Alexander Altmann A10567 (18 page)

Isidor buried his hands in his pockets and bent down to inspect Midnight’s leg.

Alexander pulled a brush from the shelf and ran it over Midnight’s back.
What’s your angle?
he thought, eyeing Isidor suspiciously. “Why’d you do it? Why’d you get me the medicine?” he asked finally.

“Because I
can
,” Isidor said. Alexander folded his arms over his chest and waited.

“It’s what I do.” Isidor shrugged. “I get people what they want.” He grabbed a comb from the shelf and dragged it through Midnight’s tail. “It’s how I’ve kept this job. The kapo likes his vodka and the guards know I’ll get them whatever they need.”

“But why me?” Alexander asked. “Why
me
?” He thought of all the favours Isidor had done him: the cardigan he wore under his striped coat, the medicine for his stomach cramps, introducing him to Karpowski and Weisz. It was a long list.

“You’re the only one who never asked for anything.” Isidor lowered the comb. “The only one who doesn’t pretend to be my friend because he wants something from me.”

Neither boy spoke for a long time.

“When my father was killed it was up to me to feed my brother,” Isidor said without blinking. “My mother couldn’t look after us so I had to learn quickly.”

He has a brother.
Alexander had never thought to ask, never thought he might have his own story.

“Turns out I was pretty good at wheeling and dealing. I was going to start a business selling second-hand clothes as soon as Hitler was overthrown. I’d even picked out a name:
Good as new
.” Isidor laughed bitterly. “What an idiot.”

Alexander put down his brush and walked over to where Isidor stood.

“Mine was going to be called
The Galloping Stallion
,” he said.

“The what?”

“Nothing.” Alexander was quiet for a moment. “Your business isn’t stupid. Stupid is telling your mother that you’re going to enlist.” Alexander filled a bucket and took it over to Midnight and the boys stood side by side listening to the horse lap the water. “I thought I’d make a great soldier. Boasted that my horse would be the finest in the regiment.
God help the Germans if they have to fight the two of us!
I
actually
said that.” He blushed. “I pictured myself in the uniform. I didn’t picture
this.
” He looked down at his wiry arms and spit-flecked pants.

“What? The two of us talking?” Isidor’s face split into a smile. “I knew I’d break you eventually.”

Four days passed. The temperature dipped below freezing and the guards pulled the collars of their heavy winter coats around their beefy necks and buried their double chins under scarves, while the Horse Platoon trudged between the camp and the stables, their bodies wilted by the heavy snow. Alexander traded his cigarettes for a pair of woollen socks, but the cold found its way through the holes in his shoes to his toes and his feet. The only way he could warm himself was by clinging to Midnight. They stood cheek to cheek, waiting anxiously for the horse’s leg to heal, Midnight’s steaming breath on Alexander’s frozen skin, warming him. And as the hours passed they began to thaw, and as the days passed a friendship grew. Alexander found his heart quickening every time he walked to the stall, knowing Midnight’s ears would perk up at his approach, and he’d feel a rush of gratitude as he swung the door open and Midnight limped towards him, for here was someone who was happy to see him.

Isidor snuck into Alexander’s stall to talk whenever the guards’ backs were turned and Alexander let him. He didn’t say much but he liked to listen – the sound of Isidor’s voice filled his head and left no room for remembering. The noise beat back his guilt. He learned that Isidor’s best friend’s name was Erik and his most treasured possession was a three-speed bicycle – and that he’d lost them both on the same day when Erik turned up at the park with a gang of Hitler Youth and slammed Isidor’s bike against a tree.
We’re not that different
, Alexander thought. It didn’t make him feel any better, but it made him feel a little less alone.

Outside the stable, thick snowflakes fell. The cold made the guards icy and the inmates irritable, but Alexander hid away in Midnight’s stall and taught the commander’s horse to come at his whistle and stop at his raised hand, always aware of time slipping away. He brushed the commander’s saddle along Midnight’s flanks and let the horse run his tongue over its leather stirrups. He slung it over his shoulder when he mucked out the stall and draped it beside the feed bucket to strip it of mystery and make it familiar. He made up buckets of hot mash to share between them and tended Midnight’s sore leg until the wound closed and healed and he no longer limped. And then, with one day to go before Commander Ziegler came for his horse, Alexander crossed his fingers and slipped a saddle blanket onto Midnight’s back. He smoothed it out and, when Midnight didn’t spook, held his breath and lifted the saddle from its hook.

“Time’s running out,” he said, lowering it gently onto Midnight’s back. He lifted the bridle over Midnight’s ears, secured the reins and took the stirrups down. “The commander’s coming for you tomorrow. Let’s get you outside.”

Midnight stood at the stable entrance, the cold dawn light reflected in his large, bright eyes. He took a step into the yard, lowered his head and sniffed the frozen ground, the snow flurrying around him, soft as icing sugar. He eyed the white powder and pawed it gently, surprised when it shifted under his weight. Alexander walked him around the yard, acquainting him with the other horses and getting him used to the deep cold and the bright white.

Midnight turned towards the stable and sniffed the air.

“What is it?” Alexander asked, peering through the fog. Two inmates stepped aside and Alexander saw one of the stablehands hanging from a hook that had been drilled into the stable wall. The boy’s lips were frozen shut but his eyes were open. His pants hung around his ankles and an upturned milk bucket lay in the snow at his feet. Alexander felt queasy. He knew the boy. He didn’t know his name but Alexander had snuck into his stall every day to milk his mare.
I showed him how to milk her so he couldn’t turn me in. I told him to drink it.
Alexander looked at the battered tin bucket with the red handle that lay at the boy’s feet, the same bucket they both used to milk the mare.
I told him it was safe.
Midnight followed him into the stall and he closed the door behind them, wondering whether he’d ever be able to paste new memories over the old ones. If he made it home, would he be able to work in his own stable? Or would a bucket mean dinner and a horsewhip twenty lashes?

“So, he’s okay?” The kapo poked his head over the stall door. “The commander’s horse is well?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Alexander’s jaw twitched.

“His leg …” The kapo’s eyes tunnelled into Alexander’s. “I wasn’t sure …”

“He’s fine.”

“Good. The commander will be here tomorrow at eight.” The kapo let the words sink in. “Have the horse saddled and ready to ride.”

The stable was quiet. The men were at lunch and the guards gathered outside the lunch room keeping an eye on them. Alexander slid his left foot into the stirrup, not daring even to breath.
You’ve got no choice
, he told himself.
If you send Midnight out to the commander not knowing what it feels like to have someone on his back, he’ll buck, and you’ll both be shot.
But it wasn’t just that. Alexander wanted to be the first person to climb onto Midnight’s back. He’d tamed him and trained him and there was no way the commander was going take that away from him. They’d worked too hard.

He grabbed the saddle and hoisted himself up to stand in the stirrup, hovering there to let Midnight settle into the strangeness of it, letting him get used to his weight and seeing someone from above.

“I’m just going to lay across your back now. I’m not going to sit yet,” Alexander whispered, his heart racing as he draped himself across the saddle, his legs hanging off one side of the horse, his head the other.

It felt good to have a horse under him, to feel its beating heart and smell its dusty odour. Alexander’s skin prickled. He pulled a marble of ice from Midnight’s mane and managed not to cry.

“Good boy,” he cooed when Midnight stood his ground. He reached out to touch the velvet of the horse’s muzzle, glad that Midnight welcomed his touch.

When both their hearts had stilled, he eased his right leg over the horse and hoisted himself up to sit in the saddle, dropping his chest onto the horse so he couldn’t be seen over the stall door. He thought of Sari, waiting for him at the end of Gregor Lane, and he allowed himself to hope that he might survive the war. And that his parents might too.

“We’ll make it through this,” Alexander said, wrapping his fingers around the reins and tugging gently against Midnight’s neck, knowing the commander would pull back harder and might even use the whip. “You do this for the commander tomorrow and we’ll be just fine.” He stroked Midnight’s chiselled neck and closed his eyes. He pressed his feet into Midnight’s flanks and imagined the two of them soaring, flying, free, Midnight’s hooves flattening the ground, the clouds whipping past, the camp receding. Alexander dropped the reins and wrapped his arms around Midnight’s belly. He knew he shouldn’t cling to something he could so easily lose, but he was tired of running from his feelings, tired of beating them down. He pressed his cheek to Midnight’s neck and felt something unlock inside him.

“Is he ready?” The door groaned on its hinges and Isidor slipped into the stall. “I heard about the commander–” His mouth fell open as he saw Alexander’s feet hit the ground. “You weren’t just–” He adjusted the stirrup swinging at Midnight’s side.

“No,” Alexander cut him off, his heart hammering in his chest. He walked to the back of the stall and picked up a bucket.

“Oh,” Isidor said, sounding disappointed. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a potato and handed it to Alexander. “So is he ready?”

“I don’t know.” Alexander took the potato and bit into it hungrily. “He didn’t buck me off.” He attempted a smile. “But, tomorrow …”

“… he’ll be fine,” Isidor finished his sentence. “You’ve trained him well. He knows what to do.”

“He trusts me,” Alexander said, slipping the feed bucket under Midnight’s nose. “I don’t want to let him down.”

“You can’t control what happens next.”

“So if the commander pulls out his whip or his gun, I do nothing?” Alexander asked.

“What
can
you do?”

Midnight lowered his nose to the hay and ate, while the boys stood either side of him, not talking.

“Well, good luck,” Isidor said, turning for the door.

“My sister, Lili,” Alexander spoke quickly, “was ten years old when she died.” He hadn’t meant to say anything, but there it was. It felt good to hear her name out loud, his silence had made her small. “And I did nothing,” he continued. “I said nothing.”

Isidor swung around to face him.

“We climbed out of the cattle train.” Alexander’s voice was low. “Lili was crying. She was scared of the guns and the dogs on chains.” He shut his eyes and let his sorrow form words. “Of course she was scared. I was scared too, but I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.”

Isidor nodded.

“So, she was crying …” Alexander’s shoulder’s sagged. “And I told her to grow up. Told her to stop being such a baby. It only made her cry harder. And I was too mean to comfort her. She wouldn’t talk to me after that. Not even when we were told to line up. Women and children on one side, men on the other. My mother told me to go with the men.” His words tripped over one another as they tumbled out. “I didn’t want to. I’d told my father I’d look after my sister, but Lili said no. ‘I can look after myself,’ she said.” He let his words twist around the memory. “So I went. I walked off to the left and she went right. To the gas. We never got to say goodbye.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Isidor whispered.

A whistle blew and footsteps filled the corridor.

“You better go,” Alexander said, opening the door.

“My brother’s name was Isaac.” Isidor stood in the doorway, trying to find the right words to fit his pain. “He was twelve and a half. He loved soccer. He was a smart kid but he hated school, couldn’t stand being told what to do. He would’ve hated it here.” He gazed out the window at the white clouds. “Maybe they’ve met.” He attempted a smile. “My brother, Isaac, and your sister, Lili.”

Alexander stepped into the yard clutching the lead rope, his legs shaking under his baggy pants. He hated that he had to hand Midnight over to the commander. It felt like a betrayal, even though Midnight wasn’t his horse. And never would be.

“C’mon, boy,” he whispered, nudging Midnight into a walk. He wanted to tell him that everything would be okay, but he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t lie to Midnight, not after all they’d been through.

He wished he’d prepared him better, but he didn’t know how. How do you prepare a horse when you can’t squeeze your knees against its sides and take off into the hills? Alexander’s brow shimmered with sweat. The kapo was already outside handing the commander his riding crop. Midnight snorted and tossed his head, his panic rising to meet Alexander’s.