Alexander Altmann A10567 (21 page)

He watched them leave. Watched them march through the front gate and head west: thousands of men, women and children, with blankets thrown over their shoulders and torn sheets wrapped around their arms and legs to stave off the cold. Colourless, caved-in faces, pouchy eyes and thin skin. He watched them spill out onto the snow, one by one, until there was just the Horse Platoon and the guards left to wander the camp and wait.

Forty officers came to the stable for their horses that morning. And forty stablehands waited anxiously for their horses to be returned at the end of the day. Twenty-seven horses came back.

“Your officers have left,” the kapo told the thirteen frightened inmates whose horses weren’t returned to them. “Your job is over. You won’t be returning to Auschwitz tonight. You are joining the march.”

They hadn’t prepared for a hike. Their pockets were empty and their necks bare.

“I haven’t eaten,” one of the boys cried as a guard tore him from the platoon and ordered him to fall into line.

“I’m not ready,” another boy begged the kapo. “You said we’d have a few days.”

The kapo shrugged and the guard aimed his gun. One of the boys had stepped out of line. The guard spat a bullet into the snow and another into the boy’s heel. Blood leaked onto the snow from his black boot.

“
Marsch!
” The guard shoved the boy forwards.

The kapo yelled at the remaining stablehands to feed and water their horses, slowing to walk beside Isidor as they neared the trough. Alexander saw Isidor reach into his pocket, pull out a package and hand it to the kapo.

“Your officer is listed to leave in two days. It’ll be a long hike. Feed your horse up. You don’t want him getting hungry and weak,” Alexander overheard him say, a hint wedged between the words. “Make sure he is dressed warm.” The kapo glanced down at Isidor’s shoes which were coming away at the heel. “And see to his shoes.”

The kapo left and Isidor followed Alexander into the feed room and shut the door behind them. “I’m escaping tomorrow, soon as I get to the stable. My officer has been ordered to march out in two days.” He grabbed a carrot and slipped it under his cap. Alexander’s head started to pound.

“So you’re not going to join the march?”

Isidor shook his head and stuffed an apple down his trousers.

“There’s only one guard left in the yard. I know him, he likes his drink. He’ll look the other way for a bottle of vodka. You can join me.”

Alexander ignored the invitation. “I want to give you something,” he said instead, pulling Isidor from the feed room to the mare’s stable. “I should have told you about it earlier.” He reddened. He took a milk pail from the shelf. “I’ve been milking her,” he said, shooing the foal from her mother. “I didn’t tell anyone because I was worried she’d dry up if she was milked too often.” He pulled on the mare’s teat. “It was selfish. I’m sorry.” His voice trailed away. He finished milking, left the pail for Isidor and hurried to Midnight’s stall.

“I don’t want to say goodbye to him.” He wrapped his arms around the horse’s neck and touched his cheek to Midnight’s. “Or to you. You’re the only friends I’ve got.”
Friends
. The thought of the word swelled to fill the stall. Alexander sifted through his memories for the last time he’d done something to benefit someone other than himself. It had been a while. It was his own fault. He’d convinced himself that the only way to survive the camp was to be as cold and hard as the men who’d locked him up. To give nothing out and let no one in. All those months batting away his feelings hadn’t made him into a fortress. It had whittled him away. He dragged his fingers through Midnight’s mane. It had taken a horse to teach him how to be human. A horse as scared and lost as he was. Alexander pulled his hands from Midnight’s mane and stroked his nose.

“You let yourself be vulnerable. That takes a lot of strength.”
To need people. To help them. And accept their help in return.
“The commander will come for you soon.” Alexander wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “You’re finally getting out of here.” Midnight nudged Alexander with his nose. “It’s okay. I’m going too,” he said, letting the horse lick his tears. “The Russians are close, so this will all be over soon and we’ll make it back home, both of us. And when we do,” he said, kneading his hope into certainty, “someone will be there, waiting for us. You’ll see. ”

The barrack was empty when Alexander returned to camp. He sat on the steps in the staggering cold with a blanket wrapped around his legs watching Isidor and the remaining stablehands search the camp for food.

“They’re not giving us any more meals,” the Rat said. He took a wilted cabbage leaf from his pocket and stuffing it into his mouth. “You’ll have to fend for yourself.”

Alexander stepped onto the snow and snapped an icicle from the roof. The quiet should have been comforting. The band had packed away their instruments and the gallows had been pulled down. The rollcall square was silent and the barracks emptied. The camp had been scraped clean and Alexander felt hollow.

He heard a throaty rumble and dived backwards through the door as an aeroplane screamed overhead filling the sky with flames. He thought about joining Isidor, if not on horseback, then by foot, but there were still guards at the gate, maybe more in the forest. And even if they made it past the guards, they wouldn’t survive a night in the snow.

He climbed onto his bunk. He hadn’t slept on his back for seven months, hadn’t drifted off to sleep without someone’s stinking body touching his. Now the barrack was almost empty. He had a bed to himself, and still, he couldn’t sleep.

“We’re marching out.” Isidor stood at the foot of Alexander’s bunk the next morning. It was still dark outside, but the Rat was pulling men from their bunks and a guard stood at the open door of the barrack, yelling at them to hurry. “This morning,” Isidor said, his face white as chalk. Alexander rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up.

“Now? From here?” his voice splintered. He hadn’t said goodbye to Midnight.

Isidor nodded. He retrieved a crumbling sugar cube from under his mattress and slipped it into his cap.

“You’re not coming with us,” he said, staring up at Alexander. “The commander’s here, so you still have a job.” He lifted his pillow and took the apple core that was under it. “But he won’t stick around.” He glanced at the guard, waiting by the door to march the men out. “You should leave today. I’ve already paid off the guard at the stable. Take the commander’s horse and get the hell out of there.” He gripped Alexander’s arm. “I don’t want to see you on that march.”

“Can’t you buy an extra day from the guards or the kapo?” Alexander panicked. “You’ve got a friend at the infirmary. He’ll say you’re unwell.”

“I gave the stable guard my last pack of cigarettes. I’ve got nothing left to give, so I’ve got no friends.”

“You got
me
,” Alexander said, feeling punctured.

“I thought you didn’t
want
friends.”

“I didn’t,” Alexander said. “You wore me down.” He extended his hand and Isidor took it. “The Russians are close,” Alexander tried to sound convincing, “they’ll stop the march.”

Isidor nodded, pulled his bedsheet from his mattress and tore it to strips, winding a band of fabric around his chest and each of his arms. He wound the final strip around his left shoe where the sole came away at the heel.

Alexander attempted a smile. “Six Gregor Lane, Košice. Remember it. It’s my address. After we both get out of here, I expect you to visit.”

“Horse Platoon, march out!” A second guard stood at the door, his beard covered in ice.

“Six Gregor Lane.” Isidor stood up, pulled his coat on and walked towards the door, the fabric around his battered left shoe unravelling as he walked.

“Isidor, wait!” Alexander kicked off one boot, then the other. He wasn’t about to lose his new friend. His only friend. “Your shoes are falling apart. They won’t last in the snow. You don’t have time to fix them.
I
do.” He scooped the boots from the floor and pressed them to Isidor’s chest. “Take mine. I’ll wear yours.”

Alexander stood at the main gate and watched Isidor disappear into the fog.

“Six Gregor Lane,” he said quietly into the swirling snow. “And bring my father’s boots. He’ll want them back.”

The Rat handed Alexander over to the kapo and the two of them marched to the stable, escorted by a guard. Alexander knew he was lucky to have been spared. Lucky to have another few hours of shelter, another swipe at the food bins. Lucky to have Midnight’s protection. At least for now. He knew
now
wouldn’t last. The commander would escape before the Russian tanks arrived and then he’d be out there too, dragging his feet through the snow to God knows where.

“The commander hasn’t said whether he’ll be riding today.” The kapo swung the stable door open and marched past a grim-faced guard. Alexander hurried after him, past the quiet kitchen and the empty feed room. The stalls were deserted, the hooks on the shelves stripped of saddles and reins. Alexander stopped outside Chestnut’s empty stall and the kapo shook his head. “They let him loose in the forest last night. The foal too.”

“And the mare?” Alexander asked, remembering finding his own mother at the fence dividing the women’s camp from the men’s on his third day in Birkenau, and how it felt having her ripped away from him, a second time.

“They took the mare with them.”

Alexander tore into Midnight’s stall and wrapped his arms around the stallion. “Want to go riding?” he asked, strapping a saddle to Midnight’s back. Midnight’s ears pricked up and he shifted towards the door. “Not out there. In here, with me.” He knew it was foolish, but he also knew he might never ride again and he wanted to feel a horse under him, one last time. Wanted to wrap his hands around the reins and press his heels into Midnight’s sides and pretend just for a moment that he was a boy on a horse.

He fastened the girth and slipped the bit into Midnight’s wet mouth.

“Where should we go?” he said, climbing onto the horse’s back and closing his eyes. Midnight nickered gently and shifted his feet, and Alexander heard the pressing of hooves against grass, then the wind in the trees. He tightened his hands around the reins, sunk his heels into the stirrups and lifted himself to stand. He felt the sun on his face, saw the grassy acres in front of them, then the path to Gregor Lane. He sped up to a gallop, his legs absorbing every bump in the road, every pothole and rock. His mother was at the farmhouse gate, wiping her hands on her apron and Lili was beside her, calling Alexander to come home.

Home … I have to get home!
He slid from the horse, grabbed a blanket from the straw and draped it over his shoulders, fixing it at the waist with a rope. He filled his pockets with sugar cubes and his socks with oats scraped from the feed bins. “They could take me today,” he said. He pulled Isidor’s shoes from his feet and ran to the farrier’s shed. He turned Isidor’s left shoe over, pulled a hammer from the workbench and pounded a dozen nails into the sole, filing the edges with the farrier’s rasp, before returning to feed Midnight.

“They’re setting fire to the warehouses and blowing up the barracks. I don’t want to go back to camp,” Alexander said, pressing his cheek to Midnight’s neck. “Isidor said we should escape, but you’re better off with the commander,” he told the horse. “You’ll be safe with him.”

When the sky turned black, the kapo rapped at the door. Alexander pulled Midnight towards him, pressed his forehead to Midnight’s white blaze and said goodbye.

“We’re going back to camp.” The kapo dipped his voice. “Maybe they’ll come tonight.” His voice rippled with hope. He didn’t say who he hoped would come to Auschwitz, but he didn’t need to. Alexander looked up at the bleeding sky.
Please hurry
, he begged the Russians.
We haven’t got long.