"I don't have any Jewish boy."
"In the village they say you do," the soldier said.
Srulik waited for them to enter the barn. Then he slipped from the storeroom, scaled the picket fence, and ran along the path leading past the potato field to the forest.
Just then, the second soldier stepped out of the barn with a cow on a rope. The cow gave the rope a yank and broke loose. The German cursed and ran after it. As he did, he spied Srulik. At first, he began to chase him. But seeing that the boy had too much of a head start, he ran back toward the truck, shouting to the first soldier to start driving toward him. The two of them set out in hot pursuit. But Srulik was nowhere in sight.
He wasn't in the forest yet. Hearing the truck, he knew he had no time to reach it. He left the path, threw himself down in the potato field, and crawled among the plants.
The truck sped down the path and passed his hiding place. It reached some fallow ground between the field and the forest and stopped. A German jumped down, strode into the field, and began to search. He walked slowly, checking each row of potatoes. The driver switched off the engine and climbed onto the back of the truck to get a better view.
Srulik kept crawling toward the forest. He could see the branches of the trees without having to raise his head. He would get as close as he could and make a dash for them. He tried to move carefully, without touching the plants, thankful for every breeze that stirred them all at once. Something was blocking his way. He raised his head a bit and saw a man staring at him. The man was lying on the ground too. His hair was matted and wild and his lined, ashen face was covered with a growth of beard. Srulik realized he was a Jew like himself. He kept crawling until he was close enough to whisper:
"Get out of here! The Germans are after me."
The man didn't answer. His eyes widened in astonishment. He held out his arms and whispered back:
"Srulik..."
"Papa?"
Only now did he realize it was his father.
"I thought you and Mama had been killed," his father whispered.
"No."
"Where is she?"
"I don't know."
They could hear the two Germans shouting to each other. One voice was far away. The other was closer.
"Srulik, there's no time. I want you to remember what I'm going to tell you. You have to stay alive. You have to! Get someone to teach you how to act like a Christian, how to cross yourself and how to pray. Find a farmer you can stay with until the war ends. Always go to the poor people. They're more willing to help. And never swim in the river with other boys."
"I know that."
The German on the truck shouted to the German in the field. The German in the field was getting closer.
"We have no time," his father said. "If they come after you with dogs, find water or a swamp to cross. That throws them off the trail. And the most important thing, Srulik," he said, talking fast, "is to forget your name. Wipe it from your memory."
"I already have a Polish name," Srulik whispered. "It's Jurek."
"Good. From now on your name is Jurek Staniak. You remember Pani Staniak from the grocery in Blonie?"
"Yes, Papa."
"What's your name?"
"Jurek Staniak."
"But even if you forget everything—even if you forget me and Mama—never forget that you're a Jew."
"I won't, Papa."
His father stopped to think if he had left anything out. He said, "Always run to the forest. The Germans stay out of it because they're afraid of the partisans."
He listened to the footsteps of the approaching soldier. Then he pulled Srulik toward him, grasped his head with both hands, and kissed him while groaning like a wounded animal.
"Srulik, I'm going to run. The Germans will chase me. Count to ten slowly. Slowly, don't forget! Then run to the forest."
"All right, Papa."
His father jumped up and started to run. How much he had changed! The powerful man who could once lift a heavy sack of flour was now a shadow of himself. The two Germans let out a shout. Srulik forced himself to count, even though he wanted to run too. He counted slowly, as in a game of hide-and-seek. He reached ten, coiled himself, and sprang to his feet. From the corner of his eye he saw the two Germans chasing his father in the direction of the village. As fast as he could he ran the other way, toward the forest. Two shots rang out. Then another. He didn't turn to look. He ran until he was in the forest.
That night he couldn't fall asleep. Stretched out on the broad branch of a tree with his eyes shut, he kept seeing the potato field and his father. Now he saw every detail of his father's face. It had changed back again into the old face that he knew. He could concentrate on his father's words without having to hear the shouts of the Germans. You have to stay alive, Srulik. Get someone to teach you how to act like a Christian. Learn how to cross yourself. Always go to the poor people. Yes, Papa. Water throws the dogs off your trail. Forget your old name. You're Jurek Staniak. But even if you forget me and Mama, never forget that you're a Jew. One two three four five six seven eight nine ten.