Alexander Altmann A10567 (11 page)

“That’s him,” Isidor said. “The escapee from last night.”

Alexander narrowed his eyes as he approached the gate to read the words scrawled across the placard hanging from the man’s neck:
Hurray, I’m back
.

The guards dispersed as soon as they were inside the main gate, leaving the kapo to deliver his work platoon to the Rat. Isidor had slowed the men’s march and the lights were already out when the Rat ushered them through the door.

“Do you need help getting up to your bunk?” one of the men in the Horse Platoon, whose name Alexander didn’t know or care to know, whispered in Isidor’s ear.

“I’m fine,” Alexander heard Isidor say, before catapulting himself onto his bed.

“But your leg …”Alexander stammered, climbing up after him.

“The leg’s fine,” Isidor said. “It’s just a scratch.”

A
scratch
? Alexander remembered the walls shaking and the sound of snapping bones.

“The kapo’s all right.” Isidor brought his mouth to Alexander’s ear. “The blood is just for show.”

“I don’t understand,” Alexander said. “They call him the Butcher.”

“A rumour he started himself.”

“Himself?”

“Look,” Isidor said, growing serious, “you can’t let on.”

“So the kapo’s on our side?” Alexander ventured.

“I suppose so.” Isidor pulled off his boots and lay down. “Sometimes, when the guards are watching, he has to break a nose, but if he can get away with it, he’ll leave you alone. It’s a shitty position to be in.”

“What do you mean?” Alexander grew confused. The kapo got three bowls of soup and didn’t have to work.

“He can’t put a foot wrong. If he does, he’ll be stripped of his position and sent back to the barrack.”

“To live like the rest of us,” Alexander huffed.

“No, not like the rest of us,” Isidor said. “The last kapo who was stripped of his rank, lasted one day in his old barrack. His men beat him to death his first night back.”

Alexander woke at midnight, clutching his stomach.
No
, he thought, gritting his teeth.
I can’t get sick. I can’t.
He tried to sit up, but the pain tore at his belly and he fell back onto the bed. He’d been thrown from a horse and had the stuffing knocked out of him in fights that weren’t fair, but nothing that felt like this. Searing pain like a red hot poker shoved through his guts. He stuffed a corner of his blanket into his mouth to stop himself from crying out and hugged his stomach.

He had to get to the toilet. Maybe if he got to the toilet, he could rid himself of this bug gnawing at his insides. He dragged himself onto his elbows and sat up when it hit him again, a wave of blistering pain deep in his belly. He breathed through it, slid off the bunk and stumbled to the toilet in the dark, but he was too late.

He lay on the bathroom floor, his pants around his ankles in a puddle. If any of the inmates walked in, he was done for. He was sick and the men couldn’t afford to have him – or his infection – anywhere near them. They’d take one look at him lying on the floor in his own shit and dump him at the infirmary. He couldn’t blame them, he’d do the same. He crawled to the sink and turned on the tap. They wouldn’t give him medicine at the infirmary, they’d give him a bed, and let him lie there, rot there, till the SS came to empty the room. It wasn’t a hospital, it was a waiting room for the crematoria. A one-way street.

Alexander peeled off his pants, threw them into the sink and washed the muck from them while his stomach churned. No one must know. He kneeled down and wiped the mess from the tiles, rinsed his pants out again and wiped himself down. No one.

He dragged himself to a toilet, slumped down on the cold seat and wrapped his arms around his stomach. When he was sure there was nothing left inside him, he stepped into his wet pants and made his way back to his bunk by the moon’s bluish light. His stomach still hurt but the cramps had settled to a dull ache. If I can just get a few hours sleep, he convinced himself, I’ll manage the hike – and the horses – and it won’t be the last time I get to see the stars or the moon …

“Alex! Wake up!”

Alexander opened his eyes and saw Isidor bent over him, his face creased with concern.

“I’m up.” He swatted Isidor’s hand away.

“You look like hell.”

“I’m fine.” Alexander forced his lips into a smile. “See?” He climbed from his bunk, stood for a moment, then ran for the bathroom.

“I heard you get up last night.” Isidor came into the bathroom. “Can you get off the toilet?”

Alexander’s stomach bug bared its teeth. “Just give me a minute.” The bug sank its teeth in and Alexander doubled over.

Isidor ran from the bathroom.

“
Isi! No!
” Alexander tried to stop him but it was too late. He’d gone.

Get up
, Alexander told himself, gripping the toilet bowl with both hands. “Get up and walk out of here.” But he couldn’t. When he tried to stand his legs felt hollow and the room spun. He slumped over the toilet and buried his head in his hands.

“Here.” Isidor shoved a heaped teaspoon under his nose. Alexander blinked at the gelatinous lump.

“What is it?”

“Something to stop the diarrhoea.”

Alexander brought the rusted spoon to his lips and swallowed the white paste. It tasted like raw dough.

“You should skip lunch for a few days.” Isidor helped him from the toilet. “No soup, just coffee and bread.”

“Where did you get that medicine?” Alexander asked, wincing. “I might need some more.” He wrapped his arms around his belly. He wanted to fall into bed. Instead he was standing outside the barrack, waiting for the Rat’s order to march out.

“I know someone,” Isidor whispered. “Joseph Bauman from the Field Platoon, four beds up from us.” He swatted Alexander’s hand from his stomach – the guards were circling.

“Where does he get it?” Alexander spoke quickly.

“There’s a man. A farmer. He hides things under the hay bales for the inmates sometimes. Medicine, fruit – he hid a skinned rabbit once.”

“What will another spoonful cost me?”

“Sugar cubes,” Isidor said. “Or cigarettes. You got any?”

Alexander shook his head.

“Something wrong with you?” The kapo followed Alexander into the stable. “You sick?” He grabbed Alexander’s shoulder and spun him around.

“No, I’m fine,” Alexander stammered. He broke away and hurried towards Serafin’s stall. “I just had to go outside to get …”
What?
Alexander panicked. His head was still foggy with pain.
What did I have to get?

The kapo was right behind him. There was nowhere Alexander could go.

“Because if you’re sick,” the kapo brought his stubbled face close to Alexander’s, “I can get someone else to take Chestnut out.”

“No.” Alexander shook his head frantically. No, I can’t lose this job. “No, I’m–” He searched for the right words. The kapo held up his hand to silence him.

“I can get someone else to do your work,” he lowered his voice, “and you can help Goldberg shoe horses out the back. Near the toilets.” His eyes drifted to the back wall where a guard stood, watching them.

“No arguments!” he shouted. He grabbed Alexander by the collar and dragged him past the guard, shoving him roughly. “Outside! Now!”

The blue day turned to black night.

“You never said thank you,” Isidor whispered into the dark as the men returned to the camp.

“What for?” Alexander asked.

“For the medicine.” Isidor walked past the checkpoint and into the barrack. “You never thanked me. I’m the only one here who still speaks to you. Or haven’t you noticed?” Isidor shook his head. “Forget it.”

“Good,” Alexander shot back, “because I’m not expecting you to thank me every time I step aside to let you watch me groom or tack my horse. This works. For both of us.” Alexander followed Isidor through the barrack door and crawled onto his bunk. The medicine had stopped him running to the toilet but his stomach still felt bruised and his skin was clammy. “So, how did you get the sugar past the commander to pay Bauman for the medicine?” Alexander asked without apology.

Isidor climbed up beside him. “Give me your shirt.”

“What?” Alexander sat up. “You won’t tell me unless I give you my shirt? Go to hell.”

Isidor rolled his eyes. “You want to find out how I smuggled the sugar cubes?”

“I’m not giving you my shirt.” Alexander glared at him.

“Fine.” Isidor’s fingers flew to his collar. He undid the first three buttons to reveal a secret pocket sewn into the lining. “Come with me.”

Alexander hurried after him to the barrack next door. It was identical to theirs, same kennel-smell and grimy walls, same decaying bodies and dirty bunks. Isidor stopped to shake an old man’s hand.

“Jeno Weisz meet Alexander …” Isidor hesitated. “Alexander …”

“Altmann.” Alexander stepped from the shadows and shook the man’s hand.

“What do you need?” the old man said. He took a length of cotton from his trouser pocket.

“What do I need?”
I need a meal. I need a doctor. I need to go home
.

“You need a hole patched?” He fingered Alexander’s frayed shirt.

“Jeno’s a tailor. He used to make three-piece suits,” Isidor explained. “Now he works the machines making uniforms for the SS.”

“Ah, he wants a pocket.” The tailor nodded, unbuttoning Alexander’s shirt with his spidery fingers. “I can get this fabric.” He opened the shirt and ran a crooked forefinger along the seam. “And if we stitch it here, no one will see it.”

He let the shirt fall and Alexander remembered his mother hunched over her sewing machine, stitching gold coins into the lining of her warm winter coat the night before they were marched into the ghetto. She’d already sewn her engagement ring into the hem and two gold chains into the shoulder pads.

“It’ll cost you.” The man held his hand out. “What d’ya got?”

“Nothing right now.” Alexander buttoned his shirt. “But I can get you some cigarettes in a few days.”

The old man grinned. “I want ten.”

“Seven.” Isidor grabbed Alexander’s shirtsleeve
and pulled him to the door. “The same as you charged me.”

Alexander made it through the next day, fell onto his bunk ragged with exhaustion, and woke the next morning to do it all again. He forced himself to smile at the SS children and help them onto Chestnut’s back. He fed and exercised Serafin, groomed the horses, cleaned their saddles and mucked out their stalls, day after day until the days folded into each other and turned into weeks.