Alexander Altmann A10567 (13 page)

He turned to Serafin. He’d never shot an animal before. He’d killed a rabbit once, on a dare. Did it with a slingshot and a sharp rock. Anton had congratulated him, but Alexander had returned to the soggy patch of grass later that day to bury the animal.

The door creaked open.

“Let’s get this over with,” the kapo grumbled, pulling a pistol from his coat pocket and holding it out for Alexander. The gun was black, its polished barrel gleaming in the fractured light. It was the same type of gun the guards used to taunt the inmates, the same gun they exploded into heads and chests. Alexander stared at the long black muzzle.

“A bullet between the eyes should do the job.” The kapo pressed the gun into Alexander’s hand and pointed another at his head. “This one’s in case you get any smart ideas.”

Alexander wrapped his trembling fingers around the grip and turned to face the horse. Serafin lay on the straw, breathing heavily.
It’s you or him
, he thought.
You. Or. Him.

“Do it!” the kapo said, pressing his gun to Alexander’s cheek. Alexander raised his arm, aimed the pistol at the horse’s forehead and touched his finger to the trigger.

“I can’t,” he whispered, cursing his cowardice. “I can’t do it.”

The kapo snatched the gun from Alexander’s hand. “Get out of my way.” He shoved him aside and stood over the horse. “If anyone asks, I watched you do it.” He fixed Alexander with a cold stare. “Now get out.”

Alexander wandered the stalls and found himself stopped at the entrance to the mare’s stable. He slipped inside and grabbed a bucket. The mare’s ears pricked up at the sound of a gunshot. Alexander heard it too. A single bullet spat into flesh.

Serafin was dead.

I’m better off without him
, Alexander thought. He reached out to rub the foal’s neck and found himself draped over the animal, his arms folded around the small body, his face pressed against the foal’s neck.
No!
He shoved the foal aside and reached for the mare.
No going soft.
Soft could have got him killed just now. He wouldn’t take that chance again. The only person – only thing – he had to take care of right now was himself. He forced his racing heart to slow as he pulled his cup from his belt and grabbed a teat to milk the mare. “He was a mean animal,” he said, squeezing hard. “Mean and dangerous. Wouldn’t have cared two hoots if the commander had put a bullet through
my
head.” He sat back and dug his nails into his arm to concentrate his fury, sinking them into his freckled skin till it broke and he saw blood.

He felt the tears start.
No.
He leaped from the milking stool.
You will not cry for that horse
, he berated himself.
You’ll go back to the stall and offer to help the kapo cart the body to the yard.

He drained the milk from the bucket, wiped his face and stalked down the corridor, stopping at the open door to Isidor’s stall. The boy’s horse was crammed into a corner to make room for the swarm of men who stood in the room, haggling over a pile of sacks. Hessian sacks, stained red and bulging with … Alexander vomited on the straw. He’d seen men trade mice for cigarettes, seen them cook them over the open fire behind the stable. He’d heard of a Russian inmate who had shot a dog and sold the parts, but never a horse. Not a horse. Alexander ran from the stall.

“Alex, wait!” Isidor chased after him, pinning him to the wall. “They dragged the bags to my stall. They asked if I’d sell the …” Isidor’s cheeks reddened. His hands slipped from Alexander’s shoulders. “They asked if I’d sell the meat for them. I said no.”

Alexander’s knees buckled and he slumped to the floor. Isidor sat next to him, his arms looped around his legs. The sun dropped in the sky and the stall grew dark.

“I’m sorry about Serafin.” Isidor pulled a beet from his pocket and offered it to Alexander. “I didn’t know you’d grown close.”

“We hadn’t.” Alexander felt a burning ache under his ribs. “It’s just that … he did nothing wrong.” He stared at his shoes. “She didn’t have to die.” Alexander closed his eyes and saw his sister step from the cattle train.

“She?” Isidor interrupted, but Alexander wasn’t listening.

“She was innocent. She trusted them. She trusted
me
.” Alexander buried his head between his knees.

“I thought Serafin was a stallion, a male?” Isidor’s brow furrowed. “Who is ‘she’?”

“Lili,” he said, looking up. “My sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“I
had
a sister.” Alexander stood up and dusted himself off. “I had a horse to look after too. Seems I don’t have that either.” His face grew hard. “But you’ve got something, don’t you?” He pressed a finger to Isidor’s chest. “You seem to have done well out of all this. From what I saw back there, you’ll make a tidy profit.” He shoved Isidor in the chest. “I don’t care if you sell the meat. I don’t give a damn if you carved it up yourself.” He grabbed Isidor’s shirt and balled it in his fist. “Just get me my share.”

The siren sounded and the kapo called for the men to line up for inspection. Alexander peeled his fingers from Isidor’s shirt, wiped his nose on his sleeve and walked to the yard between the silent trees, their bare branches stabbing the sky. The clouds blotted out the stars and a sweep of cool air hit his face, but Alexander wasn’t thinking about the coming winter and whether he’d survive the cold. He was thinking about tomorrow and whether he still had a job.

The Horse Platoon passed the checkpoint and headed back to their barrack.

The Rat’s mean voice drowned out the sound of birds calling to each other. “
Hüpfen, rollen, laufen, drehen!
Drop and roll!”

A group of inmates dropped to their knees and rolled over on the gravel, their knees dripping blood onto their shredded trousers. Alexander looked up at the white stars. There was no God up there. The stories he’d been taught at Hebrew school were all lies. There was no reward for the righteous, no punishment for the wicked. He took a heel of bread from his secret pocket and handed it to the Rat. The man nodded his approval and stepped aside to let him pass.

Alexander climbed onto his bunk and pulled his blanket over his head. Isidor climbed up beside him, shoved something under the blanket and turned away. Alexander wrapped his hands around the offering: a mountain of cigarettes, tied with string.

“Your share,” said Isidor, his voice wintry. “We’re done.”

Alexander slipped the cigarettes under his mattress, burrowed into his bed and waited, but there was no lump in his throat, no heavy chest, no guilt to beat down, no misgivings.
You’re a fortress
, he said to himself.
A brick wall. A rock.

So why did he feel so empty?

He woke the next day to lashing rain. He stepped from the barrack and turned up his collar, holding it around his neck to keep the water out. The Rat cleared his throat and reeled off the numbers of the men in the Horse Platoon. Serafin was dead and the commander was going to punish someone. Alexander held his breath. He was going to be sent back to Birkenau. The stablehands stepped forwards, one by one. The Rat looked up from his sheet of paper and called the last number: A10567. Alexander breathed out. He fell into line and followed the Rat to the square, his boots squelching as he pulled them from the mud.

The kapo was waiting for the Horse Platoon by the main gate, his face hidden under the canopy of a large black umbrella. Alexander had hoped to discover his fate from the kapo’s expression, but he couldn’t see the man’s eyes so he waited to be called, his stomach in knots.

“A10567!”

Alexander shuffled forwards. He should’ve been glad his number was called. They wouldn’t march him all the way to the stables just to tell him he didn’t have a job. He should feel invincible. Instead he just felt tired.

The ground was soggy and Alexander’s boots were spattered with mud and his pants wet by the time he reached the stable. The commander stood under the weeping sky waiting for his platoon, an officer beside him, holding an umbrella over his head. He counted the men and sent them to their horses except for Alexander, who was ordered to wait outside Chestnut’s stall.

“I no longer require you to look after Chestnut. I’ve called for a new boy. Show him where Chestnut’s equipment is kept and how to fix his feed,” the commander said.

So, Alexander thought, this is it. My last day at the stable. Alexander walked to Chestnut’s stall and slumped against the closed door. He heard Chestnut whinny inside and wondered whether he’d get to say goodbye to the pony, or reach into his bucket and steal one last handful of grain.

“Commander Ziegler wants Jacob to look after Chestnut,” the kapo mumbled as he peeled off his dripping coat. “You’ll work with him today, show him what to do and tomorrow he’ll work on his own.” He pulled a damp scarf from his neck and flung it over the stall door to dry. “Show him how to tack Chestnut up and which saddle to use,” he said, yawning. Alexander searched the kapo’s face for an apology, but his eyes were empty, his expression vacant.

“So I don’t have a horse?” Alexander said.

The kapo’s eyes brightened and a smile split his face. “Oh, you have a horse all right.” He motioned Alexander towards Serafin’s stall.

Alexander leaped back as the door swung open and two men lurched out.

“Bloody lunatic,” the first man cursed, spitting a bloodied tooth into his cupped palm.

The second man limped out, wild-eyed and sweating. “Took us two hours to get him in there.” He dragged one leg stifly behind him. “Good luck getting him out.”

Alexander backed away from the door as the timber bowed and snapped, the creature inside landing one explosive kick after another, until Alexander was sure the door would fly off its hinges.

“A10567,” the kapo said, shoving Alexander towards the door. “Meet the commander’s new mount.”

Alexander peered over the stable door and locked eyes with the commander’s new stallion. The horse was backed into the shadows, his head tilted up to glare at Alexander, daring him to enter.

“What’s his name?” Alexander gulped, lifting the cold metal from the latch. The horse’s eyes widened and rolled back in his head.

“I don’t know. The SS don’t ask for names when they’re seizing horses. The commander will see him next week. He’ll name him then.” The kapo peered through the door, looked at the horse and said, “If he’s still here.”

Alexander stared into the horse’s soot-black eyes. So Ziegler only named his horses once he’d decided to keep them. Easier to dispose of them if they’re not up to scratch. Harder to shoot them if they have a name. Just like
us
, Alexander thought.

The stallion raised his muzzle and bared his teeth. He was coal-black save for a blaze of white on his muzzle and four perfect white socks. A big horse, maybe fifteen hands high, heavily muscled with giant, wide-set eyes and a broad forehead. An Arabian. Alexander pushed the door open and the horse charged at him, nostrils flaring, forcing Alexander to scramble out. He slammed the door behind him and rammed the latch shut just as the stallion smashed into the wood, bowing it and catapulting Alexander backwards onto the ground.

“Has the commander
seen
this horse?” Alexander stood up, panting.

The kapo nodded. “He likes his horses fiery.”

The horse snorted and lashed out at the door, striking it with his hooves till the wood splintered and the walls shook.

Alexander respected a horse with spirit, but this horse wasn’t strong-willed.

“He’s not strong-willed,” Alexander said. “He’s deranged.”

“Then sort him out.” The kapo kicked the door and the horse shrieked. “The commander was embarrassed by Serafin. He doesn’t want to have to dispose of another horse. He wants this one saddled and ready to ride Wednesday week. You have twelve days to break him.”

This horse will do more than embarrass the commander, Alexander thought, feeling panicked. He’ll throw him from his back, and when he does – Alexander’s breath caught – there will be two bullets discharged that day.

“You can train the horse outside in the ring once the children have left and Chestnut’s been put away.” The kapo’s face softened. “You’ll do fine. He just needs a bit of gentle persuasion.” He lifted the latch. “You’ve got a lot of work to do. Best get started right away.” He swung the door open, shoved Alexander inside and closed the door behind him.

The horse’s ears were flattened and his teeth bared.
See the pinned ears? He’s going to lash out.
He heard his father say.
And the bared teeth? That means he’s angry and wants to bite
. Alexander inched backwards until there was nowhere left to go.

“Easy, boy,” he whispered, the blood banging in his ears. “I’m just going to wait here, till you calm down. I’m not going to move.”

The horse gnashed his teeth. Alexander stared into his hard eyes, black as polished stone. He’d never broken in a horse. Sari was already wearing a saddle when he climbed onto her back and Paprika was too young to be ridden.

Alexander moved tentatively towards the horse and extended his hand. The horse lunged and reared, striking at him with his massive hooves. When Alexander raised his arm above his head to protect himself, the horse’s eyes flew open even wider. He kicked out wildly and Alexander had to flatten himself against the stall door to avoid being crushed.