Chapter 8 chapter eight

At seven o'clock one morning, Natalie called Byron's room.The night before they had gone to the club with Sloter until after three o'clock.These Polish nightclubs are imitations of Parisian sleazy clubs, but dull ones.She led them both from one nightclub to the next with nervous glee, ignoring Sloter's exhausted look. "Hey! Blaney, are you dead asleep?" From her lively tone, she seemed to have slept for ten hours. "This seems like a bit of a joke, but I've got two seats on the plane to Krakow, which leaves at eleven, and I bought the ticket yesterday, and if you'd rather sleep, you can stay here. I'll be back in a day or two."

Byron said sleepily, "What? Sloter has already got us a plane ticket to Rome tomorrow, Natalie, it's not easy to book this ticket." "Yes. I'll leave a note for him and maybe give him a call at the airport. If you go too, we won't have to go back to Warsaw at all. When I see our family, we'll be on Saturday or Sunday." , directly from Krakow to Rome." "Have you booked tickets in Krakow?" "Not yet. But Krakow is a hub of transport. There are five or six ways out. We'll buy tickets as soon as we get there—airplane, train, or bus. What's up, Byron! You fell asleep again La?"

"I'm thinking about it." Byron compared the advantages of leaving Warsaw and Slote with these indiscreet travel arrangements.The tension in the war seems to be gradually easing.The Poles in the nightclub still looked jovial, relaxed, and carefree, though Sloter noticed that foreigners, especially Germans, were no longer visible.The streets were as quiet as ever, with no sign of war preparations.Byron always inferred the tension of the war from the tone of the Warsaw radio announcer.He understood a few crucial words and phrases of tension now, but sometimes he could tell more from the shaky or relaxed tone of the newscaster.In the United States, when the situation is tense, announcers are used to frightening the audience with loud, deep, doomed tones, while Polish announcers, who are closer to the battlefield, are less pretentious.A day or two ago, their voices would have sounded less anxious."Have you heard any news?" he asked.

"I just listened to the shortwave of the British radio station. Same news as last night. Henderson is negotiating with Hitler." "Natalie, this is a fucking crazy trip." "What? I may never get a chance to see the place where my parents were born. Now I'm here. Leslie himself said last night that the worst seems to be over and they've agreed to negotiate. Whatever Well, you don't need to come, I thought. You'd be bored walking around in the Polish countryside." "Well, I'll have breakfast with you." Byron quickly cleaned up.The more time he spent with Natalie Jastrow, the more unpredictable he became about her.Her relationship with Slote Leslie puzzled him now too.If the two of them were spending time together in bed—he supposed that was some, if not all, of the reasons for her coming to Warsaw—then they were looking for some special occasion in a hurry, or trying to hide it from him.But night after night, Sloter said goodbye in the corridor of the hotel.When they were together, she always treated Sloter with the affection and tenderness of a fiancée, but when Byron wanted to avoid them—to dinner, or to a concert, or even a trip to the embassy —she always asks him to go with her.It had occurred to him, of course, that she was using him—perhaps even taking him to Warsaw with her—to irritate Slote.If so, her plot has failed.The diplomat was friendly to Byron and took his company for granted.But Slote is also very elusive. It can only be seen that he is tired, buried in work, and is very concerned about Natalie's arrival in Poland at this time, that's all.

There were more important reasons for her insistence on the trip than just to see her lover, as Byron became more and more aware.The Jewish streets of Warsaw fascinated her.No matter where they begin their evening, they end up in those narrow alleys.She even dragged Byron to a performance of O'Neill's "O Wilderness!" at the Jewish theater in a back alley. "(This time Sloter begged and didn't go).The theater consisted of a stage less than twenty feet wide, with a battered curtain.It was a strange and tedious experience for him.But Natalie was amused and moved by the juxtaposition of top-notch American characters and traditional Jewish performances in that shabby hall. "I thought that was me," Natalie said.They had just come from the theater and were walking on a warm evening along a dirt path lined with rickety half-timbered, half-stone huts. "I'm that weird mixture. I never quite got it, and I'm still analyzing it. It's disconcerting, but exciting, like seeing myself for the first time in a home movie." Evidently, it was the same charm that drew her to Medjes.She was waiting for him in the dining room, she had bought somewhere a brightly colored Polish dress with an open collar, and her thick hair was combed in an old-fashioned American style and hung over her shoulders like a woman in Warsaw. like that.

① O'Neill (1888-1953), a famous American playwright. "Can I do this? It's so annoying when people keep staring at me like I have horns on my head." "As long as you keep your passport with you. That's fine. Don't be too rustic." "Oh, of course, always carry this," a blue lambskin zippered purse at her feet. "Clothes, shirts, hats, stockings, belts. I can walk into the ladies' room any time and come out a total amerikanka, pissed off, waving dollars. Are you going? Of course not." ① Polish: American. "I'll go. My bag is in the corridor."

"Really? You're as stupid as I am, Blaney." She blinked her black eyes slowly, and looked up at him from under her brows, reminding Byron of the Jew in lavender. little girl. "Tell me, do you like Slote a little now?" "I don't dislike him. I'm sorry for him at the moment, he must still be confused." At this time, the waitress brought up plates of dishes.He said, "Well, it's very nice of you to order for us both. There's nothing better than this Polish ham." "Eating ham here, I'm starting to get a little uneasy. Think about it!" she said, clearly unmoved as Natalie ate the thick pink ham.

"I don't know anything about your religion," Byron said. "Neither do I, it's not even my religion. I quit it before I was eleven--the synagogue, the Hebrew class, everything. It made my father very sad, Because he's a Zionist, he's a head of the synagogue, and whatnot. But our rabbi is such a nasty idiot, Blaney. My father can't answer my questions Well, he's not an intellectual like Ellen, he's a businessman. By the time I was eleven I read more books than he did." "Did he just tell you to walk away like that?" Byron asked, "Like that?"My father wouldn't say yes, that's for sure. "

"Maybe the military is different," Natalie said with a skeptical smile. "Most fathers don't get along with their daughters. Anyway, I'm an only child, and I'm all right. I just don't want to keep talking nonsense that doesn't mean anything to me. After eating Lah!" She put down her knife and fork. "Coffee first, then Medjes, will you?" "up to you." A taxi with criss-crossed thick surgical tape on the cracked yellow glass staggered them to the airport.It was startling to see a lone airplane outside the wooden shed that served as a waiting room on the sun-drenched grounds.It was a blue three-engined biplane with a stubby fuselage so rusty and patched that Byron thought it was a wreck; but when they arrived, the passengers On the lawn, start boarding.

"I don't know," Byron said as he paid the driver. "Do you think this plane will take off? Tell the driver to wait." Natalie laughed and went to call Sloter. phone, but he's not at the apartment, nor at the embassy.The hut was still full of Germans, although few seemed to be left in Warsaw.Only the Poles and a few Jews got on the plane to Krakow and sat in those uncomfortable iron chairs. The plane did take off, pitching and vibrating, shaking the sheet metal floor so that a green field could be seen below, letting in a warm wind that swelled Natalie's chest. skirt.She tucked her skirt under her legs and fell asleep.About half an hour later, the plane dived down and landed with a thud, stopping near a barn in a field surrounded by tall weeds and wildflowers.Byron thought it was a forced landing, but several passengers disembarked with handbags.After about an hour of turbulence, they were sent to Krakow. The plane flew over the green plains and reached the low mountains. Half of them are forests and half are cultivated land. of fields.

The waiting room at Krakow Airport is a small wooden house surrounded by a wire fence.Byron was very happy, leaving the plane that smelled of hot iron and gasoline, and walked to the fields that were sunny, breezy, and fragrant like a garden.On either side of the asphalt track, turbaned peasant women mow grass in the sun.There were no taxis in sight, just a green bus full of mud.Passengers, who had been picked up by relatives, climbed into heavy carriages and creaked away. "How are we going to get to Krakow?" asked Byron. "That bus must be going there," Natalie said. A lone, yellow-bearded Jew stood upright in the doorway, wearing a long black coat and a black flat-brimmed hat.He took a few steps closer, touched his hat and said, "Excuse me, is it American? Last name is Jastrow?" Natalie looked at him suspiciously and said, "Well, yes. You're Baenry Er?" "Yes, yes. Jochanan Barrell Jastrow," he answered with a broad grin. "Excuse me. I don't speak English well. Do you speak German? French?" "I can speak a little French," so she said in French, "how did you know we were taking this flight? Well, Byron, this is Uncle Ellen's cousin, and my father's cousin. Ben Riel, Byron Henry is a good friend of mine." The two men shook hands.The Jew stroked his graying yellow beard and studied Byron's face.Baen Riel had a broad nose, bushy eyebrows, and startlingly deep-set blue eyes, a little bit Tatar-like slanted, but keen.In a second or two, Byron thought, the Jastrow saw that he was a heretic, but probably a friend. "enchante," said Jastrow. He took them to the other side of the terminal, where a rusty car was parked. ①French: Nice to meet you. The chauffeur was a skinny guy in a light tracksuit and cap, with a slightly shiny red beard.After some negotiation in Yiddish, they set off.Natalie told Byron that they were going directly to Medjes now, because the Jastrows were very eager to see her, and Kratoff was twenty miles away in the other direction.The whole family believed it was a good omen for an American relative to descend from the sky on the eve of the wedding.Natalie had telegraphed Jochenan Jastrow of Medjes to say she would be arriving today, but she hadn't said which flight she was taking because he hadn't expected him to actually receive the telegram. "mais pourquoi pas? la pologne n'est pas l'frique.①" Baen Ruier interjected following Natalie's English, "c'est un paya tout afait modernet civilization.②" Byron thought it strange that such a figure from a Jewish painting or a play could speak clear and good French.Jastrow told him he would make arrangements for their return to Rome the day after tomorrow.Because he has a lot of contacts in Krakow, it is absolutely not a problem to get a few train tickets or air tickets. ①French: This is a completely modern civilized country. ②French: Why can't I receive it?Poland is not Africa. The car swerves, avoids some nasty potholes, and bumps its way on a rough asphalt road.They passed small villages of log houses with thatched roofs, with blue stripes painted between the logs.Drivers had to steer their cars around pigs, chickens and cows roaming the road.Many houses have turned gray due to the wind and rain for a long time, are crooked, or are about to collapse.Some houses have no windows, but nearly all have new or freshly painted doors.Near each village there is a wooden church standing on a high ground.In the sunny fields, men and women are working with farm tools, some with horse-drawn plows.The car passed many carts of hand-hewn lumber, drawn by strong, tame horses, and driven by strong, tame women and men, who would have been hard to come by if they had not been marked by turbans and beards. identify their gender.They drove all the way to Auschwitz without seeing a tractor, a car, or any other machinery.Auschwitz was a medium-sized city on the railway line, with brick houses and wide streets, and a muddy river ran through it, dividing it in two.The car drove to the main square of the city, stopped in front of the telephone exchange, and Natalie and Ben Real got out of the car to call Sloter. Byron took a walk in the square against the scorching sun, causing some residents to look at him secretly.He bought an ice cream and the saleswoman took his money without a word.Auschwitz was very different from Warsaw: it was a low-slung city of ecru buildings, with the air of a backcountry that did not welcome strangers.Byron was eager to get out of here.As the car pulled into a flat green field and on a dirty road along the river, Natalie told him that Slote had lost his temper and was taken aback, even though she blamed all her sins Taking it upon himself, Sloter still said some nasty things to Byron's mind. "I think he's insane," she said. "Do you think he's afraid of the Germans?" "You see, it's kind of rude to leave him like this." She gave Byron a curious look, and said: "It's not a matter of faux pas at all. You know, we've been talking about the mornings together, and he's supposed to hate me." "What? I saw you came back at three o'clock." "True, but then he called me from the corridor again and said he was too tired to sleep, and I went downstairs and went out with him again." "I see. Then you must be exhausted." "It's weird, I feel good, dozed off on the plane, and now I have such fresh country air! The air in Poland smells so good. I never read about that in a book." "Poland is a first-rate country," Ben Riel said in English, smoothing his beard with his hand. "Strong people. Hitler is a big threat. No war." The time Byron spent in Medjes remained in his memory forever, as if he had gone to the moon.The villagers were almost exclusively Jewish, although there were the usual churches standing on the usual hills.Medjes is composed of a cluster of houses built on the winding narrow dirt road or gravel road, some are log, some are stucco, only a few brick houses, all the way down to a flat road. Green meadows and a meandering river.A mile from the town there was a large roofless house, modeled after a French chateau, lying deserted on the bank of the river.After the noble family was extinct, the house was destroyed in the First World War, but the village survived.The Jastrows and their kin seem to make up half of Medjes.They surrounded Natalie and Byron, happily leading them from house to house.The interiors of the dimly lit houses were much the same: small rooms, large stoves, heavy and shiny Victorian furniture, lace curtains; Full of wine, cakes, tea, sugar cubes, vodka and fish.None of this can be denied.After staying for a while, Byron felt very uncomfortable because he couldn't see the toilet.For several hours, he could not understand a word that others said.It seemed to him that all the Jews were talking incessantly at the same time.Natalie talked to men with long beards in black jackets, black trousers, heavy boots, and unpainted, overworked women in plain dresses that reached their ankles; obsessed with.Outside each house, a large group of people gathered around, and they participated in the conversation through the windows.The visit of the two compatriots was obviously the most important event in Medjes after the war. What a place this is!There were no sidewalks, no shops, no movie theaters, no garages, no cars, no bicycles, no street lights, no fire hydrants, no billboards; The town is associated with the twentieth century.Yet Natalie Jastrow is the only generation to emigrate from this place.Dr. Ellen Jastrow, author of A Jew's Jesus, professor of history at Yale, and elegant friend of the Archbishop of Siena, lived here until he was fifteen.He looked just like these pale, thin, studious boys then, with his black beanie cap and curls around his ears!Byron could not imagine what these people thought of him, but they were as earnest to him as they were to Natalie, substituting gestures and smiles for their voluble conversation. (Natalie told him the next day that she represented him as her protector, a U.S. Navy officer sent by Uncle Ellen, and they believed it without a doubt, since anything the Americans do is equally unusual, startling and incredible. The sleeping arrangement was as novel as everything that night.Byron was placed in the rabbi's home.It was the result of a great controversy, in which half the village took part, and for a moment the village priest, who, with his brown beard, would have looked like Ben-Rel if he hadn't been bald and in his black robes , his sudden appearance made everyone calm down.The language of conversation changed to Polish, then to German, a language Byron knew well.The priest wanted to extend his hospitality to the non-Jewish Americans, and Barrell managed to divert his invitation by relying on Byron's timely help in German.After the priest left, the people surrounded Baen Riel and Byron and cheered triumphantly.Escorted by a group of Jewish school boys, the American made his way to the rabbi's brick building amid singing and applause.Leading the way was the groom himself, a pale lad of eighteen or so with a thin goatee. The rabbi and his wife wanted to give him their own bed, a black four-poster bed with huge pillows, but it was apparently the only big bed in the house and Byron would not sleep in it .This sparked another burst of discussion in Yiddish.In the second bedroom of the house there were two beds, a slatted bunk on two chairs, and there were already five chattering girls in the room, who were blushing when they discussed it face, laughing.It seemed they were going to have Byron sleep in one of the beds.Apparently, unable to think of any other decent solution, he ended up sleeping on the floor of the main room, which doubled as parlor and dining room, and was surrounded by large volumes in leather bound books.The rabbi gave him a feather mattress to sleep on, because six boys returning from the Krakow Jewish school were lying on the same mattress with him.He didn't feel wronged anymore.In fact, he slept better on the floor of Rabbi Medjsz's house than in the Grand Hotel Europa in Warsaw.He found that feather cushions were hypnotic. He spent most of the next day wandering with Natalie around the village, from the fields down the river, past an old cemetery, and down to the ruins of the great house.Preparations for the wedding continued, so the family left the two guests to themselves today.The narrow, muddy streets of Medjes--it rained heavily at night, and the pattering of rain on the roof of the rabbi's house made Byron sleep more soundly--full of the scent of autumn hay and ripe fruit, in those free Against the smell of roaming chickens, ducks, cows, and sheep, this fragrance seems particularly strong.Some poultry have met with bad luck, and a moment ago happily swaggering in the morning sun, a moment later, they have been caught by laughing children, squawking and flapping their wings, and entered the slaughterhouse .In the fields behind the house and barns—mostly one-room log buildings with thick yellow straw roofs—herds of cows and horses graze on grass that grows tall and interspersed with With wild flowers, rippling in the breeze.Water bugs have to slide on the slowly flowing brown water.The fish jumped out of the river and made a splash, but no one was fishing. Natalie told him that she talked to her family members in the middle of the night.For her, most of what she heard was new.Her father loved to recount Warsaw more than his birthplace.Since she only wanted to be a proper American, she had grown weary of what little she heard as a child.In this village, Uncle Ellen and her father were legendary figures, both of whom had achieved success in America.There are various accounts of Ellen Jastrow: a great surgeon, an astronomer, a cancer specialist; the word "professor" in Polish and Yiddish is vaguely Clear.No one except Ben Riel knew that Ellen had written a famous book about Jesus.Natalie guessed that it was hard for Ellen's cousin to keep the achievement secret.Ben Real (a nickname for his original name, Joe Chenan) was a local figure.When he was still studying in Krakow, he started selling mushrooms. Later, he also did other export business. His business flourished and he finally moved his family to Warsaw.But he sent his son back to the Jewish school in Krakow, and found him a bride at the place of his cousins ​​in Medjes.The many Jastrows, like the rest of the village, make a living by farming the land and selling dairy products in the Auschwitz and Krakow markets. Natalie Qu crawled around the shabby house, groping her way, out of sight for a moment, then stepped through a rotting floorboard and fell from a height of ten or twelve feet.Byron heard the crack of planks, her scream and the bang.He hurried to find her.She was lying there like a broken doll, her skirt turned up to show her white gartered legs.She was falling on a patch of mud and thick grass.Whatever the floor used to be here—panelled, perhaps, or marble—now there was nothing.Byron pulled down her skirt and helped her sit up.She was sane, but livid with fright.It was a minute or two before her face turned and her eyes regained that lively, mischievous expression.She shook her head. "Jesus, it knocked me out of my head, Byron. I think it's over." She rested her head on his shoulder. "Oh, it's scary. I'm fine. Help me up." She walked with a limp.She said her left knee was not working.She took his arm, smiled shyly, and leaned against him.Byron had persuaded her not to climb the rotten stairs, and this smile was a mistake, and of course he was satisfied.He's worried about her injury, and he's also been mad at her casual revelation that she'd been with Slote until the morning the night before.But anyway.To have this girl leaning against him in this sunny, apple-scented orchard by the river was to Byron the greatest happiness in the world that he could have desired.Just holding her like this was sweeter than any pleasure any other girl had ever given him.All that is desired in a girl--enigmatic eyes, soft lines of cheeks, moving lips, sudden alluring smile, plump figure and delicate skin--to Byron, Natalie... Jastrow's whole body is made up of these lovely advantages, shining dazzling brilliance.True, she came from a strange Jewish family in Medjes, she was evidently the mistress of a ruthless man ten years his senior, and she was just an ordinary girl with a strong body--she was indeed heavy, and she was leaning on the In him, a limp--a bit of a stubborn temper, and the unflattering, even brutish prowess of a naughty girl, all of which made her Natalie • Jastrow, not the perfect girl he'd dreamed of since he was eleven or twelve.His perfect girl was actually what most boys dreamed of, a blonde with a bit of a sex drive.Now that she was gone, this prickly brown Jewish girl took her place.Here were just the two of them, on the banks of a small river in southern Poland, under the golden sun, among apple trees laden with fruit, with no house in sight for a mile. "It's going to take a long time to go back!" she said. "I'll try to carry you back." "What, carrying me so big? Gotta crush you. If only I didn't get so fat. It's fucking annoying." "I don't find it annoying," Byron said. They passed an unoccupied flat-bottomed boat half full of water. "Let's make use of this," he said, turning the boat over and dumping the water.Natalie watched gratefully as he pulled the boat down alone. "No oars," she said. "We can float with the water." He used a thick long plank in the boat to steer the boat, using it as both a rudder and a pole.The river flowed very slowly, black and almost as calm as oil.Natalie sat facing Byron in the bow, her shoes soaked in the seeping water.As they floated past the cemetery, Natalie said, "Probably all my ancestors are there, and all the ones that weren't buried in Palestine are here." "Either in Egypt, or in Mesopotamia," Byron said. Natalie shrugged. "I don't know. Blaney, it's a wild place." "You mean Medjes?" "I mean Poland. I'm so glad Grandpa and Grandma are out of the hell." He stopped the boat near the village.She climbed ashore and walked slowly, no longer limping.There are no doctors in this place, she said, and she doesn't want to make people nervous about her American cousin who fell.She wanted to wait until she arrived in Krakow tomorrow to bandage her knee.So no one in the village found out what happened to her. Byron wanted to inquire about the situation of the war.Medjes had only one working radio, the others were broken.The one that can listen belongs to the priest.In his struggling Jewish German, the rabbi told Byron that the recent broadcasts from Warsaw were welcome news: the British prime minister had returned home for the weekend, and it seemed the crisis was over. "Henderson, Henderson," said the rabbi, "Henderson negotiated with Hitler." He blinked slyly and wiped one hand with the other to signify a monetary exchange. This wedding made Byron wish he could be a writer and be able to record it; he also wished he could be a Jew and be able to fully understand it.This mixture of solemnity and loudness eluded him.As far as he knows, apart from throwing shoes and throwing rice at the end, dignity and humility should be the essence of the wedding.But the Jews of Medjes—despite their best attire, great velvet dresses for the women, black brocade coats for the men, or town frocks—seemed not to know modesty.They crowded, chatted, burst into song; they surrounded the bride, who sat quietly and veiled, and talked about her; they danced; they wandered about the houses and the streets, performing strange Little ceremony; one by one they stand on a chair, make a speech or sing all night, and the guests laugh wildly and shout like hell.The pale bridegroom, in a white gown and black top hat, looked about to faint.Byron, an American guest, sat next to the groom on the long men's table, the seat of honor.When he invited the groom to eat with a plate of snacks, he found out by chance that this thin young man had fasted for twenty-four hours and was still fasting now.But everyone around him was eating and drinking with open stomachs. Byron, like the others, ate and drank, feeling very happy, though he could not yet be sure whether the wedding ceremony was over or not.As midnight approached, the guests suddenly became serious.In a courtyard, under a bright moon and Under the twinkling stars, a solemn and memorable sequence of activities began - including the reading of sacred scriptures in silver goblets and the lighting of long candles - as the bride and groom were brought together under a purple velvet canopy held up by hand. Next, exchange rings and kisses, much like a Christian wedding.Then the bridegroom crushed a wine glass with his heel, and there was such an earth-shattering cheer that all that had gone before paled in comparison. Byron put on a black cap and danced with the boys of the Jewish school--for he could not dance with the girls--and was almost the star of the evening.The guests all gathered together to applaud and applaud, and Natalie stood at the front, her face glowing with excitement.She didn't know if her knee was healed or she forgot about the pain, but she also participated and danced with the girls.And so she danced, and Byron danced, in the house and in the yard, until the early hours of the morning.Byron could barely remember how he left the bride's house and fell asleep on the feathered floor of the rabbi's room. As he lay there, a hand shook him awake, and he opened his eyes to see Ben-Reel Jastrow bending over him.It was a minute or two before Byron remembered where he was, and recognized the man with the bright, anxious blue eyes and the grizzled yellow beard.The Jewish boys sleeping next to him sat up too, rubbing their eyes, or getting dressed.The girls, too, hurried around in their pajamas.It was hot and the sun was streaming in from the clear blue sky. "Hi, what's up?" he asked. "der deutsch," said the Jew, "les allemands." ①The front is German, and the back is French, both meaning "Germans". "Huh? What?" "German." Byron sat up and said with a trembling voice, "Oh, the Germans? What's the matter with the Germans?" "They're coming." lost world empire by General Armin von Roon English translation by Victor Henry (from his Land, Sea and Air Battles of the Second World War)