Alexander Altmann A10567 (14 page)

“Good to see you’re showing him who’s boss.” The kapo peered over the stall door as the horse plunged his feet back into the dust. Alexander gave him a vacant smile. He had seen men boss horses around, seen horses bound with rope, horses ridden blindfolded until they were too exhausted to buck. Horses tripped and tied down, horses beaten with belts until they were broken. When Paprika turned two, Alexander’s mother arranged for Mr Gelbert to break her in. Alexander had stood at Gelbert’s fence watching him saddle another boy’s colt while he waited to usher Paprika into the ring. By the time the colt was returned to the boy, his hind legs were covered in blood.

Alexander stared at the Arabian. The hair on his neck had been rubbed away and the skin around the rope was worn thin. He stared at the noose hanging from the horse’s neck and knew he wouldn’t use it – couldn’t use it – to subdue the animal. He wouldn’t whip the horse into submission or tie him down. The animal would only feel resentment and anger, the same anger he felt every morning when he woke in his plank bed and realised this wasn’t all a bad dream. Bringing the horse to his knees would only instill fear in the animal. Alexander remembered the look of disappointment on his mother’s face when he returned home from Gelbert’s farm holding Paprika’s saddle in his hand. He couldn’t let Gelbert break the horse’s spirit. He couldn’t do it then and he couldn’t do it now, especially here, especially in Auschwitz.

I’m not a rock.
Alexander lifted his eyes to the horse’s head.
All this time I’ve spent staring down the barrel of a gun and acting like no one else mattered, I wasn’t getting stronger, I was whittling myself away.
Alexander slunk to his knees. He wasn’t a brick wall. He was a shell, an empty husk, liable to blow away with the first gust of wind. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring and, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t much care.

“I can’t do this any more,” he said, staring into the horse’s dark eyes.

He stood up and walked towards the horse. Better to end his days in a stable at the wrong end of a horse, than die at the hands of an SS guard. He looked across at the stallion’s muscled legs.
One swift kick to the head and it will all be over
. He took a step closer.

The stallion bared his teeth and spun around, lashing out with both hind feet. His kick missed its mark but knocked the shelf from the wall, bringing a bucket, a bottle of shampoo and a hoof pick tumbling down with it.

“What’s going on?” Isidor swung the stall door open.

“Nothing,” Alexander said, his eyes trained on the stallion. “I’m just getting acquainted with the commander’s new mount.”

“Getting acquainted or getting killed?” Isidor grabbed Alexander’s sleeve and pulled him into the doorway, away from the animal. “You’ve lost your sister. But you must have someone else, someone who’ll be waiting for you when this is all over …”

“I won’t break him. I can’t.”

“So find another way,” Isidor said. “You know horses better than they do.”

Alexander lifted his eyes to the stallion’s black face. There was only one way he was going to saddle the crazy animal and that was if the horse let him.

“I have a father and a mother,” Alexander whispered, but Isidor had gone. He turned back to the stallion, careful not to lock eyes with the animal as he slunk back into the stall. He remembered how hesitant Paprika had been around him the first few weeks of her life. His father had told him that she saw him as a predator and that if he wanted to train her he had to gain her confidence, be her family. It had taken months for Paprika to trust him.

He had twelve days with the Arabian.

I have to be his family. Alexander lifted his gaze. The horse’s eyes were narrowed, his mouth tight. Alexander took a deep breath and stepped closer. He heard the clack of teeth.

“I’m just taking a small step forwards. Very slow. I’m not going to touch you …” The Arabian’s eyes flew open. He let out a piercing squeal and hammered the ground with his hooves. “Whoa!” Alexander looked up at the stallion. His flanks were dark with sweat, his body tense. “I don’t want to be here any more than you do, but I have a job to do and if I don’t do it, neither of us will make it out of here.” The horse glared at him. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.” Alexander remembered his father’s words.
A gentle word works better than a whip
. The Arabian lowered his head and stared at Alexander through his forelock.

Alexander bent down and scooped up a handful of hay.

“You hungry, boy?” He lifted his outstretched palm slowly. “Here, eat.” The horse sniffed his palm and Alexander brought the hay to the stallion’s lips, his fingertips brushing the horse’s sweat-stained skin for just a moment before the horse jerked away. Alexander watched, frozen, as the Arabian reared up in fright before falling backwards into the dust, his muscled legs flailing, his eyes wide. Alexander knew that look. He’d seen it in animals and he’d seen it in men. He’d seen it in his mother’s eyes the day his father was marched away, and he’d seen it on his own face the first time he saw his reflection in a mirror in Birkenau. The horse had the same look on his face Lili had when she stepped off the cattle train and saw the bald men in blue and white rags. The horse wasn’t angry. He was scared.

“Someone must have hurt you bad,” Alexander whispered. The horse clambered to his feet. “I couldn’t save Lili.” Alexander’s knees shook. “And if the commander wants to dispose of you in twelve days’ time, there’s nothing I can do about that either.” Alexander stepped away from the wall. “We’ve got twelve days. I can’t promise we’ll be here after that but I’ll do the best I can.”

He pulled himself up to his full height. The Arabian would feed off his mood. If he was anxious, the Arabian would stay anxious.

The Arabian. That wouldn’t do. If he was going to train the horse, it needed a name.
Everyone deserves a name.
Alexander remembered asking his father how Sari had got hers.
Your mother chose it
, his father had said, running a hand across the horse’s arched neck.
Sari means noble lady. Perfect for her, isn’t it?

Alexander looked at the horse, his exposed teeth a white slash in his hard black face.

“Midnight,” he said finally. “I’ll call you Midnight.”

The horse stood in the shadows, panting. His legs were splayed, his head hung low to the ground.
Never waste the first few days of a foal’s life
, Alexander remembered his father saying as he encouraged Paprika to take her first tentative steps away from Sari.
She’s afraid, everything is new and she’s looking to us to make this place home
.

Alexander lowered his eyes and let his head droop and his shoulders hang. His gaze seemed to threaten the horse, so maybe ignoring him would work.
I’ll let him get used to my smell and my voice and then, when he trusts me, I’ll strap a saddle onto his back and hand him over to the commander.
Alexander’s heart pounded.
He’s right to be terrified.

The stall was cold but Alexander’s hands were clammy. Midnight stood in the corner, his matted tail tucked between his legs. How do I let him know I don’t mean him harm? Alexander’s heart pounded. If he wanted Midnight to be calm, he had to be calm. He slowed his breathing and tried to think of the last time he was relaxed, the last time he felt safe. He closed his eyes and returned to the kitchen at six Gregor Lane. His mother was making apple strudel, throwing the dough on the table and rolling it out, kneading and stretching it, adding slices of apple, raisins and cinnamon. The radio was on and his terrier, Spitz, was licking sugar from the floor. Alexander was eight and there were no yellow stars or barbed wire fences. He had a best friend and a place on the soccer team … and then they took his father. Alexander swore under his breath. Every time he remembered, the memories turned black and made him want to crawl into a hole.

Midnight snorted and kicked out at the wall.

“What’s going on?” The guard with the pock-marked skin called from the corridor. “Control your horse, or I’ll whip the both of you.”

“Yes, sir!” Alexander replied before the voice could come closer. “It won’t happen again.”

Won’t happen again? Alexander raked his nails along his palms. You’re an idiot, Altmann, an idiot without a plan. He unclenched his fists and shook out his arms. He had to stay calm. Maybe if he talked to the horse. He didn’t feel like talking. He wasn’t much of a talker at the best of times, but he had little choice.

“I can see why the commander chose you.” He dropped his gaze and spoke in a low voice. “You’re a fine horse. Straight fetlocks, no splints, long legs, good feet.” Midnight unclenched his tail. The words seemed to soothe him.

The men who had dragged Midnight into the stall had left behind a carrot. Alexander scooped it from the straw and held out his hand. Midnight stomped his feet.

“It’s for you,” he hurried to assure the horse, careful to balance the carrot on his flattened palm.

“Take your time,” Alexander said. He was trying to keep his hand still. Midnight turned and lunged.

“Owww!” Alexander yanked his arm from the horse’s grip and stumbled backwards, swallowing his scream. His sleeve was torn and a length of bloodied cloth hung from Midnight’s teeth. “You bastard!” he yelled, staring at his arm where the stallion’s incisors had sunk into his skin. Alexander cradled his throbbing arm and clamboured to his feet. “Come any closer …” He grabbed a rake with his good hand and stabbed the air, fear and anger shunting away the pain. He lunged at the animal, a strange heat rising in his chest. His face grew hot and his throat tightened. “Think you can push me around? Think I’ll just stand here and take it?” he hissed, aiming the prongs at Midnight. The horse backed himself into a corner and jammed his hocks against the wall. “Think you can do whatever you want and I won’t fight back?” Midnight squealed and Alexander’s skin prickled with heat. It felt good to fight back. Even if his anger
was
misdirected. He gave a final jab with the metal teeth and dropped the rake. He wasn’t angry at the horse. He was angry at the world, angry at himself, angry with God.

He snatched the carrot from the floor, shoved it into his mouth and stared at the rope curled around the horse’s quivering neck. It reminded him of a picture in a book he’d pulled from his father’s bookshelf about the famous horse whisperer, John Rarey, who used to tie his horses’ front legs up with rope. He’d force the animals to lie down so he could stroke them and show them they were safe. Alexander sighed. There was no way Midnight would let him near the rope and even if he could snatch it, he couldn’t bring Midnight to his knees. He’d seen what the commander did to stablehands who tried to mount horses. He didn’t want to think about what the man would do to a Jew who brought a horse to its knees. Alexander scooped up the rake and set it against the wall. He felt like he was in a deep, dark well with no way out.

A cold pain snaked through his arm and he shut his eyes and bent in half. There had to be another way.

Alexander rocked on his toes so his feet wouldn’t fall asleep. His right leg was numb from standing frozen to the spot but he was still no closer to getting Midnight to trust him. He’d spent the last three hours ignoring the horse, trying to give the impression that they had plenty of time, that there was no reason to sweat, but the dark ovals under his arms gave him away. He had twelve days to saddle the Arabian, and no idea how to do it. Every time he took a step closer, Midnight snapped at the air.

His arm throbbed and his throat was dry. If only the horse could talk. If only he could tell Alexander what had happened to him to make him so skittish. The horse’s head, neck and legs carried no bruises or scars. Neither his back nor his shoulders offered any clue as to what had poisoned him. Whatever damage had been done was more than skin deep.

“I get it,” Alexander said quietly. “You’ve been treated badly. So have I.”

Midnight snorted and pawed the ground.

“We’ve all seen our share of cruelty.” Alexander tried to find the right words. “You can’t let it turn you sour.” He lifted his eyes to the horse’s flanks. “You can’t distrust everyone you meet.”

Alexander snuck from the stall to fetch the horse some water. The sky was grim, the clouds low and mean. He pulled his shirt close and hurried to the trough.

“What happened to your arm?” Isidor pulled his bucket from the water when he saw Alexander.

“Nothing. It’s just a scratch.”

“Just a scratch?” Isidor frowned. “Looks more like a bite.”

Alexander lifted his bucket from the trough. He knew he should thank Isidor for slipping into his stall, for talking him around, for talking to him at all, but the words wouldn’t come.

“It’s the horse, isn’t it?” Isidor hurried to the stable after Alexander. “If you need help–”

“I don’t.” Alexander turned his back on Isidor. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” Isidor swung the stall door open for Alexander. “Still, the offer’s there. If you need anything or if you want to talk,” he reddened, “about the horse … or your sister.”

“No thanks,” Alexander said, busying himself with the brushes. Talking about Lili wouldn’t bring her back and whining about Midnight wouldn’t tame him. He stepped into the stall and kicked the door closed behind him.