Alphabet House (13 page)

The sixth time Bryan walked back and forth between the lavatories, it became too much for the nurse they called Sister Lili. Even though everyone knew patients were unusually thirsty and restless on the second day after shock treatment, there were other things to be done than continually letting an agitated, thirsty patient pass by.

Bryan’s mouth was irritatingly dry again before the nursing staff had finished changing the bed linen. He watched the rapid, skillful movements of the nursing aides’ hands, twisting in and out of the blanket covers and pillowcases as they made the beds. He laid his head back heavily on the clinical-smelling linen. His mouth encapsulated his tongue firmly while the sweetish taste spread from inside his cheeks. Even though he bit his cheek, there came not so much as a single drop of saliva.

There were bursts of irritation from the thin Siamese twin’s bed, making Bryan raise his head. Pock-Face had wanted to give the thin man some water, but he didn’t like anyone touching his bed besides his Siamese counterpart, and was trying to brush Pock-Face off. Bryan regarded the scene impassively and tried once more to swallow at the sight of the glass of water Pock-Face was pressing against the tightly clenched lips of the thin twin. Full of promise, its clear contents sloshed over the side every time he tried to avoid it like some naughty boy. Bryan stuck his arm up and waved until the giant finally stopped his teasing and turned to him. A big smile spread over his lips as he stalked over to Bryan with his arm and the glass stretched out before him.

The water was infinitely refreshing. Having watched Bryan empty the glass so eagerly, Kröner was about to go back to the trolley and fill it up when he bumped heavily into the bed as he turned around. The pills rattled so loudly in the bedpost that Bryan thought everyone would stop what they were doing and look at him accusingly. Instantly his mouth became dry again.
Pock-Face turned slowly towards him and stared at the bed. He knocked his knee gently against the end of the bedframe but the pills didn’t rattle. Then Bryan began to cough so violently that a nursing aide came rushing over to thump him on the back. Pock-Face watched for a moment, then reluctantly fetched another glass of water at the nursing aide’s request.

Bryan dared hardly move the rest of the day, even though he had a feeling the tablets had fallen to the bottom of the bedpost and would scarcely make any more noise.

Apparently the giant was the only one to have heard anything.

At midnight, clouds were hiding the moon and Bryan figured it was time to get rid of the pills. There was no one moving in the ward, no shadows behind the swing door. When he felt convinced he was the only one awake he got out of bed and raised the bedhead by its right leg. The plug in the bottom of the leg had never been out since leaving the manufacturer. Bryan twisted it so hard that he rubbed the skin off his fingertips. He had to keep on changing hands and tried to avoid panting. Bryan was so tired when he finally managed to pull the plug out that he was hardly conscious of his triumph.

In a fraction of a second he sensed catastrophe and clutched hold of the open end of the tubing as the pills gushed out like corn from a silo. A couple of them danced across the floor. Bryan opened his eyes wide in the feeble light.

One of the pills landed in the middle gangway, a couple of others lay under beds. Bryan cautiously edged his hand free until the remaining pills formed a neat pile under the bedpost, ready to be gathered up. Bryan held his shirt in front of him and scooped the pills into its fold as he groped around feverishly on his knees, trying desperately to clear the white devils off the floor. When he was quite sure there were none left, he turned around and rammed the plug in as hard as he could. Outdoors a heavy cloud thinned out in the middle, leaving a hole in the night sky through which moonbeams suddenly lit up the whole
room. Over behind the foot of the bed on the opposite side of the corridor a figure slowly raised itself up and began staring at him. Bryan drew himself all the way under the bed.

It was Pock-Face, he was sure.

The moonlight shone gently and coolly in between the forest of bed legs, so that scores of sharply demarcated shadows swept diagonally across the floor of the ward. Among them crept a tiny, elongated shadow the thickness of a knitting needle. It was yet another pill which had slid treacherously across the gangway and come to rest under the head end of Pock-Face’s bed.

The big man’s bed creaked. He had no intention of lying down.

When the sky clouded over again Bryan cautiously stretched upward. In one quick movement he pulled his blanket onto the floor and got halfway up so Pock-Face couldn’t quite make out whether he’d been about to get out of bed.

His eyes followed Bryan with unveiled attention as he headed for the lavatory. Bryan looked straight ahead, concentrating on his up-turned shirt-tails and taking care not to fall over anything.

Only after the third flush did the last pills disappear in the foaming eddies of the toilet bowl.

The ward was lit by moonlight again. Pock-Face was sitting with his legs swinging to and fro over the edge of the bed, his big fists grasping the edge firmly so he could push himself up quickly. His torso was bent slightly forward, eyes squinting and on the alert. It was obvious the giant wouldn’t let Bryan pass easily. For a moment he seemed normal.

The feeling of having been found out made Bryan stop his shuffling. He stood at the head of the bed, his lower jaw hanging and his tongue protruding. Pock-Face seemed to be watching him tirelessly, scarcely blinking. Then Bryan suddenly took an irrational step forward, leaning over so that he bumped into the curved, brown steel tubing that topped the bed. Their faces were now so close that their breath intermingled. Bryan leaned
his head to one side as if about to fall asleep, then cautiously thrust his foot forward to the spot under the bed where he’d seen the last, treacherous little tablet. Just as he’d finally located the pill and was carefully curving his toes around it, Pock-Face flew forward with a jerk and their foreheads crashed together with a brutal crack. Bryan was taken completely unawares and tumbled over backward, banging his head against the floor. When he opened his eyes the pain was almost unbearable.

In falling he’d almost bitten his tongue in half.

Bryan slid slowly and totally silently backwards over the floor on his shirt-tails, away from the eyes that pursued him. When he lay in bed once more, heart hammering and trying to convince himself that everything would be all right again, Pock-Face finally backed off and glided back to his bed, unaware of the nasty injury he had caused.

During the next hour Bryan’s tongue swelled up and began to throb violently. The very real pain came out in a series of groans that were too subdued to wake anyone up.

When he finally got himself under control and felt sleep coming mercifully to his rescue, he remembered the pill.

It was still lying on the floor.

For a long time he lay staring up at the ceiling, considering whether or not to crawl over and look for it.

But then he heard the whispering.

Little Sister Petra got a fright when she saw Bryan.

After a whole night of pain and misery his bed was soaked with sweat and his forehead swollen from the blow from Pock-Face’s skull. His lips and jaw throbbed. There were spots of blood on his shirt collar and on the pillow. He hadn’t slept. Even when the whispering had stopped again and only the fearful emptiness remained, his body had not claimed its right to sleep. He’d been much too worked up, now that the realisation had come to him.

The discovery was terrifying. Apart from himself and James, there were three others in the ward who were simulating madness. They were clever, resourceful, observant and unpredictable, and he didn’t doubt for a moment they were also dangerous. Besides this, there could be other things he knew nothing about. This was Bryan’s greatest fear. The unknown factors.

There was no doubt now that Pock-Face had his eye on Bryan. However, the question was, What had he already observed? James had been trying for some time to warn him about the malingerers. Bryan knew that now. His mind was tortured by the thought of how powerless James must have felt. What he must have had to endure during the past weeks and months because of him! Bryan wished desperately that he’d taken more heed of his signals. ‘I won’t make it difficult for you any more, James,’ was his unspoken promise. He prayed that James would realise this now. Last night’s episode could not have escaped his attention.

The invisible bond between them was again united.

Several of the patients twitched nervously when one of the new nurses shoved the swing door open with a bang and began shrieking something about Hitler and the word
Wolfsschanze
.

Bryan followed her with his eyes all the way down the gangway past Petra, who crossed herself, and Vonnegut, who merely stared vacantly. Bryan hoped it meant Hitler was dead. Dr Holst
watched her and listened to what she had to say. Her stammering and excitement didn’t seem to make much of an impression on him. James, on the other hand, sat half up in bed for once, listening to what was being said with a slightly too attentive expression. In the next bed Pock-Face was looking at James.

Then Dr Holst turned abruptly towards the beds behind him, leaving the nurse, Hitler and
Wolfsschanze
to take care of themselves. The daily running of the hospital took precedence. Bryan could see James had been taken so much by surprise by the way the report ended so suddenly that he could scarcely manage to resume his customary apathy. Pock-Face, on the other hand, just smiled and loosened his blanket to make it easier for the doctor when it was his turn.

Although Dr Holst had not reacted, something serious must have happened. The general atmosphere was electric, the outdoor activities completely different from usual, and a security officer appeared in the ward for the first time in several weeks.

They had never seen him before. He was practically a boy, not even as old as himself, Bryan reckoned. As the youth strode along the beds he greeted each patient briefly, arm half outstretched, and nodded if the greeting was reciprocated. He looked each patient straight in the eyes. Next he inspected the corridor leading to the lavatories and shower room with slow, measured steps and doors were flung open, resounding hollowly. The presence of the black-coated figure seemed not to make the slightest impression on anyone. Even the malingerers looked him straight in the face as he greeted them and the broad-faced man smiled more than ever, stretching his arm out and
heil
ing so forcefully that it gave everyone a start.

His thin, fellow conspirator in the next bed was not quite so perky. The narrow face smiled, to be sure, but he raised his arm only halfway. In doing so, his blanket fell partly to the floor. Just under the bed lay the pill Bryan had lost in the collision with Pock-Face. Bryan saw it instantly and tried to resist the swallowing reflex that accompanies sudden alarm.

If the security officer discovered it, he naturally wouldn’t know where it had come from. But if he were questioned closely, what would the malingerer beside him say? And what wouldn’t Pock-Face be able to conclude from the events of the previous night? It took Bryan only a second to establish that this insignificant tablet had pushed him much, much closer to his downfall. The pill would be picked up sooner or later and he wasn’t going to be the one to do it. Ten wild horses couldn’t make him risk trying.

The man beside the thinner of the Siamese twins had been badly burned in the face. He’d already been lying in the ward when they arrived. All the bandages had now been removed and the mutilated skin had begun to resume a more normal, pale hue. He was one of the many who had been trapped in a burning armoured vehicle, the only difference being that he’d survived. A painful survival that had left him silent and completely confused. The security officer saw the arm he had tried to raise stiffly in salute and stepped in between the beds to help him.

In the process, the toe of his shoe struck the pill, which shot over towards the outer wall and ricocheted further into the room with an almost inaudible tick-tick-tick. Bryan gasped. The danger seemed to have been momentarily averted. But two minutes later the officer trod on the pill over by the entrance doors. The crunching sound brought him to a halt.

One of the nurses rushed into the room when she heard the security officer yell and found him kneeling on the floor as he calmly and cautiously poked at the white powder. Then he handed her a pinch of the white substance and got her to taste it. To judge from her facial expression and gesticulations Bryan presumed she was trying to belittle the matter, at the same time protesting her innocence or ignorance. The young security officer asked her some questions to which she shook her head as her face imperceptibly began to change colour. After a few minutes’ interrogation her gaze began to falter and she looked very much as if she wished she were somewhere far, far away.

Then the officer bent down so the end of the bed obstructed Bryan’s view, though he could hear him make some indefinable sounds. The next moment he reappeared between the beds, stretched out flat with his cheek pressed to the floor, crawling forward like a bloodhound. After a brief search he had found two more pills. Bryan was horror-struck.

Everyone was summoned. The nurses on day duty and the night shift that was still half-asleep after its rude awakening; the porters, whose basic job was to wheel the patients to shock treatment and back again; the orderlies, including Vonnegut; the nursing aides; the cleaning staff; Surgeon Lieutenant Holst and finally, Professor Thieringer. No one could provide a reasonable explanation of what had happened. It was easy to see that the more statements the security officer had to listen to, the more convinced he became that something was utterly wrong.

The head security officer who had interrogated them in the gymnasium was summoned and the situation explained to him. Of the many furious words he spat out Bryan understood only one.

Simulation.

In next to no time a thorough investigation had been initiated. Several SS soldiers removed their jackets and were all over the ward, on their knees, on their stomachs, on tiptoe. Every inch was examined. Not a single likely hiding-place was overlooked. The bedside cupboards were emptied, newspapers leafed through, clothes and bedclothes felt, mattresses lifted, windowsills and shutters checked. Only the few patients who couldn’t stand up were allowed to remain in bed. The rest stood against the end wall with bare legs, watching in wonderment. James drew his scarf out from under the mattress when no was looking and tied it around his neck under his collar.

Morose and unhappy about not being able to control the situation, Army Surgeon Thieringer tried to keep everyone
calm. But he fell silent when they loosened the plug in one of the bedframes and dozens of pills rattled to the floor.

Everything in the ward that could move froze instantly. The SS sergeant in command immediately signalled for all the plugs to be removed from the beds. The security officer asked Vonnegut a question. As if he’d been compelled to inform on one of his own children, he slowly raised his iron hook and reluctantly pointed towards the middle of the group standing beside the end wall. The thinnest of the Siamese twins promptly cried out, shaking all over as he fell to his knees in front of the security officer.

As the remaining bedframe plugs were being pulled out Bryan prayed fervently that not a single, insignificant little pill had remained in his bedframe from the previous night. Not until later, when the ward was quiet again and the thin twin had been led away sobbing, did it dawn on Bryan that he was responsible for the man’s misfortune. He now also knew with certainty that out of the ward’s original twenty-two patients, at least six had been simulating madness. An incredible figure that could be even higher. The thin Siamese twin had never given him cause for suspicion. On the contrary, during the foregoing months the man had presented the perfect picture of a mentally deranged patient who was recovering infinitely slowly, but steadily. From the first time Bryan had seen him in the lorry he’d played his part meticulously, down to the last detail.

His other Siamese half sat on the edge of his bed as usual, tranquilly picking his nose. It would be incredible if he, too, were simulating. He displayed not the slightest trace of anxiety or grief about what had just occurred. The only thing that made him react was if his index finger hit the jackpot.

Not even later, when the thin twin was returned to the ward, bruised and pale, did it have any appreciable effect on his ‘twin brother’. He simply smiled and went on picking. Bryan, on the other hand, couldn’t believe his eyes. How the skinny one had managed to avoid disaster he had no idea, but it made him uneasy.

All the others were seemingly well satisfied with how things had turned out. The doctors smiled and the nurses actually became friendly again. They’d been under enormous pressure.

The following morning they fetched the thin twin again. He’d been trembling like an aspen leaf all night and must have anticipated what was going to happen.

At noon the young security officer entered the ward with an SS private. A few orders were given and the patients began moving towards the windows opposite Bryan’s row of beds. No one protested. Bryan was one of the last to follow them, thereby coming to stand in the second row, from where it was impossible to catch a glimpse of what was going on without standing on tiptoe. Even then, what he could see between the window bars was limited, so he carefully thrust his head forward, resting it on the shoulder in front of him.

There was a relatively clear view along the edge of rock that ran a couple of feet from the wall of the hospital block up to the chapel about a hundred yards further on. The only thing that interrupted the narrow, naked border of rock was a single pole that seemed to mark a hole that had once been bored.

It was to this pole they bound the thin twin, and it was at this pole they shot him before the eyes of the patients with whom he had shared space, air and life itself for over half a year. The instant the shot rang out Bryan turned his head away. Instead he looked at James, who stood further away in the front row with Pock-Face towering next to him. The start James gave upon hearing the sound could hardly be mistaken, and for a few seconds his eyes were much too attentive, feverishly nailed to the figure buckled over in its final death throes. It wasn’t the execution or James’ reaction that called forth the cold sweat on Bryan’s forehead, but the way Pock-Face nodded to the broad-faced man as he stared intensely at James.

It took some time before they tied the next one to the pole and shot him. Who that sinner was, Bryan didn’t know. It was
not anyone from the Alphabet House, but there was no doubt he’d been caught in an attempt to avoid his military duty. Such offences were punished severely and without mercy, and that was what they wanted everyone to know.

The sight of the thin twin’s lifeless, drooping head had not made any impression on the other twin, who obviously hadn’t grasped what had happened. No one made any attempt to comfort him. No one questioned him. After the sentence had been executed, they removed the unfortunate twin’s bed, washed the floor in the entire ward, served ersatz coffee and had Vonnegut bring in the loudspeaker so violins and kettledrums could soothe their minds.

When it came down to it, the men in the ward were there to receive treatment.