Roots of Evil (28 page)

There were forty-five women in Hut 24, all of them sleeping and eating and living in the cramped barrack-like room with the single lavatory and washbasin, and the flimsy wooden-structured bunks for sleeping. As far as Alice could make out, most of them were innocent of any crime other than the crime of being Jewish, although there were one or two whom she would not have cared to meet in a lonely dark alley. Best not forget that Buchenwald, whatever else it might be, had originally been intended for political prisoners. Best, as well, to keep the baroness firmly in the background, and simply be Alice Wilson for the moment. In any case, very few people would have recognized the svelte sleek Lucretia von Wolff in the raggle-taggle creature living in Hut 24 and working in the munitions factory in Weimar each day.

They left for Weimar every morning after the 4 a.m. roll-call, and after the meagre breakfast apportionment of a slice of bread and a tin mug of coffee. Alice hated the dry bread and the watery milkless coffee, but she hated, even more, the factory where they sat at wooden benches, mostly sewing coarse uniform cloth for the German armies.

But surely there would be a way to escape, and surely she would find it and get out, either as Lucretia, or more likely as plain ordinary Alice Wilson, who had been used to hard work and subservience, and to an unobtrusive, unremarkable appearance. Yes, if she got out of here, it would have to be as Alice.

When the prisoners went to Weimar they marched in step, the guards walking alongside the little group. At times, to vary the monotony, Alice thought how Conrad might write music to fit the marching steps of them all. It would be thin, metallic music. Staccato. Clip-clop, tap-tap…Death-by-work…Death-by-work…

Conrad. Was he being forced to work in the same way? Was he allowed music? If they were denying him music – even the tinniest of instruments – he would never survive, for music was his life and his breath and his food, and without it he would succumb to the blackest of black despairs.

He had once said to her that he was a pagan. ‘I worship life and laughter and good wine,’ he had said. ‘And love,’ he had added, his eyes slanting with mischief. ‘I worship love, of course. “Some toward Mecca turn to pray, but I toward thy bed, Yasmin.” You are my Yasmin, Alice.’

‘Rot,’ Alice had said, after she had got over the extravagant romanticism of this sufficiently to remember Conrad’s most recent entanglement with a red-haired Florentine actress from the
commedia dell’arte
. ‘Utter rubbish. If you worship anything at all, you worship music.’

And so Conrad, who worshipped music, might die if they took that away from him. Alice wondered how she would bear it, and then she wondered whether it would be worse simply to lose him without knowing what his fate had been.

After a few weeks the staccato music of the prisoners’ weary footsteps and the grinding pain of working for twelve hours at a stretch, and being constantly, achingly
hungry and thirsty, changed. Now the music drummed out a different rhythm. I-must-get-out…I-will-do-anything…

I will do anything to get out, thought Alice. There is nothing I will not do.

There is nothing I will not do to get out…

But it gradually became clear that escape was impossible; the prisoners were closely guarded, and in the first two weeks of her imprisonment, two young men – Russian Jews – were shot for trying to climb over the electrified fence by night.

Nightmare visions of Conrad, hungry and beaten or lying dead in some wretched unknown grave, haunted her, and to quench them she began to look for SS men who might be open to seduction; when you have been living in hell you will take the devil himself to bed, and although Alice had temporarily abandoned the idea of escape she thought she would not flinch from one or two sessions in the guards’ quarters if it would improve her lot, and that of her companions. Hot water for washing. Better food – or at least more substantial food. Clean clothes occasionally.

I’d do it if I could, she thought. Yes, but how can I exert any kind of seduction technique with my hair chopped short, and the smell of sweat on my skin, and wearing this shapeless half-shirt, half-dress they give the prisoners? But she was prepared to try, even though she was already recognizing the black irony of her situation. Not so long ago my most pressing concerns were whether to enamel my nails silver or scarlet, or the problem of obtaining eyelash-black. Now I’m contemplating going to bed with men who are sadists and torturers and murderers, just to get a few extra slices of bread.

From time to time, news from the outside world reached Buchenwald. Germany was being mobilized for war, although it was being said that Herr Hitler did not really expect to have to fight any kind of war at all. Against this was the fact that Hermann Göering, always the evil genius of the Nazi Party, had lately announced a fivefold extension of the Luftwaffe.

‘The Third Reich seems somewhat divided,’ observed Alice rather caustically to the others in Hut 24. ‘Or does Göering intend to fight on his own?’

‘I heard there were rumours that Herr Hitler means to annexe Czechoslovakia in the way he annexed Austria,’ said one of the women – Mirka – who was from a village just outside Prague, and who had been raped and beaten on
Kristallnacht
, before being brought to Buchenwald. ‘But if he does, he will not find it easy. Slovakian people are strong and fearless, and they will defy the Reich armies. They will fight. And our good friends in France will come to our aid,’ said Mirka confidently. ‘You will see.’

The spring buds were just starting to unfurl when the information reached Buchenwald, via a new consignment of prisoners, that Hitler’s armies had marched into Bohemia and Moravia, and that France had done nothing to prevent them. Mirka had sobbed with angry despair that night, muffling the sounds in her pillow, and Alice sat on the side of her bed, trying to comfort her. The two of them had talked softly until dawn, exchanging memories, and Alice thought they had both drawn strength from one another.

Several days afterwards some Czech women were brought to Buchenwald, and they told how the Czechoslovakians had indeed fought the German armies.

‘They fought and they are still defiant,’ said one of them, who had been assigned to Hut 24, and Mirka nodded at this as if she would have expected nothing less. ‘But they are defeated, for all that,’ said the woman. ‘My village was burned to the ground and my family all died.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘I would take on Hitler’s entire army single-handed for what they did,’ she said.

It was shortly after the arrival of the Czech prisoners that Alice’s name was called at the evening roll-call. ‘Prisoner 98907, Wilson, Hut 24?’

‘Here,’ said Alice, managing to speak calmly although her heart had started to race. What have I done? she thought frantically. What do they want me for? But she stepped two paces forward as was the rule, and waited.

‘Come with us,’ said one of them, taking her arm and pulling her across the concrete quadrangle where roll-call always took place.

Alice was extremely frightened, but she said, coldly,
‘I prefer to walk,’ and brushed off their hands. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘To the commandant’s office.’

‘Why?’

‘Those are our orders.’

The rain-sodden concrete yard and the rows of people blurred, and there was the feeling of something huge and oppressive pressing down on the top of her head, making the blood pound painfully against her eyes. Satan, leather-winged and cloven-hoofed, finally fastening his arms around her? Time for the reckoning, my dear…Don’t be ridiculous!

Inside the commandant’s office the SS guards gave the sharp, heel-clicking German salute, and then went out, leaving Alice alone. The sound of the door closing brought a panic-filled claustrophobia, but she was determined to show no fear. Remember the Let’s Pretend game, Alice…? Remember how you fooled everyone by being Lucretia, and remember how you invoked the old game for the film-makers.
When I was a King in Babylon and you were a Christian slave
…And now I’m a Christian in a Jewish concentration camp, but the burden of the song’s the same. Fool them, Alice. Play the pretend-game. All right, here I go.

On this note she raised her eyes and looked about her. The office was warm and well-lit, and there was a carpet on the floor and books on the walls. Books, warmth, comfort. Oh God, what wouldn’t I give to have such things back in my life! But one day I’ll be back in the real world and I’ll have them again.

Through a partly open door was a small, rather
sparsely furnished bedroom, where the commandant sometimes slept if a new batch of prisoners was due in the early morning, or if there was to be a visit of inspection by some Reich official or important Party member and he wanted to be on hand. Alice could see the bed and a washbasin with soap and towels. Hot water. Scented soap. I’m not bearing this, she thought. I’m exhausted and I’m permanently hungry and I’m bone-cold all the time. I’m wearing this appalling sacking garment and my hair has been shorn to keep it free of lice, and for the past six months the only washing facilities I’ve had are cold water in a stone trough, and a bar of lye soap shared with twenty others.

I will do anything to get out of here
…
There is nothing I would not do
…

The words sang through her mind like a litany, like a prayer or a curse, and at last she looked properly at the man standing by the desk. Buchenwald’s commandant, SS Colonel Karl Koch. He had mean little eyes, set deep into a rather coarse-grained face, and his neck was too thick for the sharply-cut SS uniform.

The little squinty eyes inspected Alice, and after a moment, Karl Koch said, ‘First I should tell you that I know who you really are.’ His voice was discordant and unpleasant, but Alice did not detect any especial mockery.

She said, non-committally, ‘Do you, indeed?’

‘I have seen two of your films, baroness,’ he said. He used the title as if he believed it perfectly genuine. ‘For me it was a great pleasure.’

‘Thank you.’

‘So, I think that for you, life inside Buchenwald must be harsh.’

‘Yes, it is a hard and cruel place, this,’ said Alice after a moment. Her mind was working at a furious rate. He knew about Lucretia. More to the point, he
believed
in Lucretia. Was this something she could turn to her advantage?

‘Well, some things are unavoidable, I fear,’ said Koch. ‘I think it is six months now since you were brought here, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘So. I have been thinking that there could be a way to soften things for you, and I have a small proposition to make.’ He moved from behind the desk and came to stand nearer to her. Alice could smell the garlic on his breath and she remembered that he was believed to enjoy rich food and good-looking women.

She said warily, ‘A proposition?’

‘I want you to listen to the talk of the other inmates,’ said Koch. ‘I have watched you, and although you pose as an Englishwoman – Alice Wilson, yes? – still they are attracted to you. You are a very fascinating woman, baroness; even stripped of your rank, it is still so. And you have many admirers in Buchenwald, of both sexes.’

‘I have always had admirers,’ said Alice offhandedly. ‘That is beside the point. Herr Koch – I would have preferred my – my name and title to remain unknown in this place.’

‘It can do so. It can be just between us.’ Koch’s eyes were on her neck and her breasts. Repulsive. But don’t let him see you think that.

‘Because of this attraction you have for people,’ said Koch, ‘you will be welcomed into many discussions; people will talk to you. I want you to listen to these discussions very carefully, and then to bring to me any – ah – information you think might interest me. Anything that might be of value to the Third Reich.’

‘Spying,’ said Alice thoughtfully. ‘That’s what you mean, isn’t it? You want me to spy for you?’

He smiled, pleased at her understanding. ‘There are signs that an underground movement is starting up inside Buchenwald – an organization intending to arrange escapes, or rebellions. It is necessary that I identify the ringleaders and deal with them before they can cause any trouble.’

‘You think I might be able to find out about this organization?’

‘It would be a service that could be well rewarded. You understand me?’

‘Yes.’ Alice studied him for a moment, her expression deliberately blank. But her mind was working at top speed, thinking, considering, planning. She said, slowly, ‘You referred to advantages? To a reward?’

‘There are a number of things we could do to make your life more comfortable.’ He had visibly relaxed now. ‘You must miss such things as good food and hot water for washing. Clean bed-linen on a regular basis. I could arrange for you to have most of those things.’

‘But not my freedom? You couldn’t arrange my freedom?’

He hesitated, and then, as if thinking it over, said, ‘If you provide us with what we need, it might be possible. It could appear to be an escape; I could pretend to
transfer you to another camp. Perhaps to Dachau, which is not so very far from here. An escape might occur on the journey. In that circumstance you would be given money and papers to aid you.’

Dachau. Money and papers.
Dachau
. Conrad. The ache that Alice had tried to suppress all these months returned a hundredfold. I don’t trust Karl Koch, though, thought Alice. I don’t think he entirely trusts me either, but that may be a good thing.

‘Very well,’ she said at last, looking him straight in the eyes. ‘I will do what you wish.’

‘I cheated him, of course,’ said Alice, her eyes full of memories that seemed to be spilling out into the warm safe room, like ghosts from old black and white newsreels.

‘How did you dare?’ said Michael, coming up out of this sinister world where tanks drove arrogantly through city streets, and people were shut away behind barbed wire and threatened by black-snouted machine-guns. But even as he said it, he knew that of course she had dared; she would have dared anything.

‘It was not as dangerous as it sounds,’ said Alice. ‘There was indeed an underground organization being formed in Buchenwald – the commandant had been right about that, although it was so new and so tentative it was as insubstantial as a spider-web. But it was a web that was being spun very determinedly indeed, and even a hint of its existence alerted the SS sufficiently to recruit spies on their own account.’

‘And they thought you would be one of the spies?’

‘Yes. They had assumed, you see, that I would do anything for food and warmth and all the other things. They thought they were dealing with Lucretia von Wolff, who was luxury-loving and pampered, and that was their mistake. They didn’t know that Lucretia was just a smokescreen, or that I was far better equipped to cope with the harsh regime than they could imagine. I had started life as a kitchenmaid in the big house in England – I had been used to getting up at half past five in the depths of a freezing winter and raking out fires and kitchen ranges, and pumping cold water from a well in the yard. And when I was promoted to be Nina Dreyer’s maid, there was still all the fetching and carrying, and sitting up until three or four in the morning to help her undress after a party or a ball.’ She paused, and then said, ‘Also there had been those months of living rough in Vienna’s back streets. I believed that if I could survive that, I could survive practically anything.’

‘But to deceive the
Nazis.
The
Gestapo
—’ The words had been coined long before Michael was born, but they still carried their own dread. Iron armies reaching out their iron talons to victims, inflicting such damage and such suffering on those victims that they would never forget, not for an instant…

‘When it came to it, they were easily deceived,’ Alice said. ‘I enlisted two or three of the other women – people I could trust – and between us we concocted various stories that we thought the Nazis would swallow. The discovery of a planned break-out from one hut or another. False papers being prepared somewhere else.
At careful intervals I carried these stories to the commandant, and he believed them. He was a stupid man, Karl Koch. Much of the time he was drunk or gambling, so that made him easy to hoodwink.’

‘Didn’t he find out you were feeding him false information?’

‘Not for a long time. We were very careful not to put anyone in danger with the information we gave him, but we managed to keep attention away from the real plotters.’

‘Tell me about the real plotters.’ Again, Alice had evoked the people of the stories, so that it was easy to see the little groups of ragged women huddling together in wooden huts, planning and whispering, their thin faces intent and serious.

‘They were the ones who really were getting people out to freedom. It was all kept very simple though – mostly prisoners being smuggled out in laundry baskets or disguised as workmen. We didn’t build aeroplanes out of matchsticks like the officers in Colditz Castle, or dig tunnels under stoves or dress up as German officers. And not all of the ones who escaped from Buchenwald made it to safety. But some did. Some reached Switzerland or England. Our successes were pitifully few, but the fact that we had successes at all gave us hope. They gave us something to work for.’