. He thought he saw grape vines and knew raisins came from grapes. He hoped for tea and sugar, but she’d think he was too young for that.

He was now hungry, always hungry, and just the thought of all that made his stomach rumble. The boy patted his belly down to keep it quiet.

“You! You, there!” It was a man’s voice. He had a large dog on a strange leash. The dog growled towards the bushes.

Could his belly have been that loud, loud enough so someone could hear it? “You can see me?”

The voice chuckled. He told the dog to lie down, its tail wagging. With a walking stick, the man swept the bushes. “You can come out. I don’t bite. Nor does my dog.” He chuckled again.

The boy clawed his way through, scratching his arms and tearing his torn shirt more. Before him was a young man, dressed like a town person, not a farmer. He had on a long black coat, a city coat, the boy thought, but with country boots. He had small wire glasses. The lenses were dark. The man was constantly tapping the ground with a long stick that was festooned with shiny badges.

“You saw me there? I was hiding. I mean I was hiding from rabbits. I’m hunting for rabbits.”

“You’re out of luck then. Rabbits have a wonderful sense of smell, and I mean no offense when I say you have something of a smell that would put them off.” He chuckled again. “But no matter. A wash and some clean clothes, and you’ll be off hunting in no time. Here, or should I say hare?” He laughed again.

The man held out a bundle in front of him. That’s odd, thought the boy, as he was a few feet away to the man’s right. He held it straight, but his arms wavered. The bag must have been heavy.

“You want me to take it? I won’t if the dog will bite me.”

Again, with the chuckles, but this time with a wide grin revealing a mouth of unusually good and white teeth, unusual for a peasant in the countryside. His father had told him that poor people, especially farmers living in remote villages, often had very bad teeth because they didn’t take proper care of them. “They’d be toothless like that beggar woman on market day,” his father would say. “So, take good care of your teeth.” That was probably why his bag, the bag he gave his son, had a toothbrush in it. His father would know. He had been the busiest dentist in their town.

“It’s for you, isn’t it? Jadwiga asked me to leave it at the edge of the field, but then I saw you.”

“Jadwiga?” said the boy.

“Jadwiga. The old woman who gave you food already. She looks like a witch but is quite kind. So maybe the good witch, like in the story.”

“But I was hiding. And I think you are blind. I’m right, I bet.”

“Ah,” he said. “But there are many ways of seeing. There is sight, yes, but there is touch. There is taste. There is just a sense, a feeling. And in your case, young fellow, there is smell until you get a wash.” He lifted his head back to laugh at the clouds. “We sense God but can’t see him. At least some people don’t.”

He held out the bundle, and the boy grabbed it. It was heavy. He held it to his nose and breathed in. There was fresh bread and cheese, he was sure of it. And something sweet, too. It had to be a pagach!

“Smells good, yes? So, now that you have it you can hide back in the forest. Or you’re welcome to come with me. It’s not much of a home, just a shack, but better than nothing. And it’s well hidden. You’d be safe. My name is Wojciech, but you can call me Wojo. Many people do.”

The boy edged back. Wojo seemed nice, but so did his old neighbors. Nice until the soldiers came. They took his father’s car, his bicycle, and wouldn’t serve them at the shops. One lady took their washing off the line, and there was nothing they could do about it. Even his best friends from school, from scouts, changed almost overnight. His parents had warned him that people were not always what they seemed.

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

“Suit yourself. And what is your name, in case we meet again?”

“Jakob…” he was about to say his last name, but knew it would give him away.

“A wonderful name! So, Jakob, son of Issac, grandson of Abraham, take care. These are not good times for you, or me, I suppose. Jadwiga says she will leave a bundle like this every week, so seven days from now you can sneak back. I’ll walk by, too, on this path. I go into the village now and then and some people give me things. I’ll get you a few things if you ask, but don’t ask for too much.” He didn’t laugh quite so heartily this time.

“They give you things? When I went, the only thing I got was a beating. That was before I took bread and food. Stole, I mean.”

The man looked to the sky, then crossed himself. “These are cruel times, Jakob. People are scared, selfish. They wish to blame others for their pain. They blame their neighbors, the Jews, the Russians, and of course, the Germans. Many have lost their sense of what it means to be a good person.”

“That lady, Jadwiga, was good to me. You seem nice to me. Your dog seems nice too.”

The man touched his throat. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. Clean fingers, Jakob noted.

“I’m a man of God,” he said. “I am, I was, a priest. A priest is like a Rabbi in your faith.”

Jakob laughed this time, “I know that. I’m pretty smart.”

“I can tell. But, well, I lost my sight as you can see, ha, and they worried I was too keen to help people in trouble. They asked me to be quieter, suggested I might leave for a while. And here I am. The churches nearby, some people, some anyway, agree with me. They help out or leave me be.”

He replaced his glasses, told the dog to get up, and started to tap with his cane.

“I suggest that you come to my hut. It will get colder soon. I don’t know how you’ll fare alone in the winter. You’ll be safer. I’m deep in the forest. I like it that way. And I have a crate of books. Can you read?”

“Yes, three languages, too!”

“Then it’s settled.”

Wojo tapped his way along the path by the edge of the field, his dog by his side. Jakob followed close behind.