Blood and Salt Read Online Free PDF Page B

only bread and water for several days, he doesn’t talk either. At night, he sits on his blanket, his back turned to the others, including Scarman.
    Shortly after this, the Germans ride out of the camp in the back of a big truck, on their way to an all-German camp in British Columbia. Except for Redl. He’s still in the hospital. Scarman hails their departure as a great victory and talks himself back into some kind of better mood. He claims that he and Oleksa “really showed those Germans.” He feels pleased enough to give Oleksa a couple of candy bars he was saving for some dark day. Even so, it takes Oleksa a little longer to come around, but before long the card games start up again.

    As daylight wanes, the sandy-haired commandant makes another decision, explained to the prisoners by the guards: work days will be shortened by one hour a day. But by now Taras is so miserable that he finds it hard to tell the difference. He and his friends are colder, hungrier. Even Yuriy looks dejected.
    One night Taras says, “We need to make a plan.”
    Ihor shakes his head. “Too cold. I don’t jump out of the frying pan into the fire.” He says the last bit in English.
    “What are you talking about?” Taras asks, confused by the change of language.
    “Just a little expression I learned from my boss at the ranch. It means you don’t leave something bad for something that could be worse.”
    Still, men who hadn’t considered escape before consider it now. Two men do escape. Private Amberly, the kid who took away Taras’s watch, is charged with helping them. Taras can’t understand why he’d do that, since prisoners have no money for bribes. Is it possible, then, that he liked the men he helped? Or that he’s in favour of radical politics and thought the Ukrainians were radicals?
    Taras doesn’t think so. If there’s anybody in Canada who knows even less about politics than he does, it has to be Private Amberly.
    Another soldier, Lieutenant Sales, is charged with being drunk on duty and using profane and obscene language. This is more understandable. Taras wouldn’t mind being a bit drunk himself. But he can use profane and obscene language whenever he wants to, because, as Yuriy points out, the guards don’t know Ukrainian. Another piece of luck. Up until now he hasn’t used a lot of bad language, but if he stays here much longer he might take it up.

    Taras sits on his blanket and writes a letter. It’s the middle of October but feels more like December. The guards brought them in from the work site early. Too cold for the men to work, they told the commandant. Sure, maybe they felt some concern for the men, but probably a lot more for themselves. But as Yuriy says, you take luck where you find it. Any time you work a shorter day, you have more time to talk or play cards or write a letter before black night takes you down.
    He feels a sob, or maybe it’s a scream, trying to tear its way out of his chest. For two months he’s been sending letters to his parents, asking if they’re all right. Pretending he’s all right. He writes them and hands them over to the guards. And then nothing happens. For two months he’s been asking the guards why he’s not getting mail. No one knows. Or cares, as far as he can see. A few men in the camp get letters; most don’t. Why?
    Taras surprises himself by coming up with an idea. He writes a letter, in English – Yuriy helps him with it – to the commandant. He walks around the mess tent that night and talks to other men who aren’t getting letters. Some just wave him off, but quite a few add their signatures to the letter. It says, “We are promised the right to send and receive letters. We have sent letters to our families, but have never received any letters back. We ask you to help us. We demand to know what has happened to our letters.”
    He gives the letter to Sergeant Andrews, one of the less surly guards, who promises to get it to the commandant. The days drag on