Treasure Hunting

On a cold, sunny, winter’s afternoon, a little boy, with long fair hair and bright blue eyes, was wading alone through a field of bodies, searching for hidden treasure.

The smell was terrible.

The fires made the smell, the boy knew as much. It lingered at every corner of the small town from where he had come, and although he was used to it, up close it stung his nose, causing him to quicken the work of his blackened hands. His Abba was a treasure hunter too, but roaming the field at night had turned him into a vampire, and he had to remain hidden during the daylight.

A truck drove along the road ahead, and the boy stood up and waved at it as it passed. His Ima had taught him to smile and wave whenever he saw the men in green, and a few of them waved back in that moment. They had seen him there before, though they never troubled him.

They do not trouble little girls with blue eyes and fair hair, his Ima had told him.

Resuming his quest, the boy walked between the mounds, coming to a stop at a fresh, unburnt pile. His eyes had passed over something that caught the sunlight. Bending down, he peered curiously at a corpse at the very bottom. It looked exactly the same as all the rest; thin mouth tightly stretched, eyes half closed and seeing no more as it slept the deepest of sleep. The boy felt no fear among the sleeping. He was a special boy, his Ima had assured him, one who could take from those laid to rest in the field, with their permission. He peered into the mouth and again saw the glimmer of reflected light.

It was a gold tooth.

Bravely, the boy dipped his little, blackened hand into the open void and tugged at the small piece of metal. It came loose easily, and he pocketed the treasure with a happy smile. Something so pretty would please his Ima very much, he knew. He stood up and wiped his hands on the hem of his woollen dress, but as he turned to leave something else caught his eye. Squatting back down, the boy plunged his hand into the inner front pocket of the corpse’s open jacket. His fingers wrapped around something squared, with soft edges, and he pulled the item loose from its place of hiding.

It was a little black notebook.

It looked old; its leather cover frayed at the edges, its pages stained in places. Opening it, the boy saw familiar markings inked on every page and knew in an instant that the item was one he should not take. Such things were forbidden, his Ima had warned him. Yet, the book reminded him of something he had seen before; in a photograph of his Zayde, before Ima had burned them all.

His Zayde was an important man and always carried with him a little black book. But he must not talk about Zayde anymore, Ima did not allow it. There were many things of which the boy must not talk, the reason for which far exceeding his level of understanding.

He pocketed the book. It would be his treasure, and his alone.

The boy shivered as he walked through the quiet village. Few adults passed by, their footsteps urgent, their eyes avoiding his. He passed shops with broken windows, cottages now empty. He stopped at the old church and looked up at the charred ruins. The pretty star, once visible from his living room window, had long before been taken from the top. Men in green care not for stars, Abba had explained.

The boy turned left and walked along an even quieter street until he reached his home. A truck was parked outside, same as the one that had driven past the field. As he approached, four men in green, smoking and laughing, speaking in words the boy only partly understood, turned to look at him.

“Do you live here, little girl?” one of the men asked the boy.

“Yes, sir,” the boy replied shyly, in words that were not his.

“Well, off you go then.”

The man in green turned back to the others and they continued to laugh about things of which the boy knew naught. He hurried up to the front door.

Ima was sitting at the dining table, nursing an infant held securely in her arms. Opposite her were three men in green, only one of them seated. They all looked around at the boy as he entered.

“Hello, my darling,” Ima said, using the words of the men. “Good day?”

“Yes, Mama,” the boy replied in yet the same words. He peered hesitantly at the men.

“Good,” Ima said, with a soft smile. “Do your Mama a favour, and run a bath for your sister? She’s nearly done eating.”

“Yes, Mama,” the boy replied and turned for the stairs. He moved quickly, eager to disappear. He must not linger when the men in green come to visit, his Ima had instructed.

A moment later, water flowed noisily into the bathtub, masking the boy’s footsteps as he crept back to the head of the stairs. He listened.

“How old is your little girl?” one of the men asked Ima.

“Four months, sir,” she replied.

“And your eldest, should she not be in school today?”

“The children were sent home in the morning. The day was too cold.”

“Right, of course,” said the soldier. “How lucky to be blessed with two daughters of such lovely colouring.”

“Indeed, I’ve been fortunate in many ways. Though, I do wish my husband could’ve seen our little Ania.”

“It says here that he fell, what, six months ago?”

“Yes, that is correct. It’s been hard, but we manage. Would you gentlemen care for some coffee? That’s all I have in at the moment, I’m afraid.”

“That’s quite all right madame, we won’t be long,” the man replied stiffly.

“Your husband, remind me, where was he from?”

“Warsaw, sir, like myself. We met in school, grew up together. Married as soon as we could, and had Ewa soon after. He worked on the railroads up until the war.”

“Right, right. Strange, there seems to be no record of your husband’s line.”

“He was an orphan, sir. His name was one given to him by the nuns. He took mine once we wed.”

“Right, of course. And you go by your mother’s name? This cottage was her family’s, correct?”

“Correct,” Ima answered, but her voice changes, the boy can tell.

“What of your father?”

“I never knew my father, sir. He left for America when I was a girl. Mama never much spoke of him,” Ima replied calmly. The lie was one she had told often.

One must tell lies sometimes, the boy understands.

The man asked many questions; questions about Abba and Zayde, mostly. Ima answered them all. She was good at answering questions. Eventually, the man stood up.

“Thank you for your time, madame, as always. We bid you and your lovely children a pleasant evening.”

The boy ran to the bathroom and turned the water off as the men left, the roar of their truck soon disappearing down the street.

“Emil?” Ima called out to the boy.

“Coming, Ima,” the boy answered and ran down the stairs. His Ima looked tired, but she smiled at him.

“Come, sit. Show your Ima what you have found, my special boy.”

The boy sat and retrieved the tooth from his dress pocket. Ima went to the living room window, peered outside, then drew the curtains closed. She set Ania down on the couch and walked to the kitchen. Kicking the carpet aside, she stomped on the floor with her foot, three times. A moment later, a latch in the floor opened, and Abba arose from the ground.

“What did they want?” he asked Ima.

“Same as last time,” Ima replied. They exchanged a look the boy did not understand, but said nothing more on the subject.

“Look, Abba! Look! I found treasure,” the boy cried out happily as his father came up from his room below.

“Well, will you look at that,” Abba said, and Ima peered over his shoulder at the tooth in the boy’s outstretched hand.

“Goodness,” Ima breathed. She came around the table and placed a small bowl of soup in front of the boy. Taking the tooth, she examined it a moment. “What a rare find,” she said, and looked down at her son. Though her eyes were sad, her smile was warm, and she bent down to kiss him on the forehead.

“What’s that?” Ima asked suddenly, pointing at the small, black book that was poking out of the boy’s dress pocket.

“Nothing, Ima,” said the boy, hastily trying to hide his treasure.

“Let me see that, Emil.”

The boy, reluctantly, handed over the notebook. Ima gasped as she opened it. She looked back at the tooth, then at her son.

“You got this from the field?” she asked hesitantly, and the boy nodded, not daring to lie. “Piotr...” Ima whispered.

Abba walked up to Ima and looked down. He then took the book from Ima, set it down on the table and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, over and over, and stroked her back as she sobbed.

The boy stared down at his soup in his shame. He wished he had not taken the book, which was now laying open at the side of his bowl. Glancing sideways, he read what was written on the page.

Hebrews 10:23 Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.

Hope can be found beneath the Star of David.

Latching onto the only word he understood, the boy hopped off his chair and ran to the window. He was looking toward the church, were the star used to be, when he saw, carved on the window at the very bottom, a replica of that which he sought.

“Abba, there’s a star on the window.”

“The star is gone, Emil, remember? Men in green don’t like stars,” Abba answered, still holding Ima.

“Not outside, Abba, here,” said the boy, placing a finger on the marking.

Abba let go of Ima, walked over and bent down. He gasped as he saw the marking etched into the glass, directly above the windowsill.

“Good god,” Abba breathed, quickly pulling out a small knife from his pocket. He tried to scrape the star off, but it was stuck, and as he leaned on the windowsill, the wood moved, and something heavy fell to his feet with a thud. “What on earth?”

Abba picked up the heavy, brown package from the floor. He opened it with trembling hands, then quickly handed the package to Ima.

There were letters inside. Letters, with stamps of red stripes and white stars in blue. Ima emptied the package on the table, and they all watched as a thick pile of strange, green paper came sliding out. Ima picked up a letter and opened it. She read, while Abba counted the papers.

“My god,” Abba said after a moment. “Maria, there’s twenty-thousand dollars here.”

Ima did not answer. She stared hard at the letter, no longer crying.

“Maria?” Abba said. “Maria, what is it?”

Ima looked up from the letter to Abba. She passed the piece of paper to him, and gathered both of her children into her arms. The boy watched as his Abba read the letter, then broke into tears. It was the first time he had ever seen his Abba cry. He felt frightened.

“What is it, Ima?” The boy asked tearfully.

“My special, special boy,” she said, over and over as she rocked him tightly.

“Ima?”

She pulled back, kissed him on the forehead and said with a smile, “I think it’s time we cut your hair.”