Page 66 of The Storyteller of Krakow

‘Wojtek,’ I tried again.

A heavy shape shifted near a collapsed section of floor. He huffed, low and familiar, and lumbered towards me.

‘There you are,’ I breathed. ‘You picked a fine place to disappear to,’ I said, then stroked him, trying to check underneath all that fur whether he was injured.

I reached into my bag and drew out the torch to inspect him more closely, then I heard it. Another sound. Not the bear. Human. Below us.

I switched off the torch and listened carefully. There – a plaintive cry, a whimper. Looking about in the gloom, I could see a set of narrow steps leading down into darkness.

I didn’t move at first. I mean, I wasn’t stupid – it could be a German. But then I realised, too, that it could be one of us.

I knew I should leave and take the bear and go, I knew it, and yet I couldn’t.

‘Stay,’ I told Wojtek, and descended into the gloom.

The cellar was cold, close and I could barely see a thing. Then, I heard the noise again and saw a shadow, darker. A person.

‘Bitte,’ I heard the voice say.

I swallowed. A German.

I had no weapon, only Wojtek and a torch. If I turned it on now, he’d see where to shoot.

I turned quickly, ready to find the steps, and stumbled a little.

‘Please,’ he said now, in English. ‘Please. Please I am dying.’

I ignored his plea – it wasn’t real, was it? He would shoot me, or worse, Wojtek would come lumbering down and he would shoot him. Yet his voice, his words, sounded honest – sounded frightened.

I shook any thoughts away and ran up the steps to Wojtek.

‘Come!’ I said to him, but he would not move.

‘Wojtek, please.’ I grabbed his scruff and tried to foolishly pull him towards the outside, but of course, it was fruitless.

‘Wojtek. We have to go.’

He looked at me, this bear. This bear, who had saved me from Janek. This bear, who had never once let me down – a friend, a true friend.

‘Please,’ I tried again, but Wojtek, ignoring me, descended the steps into the cellar.

I heard the man scream and knew Wojtek had made himself known, although in the darkness, he would have looked like something from a nightmare.

I went down after him.

‘Wojtek!’ I pulled him away from the shadowy man, trying to drag him out, trying to make a bear see sense – we could both be shot. We had to go.

‘Bitte! Bitte!’ the man whimpered. ‘I am no shoot!’ he said in broken English. ‘Please! My God!’

Wojtek did not growl at him, did not do anything but sit there and look at the man.

‘Please,’ he cried. ‘Please.’

In that moment, I thought of Piotr. I thought of him dying in that nameless field. I wondered if he had asked for help, wondered what he had felt in that moment, when faced with death.

‘Please,’ he said again, quieter now, as if all his resolve was leaving him.

I felt Wojtek nudge at my hand with his snout.