Fear began to creep over him, a dread as cold and heavy as any he had felt alone in the woods, surrounded by ghosts. Could it be so quiet because everyone was sick now? Were they all lying in their barracks, their faces black, dying, even the guards? Would the authorities really have let the sickness get that bad, just shut them all up in there to die? There was a gap somewhere in his comprehension, an inability, a yawning. A hole was opening up – a chasm – but he couldn’t work out how or where or why. He crossed himself.
He remained crouched for one brief breathless moment, then he got down on his belly, pushed his case through the gap and began to work his way under the fence. On the other side he stood upright, panting. The strange dread that gripped him had dissolved any last scrap of caution. There was still no one in sight. He strode to the nearest block, the one he had spent so many nights locked into desperately trying to sleep, the one he remembered packed with coughing, starving, dying men, crawling with lice, the air alive with misery. He strode to the door, grasped the handle and turned.
It was unlocked. He gave a light push. It swung slowly, with an infinite creaking sound, like the groan of the dead. He remembered a dream he used to have in Prague; a body wrapped in cloth, inhaling and sucking its own shroud into the open hollow of his mouth. He remembered his father lifting his shirt one day, when he was still well, and saying, ‘Emil, my back is itching. Can you see anything?’ The lice feed on you. Dr Steiner’s face had been fierce. They feed on you and they shit. You breathe in the shit. Yenko blinked. Ctibor Michálek had looked at him strangely and sadly when he had said, ‘I’m going out. I’m going to take my case. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’
The block was empty. The wooden bunks were square shadows in the gloom, scrubbed clean. There was a chemical smell. He could see right through to the far end of the block where a small square window formed another lighter shadow. There was nothing, not even a hastily abandoned blanket.
He turned and ran down to the next barrack, the children’s block. He slammed back the door – nothing. For a moment, he thought he saw a movement in the shadows and his heart leapt, but it was an empty, unlit paraffin lamp hanging from the ceiling, swinging minutely in the breeze he had created by throwing back the door.
He wheeled away, one hand clutching at the corner of the block for balance. The camp was deserted. They had all gone, left him. He had come all this way, risked his life, for nothing. They were gone. It was only then that he looked down the camp, across the Appell-platz, and saw that the main gate stood wide open. The cooking hut – there had been a little smoke drifting up. Somebody had been left behind to keep an eye on things. He would force them to their knees and press his thumbs against their throat until they told him where they had sent his mother and his little brother.
He turned swiftly around the corner of the block, and came face to face with Čacko.
The two men froze, no more than a metre between them. Čacko was holding a paraffin lantern which had almost run down. His expression was one of surprise, bemusement. He frowned, then swayed lightly. Then frowned again.
‘You’re early,’ he growled, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. Then he coughed, and the stench of alcohol was so overwhelming that Yenko wanted to reel backwards. He steeled himself not to move. He became aware that he was clenching and unclenching his fist.
‘We were expecting you tomorrow,’ Čacko continued. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t price it up in the dark. They should have sent you back to town. Who was on the gate?’ The words who and was were stretched and slurred into one. He was drunk.
Yenko’s voice sounded strange and light in his ears. ‘Just thought I’d … look around.’
‘Well, I’m the only one on duty tonight and I’m not helping you.’ Čacko’s tone was petulant. He swayed again.
He’s more than drunk, Yenko thought. He is comatose on his feet. He pushed his hand into his trouser pocket and withdrew his cigarettes. He offered the packet, trying to steady his breathing. The wild thumping of his heart was subsiding.
‘Oh for God’s sake, come and have a drink in the hut then,’ grumbled Čacko. ‘I assume you’re staying at the staff quarters? You’re not planning on walking all the way back to the village tonight?’
‘No,’ said Yenko.
‘I’ll tell you what I know,’ Čacko said, as he leaned forward for Yenko to light his cigarette. ‘Unofficially, of course …’ he chuckled, then waggled a finger in front of Yenko’s face. ‘Don’t go getting me into trouble, now. I’m planning on being out of this godforsaken hole by the end of next week. God help your men, that’s all I can say.’ He tipped his head back to exhale, then looked at the cigarette. ‘Where did you get these?’
Čacko’s face was still close to Yenko’s. The orange glow from the paraffin lantern ballooned his features. It was really Čacko, so civil, confidential. No, it was more like the opposite of Čacko, his genial inverse. He was regarding Yenko with a slight air of puzzlement, as if the sight of this smart young man was making his brain itch. Yenko lit his own cigarette. When I have found out what has happened to my family, he thought steadily, I am going to kill you. God was on his side, for once. He had served up Čacko on a plate.
Čacko turned and they crossed the camp to the small hut down by the main gate. As they passed the other buildings, Yenko saw that they were all empty; the women’s block, the staff hut – the infirmary across the Appell-platz. The small white wisp of smoke from the cook’s hut had been extinguished but there was a thin line of glowing orange on one side of the blackout curtain.
Yenko remembered that his stick was tucked beneath his arm. He swung it into his hand so he could lean on it while he walked. ‘You still have a few gendarmes here then?’ Yenko asked, indicating the cook’s hut.
Čacko shook his head. ‘Just my relief, and they’re at the staff quarters,’ he waved a hand loosely, ‘that low building there, beyond the gate. There’s a cleaning detail in that hut. We kept some of the gypos behind to help us fumigate but they followed the others in trucks last week as soon as the DDT boys had finished. You wouldn’t believe what this place was like …’
Last week. There were Roma here as recently as last week. They had reached the steps of the hut. ‘Where have they been sent?’ Yenko asked casually as they mounted the steps.
‘Oh, you know,’ Čacko replied. ‘Up north, like the others.’ Inside the hut, he reached up and hung the dying paraffin lantern on a hook in the centre of the low ceiling. The shack remained in semi-dark. ‘Used to be a boot store, but I’ve made it quite my own little cabin. Sorry if I didn’t seem too friendly. S’been a long shift. Nice to have a bit of company. Makes the time pass.’
In the corner of the hut there was a small desk with a collection of tin plates and mugs. ‘I thought I had a little glass, with gold lettering on the side, a tiny little one. S’nice. I think I’ve …’
‘Whereabouts, up north?’
‘Aha!’ said Čacko, locating the glass. ‘Here you are, little one, just waiting for a visitor.’ He reached up for a bottle made of thick brown glass which sat on a high shelf above the desk. ‘Not bad this stuff.’ He handed the glass to Yenko, then turned and poured himself a large dose into a tin mug. ‘Na zdraví!’ The two men looked at each other over their drinking vessels as they sipped.
The liquid in the glass tasted of nothing but heat. Dear God, thought Yenko, Wooden God, am I to spend the war indulging drunks?
‘So,’ Čacko said, sitting on the edge of the desk and gesturing Yenko towards a low stool. ‘Now you’ve taken a look, what d’you reckon?’
Yenko pulled a noncommittal face as he sat.
‘Between you and me,’ Čacko continued, taking another swig from his mug. ‘I would let the Werhmacht have it. If you try and put workers in here, how long are you going to have to keep them here? Then you’ve got to transport them each day, and the cooking facilities are completely inadequate, I can tell you. Let the Germans do what t
hey like.’
‘How was the cooking managed before?’ Yenko asked. He had only taken two sips of his drink and already it was giving him a headache.
‘Oh well, we didn’t have to do much for the gypsy vermin, they were used to it. Most of them were in a pretty bad state when they arrived, that’s why they kept dying. During the quarantine we lost a load. Tell you something funny, though. When the Kripo’ arrived they said they weren’t taking them in that state and we had to give them two extra slices of bread a day to make them look better.’
‘So where have they all gone?’ Yenko put his glass down on the floor beside him, staring at Čacko.
Čacko lowered his mug. ‘You are … interested …’ he said slowly, with a slight frown. Yenko felt for his case with his foot. It was right beside the stool. The door to the hut opened inwards. The main gate was close but running that way would mean running towards the staff quarters just outside the camp, past the relief guards. It would be better to head back up through the camp and under the perimeter fence.
Yenko stood and hitched up his trousers. ‘Well, thanks for the drink,’ he said. ‘I suppose I’d better get myself settled for the night.’ Čacko did not move. He was watching him. Yenko bent and picked up his case. ‘Nice to have met you,’ he said, as he swung the small but heavy case in a wide arc that made contact with Čacko’s face in the region of his left cheekbone.
Čacko sprawled backwards, arms flung wide. The mug flew from his grasp and hit the wall. Yenko dropped the case and threw himself forward, trying to grab the man’s throat. Čacko recovered his balance quickly and shoved back. As Yenko fell back, one of his hands knocked against the low-slung lantern and its arc of dim light began to swing loopily from side to side, as if they were on a boat tossed by a river.
They crashed to the floor together but Čacko’s head smacked against the stool as they fell so Yenko had the advantage. He rolled on top of him and pinned his elbow across his throat. Before I kill him, he thought clearly, he must know who I am.
He pushed his face close to Čacko’s, which was bright red, deepening to purple as he gasped for breath. ‘Where are they?’ Yenko hissed viciously. ‘Tell me where they have been sent. Where are they?’
Čacko coughed desperately. Yenko loosened his grip slightly to allow him to speak. Čacko took advantage to inhale deeply, then used all his strength to shove Yenko off and fling himself upwards, his hands reaching for the small desk. Yenko grabbed the back of his uniform and shoved him to the ground. He scrambled over Čacko, stamping on his face with one foot as he pulled open the little drawer in the front of the desk. There was a small pistol inside, still in its holster. Čacko was so lazy he didn’t even bother to put it on when he went patrolling the empty camp. Yenko snatched the gun from the holster, turned and pointed it down at Čacko’s head.
Čacko was collapsed on the floor again, face down, realising he had lost. A small amount of blood was leaking from his face, over the dusty planks. ‘You’ve broken my nose, you fucking lunatic,’ he muttered. ‘Who are you?’
Was there a safety catch on the pistol? Yenko didn’t have a clue and didn’t dare take his eyes from Čacko to look. He had never held a gun before. He kept his arm steady. ‘Keep your face down. Now tell me, where have the prisoners been sent?’
‘Same place they all get sent. Same place they send the yids. Poland. The General Government. That’s where they all end up. You can’t make a silk purse out of sow’s ear. Anyone could have told them that.’
‘Where in Poland?’
‘I don’t know. The Germans take over the trains at Ostrava. What difference does it make? The same thing’s going to happen either way. Two slices of bread a day, for God’s sake.’
‘What? What’s going to happen?’
Čacko paused, as if he was finally realising the importance of his answers. ‘Well, you know. You know what people are saying. The camps they have there. They are as big as cities …’
‘Tell me …’
Čacko’s gasping breath had finally subsided. His voice was suddenly dull and hopeless. He lifted his face. A little blood ran from his nose. ‘You know, surely. You work for the Labour Department, don’t you? You must have seen the paperwork. Return undesired. Isn’t that what the lists say at the bottom? I suppose they kill the weak ones straight away but I think they hang on to some of them to work them. Shouldn’t think they kept any of ours. Ours were all weak ones by the time they left. They gas them. That’s what the Croats said. I’d heard they shot them and burnt them but they said, no, it’s gas.’
He sat up gradually, wincing with pain, glancing up at Yenko. He brushed down his hands, then stopped in the middle of the action. He looked up, staring at Yenko full in the face. ‘You don’t work for the Brno Labour Department do you?’ he said slowly.
‘No,’ Yenko said. What would happen if he pulled the trigger? If the safety catch was off, then he could blow Čacko’s face all over the hut and be out of the door and across the camp before the relief guards came to investigate. If the catch was still on, Čacko would be upon him.
Čacko was not looking at the pistol. He was looking at Yenko.
Then he said, very softly, ‘František. It is you, isn’t it?’ He shook his head, still gazing at him. His expression became soft, pleading. He spread his hands. ‘František. Put the gun down. This isn’t necessary. Not for me.’ He looked at the floor, where blood was dripping from his nose. He shook his head slightly and gave a small exhalation, as if amused, then looked up at him again. ‘After all, I saved your life, you know.’
‘What?’ Was the safety catch on or off?
‘I saved your life. More than once, actually.’ Čacko wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then looked at the smear of blood on it. His voice was still quiet, philosophical. ‘The first time was when they were going to send you on that transport, back in December. Your name was on the list because you were down as a troublemaker. I came and pulled you off the truck, remember? I told the Commander you were useful. Otherwise you’d be cinders by now, like the rest of them.’
Yenko blinked hard. It was taking all his effort to keep his arm steady.
‘When you escaped, I was disappointed you’d run out on me but I said, ah well, it’s in the boy’s nature. You can’t blame him. Poor old Lojza caught it, I can tell you. He said he thought someone had kept you back in the camp and that’s why you didn’t come back. That’s why you weren’t missed until the evening. They wanted to send the dogs out but I told them it wasn’t worth it. You had too much of a head start. They would’ve, you know, if it wasn’t for me …’ He looked up at him, and Yenko saw there were tears standing in his eyes. ‘I always looked after you, didn’t I? You were like a son to me. Well, I lost my temper now and then but every man does that once in a while. But I protected you. Always. I could have chosen any of them but I chose you.’ He lowered his head again. ‘I hate the fucking Germans. We all do.’
Yenko said, evenly, raising the pistol slightly, ‘What has happened to my family?’
Čacko lifted his head again. ‘They’re dead, František. Of course they are.’ Yenko stared at him, the bulbous features, the fat neck, the red rise of his cheek where he had been struck … ‘We had some Croatian guards sent down as soon as the typhus was under control. They came straight from their tour of duty in Poland. So many of ours had fallen sick and Brno Police was refusing to send any more. These Croats, they’d been working in one of the big camps. They are like factories, they said, factories for killing people who aren’t needed any more. They gas them. It’s quite quick, they said. In they go, and out they come. They burn the bodies.’ He stopped. He looked up at Yenko and gave a little, helpless grimace. His voice began to whine, piteously. ‘František. I’m not saying I approve of it. It’s not us, you know. The Germans …’
Yenko’s arm began to shake with the effort of keeping the pistol steady. Čacko lifted his hands, pleadingly. ‘Come on. You’ve always got your old friend Čacko, you
know. I know it’s hard, but you’ve always got me.’
Yenko squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
Čacko threw himself at Yenko’s legs. Yenko tried to sidestep him. As Čacko’s fat arms encircled him, he brought the pistol down on his head, twice. Čacko loosed his grasp enough for Yenko to kick him aside and reach for his case. As he stepped away, Čacko managed to grab one trouser leg. ‘I won’t tell,’ he gasped, desperately. ‘I promise I won’t tell a soul. You could be safe with me. You could come with me, when they transfer me next week. I’m going back to Brno. Nice little cushy number they’ve promised me after a whole year here.’ Yenko cried out with disgust, flailing out with the pistol. ‘I saved you!’ Čacko shouted. ‘I saved your life!’ Yenko stamped on Čacko’s arm. ‘František!’ Čacko sobbed.
Yenko finally freed his leg and reached out for the door. The pistol fell from his grasp but he didn’t stop to pick it up. The night outside had never seemed so sweet. He tumbled from the hut with his case and walking stick clutched to his chest. As he jumped down from the step he heard Čacko behind him shouting. ‘František! Come back! We’re friends, aren’t we? We’ve always been friends!’ As he ran up the slope to the perimeter fence, he heard the voice still hollering across the darkness, ‘Fran-ti-šek!’
He found the broken planks and scrambled underneath. He flung himself across the scrubby patch of earth and dived into the safety of the trees. His feet slipped on some loose stones and his stick fell from his grasp. He snatched it up and pounded on, one arm raised to protect his face from branches as he crashed through.
Finally, when he reached the heart of the wood, where the ground rose, he fell down on to the slope between the trees, down upon the soft, dead pine needles and unrelenting earth.
He lay for a moment, gasping with the effort of running uphill. Then he rose, upright on his knees, threw back his head, exposed his face to the unresponsive sky – the calm moon – and let out a long, undying howl.
Fires in the Dark Page 38