"But I'm hungry," Jurek said.
"I'll give you something to eat."
The farmer pulled a quarter of a loaf of bread and some pears from beneath the driver's seat. He rummaged through his pockets and gave Jurek some sugar cubes. Then he thought for a moment, reached into another pocket, and produced a piece of sausage.
"You deserve it," he said.
Evening arrived and no one came. Jurek sat in a field near the bridge. He tried to stay awake. What would happen when the Russians came? What language would they speak? Russian, he supposed.
That night there were more thunderclaps and light flashes, stronger and closer than before.
In the morning he awoke with a start. Something was making a lot of noise. In the dawn light he saw a row of tanks standing by some army trucks by the bridge, their motors running. Soldiers were standing nearby. He had to warn them about the bridge! He jumped to his feet and ran toward it as fast as he could. A soldier with sergeant's stripes grabbed him and swung him in the air. The soldier smiled and said in Russian, "We're Russian soldiers. Don't be afraid, boy."
Jurek understood him. Russian was like Polish. He tried explaining about the bridge, talking excitedly. The Russian sergeant put him down and said something, but this time he didn't know what it meant. The sergeant was young and broad-shouldered and had a smile that inspired trust. When Jurek kept talking urgently, he took him to a vehicle painted with a red cross.
"He speaks Polish," he said, pointing to a soldier in the vehicle with the same red cross on his sleeve and cap.
"What is it?" the medic asked Jurek.
"The Germans mined the bridge."
"How do you know?"
"I saw them. Yesterday. I was bathing in the river. A farmer told me to stay and warn people while he went to get men from the village. But he never came back."
"We were warned," the medic said. "The villagers told us. That's why we've stopped on this side of the river. We're waiting for the mines to be cleared."
"I fell asleep," Jurek said.
"They told us a boy saw the Germans mine the bridge. Was that you?"
"Yes," Jurek said.
The medic translated the conversation for the sergeant. The sergeant spoke to Jurek warmly. Although Jurek failed to understand the words, he could feel the intention behind them.
"You've saved many lives, son," the medic said. "We'll take you home and give your parents a reward. Where do you live?"
Jurek drew a circle with his one arm. "Everywhere."
"Don't you have a family?"
"No."
"What are you doing around here?"
"I was looking for work."
"What happened to your arm?"
"Are you a doctor?" Jurek asked.
"No," the man said. "I'm a medic."
"It was caught in a machine."
The two men exchanged a few sentences. The medic turned to Jurek. "The sergeant here is asking if you'd like to stick with him," he said. "I'd adopt you myself, because I speak Polish, but I'm leaving for Moscow soon. I won't rejoin the unit until next winter."
Jurek looked at the broad-shouldered sergeant. The sergeant pointed to himself and said, "Sasha."
Jurek did the same thing and said, "Jurek."
Sasha stuck out his hand and they shook.
"Tell him I'll stick with him," Jurek told the medic.
"That's a wise decision," the medic said. "Sasha is a good fellow."
The medic took out some bread and a round box full of silver triangles. He cut a slice of bread, peeled silver foil from a triangle, smeared something yellow on the bread, and handed it to Jurek.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked.
"No."
"Cheese that came all the way from America."
"It did?"
"Yes. So did those trucks and the cans of Spam that you'll eat until you're sick of it. It's all from America."
Jurek knew America was far away. He asked how the trucks had come from there.
"By ship, son," the medic said. "Across the North Sea."
Sasha returned with a uniform. He borrowed scissors from the medic and shortened the sleeves and pants. Then he pointed to the river to tell Jurek to bathe before putting it on.
Word of the one-armed boy and the mined bridge went around among the soldiers. They all were friendly. Jurek spent the day hanging around the tanks and admiring them. When it was time for the soldiers to wash and lubricate them, he grabbed a rag and joined the work. That evening they sat around a campfire. A large pot of kasha was hung above the fire to cook. When it was ready, tins of American Spam were opened and added to it. Sasha gave Jurek a spoon and they ate from the same tin cup. He talked and joked in Russian as though Jurek understood. When the soldiers drifted away from the fire, he took Jurek to a truck, lit a flashlight, and shone it inside the truck. It was filled with tools and instruments. It made Jurek think of the blacksmith's shop in Blonie. Sasha pointed to the tools, then to a tank, and thumped his chest. Jurek understood. Sasha was a tank mechanic. He spread a blanket by the truck and invited Jurek to lie down next to him.