Read Online The Other Side of Love by Jacqueline Briskin - Free Book Online

not ardently in pursuit.
     
    Araminta smiled, then frowned.
    “It just occurred to me that every one of them was in a uniform.”
     
    “I’d noticed,”
    Aubrey said quietly.
    “It’s a nation of uniforms - Thor’s hammer, on the ready to be hurled.”
     
    “Darling, what a writerly thing to say. But think of how civilized everything is, how divinely clean the public loos are. The people are so friendly.”
    Araminta shifted in the settee with an over-dramatic little pout which meant they shouldn’t take her continuous movements to heart. In actuality the broken bone ached and the itching under the cast was driving her mad.
    “I must say it’s impossible to believe that anyone I’ve seen here would go around bashing communists and innocent Jews.”
     
    “The country’s been given orders not to go in for any rough stuff during the Olympics,”
    Kathe murmured.
     
    Aubrey glanced around. An elderly matron sat at a table, writing; otherwise they had the room to themselves.
    “I assumed that,”
    he said quietly.
    “But isn’t it dangerous for you to be saying this?”
     
    “Dangerous? Aubrey darling, she’s talking to us.”
     
    “I’m a journalist.”
     
    “Twelve people read Ibis. Everybody knows you’re an Oxford man writing essays for a lark.”
     
    “Not everybody.”
    Aubrey edged his chair closer to them.
    “Yesterday, a man came up to my room. Don’t ask how he found out about me. He told me I ought to take a trip to Oranienburg.
    “It’s less than an hour from the Olympic Stadium; you get off the electric railway where the line ends,” he said.”
     
    “There’s a prison-camp in Oranienburg,”
    Kathe said.
     
    “So he told me. Konzentrationslager 208.”
    Aubrey paused, tapping his chest pocket.
    “He gave me a handwritten report about the place. The dormitory was a brewery cooling-room, and it’s always damp. Men are packed like sardines into three-tiered wooden bunks. They’re fed slops. They’re marched out before dawn every morning for hard labour - his squad drained swampland.”
    Aubrey took out the closely written letter, reading a description of fearsome twelveto-fourteen-hour workdays followed by drills on the parade-ground.
     
    46
     
    Shuffling the three flimsy pages, he read a paragraph about the meagre rations. Refolding the papers carefully into the envelope, he said:
    “For any minor offence they’re whipped or beaten with rubber truncheons. And the punishments for more serious offences …” He shivered.
     
    “Well, it’s a prison, isn’t it?”
    Araminta said.
    “They’re criminals.”
     
    “Not necessarily.”
    Kathe’s whisper shook, and her face and throat were crimson with shame.
    “The Nazis have put in something called Schutzhaft, protective custody. That means people the Government thinks of as enemies - some are Jewish, others are communists or union leaders - can legally be put away without a trial.”
    She clenched her hands.
    “I knew there were camps; everybody does. But I never heard any details.”
     
    “Not many people do. The man told me that when he was released he was commanded never to describe what had gone on. If he did, he’d suffer far worse and”
     
    “Look who’s come!”
    Araminta interrupted, beaming and waving at the foyer.
    “Wyatt! In here!”
     
    Wyatt, raising a hand and smiling, moved towards the open glass door of the writing-room. Kathe, despite the horror of Aubrey’s disclosures, felt a clearly delineated stir of pleasure.
     
    Wyatt leaned over to kiss Araminta’s vivid hair, handing her a crimson chocolate-box.
    “To cheer you up,”
    he said.
     
    Araminta thanked him prettily. Aubrey shook his hand and cornplimented him on the United States gold medal in basketball. Kathe, who had remained silent, added her congratulations.
     
    “To you, too,”
    Wyatt retorted.
     
    Remembering the wonder of that perfect race, Kathe’s lips parted in a soft smile.
    “Your advice made all the difference