Alexander Altmann A10567 Read Online Free PDF Page A

saw the boy in front of him lift his tin bowl to catch the liquid dripping off the Rat’s ladle, heard the tinny clunk of metal hitting metal as the boy, impatient for food, stepped too close. The room grew quiet and the inmate, sensing his mistake, pulled his bowl from the Rat’s spoon.
    The block leader’s rodent face grew more pointed. “You want coffee so bad?” he shouted. “So, drink.” He thrust the boy’s head into the tureen and held him there, face down in the murky water, for five long seconds, then ten. After fifteen seconds the boy’s arms stopped flailing. Twenty seconds and the bubbles stopped. The Rat pulled the boy from the tureen and threw him to the floor where he lay, dripping and spluttering, but alive.
    Alexander inched forwards and held out his bowl.
    He noticed the priest’s eyes follow him back to his bunk. Alexander lifted his bowl to his lips and drank the dirty water down. Every last drop. The priest stared up at him. He was still in bed.
    “They’re not going to bring you food,” Alexander said. “And neither will I.”
    “Father Jablonski isn’t hungry.” The block leader grabbed Alexander’s collar and pushed him towards the door. “
Geh Raus!
Outside! It’s time for muster.”
    Alexander guessed it was around four am. The sky was black and the moon was close to the horizon. If he was back home, he’d be sneaking from the house to saddle his horse before dawn.
    “Rows of five!” The Rat stopped under a floodlight, his pointed nose elongated under the lamp’s glow.
    Alexander fell into line and Isidor stood to attention beside him. “He’s refusing to eat,” Isidor whispered.
    “Who?” Alexander whispered back.
    “Father Jablonski.” Isidor stared straight ahead and spoke through his teeth. “He’s a Czech priest, imprisoned for speaking out against Hitler. After he saw a boy shot in the head at rollcall, he stopped eating.”
    A whistle sounded and the men were divided into their work details.
    “Your kapo will take it from here. Do as he says.” The block leader nodded at the man beside him. Alexander was surprised to find the kapo in the same striped uniform he wore. He looked him up and down. The kapo was a giant, almost two metres tall, Alexander guessed, though it was hard to tell as the man was stooped. Alexander watched him chew on a fingernail before spitting it out. He wore a yellow star on his blue-and-white shirt and grey trousers that were too short for his long, hairy legs. The pale sun crept over the horizon and Alexander saw that the man’s skin was rough as leather, his nails chewed down to the quick.
    The man dragged his feet as he walked between them, counting out aloud.
    “
Dwadzie cia osiem
.” He spat the words out in Polish. Twenty-eight. There were twenty-eight men in the Horse Platoon, twenty-nine including the kapo.
    “
Alles Raus!
” he shouted into the nearest man’s ear. The inmate stumbled, clasping his ear. A bemused SS officer looked on. The kapo swatted the inmate’s hand away with a metal stick. “
Alles Raus!
” he screamed again, and the men hurried forwards.
    The camp band struck up a march and Alexander walked through the open gate, Isidor behind him. Three girls with long, glossy hair and painted lips leaned out of a second floor window to watch the parade. Alexander stared up at the window, surprised to find women in the camp. He craned his neck to look past the women, hoping perhaps to catch a glimpse of his mother in the room behind them.
    “You can’t afford them, Jew-boy.” An officer hurled a stone at Alexander’s head and laughed. Alexander rubbed his ear where the stone had clipped him and looked up at the women again. They wore low-cut blouses and blew kisses to the officers.
    “Whores,” the man in front of Alexander swore under his breath.
    Alexander kept walking. Up ahead the crematoria spewed dirty smoke into the sky. A black sadness settled over him. He thought he should say a prayer for his