Spark of Life (32 page)

Behind a heap of rubble on the other side of the street a pale face slowly raised itself. Max Blank’s eyes followed Neubauer. For the first time in many years he smiled. He smiled, while crushing the cigar between his crippled fingers.

ONCE MORE EIGHT MEN
stood in the yard of the crematorium. All wore the red badge of the political prisoner. Berger knew none of them; but he knew their fate.

The kapo Dreyer was already at his place in the cellar. Berger felt something crumbling within him which had still been secretly counting on a reprieve. Dreyer hadn’t been there for three days. This had prevented Berger from doing what he wanted to do. Today there was no longer any way out; he had to risk it.

“Start right here,” said Dreyer grumpily. “Otherwise we’ll hardly get through. They’re croaking like flies in your place nowadays.”

The first dead came tumbling down. Three prisoners stripped them and sorted their things. Berger inspected the teeth; then the three others loaded the dead into the elevator.

Half an hour later Schulte arrived. Though he looked fresh and well rested, he kept yawning. Dreyer took notes while now and again Schulte looked over his shoulder.

The cellar was large and well aired, but the stench of corpses soon grew very strong. It clung not only to the naked bodies but
also to the clothes. The avalanche of corpses didn’t cease; it seemed to bury time beneath it, and when Schulte finally rose and declared he was going to eat, Berger hardly knew whether it was already evening or only noon.

Dreyer folded his papers. “By how many are we ahead of the cremation room?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Okay. Time for lunch. Tell them up there to stop throwing people down until I get back.”

The other three prisoners walked out at once. Berger dealt with one more corpse. “Out with you. Push off!” growled Dreyer. The pimple on his upper lip had grown into a painful boil.

Berger straightened himself. “We forgot to book this one here.”

“What?”

“We forgot to book this one here.”

“Nonsense! We booked them all.”

“That’s not true.” Berger kept his voice as calm as he could. “We booked one too few.”

“Good God, man!” exploded Dreyer. “Are you crazy! What the hell are you talking about?”

“We must put one more man on the list.”

“So?” Dreyer glanced sharply at Berger. “And why must we do that?”

“To make the list correct.”

“Don’t start sticking your nose into my lists.”

“I’m not interested in the other lists. Just in this one here.”

“Others? What other lists are there, you carcass?”

“The gold lists.”

Dreyer remained silent for a moment. “So? And now what are you really trying to say by all this?” he asked then.

Berger took a deep breath. “I’m trying to say that I don’t care whether the gold lists are correct or not.”

Dreyer started but controlled himself. “They are correct,” he said threateningly.

“Maybe. Maybe not. One only has to compare them.”

“Compare them? What with?”

“With my own lists. I’ve been keeping them ever since I started working here. As a precaution. For myself.”

“Look at that! So he also keeps a list, the sneak! And you think they’re more likely to believe you than me?”

“I should think that’s possible. I don’t get any advantages out of my list.”

Dreyer eyed Berger from head to foot as though he were seeing him for the first time. “So? You don’t get any? I doubt that, too. And to tell me this you’ve waited for just the right moment, here in the cellar, what? Alone with me—that’s just where you’ve made your mistake, you egghead.” He grinned. The boil hurt him. The grin looked as if an angry dog were baring its teeth. “Would you mind telling me what’s to stop me bashing in your egghead and leaving you here with the others? Or to jam up your windpipe? Then you yourself will be the one to be missing from your list. Explanations won’t be necessary. We are alone here. You just collapsed. Heart failure. One more or less makes no difference here. They won’t investigate that. I’ll book you all right.”

He came closer. He was more than sixty pounds heavier than Berger. Even with the pliers in his hand, Berger didn’t stand the slightest chance. He took one step back and stumbled over the dead that lay behind him. Dreyer seized his arm and twisted his wrist. Berger let the pliers drop. “There, that’s better,” declared Dreyer.

He pulled Berger close with one jerk. His distorted face was right before Berger’s eyes. It was red and the boil with its blue rim shone on the lip. Berger didn’t say anything; he bent his head back as far as possible and tightened what remained of his neck muscles.

He watched Dreyer’s right hand come up. His brain cleared. He knew what he had to do. There was little time left; but fortunately the hand seemed to rise like something in a slow-motion picture. “This case here has been reckoned with,” he said quickly. “It has been taken down and signed by witnesses.”

The hand did not stop. It came slow but it continued to rise. “Swindle!” growled Dreyer. “Trying to talk yourself out of it. The whole thing’s a swindle! You won’t be talking much longer.”

“It’s no swindle. We’ve counted on your trying to do away with me.” Berger stared into Dreyer’s eyes. “It’s always the first thing that occurs to imbeciles. It has been taken down and if I don’t return this evening it will be handed to the camp leader with the list mentioning the two missing gold rings and one pair of gold spectacles.”

Dreyer’s eyes blinked. “So?” he said.

“Just so. D’you think I didn’t know what I was risking?”

“So, you knew that?”

“Yes. It’s all been taken down. Weber, Schulte and Steinbrenner will remember the missing gold spectacles very well. They belonged to a man with one eye. That’s the kind of thing one doesn’t forget so easily.”

The hand stopped rising. It remained motionless, and then fell down. “It wasn’t gold,” said Dreyer. “You said so yourself.”

“It was gold.”

“It was worthless. Trash. Not worth the trouble of throwing away.”

“You can explain all that later yourself. We have evidence from the friends of the man they belonged to. They were pure white gold.”

“Lousy bastard!”

Dreyer gave Berger a shove. Again Berger fell. Trying to steady
himself he groped and felt the teeth and the eyes of a corpse under his hand. He fell over it but didn’t take his eyes off Dreyer.

Dreyer breathed heavily. “So—and what d’you imagine will happen to your friends? D’you think they’ll be rewarded? For being in the know about your trying to smuggle a corpse in here?”

“They are not in the know.”

“And who’s going to believe that?”

“Who’s going to believe you when you explain it to them? All they’ll believe is that you invented the story to get me out of the way because of the rings and the spectacles.”

Berger had gotten up again. He felt he was suddenly beginning to tremble. He bent over as though to dust his knees. There was nothing to dust; but he couldn’t control the trembling in his knees and didn’t want Dreyer to see it.

Dreyer didn’t notice it. He was picking at his boil. Berger saw that the abscess had burst. Pus was oozing out. “Don’t do that,” he said quickly.

“What? Why?”

“Don’t touch that boil. Cadaverine poisoning is fatal.”

Dreyer stared at Berger. “I haven’t touched a corpse today.”

“But I have. And you touched me. My predecessor died of blood poisoning.”

Dreyer jerked his hand away and wiped it on his trousers. “Damn it! What’ll happen now? Filthy business. I’ve already touched it.” He glanced at his fingers as though he had leprosy. “Get on! Do something!” he shouted at Berger. “D’you think I want to croak?”

“Certainly not.” Berger had pulled himself together. Diverting Dreyer’s attention had given him time. “Least of all now, so near the end,” he added.

“What?”

“So near the end,” repeated Berger.

“What end? Do something, you dog! Put something on it.”

Dreyer had turned pale. Berger took down a bottle of iodine that stood on a shelf. He knew that Dreyer was not in danger; he didn’t care, anyway. The main thing was that he had diverted his attention. He spread some iodine over the boil. Dreyer shrank back. Berger put the bottle away. “There—now it’s disinfected.”

Dreyer tried to look at the boil. He squinted down his nose. “Are you sure?”

“Sure.”

For a moment Dreyer went on squinting. Then he moved his upper lip like a rabbit. “So? And what actually did you want?” he asked.

Berger realized he had won. “What I said. Alter the particulars of one corpse. That’s all.”

“And what about Schulte?”

“He wasn’t paying attention. Not to the names. In any case, he went out twice.”

Dreyer deliberated. “And the clothes? What about them?”

“They’ll tally. The numbers, too.”

“How? Have you—”

“Yes,” said Berger. “I’ve brought with me the ones we want to swap.”

Dreyer glanced at him. “The bunch of you have planned this quite well. Or did you do it on your own?”

“No.”

Dreyer stuck his hands in his pockets and walked slowly to and fro. Then he stopped in front of Berger. “And who’ll guarantee me your so-called list won’t turn up all the same?”

“I will.”

Dreyer shrugged his shoulders and spat.

“Until now there’s been only this list,” said Berger calmly. “The
list and the accusation. I could have used it and nothing would have happened to me. At best I’d have been praised. After this—” he pointed at the papers on the table—“I’m implicated in the disappearance of a prisoner.”

Dreyer reflected. He carefully moved his upper lip and squinted down his nose.

“For you the risk is considerably smaller,” Berger went on. “It’s just one more offense added to three or four others. That can hardly make much difference. But I’m incriminating myself for the first time. I’m running a far greater risk. That I consider your guarantee.”

Dreyer didn’t answer.

“There’s still something else to consider,” said Berger, continuing to watch him. “The war is as good as lost. German troops have been driven out of France and Russia, far across the frontiers and the Rhine. Against this no propaganda or talk of secret weapons is any use. In a few weeks or months it’ll all be over. Then will come the day of reckoning here, too. Why let yourself be caught and punished for others? If it gets known that you helped us you’ll be safe.”

“Who is this—
us?
”

“There are a lot of us. Everywhere. Not only in the Small camp.”

“And supposing I denounce you all? Let out that you exist?”

“What’s that got to do with rings and gold spectacles?”

Dreyer raised his head and smiled crookedly. “You’ve really worked it all out pretty nicely, what?” Berger remained silent.

“Does the man you’re trying to hush up want to bolt?”

“No. We’re merely trying to protect him against that.” Berger pointed at the hooks on the wall.

“A political one?”

“Yes.”

Dreyer screwed up his eyes. “And if there were to be a thorough checkup and he’s found, what then?”

“The barracks are overcrowded. They won’t find him.”

“He could be recognized. If he’s a notorious political one.”

“He isn’t notorious. In any case, we in the Small camp all look alike. There isn’t much to recognize.”

“Is there a block senior in the know?”

“Yes,” lied Berger. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be possible.”

“Have you connections with the office?”

“We have connections everywhere.”

“Is the man’s number tattooed in?”

“No.”

“And his clothes?”

“I know the ones I want to swap. I’ve put them aside.”

Dreyer glanced at the door. “Then start! Quick! Before someone comes.”

He pushed the door ajar and listened. Berger crept about among the dead and examined them. Just then another idea occurred to him. He decided to make a double exchange. In this way Dreyer could be misled and prevented from discovering 509’s name.

“Get a move on, damn it!” cursed Dreyer. “Why are you taking so long?”

Berger was lucky with the third corpse; it was from the Small camp and had not been tattooed. Berger stripped off the jacket, took out from under his own jacket 509’s coat and pants with the numbers and put them on the corpse. Then, tossing the dead man’s garments on the heap of clothing, he pulled out from under it the jacket and pants which he had previously laid aside. He wrapped them around his hips, buckled the belt over them and buttoned his jacket.

“Finished!”

Berger was panting. Black spots danced over the walls in front of his eyes. Dreyer turned around. “Everything under control?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I haven’t seen a thing. I don’t know anything. I was in the latrine. What happened here is your doing. I know nothing. Understand?”

“Yes.”

The elevator full of naked corpses went up, returning empty after a short while.

“I’m going up now to get the three from outside for loading,” said Dreyer. “In the meantime, you’ll be alone here. Is that clear?”