"I'll brain anyone that comes near!" Jurek shouted from above, brandishing a stone.
Moshe Frankel believed him and kept his distance. He tried convincing Jurek to come down, to no avail. There was a brief consultation. The policeman slipped his rifle from his shoulder, cocked it, and fired a shot. Jurek was frightened and climbed down from the tree. Moshe Frankel seized him tightly.
"Pan Kowalski," Jurek called as he was being dragged off to the truck, "don't worry! I'll be back!"
He had hoped to be put in the back of the truck. But by now Moshe Frankel knew whom he was dealing with. He took out some rope, tied Jurek, put him in the cabin, and went to sit in the back himself.
The truck took them to Praga, the neighborhood of Warsaw on the Wisla's right bank, to a Jewish children's home on Jagielonska Street. Moshe Frankel waited for Jurek to climb down, untied him, and led him into an office. He locked the door and began to interrogate the boy.
"What's your name?"
"Jurek Staniak."
"That's impossible. You're a Jew."
"No, I'm not."
"Well, whoever you are, you smell bad and your clothes must be full of lice. You'll take a shower and then we'll talk."
Frankel summoned a teenager, who took Jurek to a room with shiny white walls and a white tile floor as smooth as a church's. Along one wall was a row of sinks and faucets, with a mirror above each. Along the other wall was a series of glass partitions. Between every two partitions were pipes ending in what looked like the nozzle of a garden hose.
"What are those?" Jurek asked.
"You've never seen a shower?"
"No."
The boy sat him down, took out a hair clipper, and shaved Jurek's head. When he was done, he collected the hair and threw it in a bucket.
"That's to keep the lice from going for a walk," he said. "Now undress and throw your rags in here too."
He undressed. The boy opened two faucets between two partitions, tested the water, and told Jurek to stand under it. Jurek stuck out a hand and saw that it was hot. He would have stood there all day long had he been allowed to. But the boy shut off the faucets and told him to soap himself.
"Don't spare the soap," he said. "On your head, behind your ears, in all the hard-to-reach places. Between your toes, too. I have time."
It wasn't the usual big chunk of laundry soap but a round, slippery little bar that smelled of flowers. Each time it popped out of Jurek's hands, the boy bent down and picked it up. He turned the shower back on for Jurek to rinse himself, shut off the water, dried him with a large bath towel, took some fresh clothes from the closet, and offered to help him put them on.
"I can dress myself," Jurek said.
There were underpants, socks, pants, a shirt, a jacket, and brown shoes, all brand new.
"Try on the shoes. See if they fit."
They didn't. The boy brought him another pair. He watched, impressed, as Jurek laced the shoes with one hand. When Jurek was dressed, he brought him back to Moshe Frankel.
"He's Jewish, all right," he said and departed.
Moshe Frankel stepped up to Jurek. With a sudden movement he tore the cross and the medallion of the Madonna from his neck and threw them in the stove. Jurek gasped. He knew Frankel was stronger than he was.
"Some day I'll kill you," he said with helpless anger.
"I'm charmed," Moshe Frankel said. "You're not the first boy to tell me that."
He brought Jurek to a room with three beds. There was a locker next to each. Three chairs stood around a table. In the corner was a closet.
"This is where you'll live with two other boys," he said. He left and locked the door.
Bowls of candy and fruit lay on the table. Jurek ate an apple, slipped some candy into his pocket, and went to the window. The room was on the first floor and looked down at the yard below. Around the corner of the building, some children were playing soccer. Now and then one of them appeared chasing a real leather ball. Jurek tried opening the door. It stayed locked. He banged on it. No one came. He returned to the window, opened it wide, and leaned out. The drainpipe was almost within reach. He stood on the windowsill, grabbed hold of the pipe, and slid down it with it between his legs. Then he went around the corner and asked to join the game.
"Are you the new boy?"
"Yes."
"You don't have an arm?"
"No."
"Show us."
"I don't feel like it. I have two legs."
After a brief debate over which team to put him on, Jurek joined the game. He let a few minutes go by and kicked the ball so hard that it flew over the fence.
The other boys were mad at him. "What kind of way is that to play? Now go get it."
That had been his intention all along. It was why he was playing in his new jacket.