she was and hoped she had a job where she could skim a few potatoes from the bottom of a pot. Alexander’s mother had earned a business degree when she was young, before she’d given up the city for life on the farm with her new husband. Her mind was sharp as a tack and that would help. And she hated to be idle. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d returned home from school to find her sitting in the sun. She was either doing the books, ordering equipment, attending to dinner or milking the cows.
She’ll be fine
, he thought, tipping the cup to his lips.
She’ll be worrying about me.
He looked down at his stomach and saw that it was still caved in. He hadn’t expected potato dumplings for lunch but he’d hoped for something more than he’d been fed in Birkenau.
With their hunger dampened, the talk in the room turned to things other than food. The men around him talked of home and the end of the war and how they’d soon get to hold their wives and sweethearts. Girls were the furthest thing from Alexander’s mind. And even if he did have someone waiting for him back in Košice, he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell a bunch of strangers. Alexander had learned to keep his head down and his mouth shut. It was hard enough getting through each day without expending the extra energy required for conversation, so he sidestepped the banter, unless, of course, there was something to be gained.
“Commander Ziegler will be here in twenty minutes,” the kapo called to him. “You need to be in the yard with Serafin in ten.”
Alexander headed outside and found the toilets behind the stable – a slab of concrete with seven holes drilled into it, protected from the elements by a warped tin roof held up by four posts. There were no walls and no toilet paper, just a few strips of burlap torn from a sack, stuffed under a brick to keep the wind from carrying them off. It was the first time Alexander didn’t have to share the toilets with anyone, but he wasn’t alone. One of the stablehands was pulling weeds next to the toilet block. He looked up from the ground as Alexander lowered his pants, watched him for a few moments, then returned to his task.
“Two minutes!” the kapo called. Alexander gave Serafin a brisk brushing and lifted the commander’s saddle onto his back.
“I need you outside!” the kapo shouted. Alexander grabbed a whip and brushed past Isidor who was trying, unsuccessfully, to unravel a lead line.
“Didn’t you listen to Henryk’s story?” Isidor reached for Alexander’s whip. “We’re not allowed …”
“I don’t have time for stories.” Alexander pushed him aside.
“Alex.” Isidor’s voice was tight. He wrapped his fingers around the whip and yanked it towards him.
“Not now,” Alexander hissed.
“The whip.” Isidor glared at Alexander. “You can’t use it. We’re not allowed to whip the horses.”
“I need Serafin outside now,” the kapo growled from the doorway.
Isidor pulled the whip from Alexander’s damp hand. “Go,” he whispered. “I’ll put it back.”
Alexander hurried outside and held out the reins.
The commander mounted Serafin, and lifted his hand in a Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler!” An SS Officer – the same man Alexander had seen at the gates of Auschwitz that morning – dismounted a black Arabian and returned the salute.
“Herr Hoess,” the commander said, turning Serafin in a circle, “have you ever seen finer looking animals?”
Hoess
– the name ricocheted around Alexander’s head. He knew that name. Of course. Alexander shuddered. Hoess was the commandant of Auschwitz and one of Hitler’s highest ranking officers.
“All it takes is good breeding,” Hoess said, offering the black Arabian a cube of sugar. “If we could only breed
people
,” he glanced at Alexander, “the same way we breed horses.”
Alexander drove his nails into his palms. It was a kind of hell having to stand there, in the baking heat, listening to them talk.
She’ll be fine
, he thought, tipping the cup to his lips.
She’ll be worrying about me.
He looked down at his stomach and saw that it was still caved in. He hadn’t expected potato dumplings for lunch but he’d hoped for something more than he’d been fed in Birkenau.
With their hunger dampened, the talk in the room turned to things other than food. The men around him talked of home and the end of the war and how they’d soon get to hold their wives and sweethearts. Girls were the furthest thing from Alexander’s mind. And even if he did have someone waiting for him back in Košice, he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell a bunch of strangers. Alexander had learned to keep his head down and his mouth shut. It was hard enough getting through each day without expending the extra energy required for conversation, so he sidestepped the banter, unless, of course, there was something to be gained.
“Commander Ziegler will be here in twenty minutes,” the kapo called to him. “You need to be in the yard with Serafin in ten.”
Alexander headed outside and found the toilets behind the stable – a slab of concrete with seven holes drilled into it, protected from the elements by a warped tin roof held up by four posts. There were no walls and no toilet paper, just a few strips of burlap torn from a sack, stuffed under a brick to keep the wind from carrying them off. It was the first time Alexander didn’t have to share the toilets with anyone, but he wasn’t alone. One of the stablehands was pulling weeds next to the toilet block. He looked up from the ground as Alexander lowered his pants, watched him for a few moments, then returned to his task.
“Two minutes!” the kapo called. Alexander gave Serafin a brisk brushing and lifted the commander’s saddle onto his back.
“I need you outside!” the kapo shouted. Alexander grabbed a whip and brushed past Isidor who was trying, unsuccessfully, to unravel a lead line.
“Didn’t you listen to Henryk’s story?” Isidor reached for Alexander’s whip. “We’re not allowed …”
“I don’t have time for stories.” Alexander pushed him aside.
“Alex.” Isidor’s voice was tight. He wrapped his fingers around the whip and yanked it towards him.
“Not now,” Alexander hissed.
“The whip.” Isidor glared at Alexander. “You can’t use it. We’re not allowed to whip the horses.”
“I need Serafin outside now,” the kapo growled from the doorway.
Isidor pulled the whip from Alexander’s damp hand. “Go,” he whispered. “I’ll put it back.”
Alexander hurried outside and held out the reins.
The commander mounted Serafin, and lifted his hand in a Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler!” An SS Officer – the same man Alexander had seen at the gates of Auschwitz that morning – dismounted a black Arabian and returned the salute.
“Herr Hoess,” the commander said, turning Serafin in a circle, “have you ever seen finer looking animals?”
Hoess
– the name ricocheted around Alexander’s head. He knew that name. Of course. Alexander shuddered. Hoess was the commandant of Auschwitz and one of Hitler’s highest ranking officers.
“All it takes is good breeding,” Hoess said, offering the black Arabian a cube of sugar. “If we could only breed
people
,” he glanced at Alexander, “the same way we breed horses.”
Alexander drove his nails into his palms. It was a kind of hell having to stand there, in the baking heat, listening to them talk.
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