Roots of Evil(109)

But then he leaned against her, and fell quickly into an apparently untroubled sleep.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO




It was the sound of the guards marching across the yard outside that roused Alice from her shallow uneasy sleep. She sat up abruptly, memory returning. I’m in this tiny space over the Polish women’s quarters, and Mengele wants Alraune, and I’ve got to keep him hidden.

It was one of Auschwitz’s dreariest days; rain drummed ceaselessly on the roofs of the huts, and the stench of the stagnant wastelands seeped into everything.

Alice had decided to report Alraune’s disappearance after the morning roll-call. She considered how she ought to behave. Tears and anxiety, followed by sullen acceptance? Yes, for all of the commandants and most of the guards would probably know what had happened at Buchenwald; they would know that Alraune was not some beloved child of a lost husband, but the living reminder of a violent rape. But not too many tears, thought Alice. I’d better not overdo it; this is real life not a film set. And some annoyance as well, I think – wretched child, I can’t be watching him all the time…How should I know where he goes or what he gets up to…? I just thought you ought to know he’s run off…

Yes, that should strike the right note. A little distress, and then a sulky anger.

It seemed that it did strike the right note. Alice squeezed out a few tears, and then grew sullen. No, she had no idea where the child might be. Yes, he had been in the hut with her before morning roll-call. Yes, she would let them know if he turned up. She saw that they thought it relatively unimportant – children were always wandering off; they were inquisitive creatures. Some sort of search might be made later in the day, but for now she was to return to her own part of the camp.

They don’t know about Mengele’s plans, thought Alice, going cautiously across to the laundry block. That’ll be the real testing time. Will Mengele order a thorough search? How interested is he in having Alraune in his experiments?

The Polish women had been as good as their word: Alraune had been carried, unprotesting, in a bundle of sheets, and put into a tiny stone-floored room at the end of a long narrow passage. There was not very much in the room; several scrubbing-boards and two huge mechanical mangles standing over drain-holes. A drum of scouring powder of some kind, smelling faintly of old-fashioned lye soap. Alice thought it a terrible place, but it seemed safe for the moment. The two Polish women would spend as much time with Alraune as they could, and Alice would try to slip back here unnoticed during the afternoon. If the women heard the guards coming there would be time to get him out, they said. They would be very watchful.

Alice returned to the laundry block after the midday meal, doing so openly and unconcernedly, so that any of the guards watching would think she had been assigned to duties there. Concealed in her sleeve she had a slab of bread and a square of rubbery cheese for Alraune to eat. The two Poles who worked in the laundry glanced at her, nodding almost imperceptibly to indicate that all was well, and Alice went down the passageway to the grisly stone room. There was still a trickle of light from the small windows, but the shadows were starting to edge across the floor, and in the gloom the huge mangles took on the aspect of malevolent beasts: creatures that would snap at your hands and ankles, and chomp you up in their rolling maws…Your blood would drip through their rollers and down into the drain directly beneath…Alraune had been shut in here all day – had he watched those machines? Had he seen their sinister qualities as Alice had, and been frightened?

Alice set herself to create a light-hearted atmosphere; she had brought one of the slates on which Alraune liked to scribble meaningless patterns, and the coloured chalks they had managed to cajole out of one of the guards. She wove cats’ cradles for him as well with a length of string, and sang the nursery rhymes of her own childhood, keeping her voice low, although the thick walls of the room would muffle any sound. All the time her mind was considering plans for their next move, thinking that he could spend the night in the kitchen block and that she could slip out again to be with him – he could not be left by himself in the dark. And then the next day was Wednesday, the day Mengele wanted him. She wondered if she dare risk the laundry-basket ploy to get him out after all. How much of a gamble would it be?

There was no means of telling the exact time, but it must just be coming up to the evening roll-call, and she was just thinking that she would have to slip out and be in her place for that, when there was a flurry of activity beyond the stone room. Alice’s heart leapt in fear, and she backed into a corner of the room at once, drawing Alraune with her.

‘We’re still playing the hiding game,’ she said. ‘So we’ve got to be quiet – like little mice.’ Puzzlement flared in the dark eyes at this. ‘But tomorrow,’ said Alice, hating herself, ‘it’ll be our turn to be the big furry *cats who do the chasing and that’ll be a very good game indeed.’ Absurd to talk like this – he had never seen a cat in his life. ‘You’ll have a cat of your own one day,’ she said. ‘A lovely black furry one with green eyes. It’ll be all your own, and it’ll purr and curl up in your lap. But until then, we’re two little mice, and we won’t even make a squeak.’

The guards were outside now – they must have entered so abruptly that there had been no time for any warning. No time to smuggle Alraune out. It was no one’s fault. But would the guards go away or would they search everywhere? Alice clenched her fists. Please God, please God…Doors were being opened and closed – had that been the main outer door? Were they going away again? For the space of twenty seconds she dared to believe the guards had gone. And then, like a blow across her heart, came the metallic ring of boots on the stone floor of the passage outside. Hateful sound. She pressed down into the corner behind the largest of the mangles, her arms around Alraune, one hand lightly over his mouth, because there was just a chance – just a faint, faint chance – that even if the guards looked in here they would not see the two fugitives crouching in the shadows. And if they could remain silent, if Alraune did not cry out…Don’t let them come in here, prayed Alice. But if they do, don’t let them see us…