The One Man (37 page)

At first her eyes shook with indecision. Then suddenly she nodded. “All right, I will. I'll come, Nathan.” She kept nodding. “I do trust you. I'll come.”

Ebullient, Blum took her by the hands. “I knew you would.”

“I just need to get my—”

“No.” Blum shook his head. “There's no time. It has to be now.”

“My clarinet … I just can't leave it.”

“Not even your instrument, Leisa. Nothing. We have already lost a lot of time. It must be now.”

She swallowed with a sense of resolve, nodding, and he wiped a last tear off her cheek. “Okay, then … Let's go.”

“We're going to make it,” he said, putting a hand to her face. “I promise. Okay, Doleczki?”

She sucked in a breath for courage and smiled. “Yes.”

He led her by the shoulders back toward the pump wagon. He nodded to Rozen, who was still at the handle.

She's set.

“Okay, pressure's back up!” the repairman announced. Then he went back to the spigot and switched out the pump hose for the faucet, making a big scene of it. “Come see…” Two or three women went and kneeled down and turned the spigot on. Water came out, perhaps a shade more than before. But just as brackish. “Go ahead, drink up,” he said. “We're all done.”

A couple filled their cups while Blum guided Leisa onto the pump platform and she squeezed herself inside the metal housing. Just enough room in there for her to wedge herself in. Rozen then brought the hose back over and coiled it around the wooden spool, Leisa crouching inside. The more it wrapped around, the more completely it hid her. When the hose was wound back in, Blum shut the housing door, closing her in. “I know it's dark in there,” he said through a vent. “But you'll be safe. I promise. Just stay calm.”

“All right, Nathan.” Her voice came back meekly. Her knew how terrified she had to be, huddled up in there. His little sister was never the one who threw herself off rocks into a lake at their summer cottage or, in the ghetto, dodged between buildings after curfew.

Rozen glanced back at Blum.
“Ready?”

Blum nodded. “Yes.”

“So let's go.” The repairman looked around and didn't notice anyone who seemed focused on them. Just a routine repair, prepared to return home. Rozen in front, they wheeled the pump back out into the main yard. “Bye, ladies.” He waved. “Till next time.”

“Next time, Rozen, you should stay for one yourself,” one called.

“I will.” He waved to her. “Promise.”

They towed the pump—which was heavier now, with Leisa inside—through the main yard of the women's camp and then back to the outside gate. Blum's legs grew rubbery as they wheeled it up, the same guard checking the passes again and looking over the pump, eyeing Blum with sort of a derisive laugh. “Back so soon. You Jews certainly don't last very long.”

“You said twenty minutes, Unterscharführer.” Rozen watched the sergeant circle the pump. “I'm sure if he had the time, my friend here could have gone on for hours.”

All it would take, Blum knew, would be one perfunctory look inside, in the course of just doing their jobs, and they were all dead. He saw himself hanged on the gallows like the other prisoners he had seen, or dropped with a bullet to the head where he stood. Leisa too, which made his worry even stronger.

Just be still, Leisa … Do not move,
he willed her inside.

“You look a little pale. All a bit too much for you?” The guard chortled at Blum.

“It's just that I hadn't seen my wife in a long time.”

“And you may not again. Best to look at each time as your last. Okay, go on.” The sergeant finally waved them through. They pushed forward, trying not to make it look like there was an added weight inside. They were almost at the path. Suddenly a second guard came out of the gatehouse, announcing, “I'm off. I'm wanted at the guardhouse over at the main camp. I'll escort them back.”

Blum's heart went into free fall. He shot a worried glance to Rozen, up in front. The repairman's look mirrored his own, and read,
Just be steady and don't panic
. And hope that Leisa holds together. There was nothing else they could do.

“Come on, yids. On the double.” The guard grabbed his rifle. “I don't have all day.”

Blum's gut knotted tight with dread. They pushed on, over the scrubby terrain, the couple of hundred yards between the two camps. With Leisa inside, the cart was even less maneuverable. Its wobbly wheels bobbed up and down over the ruts and gullies. Blum imagined she must be going out of her mind inside. She had to have heard it all. Knowing her death, all their deaths, was so near.

“Nice afternoon, is it not, Herr Scharführer?” Rozen asked him, more to let Leisa know that they had company in case she said something.

The guard was in no mood. “Just keep your mind on what you're doing. I don't have all day.”

A few yards behind them, he lit a cigarette and smoked. He waved to a few cohorts riding by on the road. Blum kept the wheels steady with every bit of strength he had. If they broke an axle over a rock or a buried root, it would be a quick end for all of them.

At last they made it back to the men's gate. Luck was with them. The same set of guards were manning it as when they left.

“Look what I've brought you.” The guard who had escorted them back chortled, flicking out his cigarette. “Two stinking sacks of shit. Ready for the dung heap. They're all yours now.”

“Emergency over…?” the sergeant who knew Rozen rolled his eyes and smirked. “I'm sure the women there are probably all taking baths with all their fresh, new water.”

“Pass,” the second guard ordered Rozen, holding out his hand. “Let me see.” This one was clearly new, and seemed to take his duties a bit more conscientiously than his senior partner. He had narrow blue eyes, blond hair under his cap, and a short, flat nose.

Rozen handed his to him.

“And yours…” he barked at Blum officiously.

Blum handed him the small white paper.

He looked it over, checked it even down to the date, it seemed, taking the whole thing very seriously.

“At times they use the men's water pump over in the women's camp.” The sergeant seemed to explain the ropes to him. “Happens all the time, does it not, Rozen?” he said with a complicit wink.

“It does, sir. All the time.”

“Now and then,” the senior guard laughed, “even the Jews have to dip their little peckers into the soup, right?”

“And what a hot soup it was,” Rozen said conspiratorially with a glance to Blum.

The blond-headed corporal, his SS uniform new and pressed, stepped around the pump. He looked at the cart's wobbly wheels and the rickety wooden platform and then, to Blum's horror, tapped on the metal housing with the tip of his gun. There was a hollow sound. “What's in there?”

“The pump, sir,” Rozen said.

“
The pump…”
The guard tapped on the housing again. “Open it. Let me see.”

Blum froze.

The sergeant rolled his eyes at Rozen with kind of a helpless sigh, as if grousing,
New man here. Just oblige him. He has to do his job.
But Blum knew what would happen if they opened it and found Leisa inside.

“It's just the pump, Corporal,” Rozen said again.

The new guard stared back at him. He looked at the door. “Then open it.”

Panic wormed its way through Blum's bowels. He couldn't open it. If he opened that door, they were all dead. Leisa would be barely able to hold together inside.
Stay very still,
he commanded her silently. She had to have heard everything that was happening. Blum glanced at Rozen. There was nothing they could say. The guard tapped the door again. “Now.”

“Whatever you say…” Rozen shrugged, a cospiratorial glance toward Blum, and stepped around the pump. “But if you fucking Germans would just allow us to fix the damn pipes there once and for all, we wouldn't have to fucking lug this contraption over all the time.”

“What did you say?” The guard's eyes stretched wide in disbelief.

“Nothing.” Rozen stood upright, awaiting the rain of blows that was about to follow. “I just—”

“
Fucking
Germans…?” The corporal took his rifle and butted it into Rozen's jaw. The prisoner went down. His mouth filled up with blood, a tooth coming out onto the ground. “Fucking
Jews
!” he glowered, his face red with rage. He kicked Rozen in the ribs and groin, as the repairman tried to cover himself up. “Filthy pieces of shit!” he screamed, and kicked him over and over. He took his gun and pulled back the bolt, and put it to Rozen's head.

Blum's blood stirred in riot. He desperately wanted to interfere. Rozen might easily be shot or beaten to death.
But do what?
Whatever he could do would be suicidal for him, and for Leisa too, inside.

Rozen covered up his head, awaiting the end.

“Corporal…” The sergeant put a hand on his colleague's arm. “I know him. He's been around here from the start. He'll get his soon enough…”

The younger guard tensed on the trigger, trained on Rozen, his eyes ablaze.

“But maybe not today. What do you say there? You'll have your shot,” the older guard said. “But I agree,
fucking Germans…”
He went up and kicked Rozen sharply in the ribs. The repairman let out a gasp, clutching his side. The sergeant kicked him again. “Let me hear you say a word like that again and my new corporal here can do all he wants, do you understand? And with my blessing.”

Curled in a ball, Rozen spat blood out of his mouth and nodded gratefully. “I do, sir. I'm sorry.”

“Now get your asses out of here. Are we okay, Corporal?” he said to the younger guard, who still had his gun pointed at Rozen's head.

“Mark your days, Jew.” The younger one finally lowered the gun. He gave Rozen one last kick to the ribs. The repairman rolled over and groaned. “Now get the fuck going and count your luck.
Now!
”

“Yes, sir.” Rozen picked himself up to his knees and the corporal kicked him in the rear and sent him sprawling forward, his face in the dirt. Blum ran around and helped him to his feet, and picked up the towing rod. “Thank you, sirs. Both of you.” Blum pulled the pump, at the same time assisting Rozen, who was doubled over, coughing up bloody spit, staggering alongside him. Blum looked back and saw the sergeant slap the new guard on the shoulder with an understanding grin.

They'd made it through.

“God, that was lucky. Are you all right?” Blum said under his breath, as soon as they were out of earshot. A few prisoners and even SS men who were nearby turned to watch.

Rozen coughed and nodded. Then he winked at Blum with a victorious smile. “A few kicks to the ribs are a lot better than a bullet to the head if he'd opened the door. And
luck
…?” He snorted. “The only luck is that I've greased that bastard's palm so many times, the thought of spending the rest of the war without it was obviously too much for him.”

Blum looked in the canny prisoner's eyes and lit up into a smile as well.

“And who needs fucking teeth in here anyway?” Rozen spat out a little more blood. “All they ever feed you is soup.”

They wheeled the pump back to the repair shed. No one was around. Seeing the coast was clear, Blum opened the door to the housing and whispered inside, “Leisa, you can come out now. It's safe.”

They let out the hose a bit and she crawled out, white, afraid. Elated, she threw her arms around Blum, afraid to let go. She gave Rozen a grateful hug as well.

“Here.” Blum handed her the uniform Shetman had provided him. “Put this on, quick. Over there.”

She went around the side of a truck, took off her dress, and slipped into the small striped uniform.

It was a little large and hung off her shoulders; it just made her look like skin and bones. Blum handed her his own cap. With her shaved head and smooth skin, she looked like a boy of fourteen or fifteen. But that was enough.

“
Here…”
Rozen took a little dirt from the ground, rubbed his hands together, and applied it to Leisa's cheeks and under her eyes. It maybe made her look a year or two older. “Now at least you look fit for work. Welcome to the men's camp.” He winked conspiratorially, then rubbed his side. “Whatever it is you are here to do.”

Blum shook the man's hand. “Thank you.”

He never thought he could feel so happy to be back in this hellhole.

Only four hours left to go.

 

FIFTY-SIX

“Kurt…”
Greta Ackermann turned in surprise as her husband unexpectedly stepped into the bedroom.

It was just three, and she was in the midst of changing to go to the infirmary. He rarely showed up at home this time of the afternoon. She had just finished brushing out her hair and had picked out a modest dress. “I didn't hear you come up the stairs. Have you had lunch?”

“I'm not hungry,” he said, and came around her in the mirror as she was set to slip the dress over her undergarments. “Here, let me help you with that.”

“I could have Hedda put something out for you. I think there's still some chicken left in the refrigerator…”

“I've had my lunch,” he said, keeping his eyes on her. He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Mmmm, you smell nice. It's been awhile.”

“Not now. Kurt, please…” She tried to pull herself away. “I was just heading over to the infirmary for an hour or two. I said I would assist the nurses in the—”

“What a shame to waste how you smell on those disease-ridden yids,” he said, not letting her go. He sank his face in her neck beneath her hair. “They'll be dead in a short while anyway. Or maybe you have a date with your young Jew boyfriend … You would dress up for him, wouldn't you? You would open a button or two and give him a free glance. Don't think I don't know…”