Touching the Wire (10 page)

The twins asleep in bed, peace reigned at last.
Walt sank into his armchair, happy to let Jane write tomorrow’s shopping list
while Jennie finished the washing up. The day at the park had been wonderful,
but he was weak with exhaustion. A bump and a scream shattered the silence.

‘Those damned bunk beds…’ He
levered himself to his feet.

‘I’ll go, Dad.’

He beat her to the bottom of
the stairs and puffed up them. The top bunk had partly collapsed. ‘Charlotte,
Lucy…’ He wrenched the sagging bunk away from the slight figure beneath it.
‘Lucy, where are you hurt? Can you move?’

Lucy scrambled from her bed
and he swept her into his arms. ‘Oh, thank God. Charlotte… are you hurt?’

‘I bumped my arm.’

He glared at Jennie. ‘Now
will you get rid of these bloody monstrosities?’

Jennie’s eyes went wide.
‘Dad, one of the clips came loose, that’s all. Look, no-one was in any danger.
It only startled them a bit.’

‘Startled them a bit? If you
knew what injuries collapsed bunks can cause… I’ll take them down. They can use
them as single beds.’

‘And where are you going to
put them?’

‘Dobbin can live in the
front room. They’re far too old for him anyway, now. And the dolls’ houses can
go up the loft, if they don’t play with them anymore. I’m not arguing with you,
Jennie. Give me a hand getting Dobbin down the stairs. Then we’ll dismantle the
bunks.’

Jennie stood her ground.
‘You’re over-reacting, Dad. I expect they’ve been bouncing on them.’

Over-reacting… He heaved
Dobbin towards the top of the stairs. ‘We may need your mother as well. He’s
heavy.’

‘Okay, okay… I’ll fetch
her.’

He glanced back into the
bedroom seeing the chaos of the infirmary. Screams echoed in the dark: cries of
terror and pain in a universal language.

He yelled. ‘Bring a light.
Someone, bring a light.’

Five women were trapped
beneath a collapsed bunk, the weight of the four women on top of them crushing
them. He dragged the four women from their bed and wrested the heavy timbers
into the alleyway before the second bunk collapsed onto the bottom one. He
grabbed at a nurse. ‘Clear this bottom bunk, quickly.’

Blood flowed from smashed
skulls and broken bodies. He felt for a pulse. ‘She’s dead.’ He turned to the
next casualty. Her face was a pulped mess. ‘She won’t live… not like this…
Miriam, more light…’ He beckoned and she held the lamp while he worked on the
next casualty. ‘Can you move?’

The woman shook her head.
‘My legs… I can’t feel my legs.’

He rubbed sweat from his
eyes with an angry gesture. ‘God in heaven… Haven’t these poor women suffered
enough? How can you still believe in God?’

Miriam moved the light so he
could see
better
. ‘Faith is all I have.’

He shook his head. It was
the Jewish faith, their belief in the innate good of mankind that had made them
an easy target for the Nazis. If this was God’s will…

‘Where do you want me to
stand, Walt?’

The dead and dying faded,
leaving behind only rage. ‘Help Jennie this end… I’ll go first.’

Jane pushed. ‘Walt, he’s
very heavy.’

‘We’ll manage.’

Together they bumped Dobbin
down the stairs and dragged him into the front room. ‘Jennie, give me a hand to
take that top bunk down.’

‘Dad, you shouldn’t be doing
that…’ She followed him back up the stairs. ‘I still think you’re being
overcautious.’

‘I’ve seen the injuries bunk
beds can cause when they collapse.’

‘Where… when?’

‘The war…’ He clamped his
lips shut.

‘Why won’t you talk about
it, Dad? It was you who told me not to bottle things up, after Vince died… and
you were right. Talking helps.’

‘I’ve seen more death than
anyone should ever see. I don’t want to see more. Now, leave it be.’

Jennie squeezed his
shoulder, tidied Lucy’s bed and went to the top of the stairs. ‘Charlotte,
Lucy… your beds are ready. Come on…’

He tucked Charlotte in and
kissed both twins. ‘Sleep tight, sweethearts.’

The clatter of cups and
saucers from the kitchen meant Jane was making tea, her cure-all for life’s
ills. He went back to his chair. The television blared but it didn’t hold his
attention. The tragedy of war dragged him back. Callous, inhumane stupidity…
and amongst it acts of selfless heroism and compassion that shone as beacons in
the night when the gassings were at their greatest height, and despair at its
greatest depth. One Greek Jew stood out in his memory: he would always be
grateful to the Greeks. It had been September 1944, the month before the fall
of Warsaw…

Miriam ran into the
infirmary, her voice an excited whisper. ‘A Greek Jew has escaped from a work
kommando. He hit his guards with a shovel.’

Outside, the camp buzzed
with the news. Coming after the massacre of the young Greeks, who’d refused to
work in the Sonderkommando killing Hungarian Jews, it elevated him to the rank
of the ancient gods: Zeus, Apollo… 

The camp held its collective
breath. The birch woods beyond the fence hung with gold. Beyond the woods were
Poles willing to aid an escapee. The Carpathian Mountains seemed almost close
enough to touch, but for the ever-present wire that tore rents through the
landscape, ripping them from the outside world. Only the blue sky promised that
elusive freedom. The days had grown shorter, as mercifully had the hours of
hard labour that caused the infirmary to overflow, but winter hung on a bleak
horizon. Every fine day was clung to as if they could stretch summer to its
utmost limit.

Figures appeared on the road
between the barbed-wire fences. A man cowered beneath raised rifle-butts as he
was beaten towards the command centre.

Miriam and the other women
stretched to see and the collective breath separated into a thousand sighs.

Ilse was in tears. ‘Poor
devil.’

Miriam comforted her. ‘We’ll
pray for him.’

They went back into the
infirmary. Miriam handed him a still-warm package from inside her blouse.

He put inside his shirt,
next to his heart. ‘You do trust your contact?’

He’s rarely the same
person.’ She fingered the bootlace tied around her neck. ‘He wears one of
these, too. It’s how we recognise each other.’

‘I wish I knew how long we
have to do this. It gets more and more dangerous. If you’re caught… After the
bombing of Buna, they need no excuse to make an example of someone.’

‘You think I care?’

‘I care, Miriam. Ilse
cares.’

‘You said the Allies knew
what is going on here. So why do they bomb Buna? Why don’t they bomb the gas
chambers and the crematoria?’

‘Maybe the world prefers to
believe Nazi propaganda.’

‘Then we have no help but
ourselves. If I can strike a blow against these monsters I’ll die happy.’

‘When this is all over… if
we survive… I want to take you to England. Take Arturas and Peti with us. We
could start a new life there. Be a family… have a little house with roses in
the garden…’

‘Chuck…’ Her hand was soft
against his cheek, her voice soft against his heart. ‘I dare think no further
than today.’ She nodded to where the book of truths was hidden, moved for
safety to a space hollowed in the floor beneath a stand of shelves. ‘If I die,
make sure that book gets out. Promise me.’

‘I promise… and, if I die
and you survive, you must tell everything… and I mean everything.’

She nodded. ‘You are a good
man, Chuck.’ The sound of heavy feet echoed on floorboards and she stepped
away.

He
framed himself in the doorway and studied Miriam. ‘You are
so efficient you have time to stand idle?’

He drew himself up. ‘My
nurses are the very best, Hauptsturmführer.’

‘My friend, I don’t doubt
it.’

He quelled the desire to
shrug the camp physician’s hand from his shoulder. ‘How may I help you?’

‘I’m carrying out certain
medical… comparisons.’

‘I’ve heard as much.’

‘You don’t approve?’

He framed his answer
carefully. ‘I question the usefulness of your work and the validity of your
results.’

‘Then come and see for
yourself. The facilities are much better in my surgeries than in this midden. I
need an assistant and you’re an able doctor. I’d value your help… your
opinion.’

‘I’m needed here.’ He paced
across the small room, anger mounting, and turned to face the immaculate SS
doctor. ‘And you know my opinion. Your methods are abhorrent and the whole
principle is flawed.’

The good-humoured smile
disappeared. Dark eyes narrowed. ‘You question the Fuhrer’s vision.’

He swallowed the words that
were on his tongue. ‘It’s limited.’

The doctor tapped his cane
against a polished boot. ‘We have research opportunities most doctors can only
dream of. I need an assistant and you, my friend, would be wise to consider
your position.’

‘I want no part of it. It
goes against everything I hold sacred.’

He
put a hand on Miriam’s shoulder: she froze. His finger
stroked her neck. ‘And what if this pretty little nurse you are fond of was to
come to harm?’

Miriam stiffened. ‘Harm? Do
what you want to me. You’ve killed everyone I loved.’

‘
Silence!
’

It was forbidden to speak to
an SS doctor unless spoken to: people had lost their lives for less.

The doctor’s face resumed
its amused smile. ‘Everyone? I think not.’ He tapped his boot with his cane.
‘You think I’m stupid, doctor? Two Zigeuner were unaccounted for when the camp
was liquidated. Two boys… You were the last person known to be with them. The
guard I spoke to said they were identical twins. I’m going to assume you’re
looking after them for me?’

‘You hurt Miriam and I swear
I
will
kill you.’

‘Empty threats, my friend.’
He laughed. ‘One word from me and she’s dead, and this whole block with her.
Wouldn’t you rather I gave word that she and these women are to be protected?
Come now… I know you’ll wish to assist me. And I want those boys.’ 

He bowed to the inevitable.
‘I need time to instruct my staff, but I assure you, there are no Roma twins. I
confess I saved them from gassing… I knew of your interest in twins. But I’d
grown fond of them.’ He shrugged: a helpless gesture. ‘They were ill with
typhus and died within days. My staff only carried out my instructions, Herr
Doktor. They’re not to blame here. The later records show the children’s
deaths.’

‘Ever the professional. Very
well. Five minutes. I’ll wait outside. The stench of these Jewish swine…’

He waited for the SS doctor
to leave and then nodded toward the hidden book. ‘Write, Miriam… write
everything… I’ll find a way to get messages to you.’ He held her close and his
lips brushed hers. ‘Stay safe… and get Ilse to help you here. Don’t take any
more packages until I find a way for you to get them to me… I love you.’

The door to the surgery flew
open. ‘And what do you call this?’ The SS doctor held Arturas by the arm. The
boy’s eyes were wide with fear. ‘You think you can trick the Angel of Death,
doctor? Where’s the other one?’

Miriam pushed forward. ‘Peti
died.’

‘As this one is about to.
He’s no use to me, alone.’ The doctor dragged Arturas towards the door. ‘Guard!
Shoot this child.’

‘No.’ Miriam stood in front
of the camp physician. ‘No. Please.’

He pulled her away. ‘Herr
Doktor, the boy, Peti, is inside the infirmary. I’ll fetch him.’

‘Chuck… no. For God’s sake,
no.’

He fetched Peti and stood
him by his brother. ‘Identical twins, and they have heterochromia iridii.’

‘Fascinating. Thank you,
doctor. I’ll take them to the zoo.’

The doctor swept out,
holding a boy in each hand. The zoo: where twins were kept while they waited
for the Wolf of Günsburg to decide their fate.

‘Why, Chuck?’ Miriam thumped
his chest with her fists. ‘Why betray Peti?’

He gripped her wrists. ‘To
save Arturas’s life. As twins they have value. Together they have a small
chance.’ He felt sick, knowing what that value was: what their chances
were.  ‘I’ll try to protect them. I promise. ‘According to Radio
Blyskawica, there’s still heavy fighting in Warsaw. They talk of Home Army
victories. If I can keep them safe long enough for the Soviets to get here…’

A cold rain that fell in
torrents turned the camp to a sea of mud, and promised a long, hopeless winter.
It was three days before he found a way of passing messages to Miriam. Three
days when he was forced to witness
his
abhorrent brand of medical
research on gypsies, dwarves... children. This was what would happen to Arturas
and Peti, if he failed to keep them safe. Just the thought made him
retch.