People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks Page B

odred to a meeting. As the thin, sickly teenagers gathered around him, he began his address. Tito, Milovan said, had a new vision for his army. It was to be consolidated into tough, professional units that would engage the Germans directly. The enemy forces were to be pushed back to the cities, their lines disrupted, until Partisan control of the countryside was achieved.
    Lola, her head muffled in a scarf and her cap pulled down tight over her ears, at first thought she had mistaken what the colonel said next. But the dismay on others’ faces confirmed that what she thought she had heard was true. Their odred was to be disbanded, effective immediately. “Marshal Tito thanks you for your service, and it will be remembered on the glorious day of victory. Now, those of you who have arms, please stack them for collection. You, mule girl. Take charge of loading them. We will leave now. You will wait till nightfall before moving out.”
    Everyone looked at Branko, waiting for him to say something. But Branko, his head bowed against the blowing snow, said nothing. It was Isak who was left to protest.
    “Sir? May I ask where you propose we go?”
    “You may go home.”
    “Home? What home?” Isak was shouting now. “None of us has a home anymore. Most of our families have been murdered. We, all of us, are outlaws. You can’t seriously expect us to walk unarmed into the hands of the Ustashe?” He turned to Branko. “Tell him, damn it!”
    Branko raised his head and stared coldly at Isak. “You heard the colonel. Marshal Tito has said there is no longer any place for ragtag bands of children wielding sticks and firecrackers. We are a professional army now.”
    “Oh, I see!” Isak’s voice oozed contempt. “ You may keep your gun—the gun my little sister, a ‘ragtag child,’ got for you. And the rest of us get a death sentence!”
    “Silence!” Milovan raised his gloved hand. “Obey your orders, and your service will be rewarded in the future. Disobey, and you will be shot.”
    Lola, numb and confused, loaded Rid as she had been commanded. When the few rifles and the bag of grenades had been secured, she took the mule’s soft muzzle between her two hands and looked into his eyes. “Be safe, friend,” she whispered. “You, at least, they have a use for. May they treat you with more loyalty and care than they are showing to us.” She handed the halter to Milovan’s aide and gave him a sack in which she kept a precious ration of oats. The aide looked inside the bag, and from his expression, Lola realized Rid would be lucky to see the oats again before they warmed the aide’s belly. So she thrust her gloved hands into the sack and pulled up two generous handfuls. Rid’s wet breath warmed her hands for a moment. Before he had disappeared into the swirling snow, his saliva had frozen solid on the darned wool. Branko, she noted, did not look back.
    The rest of the group gathered around Isak, waiting for him to offer them a plan. “I think we will do best in pairs or small groups,” he said. His own intention was to head for liberated territory. Lola sat in silence as the discussion passed from one to another around the fire. Some aimed to go south, into Italian-occupied areas. Others said they would seek out extended family members. Lola had no one, and the thought of an uncertain journey to a strange southern town frightened her. She waited for someone to ask her about her plans, to offer her a place at their side. But no one said anything at all. It was as if she had already ceased to exist. When she got up and left the circle, no one said good night.
    Lola found her place in a corner of the clearing and tossed there, restless. She had piled her few belongings into a rucksack and had tied up her feet in layers of cloth she’d saved for bandages. She was lying, awake but with her eyes closed, when she felt Ina’s fierce brown gaze. The child was wrapped in her blanket as if it were a cocoon. She had a woolen