Alexander Altmann A10567 (6 page)

The buck-toothed boy hopped down and Alexander signalled for the next child. Her father waved her on.

“This way.” He waved the young girl away from Chestnut’s back end. He would’ve liked nothing more than to watch the pony step back onto her expensive leather sandals and crush her toes, but he needed the job.

“What’s her name?” the girl asked, tapping Alexander on the shoulder.

“Chestnut,” Alexander said. The girl had corn-coloured plaits and a smile as wide as a barn door. He couldn’t look at her.

“Is she a pony or a baby horse?”

Alexander looked over at the girl’s father. He was leaning on the gate, his face turned up to the sun, his eyes closed against the glare. Probably safest to answer her, he thought.

“She’s a pony,” he said, as he helped her onto the saddle.

The girl leaned forwards and waited for more. Alexander cleared his throat. He hadn’t been asked his opinion in a long time. He barely spoke in full sentences any more, and when he did it was always in a whisper.

“You can tell because she has a thicker mane than a horse and a heavier coat.” He ran a hand over Chestnut’s red hair. “Ponies have shorter legs too,” he said, looking into the girl’s wide eyes. “And they’re never taller than this.” He let his hand hover just above Chestnut’s head.

They circled the ring and the girl slid off the pony and took her father’s hand. “Can we come back tomorrow, Papi, please?” she begged, pulling at her father’s coat. The officer smiled and smoothed a wet slick of hair from her face. “I have to work tomorrow,
liebling
.” He glanced at Alexander. “Say
danke
to the boy.” He slipped his hand into his coat, took out a cigarette and offered it to Alexander.

Alexander didn’t smoke. His grandfather had died two days before his sixtieth birthday, when Alexander was six. His mother had told him that it was the cigarettes that killed his
zaida
and that if she ever caught him with a cigarette in his mouth, she’d borrow his father’s belt and pull him onto her knee, no matter how big he was. Alexander took the cigarette and slipped it into the rolled-up cuff of his trousers. Most of the men in the barrack smoked, the Rat included. It wouldn’t hurt to have a cigarette up his sleeve. Or in his trouser cuff.

“Her name is Chestnut,” he said to the next child, forgetting himself.

“I didn’t ask you to talk,” the boy’s father said, lifting his child onto the pony. So Alexander didn’t. He led Chestnut around the ring, slowly, and deposited the child at the gate. He then helped the next one on. And the next child and the next, until they all looked alike, and his shirt was wet with sweat and he was dizzy with hunger.

“Over here!” The kapo waved Alexander to the stable door after the last child had left. “It’s hot out there, give her a drink.” He pointed to the water trough. Alexander hung the helmet on a fence post and led Chestnut to the metal trough. He shooed the flies from her eyes and watched her slurp the water, wishing he could touch his tongue to the wet metal. He hadn’t been this thirsty in a long time. Not since the cattle train. When Chestnut raised her head from the trough and shook it, Alexander leaned in to catch the spray coming off her mane and when she stopped, and he saw the water drip from her nose, he reached out to catch it. He rubbed her wet neck and ran his hands over her soaking muzzle and brought both hands to his lips to suck the moisture from his fingers.

The men in the Horse Platoon filed out of the stable. In the harsh light Alexander could see their bruised skin and the dark circles under their eyes. Their shirts were stained blue-black at the armpits and their pants flecked with mud, but their horses’ coats gleamed. The commander strode into the sunshine after them.

“Get to work! These horses need exercise. Run them around the paddock. I want to see them sweat.” He raised his whip and brought it down hard against his boot. The men hurried into the yard, pulling their horses after them. The breeder’s son, Nussbaum, left the stable last. He held his lead loosely, the commander’s white stallion stepping into the sunshine after him. The horse’s forelock had been combed back from his chiselled head and his feet were sponged clean. His muscles rippled. Alexander couldn’t take his eyes off the horse. He watched them enter the paddock, wishing that it was his hand wrapped around the reins, his foot sliding into the stirrup. It wasn’t fair, to be landed with the pony while the rest of the men – Isidor included – spent their days riding horses. Alexander gritted his teeth.

Nussbaum sprung off his right foot and raised himself up in the stirrup. The Horse Platoon fell silent. Men dropped reins, heads spun around. The kapo stiffened, backed away from the water trough and ran for the gate. Alexander watched him go, saw him lope into the paddock, lunge at Nussbaum and shout, “No!”

Alexander stared up at the boy who was frozen in ascent, having realised his mistake. No one else was on horseback.

“Get down!” the kapo hissed, clawing at the boy’s pants. The boy swung his leg back over the horse but his foot didn’t touch the ground.

“How dare you!” The commander’s face twisted in anger. He grabbed Nussbaum by the collar, dragged him from the horse, yanked the boy’s arm behind his back and marched him from the paddock.

“Tie him up and bring the rest of them.” The commander stopped at an upright post sunk into the ground and shoved the boy onto his knees so that he kneeled before it. He kicked the boy’s arms out and waited for a guard to tie his wrists to the post. Alexander felt winded. He’d thought the post was for tethering horses. He looped Chestnut’s lead rope around a fence post and stepped into line. “Make sure they’re watching.” The commander turned to the inmates. “If anyone looks away, they get shot.”

Alexander was going to have to watch. He dug his nails into his palms and forced his eyes to follow the sweep of the commander’s boot. He saw the shiny black leather grow slick with blood, heard the crack of bone, saw bits of cloth cling to the heel. The breeder’s son cried out every time the commander drove the boot into his back but the commander kept kicking until the boy’s shirt hung in shreds and a river of dark blood leaked from his wounds, and then he kicked him some more. His face didn’t grow plum-coloured with exertion or grow slack with the effort of breaking another man’s bones. His face remained hard and unbending from the first kick to the last. Alexander watched it all with dry eyes, hypnotised by the commander’s easy cruelty, aware that the men beside him were blinking away tears.
You’re a brick wall
, he said to himself through gritted teeth.
Nothing gets through
.

The commander looked down at his boots. “I need someone to clean this.” He stuck out a smeared shoe and crossed his arms over his chest. The kapo pointed at Alexander.

“But I don’t have a …” Alexander meant to say rag, but a guard dragged him from the line and thrust him forwards. Alexander dropped to his knees in front of the commander and stared down at the man’s boot.
Think
, he said to himself, rubbing his brow. His fingers skimmed the fabric of his cap, then closed over it. He pulled the hat from his head and dragged it across the commander’s blood-spattered boot, back and forth until the leather gleamed.

The commander kicked Alexander’s hand away, jerked his boot free and asked for his horse. Alexander shuffled back into line, pulling the sticky cap back onto his head.

“These are not your horses. You don’t get to sit on them.” The commander grabbed a handful of mane, shoved his foot into a stirrup and swung up onto his saddle. He glanced at Nussbaum, lying curled on the ground. “Your job is to feed, groom and exercise them.” He paused. “And you do this by walking them to the paddock and letting them loose.” He scanned the stablehands assembled before him. “Those of you who have served here for some time know your position. Riding is not part of the job.” He ran his hand over his horse’s flank. “You’re lucky to be caring for such noble animals.” He scanned the group. “You might learn something from them. Like hard work.”

Alexander wanted to punch him between the eyes. He wanted to pull the commander’s gun from his holster and aim a bullet through his head. Instead he was forced to watch the man circle the yard on his horse while Nussbaum bled.

“Send him back to Birkenau,” he said eventually, sliding from his horse and pointing to Nussbaum.

Two guards dragged the boy to his feet and hauled him away.

The commander spun around and pointed to Alexander. “
He
can have Serafin.”

Serafin snorted and tossed his mane.

“You don’t scare me,” Alexander hissed, taking the reins and stepping into the stable. “You’re a horse, and I know horses.” He turned to the stallion. In truth he’d never worked with a creature quite as fine. His father’s horses were good horses – strong, able, kind horses – but none of them looked like Serafin. None were as sleek and strong. None had a head as delicately chiselled or a coat quite as silken. Alexander reached out to pat the horse, to rub his neck and feel the velvet of his muzzle but before his fingers had even grazed Serafin’s skin, the horse bared his teeth.

Alexander grabbed the reins and hurried to find the horse’s stall, dragging the animal after him. The stall was easy to find; it was the one closest to the stable door and twice as large as the others. It was as big as his classroom back home. He bolted the door behind them and fell back against the hard wood.

“I’ll cut you a deal. I won’t pat you.” He stared into Serafin’s hard, grey eyes. “As long as you do as I say.” He hoped to God the horse was smart. He could handle a cold horse but a dumb one would get him killed. “If the commander thinks I can’t handle you …” He stepped towards the horse and blew three short puffs of air into his nostrils. Serafin’s eyes widened. “Okay,” Alexander said, his breath slowing, “you recognise a greeting, that’s good. You’ve got some smarts.” He let the reins drop and walked slowly around the animal, grinning as Serafin’s ears moved with him, tracking his footsteps. Alexander spread his fingers and placed them below the stallion’s withers. He held his breath and pressed into the animal and, to his relief, Serafin pushed back against his hands. It was what smart horses did. Rather than pull away from, say a wolf clamped down on their leg, they moved into the pressure to lessen the risk of having their leg torn off. The stallion was smart. Alexander exhaled. Smart as his master, and just as icy.

He eyed the stallion suspiciously. He’d never been rebuffed by an animal before. Never known a horse to shy from affection. Still, there were worse things.

“I don’t need you to like me,” he whispered into the horse’s ear. “I’m used to that.” He straightened up and unlatched the door. “I just need you to behave.” Alexander slipped from the stall to fetch a currycomb.

“Why’s the pony still outside?” the kapo cornered Alexander by the grooming tray. Alexander opened his mouth. “I thought …”

“You’re not here to think, you’re here to work. You’re responsible for two horses now. And neither of them must suffer. Finish up with Serafin and then attend to Chestnut.” He stared at the currycomb in Alexander’s hand. “After you groom the horses,” he said, passing Alexander a bottle of shampoo and a bucket, “you’ll want to muck out their stalls, top up the straw and clean their tack. Don’t forget to polish the stirrup irons and brush the dirt from the reins. The saddle polish and rags are over there.” He pointed to the far wall. “The other men can show you how to mix the feed. Best to prepare their dinner early. He pointed to a room which led off the stable. It’s all in there.” He turned to go.

“What about lunch?” Alexander asked, resting his chin on the top of the bucket, his arms straining under the weight of the bottles and buckets.

The kapo shook his head. “The horses are fed twice a day, at six am and then at night, just before you leave.”

“No.
My
lunch,” Alexander blurted. The kapo stiffened and Alexander edged away from him, wishing he could rein his words back in.
Idiot! You’ve just seen a boy pummelled for slipping his foot into a stirrup. And now you talk back to a kapo?

“Lunch is at noon.” The kapo waved Alexander away with a calloused hand. “That’s two hours away. If you get everything done, which I doubt … ” He grabbed a sponge and dropped it into Alexander’s bucket. “Then you can eat.”

Alexander wasn’t daunted by the long list of jobs. He’d grown up cleaning tack and mucking out stalls. He’d spent his summer patching fences and stacking hay bales and his winters shovelling snow. Every morning before school he’d collect the eggs from the chicken shed and haul the milk tubs to the house. He didn’t mind hard work, he just didn’t want to do it for
them
.

Alexander lifted the saddle from Serafin’s back and ran a damp cloth over the leather. He’d dreamed of a place like this: a stable with a feed room, a tack room and dozens of stalls. He’d dreamed about owning one just like it with his friend Anton Hudak. Growing up on neighbouring farms, the boys had talked of little else. They’d planned their empire by the time they were twelve and found an abandoned paddock which they claimed as their own.

Over there
, Anton would point at a patch of green,
will be the training arena
.

And there
, Alexander would jump from his horse and walk to the fence,
will be the stables
.

Men would come from all over the country to have their horses tamed at the
Galloping Stallion Equestrian Park
. Alexander had even hammered two planks of wood together to make a sign, but he’d never hung it.

“I’ll still do it,” Alexander muttered. “And it will be bigger and better than anything I could’ve ever done with Anton.” Alexander filled the bucket with water, dropped a bar of saddle soap into the tub and dipped a sponge into the filmy liquid. He wiped down the saddle and the reins, hung them up to dry and turned to the horse. Serafin’s white hair was flecked with dirt.

“Let’s get you clean,” he said, grabbing the hard brush and running it over the horse’s back.

Serafin snorted and stamped his feet.