Alexander Altmann A10567 (15 page)

The horse drank greedily and, when Alexander set a bucket of warm mash down for him an hour later, he licked it clean. Alexander didn’t try to wash the dried blood from Midnight’s neck or brush the dirt from his hocks. He stood, eyes downcast, head bent, unmoving, hoping the horse would come to see him as part of the stall, no more threatening than the wooden door or the shelf. Alexander left the stall just three times that day, once for the water, once for the mash and once for the toilet.

He was dizzy with hunger by the time he slipped from the stall to join the platoon for the long walk back to Auschwitz. It was drizzling and his neck was itchy from his damp collar, the men smelled like wet sheep and his arm throbbed.

“Three dead.” The kapo nodded to Hoess as they cleared the checkpoint. Alexander followed the kapo through the gates of Auschwitz, past the leafless birch trees and into the large brick building where once a month the platoon was shaved and disinfected. He left his rain-wet clothes on the bench and stepped into line, his right hand masking the gashed skin on his left arm.

He walked back to the barrack, dripping after his shower, his scalp stinging where it had been nicked, his arm throbbing.

“You want some?” A raw-boned Russian held out a square of stale bread. Alexander shook his head. He’d traded the cigarettes Isidor had given him for a scarf and had none left to trade. He climbed onto his bunk and pulled his blanket close but the cold found its way under his skin. Autumn would soon give way to winter and he had to be prepared, had to stockpile cigarettes and steal sugar cubes so he could buy a coat. He wondered whether Bauman sold hats. He’d need a pair of heavier pants too and thicker socks.
If I make it to winter
, he thought bitterly.
Eleven days. I have eleven days to break in a horse who’s scared of his own shadow. Eleven days to put into action everything father has taught me.
He breathed out, trying to loosen his panic.
I can’t do it. I can’t.
He dug his nails into his palm.
I don’t know the first thing about taming a wild horse. Midnight knows it. And in eleven days, Commander Ziegler will know it too.

Alexander spent the next three days standing still as a post, waiting for Midnight to meet him halfway, to give him a sign or make the first move, but the plan wasn’t working. His voice and his scent were as familiar to the horse as the wooden beams that held up the walls, but if he came within spitting distance, Midnight kicked out at him. He didn’t trust Alexander any more than Alexander trusted the guards. The weather didn’t help. The sheeting rain pounded the tin roof, setting the stallion on edge, and every time the sky rattled with thunder Midnight stamped his feet.

“So, I see he’s still the boss.” The kapo thrust his head over the stall door. “You have eight days.” He nodded at Alexander and moved to the next stall. Alexander stared after him, angry that the kapo had seen what Alexander couldn’t. Of course we’re not getting anywhere. Alexander stared at the horse. He’s still the boss! All this time he’d been trying to win Midnight’s trust, when what he should have been doing was gaining his respect. When his father had told him that Paprika was frightened and trusting Alexander to make her a home, he’d said something else, something Alexander hadn’t remembered until now.
She’s looking for a leader to make sense of things.

He peered down at his ragged clothes, his boots coming away at the heel and his stick-thin legs.

“I’m not much of a leader,” he said, stepping away from the wall, “but I’m all you’ve got.” Midnight’s eyes grew round and he took a step backwards. “I don’t know what happened to make you so skittish,” Alexander continued, looking up into Midnight’s black face. “And you know what? It doesn’t matter. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

A bolt of lightning turned the sky metallic and Midnight leaped sideways. Alexander picked up a bucket and dipped his face into the water to drink it. He pulled a clutch of beets from the feed bucket and spooned them into his mouth.

“From now on, I eat and drink first,” he said, planting the bucket on the ground and steeling himself. This was the closest he’d been to Midnight since the horse had bitten his arm. He didn’t like to be crowded and Alexander had given the horse his space, when what he should have been doing was taking it from him. He scooped some beets into his hand and, avoiding Midnight’s glare, walked towards the horse, pretending to look at something over his withers. He talked as he walked, cupping the beets in his hand, pretending to be brave as Midnight loomed larger. He could smell the Arabian’s sweat mingling with his own. And then his right hand was under the horse’s muzzle before Midnight had time to startle.

Alexander swallowed and steadied his hand, testing his will against the horse’s. Close up, Midnight was even more daunting, his ink-black coat rippling over packed muscle, his neck backlit by the shards of white lightning. Alexander took a step closer and stopped shoulder to shoulder with the Arabian as the thunder relented and the rain turned to hail. It pounded the tin roof like bullets and Midnight squealed and fixed his eyes on Alexander, and then as if he actually believed Alexander to be the stronger beast, lowered his trembling head and blew through his lips. Alexander’s mouth fell open. He’s letting me take control! He lifted his flattened palm to the horse’s lips and, not wanting to waste a moment, placed his free hand on the animal, letting it flutter there lightly, until Midnight stopped shuddering.

When Midnight had eaten the last of the beets and his belly was full and his eyes heavy, Alexander pulled his fingers from the horse’s lips and picked up a brush. He’d chosen the softest brush on the shelf but standing there, with Midnight pawing the ground in front of him, he wondered if perhaps he was moving too fast. He held out his hand and waited, and within a few minutes Midnight was sniffing at the soft bristles.

Alexander lowered the brush to the horse’s leg and Midnight started back, as if Alexander meant to hit him. He shushed him softly and swept the brush lightly over the horse’s back leg in long, lazy circles until his tail unclenched and he stopped trembling.

“We need to clean you up.” Alexander reached for a rag. The rope around Midnight’s neck had scorched his skin and burned off his hair. Alexander dipped the rag into a bucket and brought the dripping cloth to Midnight’s neck to wash the dried blood that had stiffened there, but when he squeezed the rag over Midnight’s head, the horse’s eyes flew open and when he went to drag the cloth over his poll and down between his eyes, Midnight leaned back and reared, his mouth wide as a cave and his massive forelegs sawing the air. Alexander leaped sideways as the horse plunged back to earth.

“Okay,” he panted, trying to slow his breathing. “I won’t touch your head.” He dropped the washrag into the bucket and cursed his luck. How the hell would he get a halter onto a head-shy horse?
With time
, his father would have said.
Time and patience
. But he didn’t have time; he had eight days. He had to get the halter on Midnight today. Alexander ran through all the things he’d have to teach the horse before the Commander could ride him. His stomach grumbled, but he had no time for lunch. He bent down and shovelled a handful of hay into his mouth. It was dry and tasteless and scratched his throat, but he didn’t spit it out. He chewed it until his saliva softened it to a pulp, then he swallowed it. You can get used to anything with time, he thought, dragging his hands through the straw. He’d got used to plenty in Auschwitz: blood, hunger, dirty smoke, death. He barely registered the sound of gunfire now. He’d heard it so many times, he’d become numb to it.

Alexander stared at Midnight and then looked across at the leather halter, hanging from its hook on the wall. “See something enough times and you lose your fear of it,” he said. Alexander spun around and grabbed Serafin’s halter.

“It won’t hurt you.” He grabbed the halter, held it out and ran his fingers up and down the leather strands. “It’s harmless,” he continued, tossing it from one hand to another. Midnight lifted his dark eyes to watch. Alexander picked up the halter and balanced it on his head. He poked his finger through the brass rings and waited for Midnight to grow curious. Then he placed it on the ground and walked back and forth between the halter and the horse until Midnight’s muscles relaxed and his spine loosened.

“Okay. This time,” he said, slipping the crownpiece over his neck, “I’m going to bring it with me.” Alexander walked slowly towards the horse, stopping and turning on his heel as soon as Midnight moved away. The fourth time he approached with the halter, Midnight stayed still.

“Take as long as you need.” Alexander held the halter out in front of him. “But not too long.”

Midnight raised his head, took a step forwards and sniffed the leather.

“Good boy!” Alexander’s panic melted away and he rushed to pat Midnight. He wrapped his arms around the horse’s withers and pressed his cheek against Midnight’s neck. “I told you we’d do this,” he said, scratching him on the shoulder. It was Sari’s favourite spot: the back of her shoulders where her neck met her withers. Alexander straightened and dropped his hands to his sides. He could feel himself slipping.
You’re here to do a job
, he reminded himself.
Herd
leaders aren’t clingy. They don’t try to make friends. They demand respect and reward good behaviour.
He took a carrot from his pocket and fed it to the horse then squared his shoulders and turned his back on the horse.

Back and forth he walked, until his arms were aching and his back was sore. Up and down the stall until Midnight trusted him enough to let him touch the halter to his skin. When he accepted the contact without clenching his tail, Alexander took another carrot from his pocket. If the horse shifted his weight or tensed, Alexander walked away. He didn’t need to punish the stallion for being afraid. Walking away from him was punishment enough. Midnight wasn’t an angry horse. He was frightened and made more so when he was shunned and left alone. He was a herd animal; he was a horse. It was in his nature to seek out company.

The morning slunk away. Lunchtime came and went. It took Alexander three hours and a bunch of carrots, to lift the halter to Midnight’s nose without the horse turning away. He had to get Midnight outside soon. But if he rushed, Midnight would spook and he’d be back at square one. Over and over, he lifted the halter to Midnight’s nose. Finally, in the late afternoon, with only a few hours of daylight left, Midnight dipped his head and let Alexander slip the halter over his muzzle. Alexander grabbed a handful of mane and pulled Midnight towards him, a smile splintering his face.

“Want to go for a walk?” He threaded the rope through the halter’s buckle and headed through the door. He wished his father was here to see him halter his first horse. He brought his face up to Midnight’s ear. “You’d like him,” he said softly.

Three guards watched him lead Midnight from the stall. Let them stare, Alexander thought. Let them stare at the boy who tamed the wild horse. He marched past them with his chest puffed out and his head held high. Today he wasn’t just another number: he was a herd leader, a horse trainer, a cowboy, a man. The kapo pressed a jumble of sugar cubes into his hand. Alexander slipped them into his pocket, tightened his grip on the lead rope and stepped into the yard.

The ring was empty and the yard deserted, save for two guards standing under a shelter of trees. Alexander opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out to catch the rain, glad to have traded a mound of cigarettes for a warm winter coat. It was good to be outside, even with the rain falling like a thick curtain and the ground a smear of mud. He’d been confined to the stall for days but this was where he belonged: in a ring, with a horse, his pockets bulging with sugar cubes, his clothes smelling of straw. Alexander’s face flushed. Is this what it felt like to be happy? He couldn’t quite remember. He stopped at the gate, his hand on the latch. He hoped it wasn’t too soon to bring Midnight into the ring. The horse had been shut into his stall for four days, and before that, he’d been dragged through the yard, squealing.

A bolt of lightning tore through the sky. Alexander turned back to Midnight, horrified to see his ears pinned back and his nostrils flaring. He was wound tight as a rubber band. Alexander froze. He knew that look. It was the look of a horse about to bolt. He squared his shoulders and put on his meanest face. I have to be big – big enough to show him who’s in charge. He jerked Midnight’s head towards the ring, lifted the latch and kicked the gate open.

“Get in,” he shouted, tugging at the rope, one eye on Midnight, another on the guards. Midnight snorted and the guards stopped talking.

“Come on, boy,” Alexander begged, digging his heels into the mud. He tightened his grip on the rope. Midnight’s coat was dark with sweat, his eyes wild.

“Control him!” one of the guards yelled, stepping from under the tree’s canopy.

Alexander yanked on the rope but it was no use. The horse was three times his size and if he wanted to wrench the lead from Alexander’s hand and rip through the yard, there was nothing he could do to stop him. Alexander panicked, as the rope slipped through his fingers.

“The lightning won’t hurt you. Midnight, please,” he whispered, as the guards ran towards him.

“You deaf?” the taller guard hissed. “Stop your horse misbehaving, or I’ll stop him for you.”

A bolt of lightning pierced the clouds. Midnight shrieked and leaped backwards, wrenching the lead from Alexander’s hand.

“I’ll stop him!” he heard one of the guards yell.

And as Midnight’s legs thudded back to earth, Alexander saw the guard unbutton his coat and reach for his gun.

Alexander looked up from his rope-burned fingers to see Midnight take off through the yard.

“Don’t shoot!” he shouted at the guards as he sped after Midnight. A second streak of lightning turned the clouds silver and Alexander reached for the rope as Midnight stopped to lift his head to the sky. He caught its frayed end and dug his heels into the ground, but Midnight took off again, dragging him like a sack of grain across the rock-studded earth.