Run, Boy, Run | Chapter 10 of 21 - Part: 1 of 4

Author: Uri Orlev | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 1518 Views | Add a Review

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8. Jesus Was a Jew, Too

The Wrubels were eating at the kitchen table. Pan Wrubel invited him to join them. Pani Wrubel filled a dish with potatoes and an omelet. Jurek remembered to cross himself before beginning to eat. The meal passed in silence, apart from the sounds of lips smacking and spoons clinking against tin plates. Jurek glanced at the plate of the light-haired boy sitting next to him. It had pieces of meat on it.

When they were through eating, Pan Wrubel turned to him and asked, "What brings you here, son?"

"I'm looking for work."

"What's your name?"

"Jurek Staniak."

"What can you do?"

"Anything."

"Where are you from?"

Jurek shrugged.

"How come you don't know?"

He told them how a plane had strafed their wagon.

"Papa and Mama just lay there. They didn't talk. The horse was dead. At first some people took me to their village. But the man beat me, so I left. Since then I've been on the move. If someone beats me, I go somewhere else."

"You poor orphan," Pani Wrubel said.

"You must have been heading east to get away from the Germans," Pan Wrubel remarked.

Jurek nodded. "I guess so," he said.

"You poor orphan," Pani Wrubel repeated.

"I'll take you on," said Pan Wrubel. "You can sleep in the barn or the sheep shed. We'll give you your meals."

Mateusz Wrubel was a big, fat, bald man. His wife Mania was thin and stooped, with a wrinkled face and the hands of someone who had worked all her life. The light-haired boy seemed to be about twelve. A young man sitting next to him looked like his brother.

At first, Jurek's only work was taking care of the pigs. He didn't mind it at all. They were fed a flour and potato mash that he often ate himself. After a while he was also given the chore of feeding the cows before milking, and the sheep if there was no one else to do it. The horses were reserved for Pan Wrubel and his eldest son. Jurek was afraid of horses. At the same time, however, he admired them and never missed a chance to step into the stable and pet them. Ever since the farmer outside the Warsaw ghetto had abandoned the wagon and sped off with him on his horse, he had felt grateful to horses. The memory of the big, warm body with its short, silky hair galloping beneath him had stayed with him.

One day, noticing how he looked at the horses, Franek, the teenage boy, asked, "Would you like me to teach you to ride?"

"Yes," Jurek said.

"I'll let you know the next time I wash the horses," Franek said. "That's a good time."

***

One day Pan Wrubel came to watch him at work and nodded with satisfaction.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"I guess nine."

"So if I beat you you'll go somewhere else?"

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