Kane and Abel Read online

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the two men replied in unison.

  ‘My firstborn son, Leon, is dead’ - the Baron paused - ‘and so I leave my entire estate and possessions to the boy known as Wladek Koskiewicz.’

  Wladek had not heard his surname for many years, and did not immediately comprehend the significance of the Baron’s words.

  ‘As proof of my resolve,’ the Baron continued, ‘I give him the family band.’

  The old man slowly raised his right arm, removed the silver band from his wrist and held it out to a speechless Wladek. He clasped the boy firmly to him. ‘My son and heir,’ he declared as he placed the silver band over his wrist.

  Wladek lay in the arms of the Baron all night until he could no longer hear his heart beating and his arms grew cold and stiffened around him. In the morning the Baron’s body was removed by the guards, who allowed Wladek to leave the dungeon and bury him by the side of his son, Leon, in the family churchyard. As the body was lowered into its shallow grave, dug by Wladek’s bare hands, the Baron’s tattered silk shirt fell open. Wladek stared at the dead man’s chest. He had only one nipple.

  On a mild, dry day, late in the autumn of 1918, the prisoners heard several volleys of shots and the sound of a brief struggle. Wladek was sure that the Polish army had come to rescue them, and that he would be able to lay claim to his inheritance. When the German guards deserted their post at the entrance of the dungeons, the rest of the inmates remained huddled in terrified silence in the lower rooms. Wladek stood alone in the doorway, twisting the silver band around his wrist, waiting for their liberators to release him so he could claim what was rightfully his.

  Eventually the men who had defeated the enemy appeared, and spoke to Wladek in the coarse Slavic tongue which he had learned from his school days to detest even more than German. The new conquerors seemed to be unaware that this twelve-year-old boy was the master of the land they were trespassing on. They did not speak his tongue. Their orders were clear and not to be questioned: kill anyone who does not accept the Brest-Litovsk agreement, which seceded this region of Poland to the Russians, and send the rest to Camp 201 in Siberia. The Germans had retreated, with only token resistance, behind their new border, while Wladek and his followers waited, ignorant of their impending fate.

  After two more nights, Wladek resigned himself to believing that they would be left in the dungeons for the rest of their lives. The new guards did not speak to him, and he began to think that German purgatory had simply been replaced by Russian hell.

  On the third day, Russian soldiers stormed the dungeons and dragged fourteen emaciated, filthy bodies out onto the grass in front of the castle. Two of the servants collapsed in the bright light of the midday sun. Wladek had to shield his eyes as they stood in silence and waited for the soldiers’ next move. Would it be a bullet, or freedom?

  The guards made them strip, and ordered them down to the river to wash. Wladek hid the silver band in his clothes before walking down to the water’s edge, his legs feeling weak long before he reached the river. He jumped in, gasping for breath at the sudden coldness of the water, although it felt glorious on his caked, leathery skin. The rest of the prisoners joined him, trying to remove three years of dirt and squalor.

  While Wladek was washing, he noticed that the soldiers were laughing and pointing at Florentyna. None of the other women seemed to arouse the same degree of interest. One of the Russians, a large, misshapen oaf, grabbed Florentyna by the arm as she passed him on her way back up the riverbank. He threw her to the ground and quickly pulled down his trousers. Wladek stared in disbelief at the man’s swollen, erect penis. He jumped out of the water and ran towards the soldier, who now had Florentyna pinned to the ground. Wladek charged into the soldier’s stomach with his head and pummelled him with his fists. The startled man let go of Florentyna, but a second soldier grabbed Wladek, threw him to the ground and jabbed a knee firmly in the middle of his back. The commotion attracted the attention of the other soldiers and they strolled across to watch. Wladek’s captor was now laughing, a loud belly laugh with no humour in it.

  ‘Enter the great protector,’ said one.

  ‘Come to defend his nation’s honour,’ said another.

  ‘Let’s at least allow him a ringside view,’ added the one who was holding him on the ground.

  More laughter punctuated the remarks that Wladek couldn’t always understand. He watched the naked soldier advance slowly towards Florentyna, who was speechless with fear. Wladek tried desperately to free himself, but he was helpless. The naked man fell clumsily on top of Florentyna and started mauling her. When he slapped her, she tried to fight and turn away; finally he lunged into her. She let out a scream such as Wladek had never heard before. The other soldiers continued talking and laughing among themselves, some not even watching.

  ‘Goddamn virgin,’ said the soldier as he withdrew his blood-covered penis.

  They all laughed.

  ‘Then you’ve made it a little easier for me,’ said another man.

  More laughter. As Florentyna stared into Wladek’s eyes, he began to retch. The soldier holding onto him showed little interest, other than to be sure that none of the boy’s vomit ended up on his uniform or his shiny boots. The first soldier, his penis still covered in blood, ran down to the river, yelling in triumph as he hit the water. The second man began unbuckling his belt, while another held Florentyna down. The second guard took a little longer over his pleasure, and seemed to gain considerable satisfaction from hitting Florentyna before he finally entered her. She screamed again, but not quite so loud as before.

  ‘Come on, Vladi, you’ve had long enough.’

  The man came out of her and joined his companion at arms in the river. Wladek forced himself to look at Florentyna. She was bruised, and bleeding between the legs. The soldier holding him spoke again.

  ‘Come and take care of the little bastard, Boris. It’s my turn.’

  The first soldier took hold of Wladek. Again he tried to hit out, but it only made the soldiers laugh even more.

  ‘Now we know the full might of the Polish army.’

  The unbearable laughter continued as yet another guard took his turn with Florentyna, who now lay indifferent to his charms.

  ‘I think she’s beginning to enjoy it,’ he said once he’d finished. A fourth soldier advanced on Florentyna. When he reached her, he turned her over and forced her legs as wide apart as possible, his large hands moving rapidly over her frail body. The scream when he entered her turned into a groan. Wladek counted as sixteen soldiers raped his sister. When the last one was done, he swore and shouted, ‘I think I’ve made love to a dead woman.’ This caused them to laugh even louder.

  When Wladek’s guard finally released him, he ran to Floren-tyna’s side while the soldiers lay on the grass drinking wine and vodka plundered from the Baron’s cellar, and devouring bread and meat from the kitchens.

  With the help of two of the servants, Wladek carried Florentyna to the edge of the river, and wept as he tried to wash away the blood and dirt. He covered her with his jacket, held her in his arms and kissed her gently on the mouth, the first woman he had ever kissed. As the tears ran down his face onto her bruised body, he felt her go limp. He wept again as he carried her dead body back up the bank. The soldiers fell silent as they watched him walk towards the chapel. He laid her down on the grass beside the Baron’s grave and once again started digging with his bare hands. The sinking sun cast a long shadow over the grave by the time he had buried her. He made a little cross with two sticks, and placed it at the head of her grave. He then collapsed on the ground and immediately fell asleep, not caring if he ever woke again.

  10

  ANNE KANE had become lonely with William away at St Paul’s, and a family circle consisting only of the two grandmothers, now approaching old age.

  Once she’d passed her thirtieth birthday, Anne began to notice that she no longer made men’s heads turn. She decided to pick up the threads severed by Rich