Past Tense- Chapter Five, part three (2nd half)

[skull_bearer]

They’re in Austria, almost in Italy. Charles remembers he once used to dream of traveling. Of having an adventure like those he used to read about.

 

And that’s what it had seemed to begin with, an adventure. Like something out of a new-fangled comic book. Outsmarting evil Nazis and freeing an innocent woman. As insane as it seems now, Charles doesn’t even think it occurred to him to be afraid when they boarded the small ship for France.

 

He throws the pebble at the empty tin; it bounces off the edge, making it rock, and skids across the road. He tries to remember something about Austria; he must have learnt something about it at school. Erik’s turn to throw; the pebble misses entirely. Nothing. If he had ever learnt about it, it’s long gone now. He throws the stone a little harder than he should, and it overshoots and hits the truck pulled up on the opposite side of the road. The driver gives him an ugly look from under his elbow before going back to changing the punctured tire.

Erik’s stone bounces on the rim, and falls in. He smiles.

“Did you learn about Austria, at school?” Charles says softly, gathering up another handful of loose stones.

Erik drops the stones in his lap, looking down at them. “I- Not much.  It was a long time ago.”

“Just trying to remember-” Charles waves his hand around. The landscape is breathtaking, the road snakes through a valley between two awe-inspiring mountains, topped with snow. The fields on either side of them are wild and thick with wildflowers, and Charles can hear a stream running in the distance. The truck couldn’t have chosen a better place to get a puncture.

“It is beautiful.” Erik agrees, and for a moment the game is forgotten as they stare up at the mountains.

Charles isn’t used to mountains, he wonders if Erik is. The only things he’s seen this big are the buildings in New York, and there’s no comparison. He feels dizzy just looking up. The snow looks as though it’s part of the clouds overhead. It probably is. Even with the drivers and doctors cursing over the ruined tire, it’s probably the most peaceful place Charles has ever been in. It’s impossible to imagine anything bad happening here. Even the puncture must have been a fluke.

 

He wonders if anyone ever thought that about Auschwitz.

It’s like swallowing an ice cube, the slow, cold trickling return of fear. Such a quiet place, such a small town in the middle of nowhere. Trees. Marsh. Probably birds once upon a time. Couldn’t imagine anything bad happening there. Once upon the time.

 

Charles feels very tired suddenly, and slumps backwards until he is flat on his back, legs stretched out on the sun-warmed gravel. Erik looks down at him curiously, and lies down beside him, both of them looking up at the sky. One of the mountains is just in Charles’ peripheral vision, and the motion of the clouds makes it look as though it’s slowly falling. It makes his skin prickle, even though it’s just an illusion. He’d done the same with the buildings back in New York.

 

The clatter of a wrench, a louder curse. Charles would offer to help, but they already had and been refused. Shomron hadn’t wanted to waste any time getting the patients out of the truck, so they had nothing to do but wait. Hence the improvised game and current cloud-watching.

 

Waiting. Waking up before the kapo, buried under the blanket. Waiting. Roll call, in the snow. Waiting. Lining up for food. Shoving, nudging, trying to get as far forward as possible. Holding his breath until his heart beat in his ears, counting heartbeats, an eternal clock, separating each slice of time, drawing them out or hurrying them on. Waiting.

 

The clouds curl into odd shapes around the tip of the mountain, Charles’ fractured mind draws out something vague about air-currents, gone before he can grasp at it. So much unlearnt. They probably wouldn’t let him into high school now, let alone University. He doesn’t know if even remembers how to write.

Erik sits up; Charles can hear the dry grass crunching. “What are you thinking about?”

He wishes Erik was the one who could read minds, he doesn’t feel up to talking. “School.”

“Ah.”

Charles sits up on his elbows; Erik is sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs, toying with the pebbles. “They threw me out, you know.” His voice is dull, as it always is when talking about this.

Charles sits up. “What did you do?” Stupid question. He knows the answer.

Erik snorts. Since when has he had to do anything?

“I’d be thrown out now, if I went back.” Charles clasps his hands in his lap. “Not just because of-” He waves his hand between them- “I’ve forgotten so much.”

Erik nods. “We had a school. In the ghetto. My father taught there.” The words sound as though they’ve been drawn out by barbed wire.

Charles doesn’t push. He stays quiet, letting Erik go on if he wants to. He doesn‘t, and Charles doesn‘t either; this hurts Erik too much as it is without Charles pushing for more.

 

Erik doesn’t start talking again, picking up a new stone to continue with their game. This one lands neatly, and Charles is sure he saw the can wobble a little to catch the stone.

He can help it, he smiles. “Did you just cheat?”

His voice is teasing, and Erik smiles back, lobbing another stone. This time the can twitches to the left. Charles throws his stone. The can twitches to the right. Missed. Charles shoots Erik a look of mock outrage, and throws another stone. This time the can tips over to avoid it and stones scatter everywhere.

“Careful,” Charles murmurs, getting up to right the can.

It’s trembling when he touches it. For a moment he thinks it’s just the after-effects of whatever Erik’s doing to it- maybe he’s trying to right it himself. But then, the ground is also shaking, just a little. The stones tapping together. The man changing the wheel stops and looks up. Charles freezes, in the middle of the road on his hands and knees, one hand still clasped around the can. A low rumbling just on the edge of hearing.

“Get out of the way!” He doesn’t know which of the doctors shouted it, but the spell is broken and he throws himself backwards, almost knocking right into Erik as the convoy roars past.

It’s over in less than a second, or so it feels like. There’s barely enough space for the truck to pass, and the slipstream lashes Charles’ hood back from his head and throws a mouthful of dust in his face.

 

He shouldn’t have been able to see anything. Not the square-block helmets, not the grey uniforms, not the dark, glittering eyes burning straight through him. He didn’t see the soldier’s face, just his eyes. Just enough to know what he was, and in that moment, he was sure they knew what he was. A split second, then the track is out of sight, blown away taking Charles’ breath with it. Caged monsters, staring through the bars in hatred.

 

The utter terror if one so much as looked at you. Vague, distant glances, as though you weren’t there. Good. Hide. Duck down. Crawl in the dust in you need to. Don’t let them see you. Dead cold eyes. You. Yes. You. Come out and die. Cold knot in your stomach. Hot sweat running down your back. Shaking so hard your bones hurt. Shaking so hard you clench your teeth so they don’t make a noise. Shaking so hard your nails dig into your palms. Don’t see me.

 

Erik’s hand’s clenched on his shoulder but the pain’s only just registering. His hand’s knotted into Erik’s shirt and they’re practically on top of each other. He can feel Erik’s heart against his back, his breath as short and fast as his own, as thought they’ve both been winded.

 

Erik’s teeth are starting to press into his shoulder; Charles’ eyes finally focus on the real world. Shomron and the others are staring after the truck. The man who’d been in the car with them glances over, and Charles suddenly wonders what they look like. He tries to pull away, and the old fear kicks in full force and their hands lock onto each other again. The doctor obviously doesn’t think much of it and beckons them over to the truck. The wheel’s been changed, they’re ready to go.

 

They don’t check on the patients. They just tie the flaps close and collapse in a corner.

 

Roll call. That Kapo was looking at him. He could feel the man’s eyes on him. Erik was more asleep than awake, leaning again him, eyes closed despite the pain in his back. Charles risked a look; the man was looking at him, and smiled when he meets Charles’ eyes. It was not a nice smile, and it’s one he’d seen before. Charles snapped his head back to the front, feeling as though he were about to be sick. In three months, Erik would have realized something was wrong. In six months, he’d know exactly what was wrong. In three months, the man wouldn’t consider him worth looking at, let alone do… whatever he was planning to do to him. In six months, the man would be dead, having been first demoted by his SS overlords then lynched by those he’d raped.

 

But right then, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t move, or he’d be shot, be couldn’t even react, or he’d attract attention. Attention would get you killed. Standing there feeling blood run down his hands from where the nails had bitten through the skin, not daring look round a second time. Naked and helpless and surrounded by monsters who’d kill him in moments if he did anything to stand out from the crowd. Knowing the Kapo was looking at him, and knowing what he was planning. Oh God. He was going to be sick. The roll call was ending, each group being sent off to work. He wasn’t in the Kapo’s work group, but he knew better than to think it would make a difference. All the man had to do was order him, and he’d be killed, one way or another, if he disobeyed. Utterly helpless.

 

He didn’t know who the poor soul was, or what he did to get noticed, but he would be eternally grateful to his memory. The work group nearest to theirs moved off, and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw one of the SS lazily slide his machine gun off his shoulder and shoot the man dead. He’ll never know why, and anyway what did reasons matter here? Probably the SS was just bored. But the Kapo had, for that one, crucial moment, looked away, and in that moment Charles had ducked out of sight as their work group had moved off, and run as fast as he could towards the lavatory barracks.

 

He hadn’t, in fact, been sick. But that had more to do with not having anything to be sick with than with relief. The day he’d spent alone in the foul hut had probably been one of the worst days. Completely alone for the first time he’d arrived, terrified the Kapo could come in at any moment, or one of the SS, or anyone who would report him for a mouthful of bread. And alone. Oh God. The fear. He’d never had any illusions of how long he’d last alone. And how could he possibly find Erik again? Birkenau was huge, people were sent from one workgroup to another for no reason, or, as he has seen, killed for no reason. Erik had no idea where he was, he wouldn’t know where to look either.

 

He remembered a funeral, when he was very young. A friend of his father’s. He had gotten lost in the overgrown graveyard, far away from the grownups. His parents hadn’t known where he was; he didn’t know where they were. It was that small child’s fear that clung to him in that hut, that fear multiplied by a thousand and knotted around his neck until he could barely breathe. And only vanishing when Erik had walked through the door. He’d almost fainted with relief.

 

Erik has relaxed a little, he’s still trembling in short, sharp jerks that means his muscles are staring to cramp, but he’d trying to breathe evenly and his eyes are closed, fighting to regain control of himself.

 

The truck starts with a roar, making them both jump. Charles’ heart, which had started to slow its frantic fluttering, starts beating against the bars of his chest like a maddened bird. Erik grabs hold of his arm.

 

Erik exhales very slowly, and his fingers loosen. He brings the hand up to his face and rubs it as though trying to wipe away the fear.

 

“It was just a convoy.” Charles barely realises he’s talking until the words are out of his mouth. “They’ve lost the war; they’re probably just bringing them back from whatever posting they were at. They were just going back. They were-”

 

Erik covers his mouth with his hand, and Charles is grateful. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He tries to swallow a few times, and then gets up on shaking legs to get a jar of water from the tap. He takes a gulp, and passes it to Erik, who takes it gratefully.

 

He sits back down, and feels the knot in his stomach loosen a little more when Erik puts his arm around him. Another deep breath. Better.

 

Charles looks up at the beds, and the patients. Right now it’s almost tempting to be like them, to curl up inside yourself until nothing outside exists. He can see why they wouldn’t want to leave. “I don’t think we’re the best people to help them,” he says softly. Not if they keep reacting like this.

 

“What is the best?” Erik looks at him, he’s still twitching but his expression is calm. Not frightened, not angry. “Shomron?”

 

As much as Erik is grateful to the doctor for offering them a way out, he’s got good reason to be skeptical. Charles looks away, and Erik gently traces the back of his neck. He trembles again.

 

Another time. Another work group. Another kapo. One they had worked under, who had adopted his own favorite form of execution. Knocking the victim down, placing a wooden bar across their neck, and jumping on it. The snap of the breaking neck. The smell of the earth. The laughter. The rough edge of the wood. Spared by seconds.

 

“At least we understand.” Erik murmurs.