person must be found.
Your patients will stand here until the number is correct.’
Stand was hardly the word.
Most could barely hold themselves upright.
The officer waved guards
forward. ‘Search the barrack.’
The women glanced from one
to the other and drew themselves straighter. They were almost all mothers and
almost all had lost their children: they’d taken the two little Roma orphans to
their hearts.
He gestured to Miriam to
stay where she was and followed the guards into the infirmary. It could be some
poor wretch had died unnoticed beneath their blanket, or had crept beneath a
bunk to hide, or had somehow found a way out and escaped in the night. Escape
was not tolerated: escapees would be hunted down and shot. Bunks were pulled
apart, straw sacking and blankets thrown to the floor, cracks and gaps between
them prodded and poked.
He held his breath, as he
knew the women outside held theirs. Bayonets thrust into straw mattresses,
ripping open the covers. The guards pulled a heavy tier of bunks onto its side
and stamped out.
‘You are still one short,
doctor.’
‘Someone must have been
moved without my knowledge. I shall have to check all the numbers to see who is
missing.’
‘Do it. The women stand
here, without food or water, until this prisoner is accounted for.’
‘I shall see to it,
personally.’
The sun burned down. The
tattooed numbers were checked and double-checked against the records. A woman
fainted: the officer kicked her until she revived. One of them was missing and
it could take hours to check the entire camp’s records to find where she’d been
sent. Another body hit the ground, unconscious. He ached to go to the woman’s
aid. He ached to check Arturas and Peti were safe, well-hidden and quiet.
Instead he hurried from the compound in search of camp records and the elusive
number.
The sun was setting by the
time he’d found the missing woman. The SS officer had transferred her to
Kanada, and not informed him. The weary women were allowed back to their bunks,
tired, sunburned and dehydrated.
With their help he put the
bunks straight and replaced the straw mattresses, feeling each one carefully.
‘This one.’
Willing hands peeled back
the mattress cover. A small body hunched inside it. He felt for a pulse and
eyes of different colours opened blearily. Miriam hugged Peti to her heart and
then searched feverishly among the ruined mattresses. ‘Arturas?’
‘He’s here… He’s alive. The
bayonets missed him.’
Low sighs broke out among
the women: in turn they hugged their adopted sons.
‘I’m hungry.’
‘I want Mama.’
Several women brought crusts
of bread from beneath clothing. Pieces were broken off.
‘Here, eat this.’
‘You both kept so quiet.’
‘Mama will be very proud of
you.’
***
Walt popped his head into the workshop
next-door to his at the end of the garden they shared with their neighbours,
Lil and Flo. Lil, long past retirement age, worked the foot pedal of her
sewing-machine and mauve taffeta flew beneath nimble fingers. Her sister, Flo,
pulled a pin from her mouth and adjusted a hem.
‘Ouch!’
‘Keep still, then,
Charlotte. Don’t wriggle,’ Jane said. ‘Let Flo pin the hem.’
Lucy headed for the door.
‘I’m going with Grandpa.’
‘Oh, no you’re not.’ Flo
removed pins from between her lips. ‘You’re next. You do want a party frock,
don’t you?’ Pale blue taffeta, sewn with sequins, was bullied to length while
its mauve sister flounced over Lil’s sewing machine. ‘That’s you done. Slip it
off and mind the pins.’
Charlotte pouted. ‘Don’t look ,
Grandpa.’
‘All right, I’m going. I
didn’t realise you were so grown up.’ He smiled and returned to his workshop.
Charlotte and Lucy’s birthdays were to be marked by a fancy dress party and
he’d promised a treasure hunt. An extra shadow darkened his workshop floor. ‘No
you don’t, Lucy.’ He turned her round and shooed her back to Jane. ‘You
Your patients will stand here until the number is correct.’
Stand was hardly the word.
Most could barely hold themselves upright.
The officer waved guards
forward. ‘Search the barrack.’
The women glanced from one
to the other and drew themselves straighter. They were almost all mothers and
almost all had lost their children: they’d taken the two little Roma orphans to
their hearts.
He gestured to Miriam to
stay where she was and followed the guards into the infirmary. It could be some
poor wretch had died unnoticed beneath their blanket, or had crept beneath a
bunk to hide, or had somehow found a way out and escaped in the night. Escape
was not tolerated: escapees would be hunted down and shot. Bunks were pulled
apart, straw sacking and blankets thrown to the floor, cracks and gaps between
them prodded and poked.
He held his breath, as he
knew the women outside held theirs. Bayonets thrust into straw mattresses,
ripping open the covers. The guards pulled a heavy tier of bunks onto its side
and stamped out.
‘You are still one short,
doctor.’
‘Someone must have been
moved without my knowledge. I shall have to check all the numbers to see who is
missing.’
‘Do it. The women stand
here, without food or water, until this prisoner is accounted for.’
‘I shall see to it,
personally.’
The sun burned down. The
tattooed numbers were checked and double-checked against the records. A woman
fainted: the officer kicked her until she revived. One of them was missing and
it could take hours to check the entire camp’s records to find where she’d been
sent. Another body hit the ground, unconscious. He ached to go to the woman’s
aid. He ached to check Arturas and Peti were safe, well-hidden and quiet.
Instead he hurried from the compound in search of camp records and the elusive
number.
The sun was setting by the
time he’d found the missing woman. The SS officer had transferred her to
Kanada, and not informed him. The weary women were allowed back to their bunks,
tired, sunburned and dehydrated.
With their help he put the
bunks straight and replaced the straw mattresses, feeling each one carefully.
‘This one.’
Willing hands peeled back
the mattress cover. A small body hunched inside it. He felt for a pulse and
eyes of different colours opened blearily. Miriam hugged Peti to her heart and
then searched feverishly among the ruined mattresses. ‘Arturas?’
‘He’s here… He’s alive. The
bayonets missed him.’
Low sighs broke out among
the women: in turn they hugged their adopted sons.
‘I’m hungry.’
‘I want Mama.’
Several women brought crusts
of bread from beneath clothing. Pieces were broken off.
‘Here, eat this.’
‘You both kept so quiet.’
‘Mama will be very proud of
you.’
***
Walt popped his head into the workshop
next-door to his at the end of the garden they shared with their neighbours,
Lil and Flo. Lil, long past retirement age, worked the foot pedal of her
sewing-machine and mauve taffeta flew beneath nimble fingers. Her sister, Flo,
pulled a pin from her mouth and adjusted a hem.
‘Ouch!’
‘Keep still, then,
Charlotte. Don’t wriggle,’ Jane said. ‘Let Flo pin the hem.’
Lucy headed for the door.
‘I’m going with Grandpa.’
‘Oh, no you’re not.’ Flo
removed pins from between her lips. ‘You’re next. You do want a party frock,
don’t you?’ Pale blue taffeta, sewn with sequins, was bullied to length while
its mauve sister flounced over Lil’s sewing machine. ‘That’s you done. Slip it
off and mind the pins.’
Charlotte pouted. ‘Don’t look ,
Grandpa.’
‘All right, I’m going. I
didn’t realise you were so grown up.’ He smiled and returned to his workshop.
Charlotte and Lucy’s birthdays were to be marked by a fancy dress party and
he’d promised a treasure hunt. An extra shadow darkened his workshop floor. ‘No
you don’t, Lucy.’ He turned her round and shooed her back to Jane. ‘You
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