Alphabet House (5 page)

The train had gradually resumed its normal, steady rhythm. The pale wintry sunlight edged into the carriage, muted by the matted windows. Voices portended new examinations.

Several personnel moved silently out of the path of a man in a white coat who towered above them and made purposely for the first patient. Here he flipped up the chart with a roughness that shook the end of the bed. Making a short notation, he snatched the paper out of its frame and handed it to a nurse.

None of the patients were examined. The tall medical officer merely leaned over the foot end of each bed, exchanged a few words with the nursing staff, gave some instructions and hurried on. He looked with respect at the chart on the fourth bed where Bryan lay, whispered a few words to the senior nurse and shook his head.

Afterwards the doctor pointed with a jabbing movement at the head end of James’ bed, whereupon a young girl sprang forwards and raised it up. Bryan did all he could to breathe quietly and imagine himself far away. If they listened to his heart now, they would find his chest in explosive turmoil.

They talked for some time at the foot of Bryan’s bed. He could recognise the senior nurse’s sharp voice and sensed that she’d been dissatisfied with his reactions and general condition. The bed shook silently as someone went to stand close behind him. Then strong hands took hold of his sleeve and pulled him over on his back. A soft fingertip tap over his eyebrows was followed by another. Bryan was sure he had blinked. He almost stopped breathing.

Voices blended and then quite unexpectedly a thumb descended on his eyelid and pried it open. A flickering glimpse of the concentrated beam of a flashlight directed at his eyeball blinded him completely. Then they slapped him on the cheek and shone it again.

Cold air swept over his feet and hands took hold of his toes as the doctor drew back his eyelid again. Repeated small pricks in his toes apparently told them nothing. Bryan lay stock-still and was terrified.

He was totally unprepared when they pressed a cloth soaked in ammonia to his face. The shock bored into his brain and respiratory system with great effect. Opening his eyes wide, Bryan turned his head away from the cloth and into his pillow, gasping for breath.

Through the film of tears, a pair of eyes appeared close to his head. The doctor said a few words to him and slapped him gently on the cheek. Then they straightened him up and raised the head end of the bed another couple of notches so that he was confronted with the enemy in a half-sitting position.

Bryan chose to fix his gaze on the wall behind them and received the next blow with wild, wide-open eyes.
Hold your
breath… Don’t blink
, he told himself. He and James had often wiled away the time in the summer cottage in Dover with contests of will such as this.

The next blow was harder. Bryan made no resistance and let his head rock backwards as easily as if it were coming loose. The group of medics dispersed after some discussion, leaving a single person beside his chart, where scratching noises were replaced by a smack as the frame fell back into place.

Bryan kept his eyes open. During the rest of the ward inspection he noticed they were keeping him under constant observation. Then his eyes slowly closed.

He scarcely felt the injection they gave him as he dozed off.

‘C’mon!’ The voice sounded far away, merging with the sounds of summer and layers of mist. ‘Wake up, Bryan!’

He felt as though he was swaying and the voice became deeper and louder. Then he felt his arm being shaken. It took some time before Bryan realised where he was.

The train carriage was quiet now in the semi-darkness. James’ cautious smile was followed by a final shake of Bryan’s arm. Bryan smiled back.

‘We’ll have to whisper.’ Bryan nodded; he’d understood. ‘You were unconscious when I woke up,’ James continued. ‘What happened?’

‘I knocked you out,’ said Bryan, trying hard to concentrate. ‘And then they examined us. They looked at my pupils. And I came to open my eyes. They know there’s something about me that doesn’t fit.’

‘I know. They’ve been looking at you several times.’

‘How long have I been unconscious?’

‘Try to listen, Bryan!’ James withdrew his arm. ‘The car in front of us is full of soldiers. They’re going home on leave but I think they’ve also been instructed to keep an eye on the patients.’

‘Home?’

‘Yes, we’re going further into Germany. We’ve been on the move all day. During the last hour or so, we’ve been moving quite slowly. I don’t know where we’re headed, but we’re stopped at Kulmbach now.’

‘Kulmbach?’ With great difficulty Bryan tried to follow what James was saying. Kulmbach? Had the train stopped?

‘North of Bayreuth,’ James whispered. ‘Bamberg, Kulmbach, Bayreuth. You remember that, don’t you?’

‘God knows what they injected me with. My mouth’s completely dry.’

‘Pull yourself together, Bryan!’ A few shakes made Bryan open his eyes again. ‘What happened when they washed us?’

‘What do you mean, “happened”?’

‘The tattoos, man! What happened?’

‘They didn’t look.’

James threw his head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. ‘We’ve got to do it now, while there’s still some light.’

‘I’m freezing, James.’

‘You’re right. It’s bloody cold in here! They’ve aired it out. The floor was covered with snow just now.’ With his eyes still on the ceiling, James pointed at the floor. ‘See, it’s still there. You can understand why the soldiers next door have their coats on.’

‘Have you seen them?’

‘They come in here at intervals. A couple of hours ago they were looking for the orderly we threw off the train. They also know there was an incident with some British pilots who were seen jumping onto the train. The dog patrol must have reported it.’

‘How?’ Bryan felt reality rising up inside him faster than he could keep up with it.

‘I don’t know
how
. But they know. And they’ve been looking for us. But they haven’t found us, and they won’t, either.’

‘What about the orderly?’

‘I don’t know.’ With no further talk, James sat up and seized the needle in his left arm. Closing his eyes, he pulled it out as the drops of nourishment from the tube mixed with blood and dripped down onto the sheet. Bryan raised himself on his elbows and tried to watch what he was doing. With a small knot in the rubber tube to stop the flow of liquid, James rolled his shirtsleeve up over his shoulder. Then he scraped a couple of fingernails clean with the point of the needle and with tiny movements pricked the dirt in beneath the thin skin of his armpit.

James began looking ill again. The colour drained from his cheeks and his lips turned blue. The needle went on pricking. More and more red drops appeared among the light covering of hair on his armpit. It took a lot of pricking to write an A+.

‘I damn well hope it doesn’t get infected,’ whispered Bryan, pulling his own needle out. ‘But if it does, I’d rather be on the safe side. I’m going to tattoo my own blood type, James.’

‘You’re mad,’ James protested, though it didn’t appear he was going to try to coerce his friend. He had enough worries of his own.

Bryan felt he had thought things through well enough. Of course there was a risk attached to writing B+ instead of A+. But the blood group signs resembled each other so much that anyone would think the person writing the case notes must have made a mistake. If they ever compared the two, they would be puzzled at most, and then be sure to correct the notes. He was certain of that.

In this way they could cram blood and other stuff into him without the risk of making him seriously ill. After all, that was the most important thing. The possibility that they might not look at his armpit at all, but go by what stood in the case notes, was a thought Bryan chose to ignore. So he began scraping under his nails.

The tattooing went very slowly.

Twice they were interrupted by a clattering sound coming from the carriage in front. The second time, Bryan instinctively pulled his needle under his blanket. A shadow flickering in the corner of his eye made him shut his eyes.

Some sounds over by James’ bed revealed the presence of yet another person who had come to inspect them. At the first lurch of the train, Bryan let his head roll limply to the side facing James’ bed. There he caught a glimpse of the black-clad officer.

Bryan felt his loathing transformed into cold shivers that distracted him from the pain in his armpit. He clutched the needle so that it disappeared inside his hand, hoping James had managed to be equally cautious.

The SS security officer clenched his hands behind his back and stood looking straight down at the face of the ‘unconscious’ man. There were some metallic sounds and shouts from
outside. Not even a sudden jerk of the train could make the officer move.

Several jolts from behind were followed by loud bumps and slight pitching movements. The train was changing tracks. When the railway workers were finally finished, the black-coated officer turned on his heel and disappeared.

Later that night, another black-clad man entered the car and made straight for the bed on the other side of James. He stood there for a moment, shining his torch in the man’s face. Then he stiffened, half-smothered a cry, and rushed towards the rear carriage.

A few moments later he returned with several others. A white-coated man James and Bryan hadn’t seen before tore open the patient’s shirt at the neck, exposing his chest.

After listening for a few seconds, he removed his stethoscope and instantly exploded in a paroxysm of rage that created considerable confusion. The nurses gesticulated and retreated backwards. Then the security officer appeared, slamming the door behind him. He instantly issued some commands and struck the nearest nurse in the face without hesitation. After more stormy exchanges, the soldier who had started the whole affair rushed out of the carriage, returning immediately with reinforcements. In the meantime, the patient was carried out, followed by guards and nurses.

‘What happened?’ Bryan asked.

James put his finger to his lips. ‘He’s dying. He’s a
gruppenführer
and the security officer was furious,’ answered James, almost inaudibly.

‘
Gruppenführer
?’

‘Major General!’ James smiled. ‘Yes, it’s strange. To think I’ve been lying next to a bloody
Waffen-SS
general. I can damned well understand the staff are upset. Mistakes have consequences in a place like this!’

‘Where are they taking him now?’

‘The security people are driving him to Bayreuth. There’s a hospital there.’

Bryan licked his fingers again, rubbed gingerly at the clotted blood in his armpit and sucked his fingers clean. It was important not to leave any trace of their work.

‘Do you know what worries me most, James?’

‘No.’ A foul odour escaped from James’ bed as he turned around and pulled the blanket up over him.

‘What if the sick men are on their way home to their families?’

‘I think they are.’

The confirmation made Bryan close his eyes. ‘And what makes you think that?’ he asked, doing his best to control himself.

‘When they carried the general out I heard the word “
heimatschutz
”. I don’t know what it means, but in direct translation it’s “home protection” or something like that. That’s where we’re bound, as far as I can see – home protection!’

‘Then they’ll discover us, James!’ Bryan hissed.

‘I suppose so.’

‘We have to get away. This is completely crazy. We don’t what we’re supposed to be suffering from, or where we’re heading either!’

James’ face was almost devoid of expression. ‘Stop getting me worked up, Bryan, OK?’

‘Then just tell me one thing. Do you agree that we have to get away from here? Tonight, for example, if the train moves off again?’

In the long silence that followed, the sound of the lorry could be heard, fading slowly as it headed away from the station. The voices outside had moved further down the tracks. The patient on the other side of Bryan moaned briefly, then sighed deeply.

‘We’ll freeze to death,’ James finally replied, ‘but you’re right.’

Before morning any thought of escape had evaporated. Three women in civilian clothes entered from the front of their carriage
and quietly opened the door to the platform and the icy cold air outside. Just in front of Bryan’s bed they were received by the doctors who resignedly reciprocated their ‘
Heil
Hitler’ and instantly began to argue. The women hardly spoke, letting the senior medical officers cool down. Then the entire team made a round of all the beds, accompanied by the doctors’ scattered comments. They stood whispering for a moment beside Bryan’s bed, and then disappeared into the next car.

‘Gestapo. Those women are from the Gestapo,’ James said, as soon as the carriage door slammed. ‘They’ve come to guard us. Round the clock! And they’ve been threatened with reprisals if anything more goes wrong. We’ve landed in fine company, Bryan. We’re important to them, but I just don’t know why.’

From then on, one of these women sat permanently on a chair at the far end of the carriage. Even when a convoy arrived with several stretchers bearing lifeless, desolate bodies to fill up the empty beds, the female guard made no sign of moving. It was not her duty to help, not even if it meant merely giving the stretcher-bearers a bit more room to get past her.

The women said nothing when they relieved one another, which, as far as Bryan could judge, took place every other hour. A new one simply came in and sat down, and only then did the guard that she had replaced leave.

Not being able to talk to James overwhelmed Bryan with a sense of insecurity. They had agreed to try to escape, but what now? Every time Bryan stole a glance at James, he saw only the immobile outline of his body.

The train was running at full speed again and the rushing sounds of passing trees in its slipstream were proof of it being too late to jump off, even without a guard to prevent them.

So they were going to be found out. Only a very simple calculation involving a couple of unknown factors was needed in order to reckon when and where that would be.

Since climbing onto the train they might have covered a hundred miles at the most. If Bryan shut his eyes he could visualize
a clear outline of Germany and all its geographical features without much difficulty. The hundred miles was the known quantity and the destination, the unknown. It could be a day or two before they got there or it might only be a question of hours.

The lights were swaying gently above him in a faint milky haze when Bryan woke. James’ arm was still hanging over the edge of the bed. He had shaken Bryan’s bed in order to wake him. ‘You’re restless,’ he mouthed, looking worried. Bryan didn’t know what he’d been doing and was suddenly jerked back into reality. It was seldom he snored and as far as he knew he’d never spoken in his sleep. Or had he?

The nurses had already started the morning ablutions. They didn’t look at all cheerful compared with the previous day. Dark circles under their eyes and a characteristic transparency of the skin clearly showed what they’d been through. Without sleep, with the responsibility for hundreds of patients and hard pressed by the charge of negligence in caring for the dying general, their eyes revealed stress and their hands moved mechanically.

This was Bryan and James’ third day in enemy territory. ‘Thursday, 13th January 1944’, Bryan imprinted on his memory, wondering how long he would be able to keep track of the days, and how long his enemies would allow him to.

Suddenly the activity in their carriage was transformed into confusion as the security officer made his swaggering entrance to review his troops. It was unnecessary for him to tyrannize them. Bryan lay with his head turned to one side and noticed that James was slowly and almost imperceptibly clenching his fist. Was it fear or anger?

Bryan couldn’t even interpret his own state of mind.

The two nursing teams reached Bryan and James simultaneously. This time they tugged so hard at the sheets that their bodies spun around. A slamming noise indicated that James had crashed into the edge of the bed during the manoeuvre.

Bryan tried to keep his left armpit covered by his arm as they dried him. This time the icy water was a relief. The crusts of
urine and nocturnal defecation had stopped stinging, but instead had made the skin swell and itch. Only the nurses’ fingernails on the sensitive skin of his scrotum caused him discomfort.

The sheet was new, unbleached, and as yet unwashed. A tickling pleasure at its smoothness merged with irritation caused by the stiff folds passing down along his side. He had to remain in this position until they all had gone. In the meantime he could watch the nurses working away on James.

The blow he had given James must have caused the wound under his ear to reopen. Long stripes of disinfectant mixed with traces of blood pointed up his cheek towards the dark patch. A small fragment of skin had been torn from the base of the earlobe and lay on the piece of gauze beside him. The security officer was watching and stepped closer as they dabbed on the iodine. His surveillance made the nursing assistant nervous and she squirted a drop of the golden-brown liquid onto James’ forehead.