Alexander Altmann A10567 (16 page)

Alexander bounced along the rutted ground, hurtling towards the barbed wire fence, the earth tearing at his pants and ripping the buttons from his shirt. His palms were bleeding but he held on, sure that Midnight would stop, or at least slow, as they closed in on the fence. But instead he picked up speed.

Midnight galloped past the guards, flecks of foam at his mouth.

“You won’t make it!” Alexander wailed. “The fence is too high!” He heard the click of a loaded gun and knew he should distance himself from the horse, knew he should let the rope slip through his fingers, but he couldn’t. It was
his
fault Midnight was caught in the storm and if the horse flung himself at the metal barbs and tore his chest open, that’d be his fault too. Midnight rocked back onto his hocks and lifted his head.

“No!” Alexander screamed as Midnight lengthened his stride. “
Stop-p-p-p!
” he shouted, as the rope flew from his fingers and his head hit the ground. He scrambled to his feet and wiped the grit from his eyes as Midnight’s hulking body slammed to a halt in front of the fence. The guards shoved their weapons back into their holsters. With a thumping heart Alexander hobbled across the muddy ground towards Midnight. The horse was trembling and his tail was clamped down but there was no blood on his coat. He hadn’t been shot. He’d stopped of his own accord. He’d stopped, Alexander realised, because he’d told him to.
I stopped him.
His heart ballooned in his chest.
I
saved
him!

Midnight backed away from the fence, dipped his head and licked his lips. The horse was alive. Drenched in sweat and shuddering, but unharmed, because of
him
. He’d saved a horse. He’d saved a life. He reached for Midnight’s mud-soaked back and rubbed him the way he’d seen Sari nuzzle Paprika. He’d promised Midnight he’d protect him and he had.

“It’s going to be okay,” Alexander whispered, as the guards disappeared behind their umbrellas.

And for the first time, in a long time, he actually believed it.

“Okay, let’s do what we came here to do.” Alexander swung the gate open and Midnight followed him into the ring. “Let’s start with the basics.” He pulled a sugar cube from his pocket, hoping to seal Midnight’s trust, but when he unfurled his hand, Midnight startled and launched left, orbiting the ring in frantic circles.

Alexander stood in the dripping rain, the cold drilling through him, black mud seeping into his boots. He should’ve taken the horse back into the stable when he had the chance, but there wasn’t time for apologies – it was almost dusk – and he wasn’t about to let Midnight undo all the hard work they’d done.
If you’re going to run
, Alexander locked eyes with the horse,
you’re going to run because I tell you to
. He pulled a length of worn rope from the fence and flicked it at the stallion’s feet, forcing him into a lope.

“You want to run?” Alexander yelled into the wind. “Then run.”

Midnight threw his head back and took off around the ring, trotting fast and choppy, his eyes trained on Alexander, his ears turned towards him.

Alexander drove him on, pitching the rope at the ground, forcing Midnight around and around until his flanks shone with sweat. He paid no mind to the inmates watching him while they watered their horses. When the lightning abated he dropped his eyes to Midnight’s shoulders and allowed the horse to slow, hopeful that he could close the gap between them, but was disappointed when Midnight skittered away.

“Oh, no you don’t!” He blocked the horse’s path. “You’ll go where I tell you!” He flicked the rope and sent Midnight in the opposite direction, pressing him into flight until the horse relented and cocked an ear in his direction.

“Okay, you can stop.” Alexander dropped the rope and Midnight peeled away from the fence. He cantered towards Alexander, but as soon as the boy locked eyes on him, he broke away. Over and over, Alexander pressed him into flight, hoping the horse was smart enough to understand what he was trying to tell him: hold still and you can rest. Run away and I’ll make you work.

A rock glanced off Alexander’s shoulder and he turned to see the kapo standing at the stable door with a raised fist.

“Bring him in,” the kapo shouted, lowering his arm. “We leave in half an hour.” He hurried the last of the prisoners into the stable.

Alexander returned his attention to the horse. He had to get Midnight back into the stable.

“No stopping till I tell you,” he shouted, beating down his panic as the last of the horses were put away for the night. Alexander glanced at the guards. Their guns were hidden but they were watching him.

“You heard the kapo, bring him in!” a guard yelled, kicking the gate open.

Alexander stopped, hung his arms by his sides and waited for Midnight to slacken, praying that when he approached him this time, he wouldn’t bolt. Midnight ducked his head and slowed, and when he didn’t move away, Alexander took a step closer. He reached into his pocket but it was empty.

“Sorry, boy. I don’t have anything for you.” Midnight raised his eyes to Alexander’s pale hands and touched his nose to the crescent-shaped scars on his palm, his breath hot on Alexander’s skin. “But if you come inside,” Alexander said, his hands trembling as he reached for the rope that hung from the horse’s neck, “I’ll make it up to you.”

Alexander lifted the rope and stepped towards the fence. He could hear the horse’s footfall behind him as if an invisible thread connected them. He trusts me! Alexander hung his hands by his sides so he wouldn’t wrap them around the horse. He bit his lip so the guards wouldn’t see him smile. He was soaked to the skin, his head throbbed and his fingers smarted. His body ached as if he’d been beaten and yet he felt exhilarated. Midnight trusted him.

“You’re back? Good.” The kapo hurried Alexander into the stable. “We march out in five minutes!” Alexander nodded and turned to Midnight. He blew into Midnight’s nostrils and the horse lifted his shiny eyes to Alexander’s face and snorted back.

“Tomorrow we’ll try the saddle,” he said, stepping into the stall and pulling a horse blanket from the shelf. “What’s wrong, boy?” Alexander’s gaze dropped to the horse’s left leg, and the thin red line leaking blood onto his hoof. Midnight’s eyes narrowed in pain. He took a step forwards with his right leg, then limped onto his left.

Alexander stood under the frozen clouds, waiting for the dawn order to march out of Auschwitz. Seven days. He had seven days left to get a saddle onto the commander’s horse. The cold needled his body, despite the cardigan he wore hidden under his striped coat.
A present
, Isidor had said, dropping it into his lap the previous night and waving away the cup of soup Alexander had offered in return.
For breaking in the horse
. Alexander hadn’t argued with or thanked Isidor, just fastened the broken buttons and slipped his arms through the fraying sleeves.
I didn’t break him in
, he’d said, climbing onto his bunk.
You don’t break horses. You tame them
.

Alexander rubbed his hands together to warm them. Perhaps I did break Midnight, he began to worry, imagining a fractured bone under the leaking blood on Midnight’s leg. He shook the thought from his head. A crack or a tear could take months to heal. He had seven days and no options. Even if he’d had time to check Midnight’s wound, he wouldn’t have told anyone about it. The only person with authority to call the vet was the commander, and Alexander couldn’t risk another visit from the vet. Not after what had happened to Serafin. Still, he felt miserable about it. He’d promised to protect Midnight. He’d asked the horse to trust him. No herd leader would have left a member of its herd alone and injured.

“They’re all yours,” the Rat said, handing the Horse Platoon over to the kapo.

“March out!” the kapo yelled, brandishing his stick. Alexander turned to face Herr Hoess at the gate. The commandant was wearing a fur-lined hat and a scarf pulled up to his nose. Alexander passed the checkpoint, pulled his threadbare cap onto his head and turned to face the front. Up ahead, in the half-dark, he saw a corpse lying in the mud, and a man leap out of line to drag it from the road. Alexander ran after him and they fell upon the body together, Alexander grabbing the wrists and the man taking the legs. Neither looked at the boy’s blue face as they wrestled his gloves from his fingers and his boots from his feet.

“First in, best dressed.” The kapo winked as Alexander slipped back into line in front of Isidor, his face reddening as he pulled the dead boy’s gloves onto his frost-bitten fingers.

“He didn’t need them any more,” Alexander whispered, not sure why he needed to explain. “If I didn’t take them, someone else would’ve.”

“I know,” Isidor said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

The men resumed their wintry hike. The cold found its way under Alexander’s skin, making his eyes water and his nose run. He was sore and drowsy with lack of sleep, but he hurried on, anxious to arrive at the stable and see Midnight. As the first snatches of sky appeared in the east, the platoon entered the yard. The kapo gave the order and an armed guard threw the stable doors open. Alexander readied himself to sprint to the stall.

“Get to work!” the kapo yelled, dispersing the men. “Not so fast.” He grabbed Alexander by the collar and dragged him back into line. “You can attend to the commander’s horse later. Right now …”

Alexander shook free of the kapo’s grasp. “Look, whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. Just give me a minute in the stall,” he stammered. “Please.”

“Can’t do that.” The kapo pulled his stick from his belt. “The commander wants to see you.”

Alexander shut his eyes. The commander must have found out about Midnight’s injury.

“What does he want with me?” The kapo shrugged, but they both knew the answer. The commander was an angry man. There were days he would enter the stable just to beat someone up. It’s my turn, Alexander thought, swallowing hard. I kept Midnight’s injury a secret and I have to be punished.

The commander appeared in the yard. “A10567?”

“He’s here,” the kapo answered for Alexander. “He’s the boy looking after your Arabian. He’s been making good progress.”

The commander waved the kapo aside and took a step towards Alexander.

“Get in the car.”

A black Mercedes sedan rolled to a stop. The commander slid into the back seat and motioned for Alexander to sit beside him. “Where I can keep an eye on you,” he said, a smile smeared across his face. “And if you try to escape,” he peeled his jacket aside and rested a hand on his gun, “I’ll kill you myself.”

Alexander sat on the soft leather seat, sweating into his shirt. He’d promised his mother he’d make it back to the farm the day he’d found her at the fence dividing the women’s camp from the men’s. It had been his third day at Birkenau. They’d fed their fingers through the wire fence and held each other’s hands.
Lili’s gone
, she’d said, gripping his fingers tight.
Live, Alex. Live, for all of us
.

He could see the commander’s hands, hands that had beaten a stablehand to death for stealing a potato. The commander had thick, stubby fingers. Alexander’s were bony. He looked at his scrawny hands and his insect legs. Next to him the commander’s legs seemed bloated, his thighs swollen.

Alexander turned to the window. They were passing through a town, winding their way through the narrow streets, past a school and a library, a town hall and a park. Alexander smelled baking bread. He heard a child laugh and saw a man in a raincoat stop to pat a dog. He saw an elderly couple sipping tea inside a restaurant. A restaurant … Alexander pressed his nose to the glass.

“Take your cap off!” the commander barked as a woman pushing a stroller hurried into a doorway. “You’re frightening them.”

Alexander pulled his striped cap onto his lap and when the driver stopped the car at a set of black wrought-iron gates, the commander pulled his own hat from his head and dragged his fingers through his hair. He straightened his tie, buttoned his coat and leaped from the car, wrapping his arms around a small girl in a fur-lined coat, waiting by the gate.

“Papa!” A second girl threw her mittened hands around him, her breath misting in front of her. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“And we’re cold,” they trilled in unison.

The commander bent down and scooped the girl in the fur-lined coat onto his back, grabbing the mittened fingers of the second child and spinning her around.

“We’d better get you inside then.” He laughed, dropping his hat onto black curls.

He has children. The thought made Alexander sick. The girl in the fur-lined coat had butter-coloured hair and slate-grey eyes like her father. The girl with the black curls had dimples. Like Lili.

“
Geh Raus!
Out!” A guard pulled Alexander from the car and deposited him at the door of a double-storey brick house. “And take your shoes off.”

Alexander peeled his father’s boots from his blistered feet, laid them carefully on the front porch and followed the guard inside, through a white-tiled entrance and down a hall. He sunk his toes into the carpet and scanned the smooth, white walls. There were pegs sunk into the wall for hanging coats and keys, and a side table cluttered with mahogany frames: sunshine and smiles trapped behind glass.

“Keep moving!” the guard barked, pushing Alexander past four closed doors, and one that had been left open. It looked to Alexander like a sitting room, with thick drapes pooling to the floor, a leather armchair, a bookcase and a small table cluttered with crockery, things he’d once taken for granted that now seemed magical: a teapot, a patterned china cup, a silver sugar spoon, a napkin. Things he could trade. Things he could eat. He looked past a vase spilling over with yellow flowers to the small garden visible through the window, where rhubarb grew in raised beds and spiky-leaved parsnips shared a bed with flowering cabbages.

“Take him to the kitchen,” the commander ordered as he swept past the guard on his way down the hall.

The kitchen?
Alexander’s eyes grew wide.