Free Alexander Altmann A10567 by Suzy Zail Page B

vodka from?”
    “But the commander … the searches?”
    “Zeigler knows how it works here. He wants us fed so we can work. He just doesn’t want to
do
the feeding. The system works for everyone, as long as we don’t rub it in their faces, so don’t get caught trading,” he finished at a gallop.
    “I got lucky today.” Alexander looked down at the cigarette in his hand. “Who knows when it’ll happen again?”
    “You really have no idea.” Isidor shook his head. “Why do you think I lied to get in here? It wasn’t for the showers.” Isidor pulled the last pickle from its packaging. “Our platoon receives a distribution every week. Sometimes it’s a handful of cigarettes, sometimes a whole packet.” He licked the brine from the wax paper. “Of course, you have to pay off the guards and give the Rat his cut, but still …” He turned the paper over in his hands. “Reckon I can sell this.” He slipped it into his pocket. “There’s a huge market for toilet paper.”
    “Why are you telling me this?” Alexander asked, staring hard at Isidor. “We’re even. I helped you with the horse and you took the whip off me. You don’t owe me anything.”
    “I know.” Isidor held Alexander’s gaze. “I just figured … well, we’re all in this together.” He reached out to Alexander and Alexander flinched.
    Isidor let his hand drop to his side. “You don’t want friends. I get it,” he said. “You help me with the horse, and I’ll teach you what I know. Let’s leave it at that.”
    The Rat swung his hammer at the dented hubcap, and the inmates dribbled back into the barrack to get ready for bed. Alexander pulled off his boots and went to climb onto his bunk when a withered hand wrapped around his ankle.
    “A word?” Father Jablonski looked up at Alexander. The purple triangle stitched to his coat rose and fell with each laboured breath. He withdrew his hand and patted the bunk beside his. Alexander sat down and stared into the old man’s face. His skin was as pale as the crumpled sheet he lay on. “Here,” the priest rasped, holding out a veined hand to reveal a slab of grey bread and a piece of sausage. “I’m not going to eat it.
You
take it.” Alexander wanted to snatch the bread from the priest’s clammy hand before the old man changed his mind.
    “I can’t,” he said instead, reaching out and closing Father Jablonski’s fingers over his food, surprised by the warmth of the old man’s papery skin. “You need to eat. This is not your battle.”
    “It’s everyone’s battle.” The priest’s voice was brittle.
    “Well, if that’s true,” Alexander said, looking into the priest’s colourless eyes, “then your best revenge is to survive this.”
    “I don’t want revenge.” The priest shook his head. “I want them to see the error of their ways.” He held out the food.
    “The error of their ways?” Alexander batted the bread away. “I just saw my commander whip a boy to death for stealing a carrot.” His voice cracked. “They don’t have a conscience. They don’t feel guilt; they’re not like us.”
    The priest smiled weakly. “They’re exactly like us but they’re given a gun and a uniform and orders they can hide behind.” The priest turned his head to look at the guard standing in the doorway, hurrying the returning inmates towards their bunks with the butt of his rifle.
    “Without that uniform on, he’s just a bundle of straw,” Father Jablonski whispered. “Take off his coat and he’d fall in a heap.”

    The room was still cast in shadow, and dawn a few hours off, when the Rat dragged in the coffee tureen and Alexander had his first cup of coffee. He sold his cigarette to a skinny Russian covered in scabs and drank his second cup, demanding the man’s bread crusts as well, before handing it over. He felt full and it surprised him. He hadn’t thought he’d ever feel full again and all it had taken was two cups of coffee and a few crusts of bread.