Against the Tide (12 page)

‘On the border, between Romania and Hungary, after we leave Timisoara.'

‘We?' Rachel glanced at me.

‘Yes, me and Elena, my wife. We queue with thousands. Hours and hours, we shuffle forward to border post. We try to cross, we have papers. Payment is expected from Jews. This is no problem but the guards are beating an old man. I, stupid, try stop them. They club me, search my case. They find books written by Jews – physics texts, you understand. This is forbidden by the fascists. They throw them on bonfire. I try to rescue. They laugh and drag me behind fence.'

He swallowed. His tone had been matter of fact but, now he was reliving the moment, his voice softened and I strained to hear. ‘They tie me to post, spread me.' He demonstrated, shaping his body into an “X”.

I shuddered at the picture. I'd read about floggings in Nelson's navy but couldn't imagine the true horror.

‘I do not see what they use but there are two of them. They grunt and swear. I stop counting at thirty blows. I stop thinking. I am only pain.' He stopped.

We were feet apart but I sensed his mind was a thousand miles distant. ‘They leave me hanging. I learn after, some brave men in queue cut me down during night and carry me to my wife. She doctor – real doctor, Jerk, not silly academic.'

I hung my head in shame.

‘She patch my wounds, give me water. We decide to cross away from guards. We wait for days until I am strong again, then we walk. We walk forever. Across Carpathians, around Slovakia until we reach border with Poland. There are no guards, just the Vistula.'

He paused again, lowered himself to the ground and sat, his wet shorts still dripping around him. He hugged his knees. I wanted him to stop, dreading what he still had to tell. Rachel grabbed my arm and pulled me down alongside him. Miko, my man of steel, who had just thrashed me in the pool, shrivelled in front of us. He was quivering and it wasn't with cold.

We waited. ‘Is broad river, this Vistula. Elena is weak swimmer. We try twice but current is strong. We are pushed back. We are weak, hungry. My back bleeds. We hear dogs barking. We rest, decide one more try – at night.'

He stopped; his mouth moved but no sound came out. Rachel reached out, put the towel around his shoulders and hugged him. I felt tears prick my eyes.

He forced himself to continue. ‘Is bright moonlight. We reach midstream. Is one hundred metres to Poland. We hear dogs behind, see torches. We cannot return. I hold Elena, but she very weak, cannot swim. I try for both of us but we are dragged under. Is very cold. I fight to surface. I tow her, try to keep her head above water but it is rough, the wind increase, there are waves. My fingers are numb. Elena is unconscious. She slips away. I swim after but cannot reach. I chase until I see her no more. I awake on shore. I never see Elena again.'

We waited. I held my breath.

His eyes had misted over. ‘Why this happen? Is because we are Jews?'

I felt like ice. Did Miko know Rachel's secret? I daren't look at her.

‘You leave now. Training finished for today. I warn you. Once you hear story, you cannot unlisten. I'm sorry –
sajnos.
It is sad but that is the past.' He pulled himself up. ‘You have future. Yes, there will be war but you two will survive. Be strong. Remember, sometimes is better not to fight all the time. Better to swallow pride, turn aside, wait. I learn too late.'

He took Rachel's hands. ‘You are strong, brave. You know what you want but do not know who you are.'

She gasped.

‘You will find this knowledge. When you do, what you want will come to you.'

He turned to me, tapped me on the head. ‘You learn something today?'

‘Yes, I did.'

‘You will not win through training now. You must win in here.'

He tapped my forehead again. ‘I beat you in there – not in pool.' He looked across at Rachel but spoke to me. ‘You know who you are but you do not know what you want. One day, soon, you will.'

He stood back. ‘I leave now, have to serve the breakfast. Perhaps I find guest to discuss particle acceleration.' He shrugged. ‘Perhaps not.' He picked up his polo shirt and sandals and walked towards the hotel.

We watched him in silence. I felt a terrible sadness. I also felt shame for the way he had been treated by the club. I would swim for both of us from now on.

Rachel and I were alone, but I didn't know what to say. I felt powerless to break the silence. She'd made it clear that she'd come to see Miko and not me. Perhaps she didn't want to talk. Miko had said some profound things to us. Things we needed to think about before we tried to discuss them.

‘Jack, talk to me.'

Would I ever understand women? ‘I don't know what to say. I'm stunned.'

‘It puts our little problems into perspective, doesn't it?' She sighed then looked at her watch. ‘I'm going to be late for work.' She turned away then stopped.

Did she want to talk now? She'd just said she was late for work. I tried to read her shoulders. ‘I'll run you down there on the bike.'

‘But you'll be late as well.' Her shoulders slumped.

‘That doesn't matter. They can't expel me now.' I hadn't looked at it like that before. They could give me a poor reference but I'd finished my exams and was just hanging around now until term finished.

She turned to look at me again; the sort of smile I sometimes used on Alan fixed on her face.

‘Don't be silly. I think you're in enough trouble already. I'm alright. Don't worry about last night. I'm fine.' She winked, hesitated, a slight flush on her cheeks. ‘Do you want to meet later, after work?'

I wanted to spend the rest of the day with her, didn't want to go to school.

‘Yes, I'd like that. I've got to take the bike back. How about meeting me at Fred's – what time do you finish?'

‘Five o'clock.'

‘Okay, I'll see you at five-thirty at his house.'

She stepped forward and pecked me on the cheek. ‘Tell me. If he'd worn his sandals, do you think you would have beaten him?'

‘Cheeky cow. You'll pay for that later.'

‘If you can catch me.' Before I could delay our parting any longer, she dashed off, skirt swirling around her tanned legs, hair splashing across her shoulders. I watched until she was out of sight, chewing my lip, trying to make sense of the strange feelings coursing through me.

‘Ground – Belts!' As soon as I entered the prefects' room, I faced a line of my friends standing to attention with their trousers around their ankles. Nutty was right – you couldn't keep secrets in this island.

‘Nice one, Renouf.' Beresford, the school captain, slapped me on the back. ‘I wish I'd been there. Short arms inspection, sir. Want to check the dirt on my barrel?' They hooted and started bounding round the room like kangaroos. Their juvenile insanity was infectious and I joined in, glad to escape into boyhood again, at least for a few moments.

Exhausted, we slumped into the battered leather chairs. Beresford went off with the official slipper and a couple of prefects to see if they could catch any juniors who had been stupid enough to arrive after the bell. I sat around with the others hatching our plan to borrow the Head's car, disassemble it and crane it onto the roof again.

There was a commotion outside. I looked up to see Saul thrown through the doorway by two of the larger prefects.

‘Desist thou foul and pestilent knaves!' Saul stumbled to gain his footing in front of us. Needless to say, he hadn't been appointed as a prefect and thought the whole business neanderthal.

‘For Christ sake. What do you want, you Yiddish creep?' Surcouf pushed himself up from the sofa and stood in front of Saul.

‘Ah, the fishmonger squeaks.' Saul gave Surcouf a withering look. I could sense a dusty reference on his tongue. He smiled and looked around the room. ‘“
Some report a sea-maid spawn'd him; some that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes water his urine is congealed ice.
” Flop back on your slab, Surcouf, I'm not here to inspect your scales. I have a message for Jack.'

‘Renouf, do we have to put up with this indignity? Can't you two meet for your Jew boy rituals after dark somewhere?' Surcouf was a shade over six-feet tall. Surprisingly, for a fishmonger's son, albeit one with four shops, he was a snob. He was also a racist and, at that moment, he sounded like a border guard. A red mist enveloped me. I lifted my foot, planted it on his behind and shoved as hard as I could. He shot across the room, caught the edge of the scarred oak table with his thighs before ending up spread-eagled over it.

I bounced up, grabbed the bat he had been fiddling with and rushed towards him. All I could see were the Iron Guards wielding bloodied whips. As I raised the bat to exact vengeance for Miko and Saul, pain tore through my shoulder. I twisted around to find Beresford's angry face inches from mine.

‘What the hell are you playing at, Jack? What's going on here?'

I was panting with anger, my face on fire. I held his stare but dropped the bat. When its echo had died away, I pointed at Surcouf, who was still splayed across the table. ‘Ask him.'

He turned to the other prefects. ‘Well?'

‘It's nothing, Beresford. He called Marcks a Yid.'

‘Get out.' He kicked Surcouf's leg. ‘And take your filthy Nazi tongue with you. I don't want to see you in here again.' He turned back to me. ‘And you should know better. Control yourself. If you want to fight, take it to the gym. Not in here. Understand?'

‘Well, thanks for the entertainment.' Saul's sardonic tone brought me back to the reason for the attack. ‘It's jolly kind of you, Jack, but a little bit excessive. He's just an uncouth lout. I don't think he meant any harm.'

‘Saul, you amaze me.' I wanted to tell him that there were more uncouth louts out there than he realised. That many of them would enjoy cutting him to pieces just because he was a Jew, but now wasn't the time. ‘Why did you want to see me?'

‘Oh, it's nothing secret. I'm not asking you to join the world conspiracy against bigots or anything dramatic. I've got a message. Grumpy wants to see you, in his study, now.'

13

‘Well, Renouf, just what am I going to do with you?' Mr Grumbridge – Grumpy to all his students – tapped his pipe against the leaded window and gestured at the two juniors who had dared trespass on the hallowed lawn outside of his study.

Recognising the rhetorical question, I stood across the desk from the headmaster, hands behind my back in respectful silence.

In silhouette the master looked liked a raven, his wings folded, his balding head nodding in time with the stem of his pipe. As if conducting some hidden orchestra, his shoulders twitched to an internal rhythm. The shaking stopped and he was motionless. He whirled and his gown swished, settled, then enfolded him. His black sleeved arm stretched out and dangled a letter across the massive desk, proffered it to me then let it slip from his fingers and flutter onto the green blotter.

‘You'll have to apologise. Firstly to Centenier Phillips, then to Mr Brewster and…' the words seemed to freeze on his lips, ‘to both girls' parents.'

I squeezed my hands together and lifted my chin, trying not to blink.

I was very fond of old Grumpy, admired him, had been inspired by his love of Shakespeare, Keats and Byron. I thought he was the perfect teacher, though many of my classmates didn't care for his passion for literature and chose to make fun of him behind his back.

I could sense the pain behind the outrage. All I had to do was nod acquiescence. But I couldn't.

Grumpy slumped into his chair, the folds of his gown draping themselves over the padded arms. ‘Well?'

I moistened my lips and tried to speak but my throat was too tight, my tongue beyond control. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks.

‘Hell's teeth, boy. Damn your eyes. Your silence will choke you.'

My hands twitched behind my back as the master leant forward, his hands thrusting out from his gown, almost in supplication.

‘I'm very sorry, sir, but I will not apologise to Mr Phillips. I will to Mr Brewster. I won't –'

‘That's enough, Renouf. You will not dictate the terms of your apologies. You are a scholar of this college. This is a matter of honour. Whilst wearing the King's uniform, you have behaved disgracefully. You are not alone in this and I will deal with your brother and the others later but you were the senior boy. You will apologise in writing to Centenier Phillips. We will discuss the most appropriate way of dealing with the other matter.'

A small concession. My hands steadied, though the bright spots still burned my cheeks. ‘As you say, sir, this is a matter of honour and for that reason I cannot apologise to Centenier Phillips. He provoked me. He wouldn't listen. He's a –'

‘Renouf, how far do you think you can swim against the tide?'

‘Well, sir, I can swim a hundred yards in about sixty seconds so, if I could maintain that speed, that would equate to about three and a half miles per hour. A spring tide will rise eighteen feet in the middle of its flood.' I paused, trying to give the impression I was calculating, though I was trying to work out what was behind the question. I gave up. ‘Not very far, sir.'

‘If there was a higher certificate in flippancy, Renouf, you would doubtless achieve the top grade.' He leant back in his chair and surveyed me as forensically as the biology master would a dissected frog. ‘I do fear for you, boy. Your stubbornness will “
ensure that your voyage is bound in shallows.”
'

The quotation game was something I had learned so well from this master. ‘Brutus might have been correct, sir but, however much the “tide is flooding
”
, it's going to change and so is the “fortune
”
. Caesar was a sailor, though it was the “ides” rather than the “tides” that got him.' I winced as the forced pun slipped out.