Chapter 14 Chapter Fourteen

Four days later, Natalie rushed to the backyard of the embassy early in the morning to find Byron, her hair and skirt fluttering.He was destroying blank passports and stacks of visa applications in his backyard.The embassy had hundreds of such maroon passports, all of which were slowly turning into smoke at this moment.Once this stuff fell into the hands of the Germans, they used it to send spies and saboteurs into the United States.Piles of visa applications are also at the top of the destruction list because they are enough to prove Jewish identity.Dollars were often pinned to the applications, and Byron had planned to look through them, but now he couldn't care less.His task is to burn all these things to ashes as soon as possible, and he doesn't even care that he is burning money.

"Quick. Come with me," Natalie said beamingly. "Where are you going?" "You just come." A chauffeured black sedan was parked by the front door, and Sloter sat next to a fat man with ruddy skin and gray hair. "Hello, here, Byron!" Sloter's voice was also particularly cheerful. "This is the Swedish ambassador. Ambassador, Byron Henry's father was our naval attaché in Berlin. It might be better to take him along. What do you think?" Daddy wiped his nose with a clean little hand, and looked shrewdly at Byron. "Excellent. Exactly excellent. Maybe he can take some notes."

"I think so too. Come up, Byron." Even after giving Slote a blood transfusion, his complexion would not be any better.Byron had spoken to him an hour earlier, when he had been as usual, pale, stubborn, and depressed.He spent all day in the embassy with a sad face, constantly taking medicine, answering people's questions briefly, and locking himself in his office for hours on end.Sloter had been like this since a shell hit a neighboring building, killing ten Poles.Byron guessed that the charge d'affaires was overwhelmed by the weight of the responsibility.But now, there was blood in his face, his eyes were bright, and even the wisp of blue smoke from his pipe seemed light.When Byron sat in the back of the car, Natalie suddenly said to the ambassador: "Can I go? I always go out with Byron."

Slote shook his head sadly.The ambassador looked her up and down with male interest.Natalie was wearing a green silk dress and an old pink woolen sweater, which she had just grabbed out of a box without thinking.The attire made her look vulgar, yet seductive. "But, dear, are you not afraid?" "What are you afraid of?" "I'm afraid of the sound of the guns. Let's investigate a safe retreat route." The ambassador's English was very slow, but very good.He put a small pink hand on the open window of the car, and his nails were always manicured and gleaming, besieged or not.

"We're likely to get very close to the front lines." "I have heard the cannon." The ambassador smiled at Byron. "Well, let your friend come with us?" he said, making room for her.Slote said nothing, but chewed his pipe impatiently. The car bumped and twisted towards the river.Warsaw has been devastated over the past four days.A strong wind blew away the smoke, and the gentle morning sun cast an ironic scene of peace on the street.However, destroyed buildings can be seen everywhere.Thousands of windows had been blown out, and the windows were temporarily covered with pale yellow plywood.Warsaw City is only left with a piece of gunpowder smoke, and there are cement roof trusses and yellow plywood everywhere.Sidewalks, gutters were destroyed, bomb craters were found, and major intersections were lined with tank traps and fortifications.At these intersections, there are nervous soldiers, staring viciously, holding machine guns, fingers on the trigger, blocking cars.Some other people can be seen around.There was a rumble of cannon in the distance.Sloter laughed every time the soldiers lowered their guns and let them pass.

"I can't believe it," he said as the car pulled up to a stone bridge over the Vistula River filled with cars, trucks and bicycles. "It's all still there. Haven't the Germans been shelling for a whole fortnight?" "Yeah, you know, they're not as destructive as advertised," said the Swedish ambassador. "It's not that accurate." The car drove onto the stone bridge over the broad brown river.Under the bridge, the river flows quietly between Warsaw and the eastern suburb of Brahe, where low houses and green forests are.Behind them, the city of Warsaw, reflected in the smoky blue sky and bathed in sunlight, seemed more and more safe from a distance; this magnificent capital, with its wide avenues, baroque cathedral cupolas, towering factory chimneys and Many black plumes of smoke looked almost like a busy day in a Taiping industrial city, except here and there were billowing yellow flames, summer lightning flashing on the horizon, and distant Rumbling cannons.Several buses of soldiers passed by, and the soldiers sang, joked, and some waved and yelled at Natalie.There are also many soldiers riding bicycles running in the same direction.

"Where are they going?" Natalie said. "To the front, of course," the ambassador said. "It was a real war. They left the guns, went home to have a lunch or dinner, or slept with their wives, and then took the bus back to the front to fight the Germans. I was in Madrid during the civil war, and Madrid That's it." "How far do we have to go?" Sloter said.On the river the cannon from Brahe was louder. The ambassador pursed his lips. "I can't tell. We've got to find the schoolhouse with a stone goose at the front of the schoolyard, about a hundred yards past a roadside shrine."

After crossing the river, they saw ruins.Along the way are ruins, burnt trees and fallen tree trunks.The narrow asphalt road had been badly damaged by artillery fire, and they had to make frequent detours to drive on dirt roads.When the car was driving along the dirt road, a Polish heavy artillery hidden in the woods suddenly fired with a bang.The driver dodged and passed a tree, causing everyone in the car to jump out of their seats. "My God!" said Sloter.The car stabilized and drove down the tree-lined plain of Brahe.They passed a house whose roof was ablaze and the whole family stood outside watching in dismay.Every two or three minutes there were loud explosions around them.Sometimes they could see the flames from the muzzles in the woods, but not the barrels.Sometimes they saw Polish gunners working nervously in the woods.All this at least made Byron feel fresh and excited, and they seemed to be enjoying the scenery of the battlefield in perfect safety, only to avoid the bomb crater, the car had to bump over the weedy road.However, suddenly a German shell flew over with a whoosh, and exploded near the car with a bang, and the lifted mud clumps fell on the roof of the car.Sloter said, "Oh my God! We're on the front line now!"

"Yeah, it's probably the school just around the corner," said the ambassador.But when they turned the corner, they saw only a dirty yard surrounded by four wooden houses, and some pigs, startled by the gunfire, were scurrying about in the yard.Further on, the straight asphalt road continued to lead to dense forests, and the smoke filled the air, blocking the view."Stop, please," Sloter said. The ambassador glanced back at him, wiped his nose with a red hand, and told the driver to stop.The car stopped on the side of the road. "I can't believe it," said Slote, gesturing with his pipe closed in his fist. "We are now in the artillery position as you said. Can you be sure that we have gone the right way, and we are not in the rear of the German position?" The ambassador pouted. "I believe we're no more than three miles from Stone Bridge now." Sloter laughed and poked Natalie and Byron with his pipe.

"I am responsible to these two young men. I cannot put them at risk." Two dilapidated buses full of soldiers rumbled past, with route number plates on the front and faded movie advertisements plastered on both sides.The soldiers were singing, and a few were waving from the windows at the parked cars and cracking wisecracks in Polish. "We are certainly not in the rear of the German positions," the ambassador said. "However, we will send these two citizens back to Warsaw anyway," Slote said. "Sorry, we misunderstood." Natalie exclaimed, "But why? There's no reason to send us back. I'm fine."

"I'm afraid it's too late." The ambassador stroked his eyebrows thoughtfully and said. "The cease-fire will be in less than an hour. I'll have to get my party together as soon as we get back." "I will also call. However, the safe passage of neutral personnel through the line of fire is guaranteed by Poland and Germany." The ambassador looked at his watch. "Colonel Lakowski asked us to look at the route in advance. I think it's better to keep going." Boom, boom, two more heavy shells exploded in the woods, one on the left and one on the right.The driver starts the car. "Wait a minute!" The driver turned his head, Sloter's face was pale and his lips were trembling. "Ambassador, I ask you to at least get us back to the bridge first. We might be able to intercept a truck or bus on the bridge." "But, my dear sir, you must also check the route. Our men will probably get lost in the woods." Byron felt nauseous.Although the ambassador's attitude is very polite, it can't cover up what happened. Sloter is representing the United States.Byron then said: "Leslie, you are very right. Natalie should be avoided. How about you escort her to the cabin and wait for us, okay? I can go with the ambassador to find the way." The ambassador immediately said happily: "That's a great idea! Let's go there. I think we can come back in ten minutes or a quarter of an hour." Sluto opened the door and got out of the car. "Come on, Natalie. Ambassador, we Waiting for you in the cottage with the green window bars.I saw a woman at the window. " But Natalie sat still, looked at Steiner and then at the ambassador, with a displeased expression on the corner of her mouth.Finally, the ambassador said to her with a blunt European accent: "My dear, please do as we say." She jumped out of the car, slammed the door, and ran towards the cabin.Sloter yelled and yelled, chasing after her.The car sped along the small gravel road.There is less smoke ahead.After driving less than half a mile, I saw a shrine, which was a wooden shed with a tacky painted wooden statue of Jesus nailed to a golden cross; not far from the shrine was a school.There was a stone goose in front of the school building, surrounded by red flowers, and several soldiers chatted, walked, and smoked beside the stone goose.Byron thought that if Leslie Slote could hold on for another three or four minutes, he wouldn't be making such a fool of himself.The moment the clod fell on the roof of the car, he was really unlucky.As soon as Colonel Rakoski saw the Swedish ambassador, he rushed out excitedly and embraced him.Byron felt that his mood was almost unreal, and that the officers in the staff headquarters were too relaxed in the face of the bad news marked on a military map of the front line hanging on the wall: Warsaw on the map had been It is completely surrounded by a thick big red circle.Brightly colored pictures of kindergartens hang on the other walls of the school building.Rajkowski, a portly man with a flaxen goatee and a rosacea-nosed man, was a man who knew he was well-off; he led his guests out the back door, down a leafy path, to the concrete artillery emplacement , Soldiers with beards and mud all over their faces were stacking shells with their shirts on.The colonel gestured to the guests to keep going, and he himself climbed a not-so-steep concrete slope and onto the sandbags.Byron followed behind the ambassador.Before them was a wooded plain, stretching to the east, with scattered houses, farms, and three church steeples far apart.Byron knew that the puffs of smoke were coming from the German artillery emplacements. After climbing up the hill, the ambassador and the colonel, panting, pointed to the steeple of the church and began to talk incessantly.The ambassador was still taking notes in a hurry, occasionally translating some for Byron.Under the ceasefire, he said, the neutral refugees would cross the line of fire to the German lines without a Polish escort, heading in the direction of the furthest church, where Wehrmacht trucks would pick them up.Colonel Lakowski was worried that some refugees might go to the road leading to another church because the path was not clearly marked. As a result, the two-hour truce guaranteed by the Germans expired, and they would be under crossfire from both sides.Therefore, he asked the Swedish ambassador to come out and survey the route in advance. "He said," the ambassador said to Byron, closing his notebook. "It's best seen from that watchtower, where the roads leading to the Kantorowicz Church can be discerned." Byron looked at a tall, thin wooden tower that stood beside the school playground.A narrow ladder led to a square platform covered with iron, on which he saw a soldier in a steel helmet. "Then how about I go up and see? Maybe I can draw a sketch." "The colonel said that the German firepower was paying attention to this tower." Byron grinned contemptuously. The ambassador smiled kindly and handed him the notepad and pen.Byron hurried over and climbed up the ladder, the dilapidated wooden tower swayed with his steps.The surrounding terrain can be seen at a glance from the tower.He could see every road and every fork in the crooked brown lanes leading to the distant church through this no-man's-land.The soldier on duty put down his binoculars and stared blankly at the young American in a polo shirt and a large sweater. He was holding the paper fluttering in the wind with his hand, and was drawing a sketch in the ambassador's notepad. Every side road that does not lead to a church is marked with an "X", and three other churches around the retreat route are also roughly marked.When Byron showed the sketch to the soldier, the soldier nodded and tapped him on the shoulder. "Okay," he said, grinning, proud of his ability to speak American. Natalie was leaning with her arms folded against the open door of the hut when the car pulled up.She hurried to the car, and in a moment Slote followed, saying good-bye to an old woman in a hood and heavy boots.On the way back to Warsaw in the car, the ambassador told about their visit to the front and Byron's adventure climbing the wooden tower.At this moment Byron was sketching with a notepad on his lap. "I think four copies are enough?" he said to the ambassador. "I think that's enough. Thank you." The ambassador took the notepad. "Maybe we'll have time to mimeograph some. Nice drawing." Natalie took Byron's hand and placed it on her lap.She sat between him and Slote, clutching his fingers, and looking at him gravely with half-opened black eyes.The back of his hand felt the flesh of her thigh and the raised garter belt through the thin layer of green clothing.As Sloter smoked in poise and looked out of the window, talking to the ambassador about how to gather and transport the evacuees, he kept glancing at the clasped hands on the girl's lap.He was pale, and a muscle in his jaw was twitching just under the skin. The embassy was noisy and busy.The mayor's office has just notified that it will cease fire at one point.Polish army trucks will deliver the Americans to the point of departure, and each person can carry a suitcase.People keep going.Americans living outside the embassy were notified by phone one by one.There was a smell of burning paper all over the building, and pieces of black paper ash flew everywhere in the corridor. In the basement, Mark Hartley's bed was next to Byron's.Byron found him hunched over, head in his hands, sitting beside a bundled suitcase, a dead cigar between his fingers. "Ready, Mark?" Hartley's face was gloomy, his eyes bulged, and he showed a look of panic. "Byron, my name is Horowitz. Marvin Horowitz." "Don't talk nonsense, how would they know this?" Byron dragged a battered bag with a latch from under his own cot. Hartley shook his head. "I don't know what. Must be crazy. I never thought it was going to happen. I don't know what I'm thinking. Maybe Roosevelt will let us go on a military plane. Likely. Not sure. We'll be in the hands of the Germans. The Germans." "Put this in your bag," Byron said as he packed his things, pulling out an old book in its cover and giving it to him. "Cheer up. You're an American, or it's over. An American named Hartley." "I was born with a Horowitz face and a Horowitz nose. What is this? The New Testament? What is it for?" Byron took the book with a golden cross printed on the cover, and carefully tore off the title page bearing his name. "Be a devout Christian. Take this. Don't sit here and worry about it. Go and help Rowlandson destroy the documents." "I wish I had my own Bible or prayer book," said Hartley vaguely, opening the bag. "I haven't been in a synagogue since I studied the law according to the will of God. A smelly old Jewish man taught me to recite many inexplicable scriptures. I learned to recite, mainly to make my mother happy, but That's it. I never went home again. Now I hope I remember those prayers, whatever they are." He glanced down into the cluttered basement. "God bless, this little basement feels like a sweet home to me right now. I'd give anything to keep me here. Do you think the four of us will get together to play bridge someday? Maybe in New York?" "Faster than you expected." "God can hear you. It's my mother's catchphrase." At 11:30, military trucks rumbled to the embassy; old cars that fell apart were rickety, covered with dust and mud, and the gray spray paint was already hard to identify.As soon as the car arrived, more than a hundred Americans huddled in the grass fence cheered and sang little tunes like "I Came to California."Polish staff, mostly secretaries, were upset and started delivering coffee and pastries. "I was ashamed to see them," Natalie told Byron.At this moment, two Polish girls walked past them with trays, with forced smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. "What can I do?" Byron was hungry, he took a bite of the ashen thick pastry, and made a face.The dim sum tasted of raw dough and paper ashes. "There's nothing," Byron said. "Mark Hartley is terrified by the Germans. What about you?" Natalie's eyes flashed suddenly. "What can they do to me? I have an American passport. They don't know I'm Jewish." "Well, don't tell them. I mean, don't suddenly act like a hero or something, okay? We're just trying to get out of hell." "I'm not stupid, Byron." A Polish officer yelled, the doors opened, and the Americans swarmed into the cars.Some people are too old to climb up, some people want to carry more luggage, Polish drivers and officers are in a hurry, impatient, and no one is in charge.So people shouted and complained, some cried and some shook their fists, but most of them, though hungry and uncomfortable, were happy because they were about to leave, and continued to sing and laugh.The trucks pulled out in single file.Finally, a black Chevrolet sedan with an American flag on the front fender, filled Slote, three of his top aides and the wives of two of them.Polish female secretaries stood at the gate, waving goodbye, tears streaming down their cheeks.Byron and Natalie were bouncing in the truck with their arms around each other's waists.Sloter gave Natalie a ride in a Chevrolet.She shook her head without saying a word. The artillery fire was still very fierce, and there was the rumble of artillery in the distance, the explosion of three German bombers lined up in a V shape slowly flying low and dropping bombs in the smoky sky at noon, and the rumble of Polish anti-aircraft guns.On the bombed-out streets, cars stop and go in narrow lanes lined with yellow buildings on both sides. Sometimes they had to drive around sidewalks in order to avoid bomb craters and tank ruts. Once a building had just fallen Blocked the way and had to back out of a main street. At the head of the bridge across the Vistula River, embassy cars flying the flags of various countries gathered.The cars of the evacuees were parked on the bridge, and it was crowded.There are about 2,000 neutral nationals in Warsaw, and it is clear that every one of them intends to leave.Byron kept looking at his watch.He started to move forward again, but the car was going very slowly, and he was worried that he would not be able to reach the starting point by one o'clock.German shells continued to roar, falling into the river, setting off fountains, and the river sometimes fell on bridges and cars.Apparently the Germans thought it would be easy to wipe out nine out of ten neutral nationals on the bridge before the cease-fire.The convoy finally stopped next to a school building with a stone goose, and a stack nearby.Colonel Rakowski and the Swedish ambassador stood side by side in the middle of the road, shouting instructions to every truck that disembarked and distributed mimeographed notices to them.Byron saw that everyone was asking for his sketches on stencils, and copied them honestly, even the three churches that were scribbled down. Byron, because these drawings were written by himself, Feel quite proud. The cannonade continued in the woods around the school, but at five minutes to one, the cannonade began to die down.At one o'clock the whole cannon fell silent.At this time, only the evacuees were talking loudly in various languages ​​on both sides of the road.Byron could also hear the calls of birds and grasshoppers.He deeply feels that the grasshopper's cry is the most representative sound of peaceful life in the world.Final announcements are made in the languages ​​of the countries in turn from the loudspeakers.Groups of neutral nationals picked up their boxes and went downhill along the road.Finally, the loudspeaker broadcast in English with a strong Polish accent: "Please don't get separated. Don't go wrong when you encounter a fork in the road. The German side announced that anyone who fails to reach the Kantorowicz Church before three o'clock, The German side is not responsible. The Polish side is not responsible. Even an old man can reach the place on foot for an hour. The enemy will undoubtedly resume shelling at 3 o'clock. We will also respond with the strongest firepower from the beginning. So please speed up. I wish you all peace. Long live America. Long live Poland." Hearing the broadcast, the Americans picked up their boxes and walked towards no man's land. The first two or three hundred yards were like the rest of Brahe, but further on the asphalt road turned into a narrow dirt road, only big enough for a carriage.They passed bombed-out houses.There were no animals in the stables, except for an occasional abandoned chicken clucking and wandering, or a few cats bouncing around silently.The road stretched into the woods, and the sun cast yellow-green beams through the leaves.The leader of the American team was a tall old Anglican pastor, wearing black clothes with lapel collars. He would check the map drawn by Byron at every crossroads.According to Byron's calculations, they spent an entire hour walking slowly in the middle of the silent confrontation between the two armies under such unusual circumstances.He recalled afterwards that it was like playing together in the forest with the fragrance of autumn flowers in peacetime.Blue and orange and white flowers fell everywhere on the dirty roads and in the woods; the birds twittered and twittered;He also remembered that his mouth was dry from the strain, and he was so thirsty that his legs went limp.Byron also remembers two incidents, one when a black diplomat's limousine drove past them, shoving people on foot to the side of the road, and Sloter, sitting in the front seat, laughed and yelled at him and Natalie. The other time was about to arrive at the destination, and the Kantolowicz Church could already be seen at the corner. Mark Hartley stepped forward, took his arm, and said to him: "My My name is Mark Hartley, and I'm a devout Christian!" He smiled at Byron, his face livid, and he was out of his wits with fright. They soon saw German guns and German gunners in the woods.German howitzers were larger, better looking and more advanced in design than Polish guns.One by one, the soldiers wore large, clean earth-gray steel helmets, and stood motionless next to the cannon, looking at the passing crowd.Byron watched the German soldiers with great curiosity.Wearing big steel helmets does look like a soldier, but most of them are young, and And the faces were like the faces of the Germans he had seen in Munich and Frankfurt.Many people wear glasses.It's hard to believe that they are the bad guys who poured steel and artillery fire on the city of Warsaw, burned pregnant women to death with fire, broke arms and legs of children with guns, and turned a prosperous capital into a Massacre.They looked nothing more than young men in uniform and solemn steel helmets in the shady woods, where the birds and grasshoppers twittered merrily. At first, the Germans seemed to treat the evacuees better than the Poles.On the side of the road near the classroom was a mule-drawn water cart, a large olive-painted jug on wheels, and German soldiers lined up the thirsty crowd to serve water from tin cups.In addition, some soldiers took them from the side of the water tanker to the place where new and beautiful gray trucks were parked. These wheels and tires had dark and deep patterns, which were very different from the dirty and broken Polish trucks.At a table on the side of the road, there were several German military officers, wearing long military overcoats and high-brimmed military caps, deliberately showing a courteous look, and talking with the approaching diplomats in an amiable manner.When people from each country walked up to the truck, the country's ambassador or chargé d'affaires handed over a typed list to a bespectacled German soldier sitting behind a desk.Let him call the name, and then get on the car one by one. There are wooden seats in the car, which is not like a Polish truck.Poles don't have a list.Now there is no scrambling and no confusion.The soldiers stood by with small benches and helped the old people into the car. They also picked up a few children with smiling faces, poked them on purpose, teased them to play, and then handed them to their mothers.Nurses at a mobile field hospital marked with a red cross distribute recovery medicine.Two German soldiers ran around with movie cameras and cameras, taking pictures of the preferential treatment of neutral personnel one by one.Before the people were fully installed, the cannons next to the church were fired with a bang, shaking the earth.Byron looked at his watch and it was exactly a minute past three. "Poor Warsaw," Natalie said. "Don't talk," said Mark Hartley in a hoarse voice. "Don't say anything until we get out of here." They sat with Byron on the back bench of the truck, from which they could look out. Natalie said: "Are you looking at Slote? He takes a cigarette from the Germans, shouts, and laughs! It's unbelievable. These German officers are wearing long coats , wearing a military cap, exactly like in their movies." "Are you afraid?" Byron asked. "Now that things have really happened, I'm not afraid anymore. For some reason, I feel like a dream." "It was a dream," Hartley said. "Should have been just a dream. My God. The officer and Slote coming this way." Hartley had his hands on Byron's knee. The officer was a fair-haired young man with a friendly smile on his face. He walked towards Byron and said slowly and accurately in a very melodious voice: "Your superior told me that your father is an American naval attache stationed in Berlin. .” "Yes, sir, he is the Naval Attaché in Berlin." "I'm from Berlin. My father is in the Foreign Office." The officer touched the telescope hanging around his neck with his hand.His demeanor was not very military, and he even looked a little embarrassed.Byron thought he might feel a little sorry, and Byron had a soft spot for the Germans in that regard. "I think I must have had the honor of meeting your parents and dancing with your mother at the Belgian Embassy in August. What are you doing in Warsaw?" "Come for sightseeing." "Then you must have seen some unusual sights?" "That's right." The officer laughed and held out his hand to Byron. "Euster Beye," he said, standing at attention. "Byron Henry." "Ah, yes, Henry. I remember the name. How are you, are you all right? Shall I find you a seat in the staff car?" "I'm fine. Where are we going?" "Klovno. This is the nearest hub station that is open to traffic. From there, you can transfer to a special bus to Koenigsberg. It's just over three hours away. You can feast your eyes even more by car. " "I came with these people. I want to stay with them. Thank you." Byron was still very earnest when he spoke. Since he began to hate the Germans, he can still chat so politely with a German officer. , he himself felt particularly strange. Sloter said to Natalie, "There's room for you in the Chevrolet. Sitting on a hard board is a pain." She shook her head, looking sullenly at the German. "My regards to your mother," said the officer, casting a casual glance at the girl, and then Then he said to Byron: "She is really charming."' "I will definitely convey it." Several nearby cannons fired again, covering up what the officer said.He frowned and smiled. "How is Warsaw now? Unfortunately, isn't it?" "They seem to be holding up pretty well." Beyer said half to Natalie and half to Byron: "It's outrageous! The Polish government is completely irresponsible and fled to Romania, leaving the whole country without a brain. Warsaw should have been declared two weeks ago. Undefended city. It's not worthwhile to destroy it like this. It will cost a lot to rebuild. The mayor is brave, and he is respected here, but," he shrugged. "What else is there to do but destroy it? It will be over in a day or two." "Maybe it will take longer," Byron said. "Do you think so?" Beyer's pleasant smile disappeared.He bowed slightly, fiddling with his glasses, and left.Slote shook his head at Byron, and followed the officer. "Why did you insist on messing with him?" Hartley whispered. "Ah, God. To blame the Polish government for the siege!" "That's what he thinks," said Natalie strangely. "He spoke the truth." Someone shouted a few words in German, followed by the sound of engines and horns, the soldiers waved goodbye, and the convoy finally left the Kantorowicz Church.It was a small village with half a dozen wooden houses around the church, intact but also abandoned.The evacuees had not seen a single Pole, living or dead, since leaving the school.The truck bumped over a narrow dirt road filled with burned barns, bombed houses, a torn down windmill, a destroyed church and a school building with no windows or roof, damaged ground, bomb craters and burned trees into coke.However, these scenes are not at all like the descriptions of the battlefields of the last World War in movies or books. It is a barren wasteland full of barbed wire and winding black trenches.The fields and woods are still green now.The crops are still in the field.Unfortunately the residents are no longer here.It was almost like a group of invaders from Mars described in Wells' novel, passing here in their three-legged metal tour vehicles, melting or eating people all, leaving only a few when they left. Mark of.They came across the first pair of Poles a long way from the German defense lines. It was an old farmer and his wife working in the fields under the setting sun;The farther they were from Warsaw, the more farmers they encountered. Some of these farmers were working in the fields, some were repairing destroyed houses, some of them ignored the trucks at all, and some looked at them expressionlessly. Cars pass.Almost all of these people are old people or children.In such a remote rural area, Byron did not see a single young man, only occasionally two or three wearing turbans and skirts, judging from their slender figures and flexible movements, they might be young girls.What surprised Byron even more was that he hadn't seen a single horse.Horses and carriages were originally a symbol of Polish rural life.从克拉科夫到华沙，沿途有上千匹马，堵塞了道路，有的在地里干活，有的运兵，有的往城市拉笨重的东西。但是一到德国防线的后方，这种动物仿佛就绝种了。 ①威尔斯（1866—1946），英国小说家，这里引用的故事见他的科学幻想小说《星际战争》。 道路太颠簸，不宜谈话；撤退人员也都很疲倦；他们越来越意识到自己已落在德国人手中，也许感到恐惧。因此在头一两个小时，简直难得有人说一句话。他们来到一条狭窄的、相当原始的柏油路上，但是和偏僻农村的马车道比较，就变成一条平滑的公路了。车队在一片绿草如茵的花园旁边停下来，小丘上耸立着一座用砖墙围住的女修道院，传话过来让妇女乘客下车“透透风”。妇女们兴高采烈地下了车，男人就都跑到树底下，有的在路边小便，等车队继续上路的时候，大家的情绪就轻松得多了。 话闸子打开了。娜塔丽开始讲她从女厕所听来的各种传闻。她说，全部中立国人员可以自由选择，飞往斯德哥尔摩，或者乘德国火车到柏林，转比利时、荷兰或瑞士。 “你知道，”她眼睛里闪着柔和的光芒说。“我真有点想去亲眼看看柏林呢。” “你疯了？”哈特雷说。“你当真疯了吗？你准是在骗人吧。你就去斯德哥尔摩吧，小姐，你应该祷告上帝保佑他们能放你去斯德哥尔摩。这个姑娘有毛病了，”哈特雷对拜伦说。拜伦说：“班瑞尔给埃伦•杰斯特罗的口信也适用于你。lekh lekha。” “lekh lekha，”她笑了。拜伦对她讲过这件事。“快走，嗯？也许可以。” “看在上帝面上，”哈特雷喃喃地说。“别说希伯来语了。” 汽车在旷野和树林里耗了整整四、五个小时。一切战争的痕迹都从这一片如画的景色中消失了。房屋、教堂、一座座城镇都完整无损。居民看起来跟他们和平时期的村居生活一样。有极少数年轻人，没有马。牛和家禽也很少。城镇的中心广场上飘扬着红色的a字旗，有的挂在旗杆上，有的挂在市政厅的楼顶上，德国士兵站岗放哨，也有的徒步或驾摩托车进行巡逻。但是被征服的土地上一派和平景象。没有家畜和年轻人使城镇变得死气沉沉，农民也许更愁眉不展，郁郁不乐，但是，除了由德国人统治之外，生活和过去完全一样。 太阳沉到远远的地平线下，天边一抹短暂的、淡淡的红霞。卡车驶入黑夜。乘客们静下来。娜塔丽•杰斯特罗把头枕在拜伦肩上，握住他的一只手。他们两人都在打盹。 用德语发布的命令把他们惊醒了。灯光耀眼。他们来到一个大车站前边的广场上，人们正从排成一长列的卡车上下来。卡车下半截门还关着，两个戴钢盔的德国兵走过来哐啷一声把门打开了。“bit－teraus！alle im wartesaa！！”①他们的态度显得很轻松，没有敌意的表示，说完就站在旁边扶妇女和老人下车。这是一个含着凉意的月夜，拜伦看到的不是一片浓烟和火光，而是黑夜，头顶上又是点点的星辰，他因此感到高兴。 ①德语：“请下车！都到候车室去！” 撤退人员都乱哄哄地集中在候车室里，灯光依旧耀眼。大候车室一端的两扇门打开了，士兵们用德语喊着，走在拜伦和娜塔丽身边，把人群带进门去。拜伦替他们提着箱子，哈特雷象孩子一样挽住拜伦的胳膊。他们来到一间餐厅，里面摆满了厚木板搭起来的长桌子，桌上摆着食物。 这是拜伦有生以来见到的一次最丰盛的晚宴，经过长途跋涉，以及在被围困的华沙三个星期，伙食很坏，使他饥肠辘辘，因此至少在这使他惊愕的最初时刻，他认为这次晚宴很丰盛。桌上摆满了一大盘、一大盘的熏香肠和酸白菜，整块整块通红的火腿，一堆堆煮熟的马铃薯和油炸子鸡，一摞摞新鲜面包，大壶大壶的啤酒，许多整块整块的黄色和桔红色干酪。但看起来这是一场恶作剧，是纳粹玩弄的一个残酷的诡计，一次巴梅西丝的宴席①。因为士兵们把这些中立国人员从桌子旁边带到墙跟前。他们一共有好几百人，都站在墙根，眼睁睁地瞪着远远的地方摆着的食物，几个德国士兵机警地端着枪口朝下的汤姆逊冲锋枪，站在他们和餐桌当中的地方。 ①典出自。巴格达王子巴梅西丝捉弄一个名叫斯恰克巴斯的穷人，请他吃饭，给他上一连串空盘子，问他好吃不好吃。他假装吃饱喝醉，把巴梅西丝打了一顿，巴梅西丝最后原谅了他。 扩音器里传来很清晰的德语：“欢迎！德国人民款待你们。我们在和平友好的气氛中欢迎中立国家的公民。德国人民与一切国家谋求和平。和波兰的关系目前正常化了。背信弃义的史密格莱—里兹政权已经受到了应有的惩处，不复存在了。一个崭新的进行过清洗的、守法的波兰将从废墟上诞生，人人将在那里辛勤工作，那些不负责任的政客不可能再煽动来自国外的灾难性的冒险行动。元首如今有可能和平解决与大不列颠以及法国之间存在的重大问题，从而在欧洲建立空前一致的新秩序。现在我们请大家入座就餐。祝大家食欲旺盛！” 十二名金发女郎，身穿白色女招待制服，手里拿着咖啡罐和一摞摞盘子，象演员出场似的进了大厅。士兵们含笑离开桌前，用冲锋枪比划着请他们就座。片刻的难堪和恐惧。有人第一个从中立人员的行列里迟疑不决地走出来，另一个人也跟着走出来，走过他们和桌子之间的那块空地方。有些人跟上去，有的坐到矮凳上开始拿食物，接着一片嘈杂，人们蜂拥而上。 拜伦、娜塔丽和哈特雷也跟其他人一样冲上去抢座位，然后开始饱餐他们生平最丰盛、甜蜜、可口的一顿晚餐。他们觉得特别满意的是咖啡，尽管是代用品，但是很烫，而且一批愉快、丰满的女郎完全满足他们的要求，一再主动为他们倒咖啡。当他们一边狼吞虎咽的时候，扩音器里送出吹奏乐，有斯特劳斯的华尔兹舞曲，有进行曲以及轻快的饮酒歌。很多撤退人员唱起歌来，甚至连德国士兵也加入合唱。 你呀，你在我的心坎里， 你呀，你在我的灵魂中…… 几杯啤酒下肚之后，拜伦感到心情为之一畅，这顿丰盛的晚餐、悠扬的音乐和周围兴高采烈的欢快气氛使他销魂，他竟挥着啤酒壶唱起来： 你呀，你给我带来多少不幸， 你竟不知道，我对你一往深情。 是呀，是呀， 是呀，是呀！ 你竟不知道，我对你一往深情。 马克•哈特雷也跟着唱起来，虽然他那双眼睛始终在德国士兵身上打转。娜塔丽默默地用讽刺、但是慈祥的目光望着他们两人。 饱餐了这顿令人难以置信的、梦境一般的晚餐之后，他们神魂颠倒地回到候车室，看见棕色的瓷砖墙上贴着字迹潦草的字牌：比利时、保加利亚、加拿大、荷兰。他们站到贴着美利坚合众国字样的字牌下边。撤退人员象出去野餐回来一样，兴高采烈，有说有笑，各自找自己的地方去了。一批穿黑制服的人来到候车室。美国人不再交谈，欢快的声音从整个车站消失了。 斯鲁特阴沉地说：“大家注意。他们是党卫军。有话我来跟他们说。” 穿黑制服的人散开去，每个中立国人员小组去一个党卫军。来到美国人小组的一位，相貌并不凶狠。他要不是穿着一身黑制服，佩着两条闪光的银杠，看上去完全象个美国人，很象在火车或飞机上碰到的坐在你身边的一个保险公司的年轻推销员。他拿着一只黑色的公事皮包。斯鲁特走出来跟他打招呼。“我是莱斯里•斯鲁特，美国大使馆一等秘书兼临时代办。” 党卫军军官双手拿着皮包，立正鞠了一躬。“您的随员中有一位叫拜伦•亨利先生的吗？”他英语说得很流利。 “这位是拜伦•亨利，”他说。拜伦上前一步。 “您的父亲是美国海军驻柏林的代表吗？”拜伦点点头。 “这是通过外交部转给您的一封信。”拜伦把一个黄色的信封放到胸前的衣袋里。“您当然现在就可以看。” “谢谢，我过后再看吧。” 党卫军军官转向斯鲁特。“我是来收美国护照的。”他讲话声调轻快而冷淡，目光也很冷漠，甚至连这位外交官员都不看一眼。“请交给我吧。”斯鲁特脸色刷白。“我有充分理由不交出这些护照。” “您放心，这是正常手续。在火车上代为保管。在你们到达科尼希斯贝格之前再交还给你们。” “那好。”斯鲁特作了个手势，一位助手拿过一只厚厚的红色公事皮包，交给穿黑制服的党卫军。 “谢谢您。请把您的花名册交给我。” 助手拿出夹在一起的三页纸。党卫军军官把名单看了一遍，然后朝四下看了看。“我看你们这伙人里没有黑人。可是，有多少犹太人？” 斯鲁特镇定了一下才回答：“我很抱歉，我们的护照上不记载宗教信仰。” “可是你们确有犹太人。”那人随随便便地说，仿佛是谈到医生或木匠。 “我们这批人里即使有犹太人，我也只能拒绝回答。我们国家的政策是一切宗教团体一律平等对待。” “但是，也没有人提出要不平等对待。请您告诉我，哪些是犹太人？”斯鲁特用舌尖舔了舔嘴唇，镇静地望着他。党卫军军官说：“您提到你们政府的政策。我们将尊重这一政策。但是我国政府的政策是凡涉及犹太人，就一定要坚持分别登记。这里不牵涉任何其他事情。” 拜伦站在大家前边两步远的地方，他很想回头看看娜塔丽和哈特雷是什么表情，但他知道一看他们就要出事。 斯鲁特小心翼翼地、用含着恳求的目光非常不安地扫了大家一眼。但是他讲话的时候却很镇静，完全是一副打官腔的声调。“我很抱歉。我不知道我们当中有犹太人。我个人对此不感兴趣，我没有问过，手头也没有这方面的材料。” “我奉命把犹太人区分开来，”党卫军军官说，“我现在必须进行这项工作。”他转向一批美国人说：“请按照你们的姓氏字母排成两行。”谁也不动，大家都望着斯鲁特。那军官又对斯鲁特说：“你这一批人现在归德国武装部队管辖，必须绝对服从战区的军事法令。我提请您注意这一点。” 斯鲁特朝候车室望了一眼，显得很为难。瑞士、罗马尼亚、匈牙利、荷兰——已经有好几个国家的犹太人被隔离出来，他们愁容满面，提着皮箱，耷拉着脑袋站着。 “瞧，你要是非那样办，你可以假定我们都是犹太人。”他说话的声音开始颤抖。 "What else is there?" 拜伦听见他背后一个女人尖叫起来。“等一等。您这话是什么意思，斯鲁特先生？我当然不是犹太人，也不愿被人看作犹太人，或当犹太人对待。” 斯鲁特转身气冲冲地说：“我的意思是说我们要一视同仁，扬太太，我是这个意思。请你跟我合作……” “谁也不能把我当犹太人看待，”另外一边一个男人的声音说。“我也不准备花钱买这个称号，很抱歉，莱斯里。” 拜伦听出这两个人的声音。他回过头去看见党卫军军官对那个女人说：“是的，太太。请问您是什么人？” “克莱•扬，伊利诺斯州芝加哥人，你当然能肯定我不是犹太人。”这个干瘪瘦小的女人，年纪六十左右，是美国电影发行公司驻华沙办事处的簿记员。她吃吃地笑着，眼睛不停地溜来溜去。 “那您能帮忙指出你们这些人当中哪些是犹太人吗，太太？” “啊，不行，谢谢您，先生。那是您的事，不是我的事。” 拜伦料到她会这样。他更担心的是那个男人，他是退伍军官，名叫托姆•斯坦莱，他曾经向波兰政府出售过重型机器。斯坦莱始终深信所谓希特勒是伟人，以及犹太人咎由自取，等等。 党卫军军官先问过斯坦莱的姓名，然后象跟普通人交谈一样，对他说：“请你告诉我，这批人里谁是犹太人？一定要等我知道以后，你们这批人才能离开。看起来你比你的代办更明事理。” 斯坦莱活象一只老火鸡，垂着双颊，耷拉着喉核，长着一撮灰头发。他脸红了，清了好几次喉咙，把手插到他那件棕色和绿色相间的花哨的运动衫衣袋里。美国人都看着他。 “好吧，朋友，我会告诉你，我愿意跟您合作，可是，据我知道我们这批人里没有犹太人。” 党卫军军官耸了耸肩，朝每个美国人看了看，然后盯住马克•哈特雷。他伸出两个手指弹了弹。“你，不错，你，打着蓝领带的，到这里来。”他又弹了弹手指。 “站着别动，”斯鲁特对哈特雷说。然后又对军官说：“我要知道你的姓名和军阶。我对这种手续提出抗议，而且我警告你，如果这一事件仍然继续，其后果将导致我国政府提出书面抗议。” 党卫军军官指着候车室，振振有辞地说：“其他国家政府的官员都跟我们合作。这是你亲眼看到的。没有什么可抗议的。这不过是遵夺本地方的规定。喂，你叫什么名字？” “马克•哈特雷。”他说话声音相当沉着，比斯鲁特还要镇定。 “马克•哈特雷，好。”党卫军军官冷冷一笑，笑得很特别，并且狠狠地瞪着眼睛，他这一笑简直象那个波兰士兵，在去华沙路上拚命扯出租汽车司机胡子时的笑一样。“哈特雷，”他又重复说。“你生下来姓什么？” “就姓这个姓。” “是吗！你父母是什么地方人？” “都是美国人。” “是犹太人？”拜伦说：“我认识他，先生，在华沙我们总是一起去教堂。他跟我一样，都是美以美会教徒。” 身材高大、银灰色头发的牧师站在克莱•扬旁边，用手指摸着牧师服的衬领。“我可以证明这一点。哈特雷先生来教堂的时候，是我主持礼拜。马克是一位虔诚的基督徒。” 党卫军军官不以为然，他疑惑地对斯鲁特说：“这一个肯定是犹太人。我想只要检查一下身体就能……” 斯鲁特打断他的话：“这是侵犯人身，我要向上报告。在美国一生下来就割包皮是很平常的事。” “我就割了包皮，”拜伦说。 “我也割了，”老牧师说。 候车室里其他国家分离犹太人的工作都已经结束了。人们都看着这批美国人，交头接耳，并朝他们指手划脚。党卫军军官都聚集在门口，只有一个军官身体很结实，但是已经秃顶，黑制服衣领上有金饰，他这时走到这批美国人跟前，把党卫军军官拉到一边，望着哈特雷，嘟哝了几句。军官一句话没说，推开周围的人，走到哈特雷跟前，拿起他的手提箱，打开皮带。 斯鲁特厉声说：“等一等，先生。这里不是海关，没有理由搜查属于私人的东西……”可是党卫军军官已经跪下一只腿，把箱子打开，在里边乱翻，把箱子里的东西弄了一地。然后，他拿起一本《新约全书》，在手里翻弄着，露出半是惊异、半是轻蔑的表情，把书递给他的上司。秃头查看了一下，把书还给他，双手在空中一挥。“好吧，”他用德语说。“一百个美国人当中有可能一个也没有。为什么不可能呢？今年夏天会有犹太人来华沙，那除非是白痴。走吧。火车已经误点了。”他说完就走开了。 党卫军军官把印有烫金十字架的那本黑封皮的书扔到打开的手提箱里，他用脚踩在这堆东西上，象踩着垃圾似的，很粗暴地朝哈特雷打了个手势，要他把自己的东西收拾起来。党卫军军官又挨个察看每个人的脸，他走到娜塔丽•杰斯特罗面前，打趣地盯着她，仔细看了好半天。 “呃，你看什么？”她说，拜伦的心往下一沉。 “你长得挺漂亮。” "thanks." “也挺黑。你的祖先是哪里人？” “我是意大利人。” "What's your name?" “蒙娜•丽莎①。” ①意大利古典画家达•芬奇所画的一幅妇女肖像的名字。 “我明白了。你站出来。”娜塔丽一动不动。那军官哼了一声，开始翻阅花名册。斯鲁特马上说：“她是我的未婚妻。我们下个月结婚。” 秃头军官在门口大声喊叫，朝这个党卫军军官挥手，这个军官只好无礼地把名册往斯鲁特手里一塞。“很好。你很爱你们的犹太人。你为什么不把我们的犹太人也都收容下来？我们这里多的是。”他又对拜伦说：“你是一个海军军官的儿子，可是你居然替一个犹太人撒谎！那个人肯定是犹太人。” “老实说，他不是，”拜伦说。“我觉得，马克是戈培尔博士那种脸型。你知道，又短，又黑，一个大鼻子。” “象戈培尔博士？好吧。”党卫军军官朝哈特雷和娜塔丽瞪了一眼，哈哈大笑，然后走开了。 扩音器里用德语广播：“全体犹太人到餐厅集合。其他人到七号月台上车。” 撤退人员朝漆黑的月台拥去。剩下为数不多的犹太人回到餐厅，一群穿黑制服的党卫军把他们围起来。德国兵在火车旁边把人群拦住，让外交人员先上车。 斯鲁特喃喃地对拜伦说：“我去找一间包房。你在窗口找我。带着娜塔丽、马克，尽可能带上格林维勒牧师和他的妻子。” 不一会，拜伦就隔着滚滚的蒸汽，看见斯鲁特在灯光暗淡的车厢里向他招手。拜伦领着另外四个人一口气冲到车上，找到包房。 “谢谢，”等大家都坐定，斯鲁特轻轻关上门，哈特雷小声说。“万分感谢。感谢大家。愿上帝保佑你们。” “莱斯里•斯鲁特是大丈夫，”牧师说。“你表现得很高尚，莱斯里。” “很高尚，”娜塔丽说。 斯鲁特畏畏缩缩地朝她看了一眼，笑了笑，仿佛不相信她讲这话是认真的。”那是因为我完全站得住脚。你知道，他们在坎托洛维茨教堂就想从我这里弄到这个材料，但是没有成功。他们从别人那里都弄到了。因此那边的分离工作才进行得那样快。可是，你怎么忽然想出开蒙娜•丽莎这样一个玩笑？” “这可是非常冒险，”牧师说。 “简直是白痴，”哈特雷说。尽管走廊上说话的声音很响，他们讲话的声音仍旧很低。静止不动的火车不断发出嘘嘘的声音，并且叮当作响，车厢外面的广播喇叭正在用德语大喊大叫。 “那拜伦开的戈培尔的那个玩笑呢？”娜塔丽轻蔑地撇嘴一笑说。“我想一定是很高明的了。” “你们俩看来都不明白，”哈特雷说，“这帮人都是刽子手。刽子手。你们俩都还跟孩子一样。” 格林维勒牧师说：“哈特雷先生，我不相信这种说法。我了解德国人民。现在残酷、不公平的制度强加在他们头上，有朝一日他们会把它推翻。本质上他们是好的。” “去斯德哥尔摩吧，”娜塔丽说。“我懂得一件事情了。我对柏林不再有任何好奇心了。” “你首先得把你的护照要回来，”哈特雷说。他那愉快的面孔上刻下了一道道饱经忧患的皱纹。这个无家可归的犹太人穿着一身美国运动衫，显得特别苍老，老得不象样子。 火车哐啷一声开动了。拜伦于是掏出那只黄信封。一页德国武装部队的公函纸上，用英文写着电文：知平安甚慰速来柏林父。