Spark of Life (14 page)

The following evening they were able to speak. Their faces were so thin there wasn’t much in them to swell. They were black and blue, but the eyes were free and only the lips torn.

“Don’t move them when you speak,” said Berger.

It wasn’t difficult. They had learned it during the years in the camp. Everyone who had been there for some time could talk without moving a muscle.

After the food had been fetched there was suddenly a knock at the door. For an instant every heart stopped beating—each man asked himself if they were still coming to take the two away.

The knock came again, cautious, barely audible. “509! Bucher!” whispered Ahasver. “Act as though you were dead.”

“Open the door, Leo,” said 509. “That’s not the SS. They come—differently.”

The knocking stopped. Several seconds later a shadow appeared in front of the pale light of the window and moved a hand.”

“Open the door, Leo,” said 509. “That’s someone from the labor camp.”

Lebenthal opened the door and the shadow slipped in. “Lewinsky,” it said in the dark. “Stanislaus. Who’s awake?”

“Everyone. Here.”

Lewinsky groped in the direction of Berger, who had spoken. “Where? I don’t want to tread on anyone.”

“Stand still.”

Berger came over. “Here. Sit down here.”

“Are they both alive?”

“Yes. They are lying to your left.”

Lewinsky pushed something into Berger’s hand. “Here’s something—”

“What?”

“Iodine, aspirin and cotton. Here’s a roll of gauze, too. And this is peroxide.”

“That’s a real pharmacy,” said Berger, astounded. “Where did you get it all from?”

“Stolen. From the hospital. One of us cleans up there.”

“Fine. We can use it.”

“Here’s sugar. In lumps. Give it to them in water. Sugar is good.”

“Sugar?” asked Lebenthal. “Where did you get that from?”

“From somewhere. You’re Lebenthal, aren’t you?” asked Lewinsky into the darkness.

“Yes, why?”

“Because you asked about it.”

“I didn’t ask for that reason,” said Lebenthal, offended.

“I can’t tell you where it came from. Someone from Barrack 9 brought it. For these two. Here’s some cheese, too. These six cigarettes are from Barrack 11.”

Cigarettes! Six cigarettes! An unimaginable treasure. For a while they all fell silent.

“Leo,” Ahasver said then. “He’s better than you.”

“Rot!” Lewinsky spoke abruptly and fast as though he were out of breath. “They brought it before the barracks were locked up. They knew I’d come over here as soon as the camp was safe.”

“Lewinsky,” whispered 509, “is it you?”

“Yes—”

“You can get out?”

“Sure. How else could I be here? I’m a mechanic. Piece of wire. Very easy. I’m good with locks. Besides, one can always get through the window. How do you manage it here?”

“Here they don’t lock up. The latrine is outside,” answered Berger.

“I see, yes. Had forgotten that.” Lewinsky paused. “Did the others sign?” he asked them, in the direction of 509. “Those who were with you?”

“Yes—”

“And you didn’t?”

“We didn’t.”

Lewinsky leaned forward. “We wouldn’t have believed that you could pull that off.”

“Nor would I,” said 509.

“I don’t mean only that you could stand it, but that nothing more happened to you.”

“That’s what I mean, too.”

“Leave them alone,” said Berger. “They’re weak. Why d’you want to know everything so exactly?”

Lewinsky moved in the dark. “That’s more important than you think.” He got up. “I must be off. Will come back soon. Bring some more. Also want to talk something else over with you.”

“Okay.”

“Do you often have check-ups here at night?”

“No,” said Berger. “What for? To count the dead?”

“So you don’t.”

“Lewinsky—” whispered 509.

“Yes—”

“Sure you’re coming back?”

“Sure.”

“Listen—” 509 searched excitedly for words. “We are—we are not yet finished—we can still—be used for something—”

“That’s why I’m coming back. Not out of charity, you can take that from me.”

“Okay. Then it’s all right—you’re sure to come back—”

“Sure—”

“Don’t forget us—”

“You already told me that once. I didn’t forget it. That’s why I came here. I’ll come back.”

Lewinsky groped his way to the entrance. Lebenthal pulled the door to behind him. “Stop,” whispered Lewinsky, from outside. “Forgot something else. Here—”

“Can’t you find out where the sugar came from?” asked Lebenthal.

“Don’t know. Will see.” Lewinsky still spoke abruptly and as though out of breath. “Here, take this—read it—we got it today—”

He thrust a folded paper into Lebenthal’s fingers and glided out into the shadow of the barrack.

Lebenthal closed the door. “Sugar,” said Ahasver. “Let me touch a lump. Only touch, nothing else.”

“Is there any water left?” asked Berger.

“Here—” Lebenthal handed him a mug.

Berger took two lumps and dissolved them. Then he crept over to 509 and Bucher. “Drink this. Slowly. A gulp each, in turn.”

“Who’s eating there?” asked someone from the center bunk.

“No one. Who would be eating?”

“I hear swallowing.”

“You’re dreaming, Ammers,” said Berger.

“I’m not dreaming! I want my share! You’re wolfing it down there! I want my share!”

“Wait till tomorrow.”

“By tomorrow you’ll have wolfed it all. It’s always the same. Every time I get the least. I—” Ammers began to sob. No one paid any attention. He had been sick for several days and was convinced the others were always cheating him.

Lebenthal groped his way over to 509. “That about the sugar just now,” he whispered, embarrassed. “I didn’t ask about it for trading. I only meant to try and get more for you.”

“Yes—”

“I also still have the tooth. I haven’t sold it yet. I waited. Now I’ll soon make the deal.”

“Okay, Leo. What else did Lewinsky give you? At the door?”

“A piece of paper. It’s not money.” Lebenthal fingered it. “Feels like a piece of newspaper.”

“Newspaper?”

“Feels like it.”

“What?” asked Berger. “You have a piece of newspaper?”

“Look at it,” said 509.

Lebenthal crept to the door and opened it. “Correct. It’s a piece of newspaper. Torn.”

“Can you read it?”

“Now?”

“When else?” asked Berger.

Lebenthal raised the scrap high. “There isn’t enough light.”

“Open the door wider. Crawl out. There’s a moon outside.”

Lebenthal opened the door and crouched down outside. He held the torn piece of newspaper into the uncertain weaving light. He studied it for a long time. “I think it’s an army report,” he said then.

“Read!” whispered 509. “Read, for God’s sake, man!”

“Hasn’t anyone a match?” asked Berger.

“Remagen—” said Lebenthal. “On the Rhine—”

“What?”

“The Americans are at Remagen—crossed the Rhine!”

“What, Leo? Are you reading right? Crossed the Rhine? Doesn’t it say something else? A French river?”

“No—Rhine—at Remagen—Americans—”

“Don’t talk rot! Read properly! For God’s sake read properly, Leo!”

“It’s correct,” said Lebenthal. “That’s what it says here. I can see it now quite clearly.”

“Across the Rhine? The Rhine? But how’s that possible? Then they must be in Germany! Go on reading! Read! Read!”

They all began talking at once. 509 was not aware that his lips were splitting. “Across the Rhine! But how? In planes? In boats? How? By parachute? Read, Leo!”

“Bridge,” Lebenthal spelled out. “They have—crossed—a bridge—the bridge is—under heavy German fire—”

“A bridge?” asked Berger, incredulous.

“Yes, a bridge—at Remagen—”

“A bridge,” repeated 509. “A bridge—across the Rhine? Then the army must—read on, Leo! It must say something more.”

“I can’t read the part in small print.”

“Has no one a match?” asked Berger in despair.

“Here,” someone answered from the dark. “Here are a couple.”

“Come in, Leo.”

They formed a group close to the door. “Sugar,” wailed Ammers. “I know you have some sugar. I’ve heard it. I want my share.”

“Give the damn dog a lump, Berger,” whispered 509 impatiently.

“No.”

Berger fumbled for the abrasive strip on the box. “Hold the blankets and coats in front of the windows. Crawl into the corner under the blanket, Leo. Read!”

He lit the match. Lebenthal began to read as fast as he could. There was the usual hushing-up of facts. The bridge was worthless, the Americans were under the heaviest fire and cut off on the bank they had reached, martial law awaited the troops who had failed to destroy the bridge—

The match went out. “The bridge not destroyed,” said 509. “So they crossed it—intact. Do you realize what that means?”

“They must have been taken by surprise—”

“That means that the West Wall has been broken through,” said
Berger cautiously, as though he believed he was dreaming. “The West Wall broken! They have gotten through!”

“It must be the army. Not parachute troops. Parachute troops would have dropped behind the Rhine.”

“My God—and we didn’t know anything about it! We’ve been thinking that the Germans were still holding a part of France!”

“Read it once more, Leo,” said 509. “We must be sure. When was that? Is there a date on it?”

Berger lit the second match. “Light out!” someone shouted.

Lebenthal was already reading. “When was it?” interrupted 509.

Lebenthal searched. “March 11, 1945.”

“Eleventh of March, ’45. And what’s today?”

No one knew exactly whether it was the end of March or the beginning of April. In the Small camp they had lost the habit of counting. But they knew that March 11th was quite a while in the past. “Let me see it, quick!” said 509.

Despite his pains, he had crawled over to the corner where they were holding the blanket. Lebenthal moved aside. 509 looked at the piece of paper and read. The small circle of the dying match threw light only on the headline. “Light a cigarette, Berger, quick!”

Berger lit one while kneeling down. “Why did you crawl over here?” he asked, and shoved the cigarette into 509’s mouth. The match went out.

“Give me the paper,” said 509 to Lebenthal.

Lebenthal handed it to him. 509 folded it and thrust it into his shirt. He felt it on his skin. Then he took a pull on the cigarette. “Here—hand it on.”

“Who’s smoking there?” asked the man who had produced the matches.

“Your turn will come. Each man a pull.”

“I don’t want to smoke,” wailed Ammers. “I want sugar.”

509 crawled back into his bunk. Berger and Lebenthal helped him. “Berger,” he whispered after a while. “Do you believe it now?”

“Yes.”

“So it was true about the town and the bombardment—”

“Yes.”

“You too, Leo?”

“Yes.”

“We must—”

“We’ll talk about all this tomorrow,” said Berger. “Go to sleep now.”

509 let himself sink back. He felt dizzy. He thought it came from the pull on the cigarette. The little red spot of light, shielded by hands, wandered through the room.

“Here,” said Berger, “drink what’s left of the sugar water.”

509 drank. “Hold on to the other lumps,” he whispered. “Don’t dissolve them. We can trade them for food. Real food is more important.”

“There are some more cigarettes,” squawked someone. “Pass the others round!”

“There aren’t any more,” answered Berger.

“Sure! You still have some. Hand them over.”

“Everything that was brought in is for the two out of the bunker!”

“Rot. It’s for all of us. Hand it over!”

“Look out, Berger,” whispered 509. “Take a stick. We’ve got to trade the cigarettes for food. You watch out too, Leo.”

“I’ll watch out, all right.”

The Veterans could be heard crowding together. Men groped through the dark, fell, cursed, hit out and screamed. Others on the bunks began growling and raging.

Berger waited a moment. Then he shouted: “The SS are coming!”

A flitting about and crawling and pushing and moaning—then it grew quiet.

“We shouldn’t have started smoking,” said Lebenthal.

“Right. Have you hidden the other cigarettes?”

“Long ago.”

“We should have saved the first one, too. But when something like this happens—”

Suddenly 509 was utterly exhausted. “Bucher,” he still managed to ask. “Did you hear it, too?”

“Yes.”

509 felt the soft dizziness grow stronger. Across the Rhine, he thought, and felt the cigarette smoke in his lungs. He had felt the same thing a short while ago, he remembered—but when? Smoke, forcing its way greedily into the lungs, tormenting and irresistible. Neubauer, yes, the cigar smoke, while he lay on the wet floor. It seemed already far away, and only for an instant fear flashed through it; then it grew blurred and became a different smoke, the smoke of the town which had come through the barbed wire and which he had also inhaled, smoke from the town, smoke from the Rhine—and suddenly it seemed as though he were lying in a misty meadow that sloped down and down, and everything grew very gentle and for the first time dark without fear.