Children of the Dusk (31 page)

Teutonic efficiency, Erich thought sardonically. The German mind so exactly ordered that the nation's children emerged, as if from an assembly line, as perfectly oiled killing machines.

Rather like the shepherds.

Just shoot the creatures that huddle in the ghetto, and save a bullet for me, he thought.

Anything to appease the hunger.

For a moment, he watched the dance of the Kalanaro along the outer perimeter of the fence, then he looked longingly at the gun, wondering if Benyowsky would consider him worthy of suicide.

W
hen the shadow fell across the camp, Sol suffered the momentary terror of thinking he was losing the last of his sight. He was actually grateful for the reassurance of the searchlights cutting through the darkness. His participation in what followed was as much a function of relief and what felt like a reprieve with his vision, as it was a determination that he would not allow the Jews to be the butt of the Kalanaro's jokes. He did not really care what the little black men thought of them, if indeed they thought at all. But the fact was that the carnival event was put on for the amusement of Hempel and his men.

He cared about that.

To have had to leave Miriam in her fatigued state hurt greatly, and to his surprise seeing Erich so diminished hurt almost as much. It was clear to him, and not only because of the electrification of the fence, that Erich had lost control of the camp. He was drunk or hung over much of the time, he walked with difficulty and most often with a stick, bent over like an old man --or as if he would have preferred to drop to his knees and walk on all fours like his dogs.

Even now, reappearing around the Jewish quarters from the direction of the latrines, he looked aged and defeated.

Solomon looked at the shepherds and guards surrounding the ghetto and wondered if any prisoners would survive if Otto Hempel took full control of the camp, something he feared they would all soon have to face.

He watched Hempel saunter toward Erich, the major smiling suavely. When the two men were less than a meter apart, Hempel halted. Then he took another step forward, as though breaking through whatever aura of invulnerability Erich might think he still possessed, and another step. The men were nearly chest to chest, Hempel with his hands raised as if expecting the formal delivery of a sword of surrender. Even with his fading eyesight, Sol could tell that the smile on the major's lips--and doubtless in his eyes--was one of overbearing disdain.

For the first time in the more than two decades that Solomon had known him, Erich looked thoroughly defeated.

"Your aborted attempt on my life makes you guilty of treason," the major said. "I demand that you hand over your weapon."

Erich did not respond.

The trainers stepped forward, crowding around the officers. They were clearly dismayed and confused.

"Gefreiter
?
" Hempel asked. "
Private
? As of now I am your commanding officer. Obey me, or I will have you shot. You
and
your Jews."

Erich's lips remained clamped shut, but his facial muscles had gone slack; he appeared incapable of lifting his eyes above Hempel's belt buckle. With a shudder, Sol remembered where he'd seen that apathetic, wearied expression before.
Schmuckstück
. Costume jewelry: the living dead--those in Sachsenhausen who had given up hope.

"Gefreiter!"

Hempel's face had reddened with wrath. His eyes narrowed like those of a fossa. "Pick your targets," he hissed to the guards, without taking his gaze off Erich. "Choose any who appears weak or without proper respect toward the Reich. Fire in rotation. One round per Jew!"

Turning his head to compensate for his limited vision, Solomon watched his fellow prisoners straighten and draw into a tight circle, facing outward like musk ox to a storm, eyes cold with determination. Gone was the fear and the hope of the past. In place of both was the look of men for whom death held no mystery. Some gripped tent-pole spears--the canopy sagging where the poles had been removed--others had rocks and sharpened sticks retrieved from God knew where, still others held their wooden clogs like spanking paddles.

Even those with bare fists clearly intended to die fighting.

Or in the
pose
of fighting, Sol thought with a feeling of sad certainty. Of what value were such Maccabean heroics against Mausers?

He wondered if a scapegoat could satisfy the need for blood.

Could he trade his life for a reprieve, however temporary, for the lives of his fellow prisoners?

There was only one way to find out, and that was to find out. Bracing himself for the agony of a bullet, he took an exaggerated step toward the gate.

"Sturmbannführer Hempel!" he called out, watching with a kind of raw pleasure as the guard nearest the gate leveled his rifle.
 

"If you will kill but one Jew tonight--me, their leader, their
rabbi
--I will publicly renounce Judaism and all its evils."

The gasps behind him only served to steel his resolve. They will understand, he promised himself.

They will.

Hempel either did not hear the challenge or chose not to. Abruptly doing a right face, he strode toward Taurus. With his arm stiff, he aimed his Mann toward the dog's neck.

Taurus lifted her head, sniffing the air.

"Don't hurt the dog," Erich said quietly.

"
All
inferiors are to be eliminated," Hempel replied. "Our work here in Madagascar will not be slowed down by those with physical problems."

Erich's head jerked up, and Sol saw him glance around uneasily, as though he had awakened in a strange place. "She's cured," he said in a boyish, petulant voice.

Hempel smiled and shook his head. "My friend the Zana-Malata has indicated to me that the affliction was merely diverted--into you, Gefreiter. Should your death be necessitated, the disorder will seek out its former host, thus again rendering the dog useless."

Sol watched Erich turn toward the Zana-Malata as if for confirmation. The syphilitic gave a slow, regal nod.

After staring at the shepherd for a long time--her tail wagging and her tongue hanging out as she lay panting--Erich lifted the MP38 and held it palms-up across his hands.

"Gefreiter." Hempel clicked his heels together, strode back to Erich, and again clicked his heels. Without any show of emotion, he ripped the colonel's insignia from Erich's blouse, then stepped back and handed the insignia, along with the weapon, to the nearest guard.
 

Pleshdimer came forward, saluted Hempel, and with theatrical flourish presented the major with a rolled-up paper tied with a black ribbon.

Hempel accepted the roll of paper almost absently, as though deep in thought. "The letting of blood is wholesome," he said, enunciating each word carefully. "It keeps the body politic in balance. The Medievalists knew that, but sometimes lately we seem to forget. Maybe the wound has been opened enough for now. Maybe if...." He allowed his words to trail off, waited, and began again.

"If the men were reassured of your loyalty to the Reich." He paused. Holstering his pistol, he stepped forward and laid his hand on Erich's firearm. "The SS and Abwehr have never been friends," he said quietly. "The German race should be united, should it not, in its quest for its rightful destiny?"

Before Erich could reply, Hempel continued. "I can assure you that the first time you kill a Jew is like your first taste of fine cognac."

Erich took what appeared to be an involuntary step backwards.

"Watch," Hempel said. "I will show you how simple it is."

Once again he unholstered his Mann. Turning to face the Jews, he called out, "Bring one forward. Any one of them will do." A smile crossed his face. "On second thought, bring me Solomon Freund."

"This will stop. Now." Erich's voice rang with fury. "There will be no killing simply to prove a point. Not in my camp."

"
Your
camp? I think not, Gefreiter."

Without any further preliminaries, Hempel removed the ribbon from the paper-roll he had been handed. Holding the document at arm's length, he read in a deep voice: "In the judgment of a special court convened on this sovereign land of the German Isle of the Jews on this the twenty second day of September in the year of our master and Führer, the vermin-monger Erich Alois née Weisser has been reduced to the rank of Gefreiter for crimes committed against the Fatherland and against humanity. All semblance of privilege, including that of leading the canine unit he attempted to pervert to his own Jew-inspired principles, has been revoked. He is to continue to serve the Reich and its Madagascar processing center, but he is to be considered by all other personnel, upon penalty of death for acting otherwise, as
persona non grata
. The command of the canine unit shall be placed in the hands of its rightful heir, Sturmbannführer Jurgens Otto von Hempel."

He looked around as if to see if anyone objected.

Pleshdimer hopped around like a child who needed to go to the bathroom. "And me," he said. "You promised."

"So I did." Hempel's voice was benign, his lips turned up in amusement. "The Sturmbannführer shall be assisted by Canine-Commander Rottenführer Wasj Hänkl Pleshdimer," he went on. "Signed, Sturmbannführer Jurgens Otto von Hempel, Commander-in-Chief of our master's and of the Führer's Southeast-African Felsennest Force, on behalf of Gauleiter Franz Josef Goebbels."

He released the lower end of the paper; it rolled upward with a crinkling. His arm stiff, he thrust the paper beneath his left armpit, did a right-face, and surveyed the Totenkopfverbände with a look of fatherly authority. "I will restate the order, so there can be no mistake," he snapped. "Gefreiter Alois is your servant," he told the guards. "Treat him as such!" His arm leaped up in salute. "
Seig heil
!"

Those with the Mausers remained rigid--sighting like pointers on the prisoners. The rest of the Totenkopfverbände sprang into salute and answered in unison. Even the trainers lifted their arms, though their lack of zeal was apparent.

Raising their spears, the Kalanaro shouted, "
Minihana!
"

"Aim!" Hempel ordered the guards with the Mausers.

Mentally bracing for the blaze of a bullet, Solomon lifted his hand, fingers spread against the glare of the searchlights, and stepped closer to the gate. His head was bowed--as if to blunt the sacrilege he was about the commit: the denial of everything he held sacred.

"Sturmbannführer!" he called out to Hempel.

The major looked toward Solomon, diverting his attention from the guards, who grunted with dissatisfaction, having waited too long, heavy carbines in hand, for an order either to fire or to shoulder arms.

Solomon felt strangely apart from the happenings around him, ashamed and alone.
Would Papa have been so quick to deny our faith
? he asked himself.

Outside the fence Erich Alois stood motionless, head bowed, while a swarm of bats descended to feast, as they had done on the day of their arrival on the island.

"Solomon?"

Judith's voice, vague and distant, filtered through the frenzy. Sol dismissed it.

"Solomon...Freund."

Sol fought the buffeting waves of flying rodents as though pushing aside window curtains flapping against his face.

"It's time, Solomon!" Though Judith called his name, she seemed to be speaking to no one in particular. "It's time!"

The dogs pulled back from the fence, tails between their legs. Sol rushed toward the wire, but two of the guards jerked the muzzles of their Mausers in his direction despite the swirling bats, and he was forced back, hating his helplessness.

As if on impulse, Erich beat his way toward Solomon. Gagging on an insect, he stopped to spit it out.

"Gefreiter!" Hempel screamed. Pushing aside a curious Kalanaro, he jammed his Mann against Erich's neck. "Have you my permission to speak to the Jew? You are to stay away from them." He glared with newfound savagery toward the medical tent. "And from the woman."

Erich glared at his attacker. "She's my wife and will soon be in labor!"

"The Jews are all in labor, Gefreiter." The major's mocking tone made it clear that Erich's next word of insubordination would be his last. "Some are merely more productive than others. Now brush these goddamn grasshoppers off of my boots."

Hempel released the safety on his pistol. It made a resounding click in the quiet that had descended upon the camp.

"I said brush me off!"

Heart thudding, Sol watched as Erich backstepped, shaking his head in refusal, and Hempel stiffened his arm. Despite all that Erich had done to him, and to Miriam, Sol could neither sit in judgment nor wish upon him so undignified an end.

"Ready!"

"For God's sake do whatever he asks, Erich!" Sol shouted.

Erich just stood there, as if he had no will at all: neither defiant nor compliant.

Sol sought desperately for any diversion, however temporary. He set his body to launch forward in a run toward the gate.