Running With Ivan, page 12
She was right. When I tried it on, it was a perfect fit.
‘Thirty Kronen,’ she said. ‘Normally I’d be asking fifty, even sixty for it.’
I’d been feeling the cold and was keen for the coat. But I didn’t have any money.
‘Your parents are here?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I replied, ‘they aren’t.’
‘Then keep it,’ she said, ‘and when you’ve saved up your salary, come back and pay me.’
‘What salary?’
It was a new thing, she told us: everyone who worked in the town was to be given a salary. They would be paid in a currency that had just been introduced and could only be used in Theresienstadt. From the desk, she took out a selection of banknotes and laid them out in front of us. They were differently coloured, but the design was the same: a six-sided star beside the picture of a man with a really long beard.
‘Take the coat,’ said the woman, ‘and come back once you’ve been paid.’
So I kept the coat. I even wore it out of the shop. The lining was slippery and smooth and the wool was soft. Only the yellow star sewn onto the front of it was rough.
For our next delivery, we headed to the bakery across town. When we arrived, the shopfront was unattended and there was nothing on display: no loaves, no rolls, no pastries. Only the smell of baking bread convinced us we were in the right place.
There was a door leading to the back of the shop. ‘Hello?’ Ivan called out, his voice hesitant.
When there was no answer, we stood there waiting as the smell of the bakery made my stomach ache with hunger.
Some minutes later, the door opened and a man walked up to the counter. He was thin and old and his back was bent. ‘Ahh, the delivery men,’ he said. ‘Give me a moment and I will see what we have for you.’ He had soft brown eyes: kind eyes.
Ivan saw more than that. ‘Mr Laun,’ he cried out.
The man’s eyes narrowed as he focused on Ivan. ‘Ivan Mandl,’ he said, ‘is that really you?’
‘Yes, Mr Laun, it’s me,’ said Ivan. His tone had changed. Never before had I heard him speak so politely.
‘And your parents?’ the man continued, his voice low now.
Ivan stiffened. ‘My father was arrested before I came. I thought they might have brought him here, but I’ve heard nothing.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘She was in Switzerland when Prague was taken. My father told her not to return. We think she’s in England. That’s our hope, at least.’
For a moment the man said nothing. ‘I remember when your father first brought her to meet me,’ he said finally. ‘His English bride. That’s what he called her. And you, Ivan, you would follow her around like a little puppy. “Mama,” you’d say, “Mama.” It always made me so happy to hear it — to see how easily you fitted together.’
It took a little while for Ivan to reply. When he did, his eyes were moist. ‘I can’t remember anything before she came,’ he said softly.
The old man’s smile was gentle. ‘I saw it right from the beginning: you were the son and she was the mother. It was as simple as that. I’m glad she could leave when she did.’ Keeping his smile, he dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Who would have thought it could ever be an advantage to be English?’
It was a joke but Ivan didn’t laugh. ‘What about my father?’ he asked instead. ‘What do you think has happened to him?’
The man gave a soft murmur. ‘Oh Ivan, how I wish I knew. He is not here. That is the only thing I can tell you. In this place, we are told nothing at all: how long we are to stay, where the others are going, when the next lot will be called up. We are told none of it. And it is this not knowing that makes things more difficult — for you too, my boy. So we have to think of ways to best deal with such a situation.’
Ivan’s voice was almost inaudible. ‘But how?’
The man spread out his hands. ‘First, you do the work they offer you: whatever it is, you do it well. Second, you don’t attract any attention. Third, you use what talents you have while you wait for this time to pass and a better time to begin.’ He paused. ‘And, of course, you sing.’
Ivan looked dubious. ‘Here?’
‘Most certainly here. Especially here. This afternoon even. There is a room behind the Magdeburg Barracks. It is quite small and certainly no showpiece, but this is where we practise. At four in the afternoon. Every afternoon. You should come.’
Ivan shook his head. ‘I can’t sing.’
‘Nonsense. Here, we are all singers. You, me, your young friend here, we are all singers. In such a place, what is there left to do but sing?’
That afternoon, when we’d finished our deliveries, we found Mr Laun in a crowded room in the Magdeburg Barracks. He was by far the oldest person there: no one else looked any older than Ivan.
Mr Laun was standing at the front, everyone in the room facing him. As soon as he lifted his hand, the room fell silent. Then the singing began.
I didn’t know the words so instead of joining in I took a look around me. That’s when I saw the girl from the clothing warehouse. I squinted, trying to remember her name. Melinda. No, not Melinda. Olinda. That was it: Olinda Brand.
She gave me a smile and lifted her fingers in a tiny wave. When I waved back, her smile broadened, her eyes not quite meeting mine. I understood that. Some people were too shy to look you in the eyes. Perhaps Olinda was, too. That didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to stop me smiling and waving and mime-singing back at her.
Only she wasn’t waving and smiling at me, I finally realised: she was waving and smiling at Ivan. And Ivan was sing-smiling straight back at her, his hand up to his cheek, tapping time and sort of waving. Pretending to scratch my neck, I slowly lowered my hand, my face flushed with embarrassment.
When the singing was over, Ivan gave me a push in Olinda’s direction. ‘Go and say hello.’ It was a hard push and I just about fell onto her. ‘Leo,’ she said, ‘what a surprise.’
Not knowing how to reply, I found myself babbling. ‘Mr Laun told us to come. Ivan knows him. From Prague.’
She seemed interested to hear this. ‘You know he’s very famous, don’t you? Mr Laun, I mean.’
‘At singing?’
‘He’s a composer. I’m told he was very famous in Czechoslovakia.’
Ivan piped up from behind me. ‘My father and Mr Laun were close friends. Childhood friends.’
Olinda’s eyes widened. ‘Really? Is yours a musical family, then?’
Ivan hesitated. ‘Not really, but my parents have always had musician friends.’
‘Like Mr Laun.’
He nodded. ‘And you,’ he asked, ‘are you from a musical family?’ His voice had gone all weird, sort of husky and nervous.
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I just love to sing.’
‘Me, too,’ said Ivan.
16
It was June now, and, although summer had arrived, there were days when it still felt like winter. I’d been in Theresienstadt for so long I’d begun to wonder how much longer it would be. When, I’d ask myself, would the music box finally wind down?
Each morning Ivan and I presented ourselves to Mr Meyer and each morning he’d give us the day’s instructions. It was tiring work, running all over the town, especially when we were always so hungry. And although Mr Meyer often gave us extra food — bread mostly, but also carrots, cucumbers and tomatoes — food was still all we thought about and, as we made our deliveries, it was all we talked about. Sometimes this would make the hunger worse, but mostly I loved hearing about Ivan’s favourite foods. Pancakes with chocolate and chestnut puree were what he liked the best: the chestnuts boiled up with sugar and water and mashed into a puree for the filling — the pancake folded and fried until it was crispy, when chocolate sauce would be poured all over it. And each day, as we pulled the cart through the bumpy streets of Theresienstadt, if I could have had anything to eat — anything at all — I’d have chosen one of those pancakes. My stomach gnawed at me whenever I thought about it.
For some reason, singing with Mr Laun made it better. Perhaps it was just a distraction. Or perhaps it was because Olinda would be there, too, and afterwards Ivan and I would walk her back to her dormitory.
Apart from that time they left without me. They couldn’t have got far, I figured, so I ran to try to catch up with them. But I couldn’t find them anywhere. And that annoyed me. It really annoyed me. I was annoyed at being left behind and annoyed at having to go looking for them, so when I felt a hand pulling at my coat, I swung around and let fly. ‘Why the hell didn’t you wait?’
It wasn’t Ivan. It was a man I’d never seen before. ‘That coat,’ he said, his voice urgent. ‘Where did you get it?’
I felt myself bristle. ‘From the clothes shop.’
‘But it looks like my brother’s coat. In fact, it is identical.’
I shook my head, even more upset now, mostly because I was afraid it could be true: that my coat might have belonged to the man’s brother, that it might have come from his brother’s suitcase. The shop was stocked with other people’s clothes, I knew that. But I’d paid for the coat — I’d saved up the money and I’d paid for it. So it was mine.
‘My brother was sent on a transport,’ the man explained. ‘To Poland, we were told. We packed his suitcase. He wore one overcoat but because it can be so cold in Poland I encouraged him to take a second one. This is it. I am certain of it.’ His voice trembled and for a moment he seemed unable to speak. ‘So I am wondering, how it is that you now have the coat instead of my brother?’
I shook my head. How could I possibly answer such a question? ‘I don’t think this is your brother’s coat,’ I mumbled instead.
Agitated, I hurried away from the man, turning into a side street to escape him. To my left was a small, unlit foyer. I’d tuck myself in there for a bit, I decided, just to catch myself, to calm myself down.
At first I didn’t see the couple huddled in the corner: not just huddled, but kissing in the corner. I could only see the back of the girl’s head, her long hair tied back in a clip that gleamed in the streetlight. A clip like Olinda wore. Her hair was like Olinda’s too, I caught myself thinking. That’s funny, I mused, as the girl turned her head.
I slipped back onto the street before she could see me. I’d recognised her, though, and I just couldn’t believe it. Olinda and Ivan together? It made me feel strange. More than that: it made me feel left out and, yes, even jealous.
Before I knew it, summer was over and the weather was starting to turn. I felt the cold everywhere, especially at the back of my head. Ivan had given my hair a trim and my neck, newly bare again, made me shiver whenever the wind picked up. He and Olinda were still together and they weren’t even hiding it now. Seeing them like that — arm in arm or holding hands — made me feel weird even though I tried to pretend it didn’t.
Autumn brought more people to Theresienstadt. More people meant more deliveries and more work for Ivan and me. To reward us for our work, Mr Meyer gave us extra food to keep up our energy. We still got tired and we were still hungry, but at least we weren’t starving.
As well as being tiring, the work could be boring — all that running backwards and forwards — so to make it more interesting, we set ourselves challenges. Counting in our heads, we’d time our deliveries: the short ones, the long ones, the repeat trips, the one-off jobs. The challenge was to work faster, run harder, deliver more quickly. If there was a batch of letters to take to the same place, we’d divide them up and race each other there. These were the best times: no matter how hungry I was or how exhausted I felt, somehow I’d rise to the challenge; there were times I’d even manage to beat Ivan. That wasn’t an easy thing to do: Ivan was taller and stronger and — I had to admit it — faster. So any win was a triumph.
The best deliveries were to the bakery. Whenever Mr Laun was there he’d slip us some bread. This was a dangerous thing to do. Here in Theresienstadt, Mr Laun wasn’t an important person — he wasn’t a member of the Jewish Council of Elders like Mr Meyer was — and if Mr Laun was caught stealing bread for us, he’d be on the next transport. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any transports for months now. In fact, in the time I’d been there, there hadn’t been any at all. I’d assumed they’d stopped.
I was wrong about that.
The notification arrived on a Sunday, the first Sunday in September. It didn’t look like anything much, just a small slip of paper with a departure date for the following day. Clutching the note in his hand, Ivan looked terrified. ‘I don’t want to go,’ he whispered.
That evening, Olinda arrived late to choir. I watched as she made her way towards us; I watched how close she stood to Ivan, and how he slipped his hand in hers, turning towards her while his eyes stayed fixed to the front. Then I watched him pass her the notification slip and I saw her expression change, blinking as she stared down at it.
Girls were not allowed in the boys’ dormitories, but Olinda broke the rules that night when she followed Ivan and me up into Room 11. Ivan was allowed only one small piece of luggage, so together we helped him pack his duffel bag. Winter would come soon enough and if the transport was actually headed for Poland — that’s still what people were saying, although no one knew for sure — the weather would be biting. So we packed Ivan’s warmest clothes, that many I had to sit on the bag to make it close. On another night this would have made me laugh. It would have made us all laugh.
Afterwards, Ivan walked Olinda back to her dormitory. He didn’t return for a long time and when he did his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.
I slept badly that night. Beside me, Ivan was restless, kicking and turning in his sleep, calling out words I couldn’t understand. Sitting up, I tried to soothe him. My hand on his shoulder, I patted him the way my mother had patted me when I was little and couldn’t sleep, the way I’d patted her when the sickness became harder and her body couldn’t stay still. I patted Ivan the way I wished Dad had patted me in the weeks after Mum died. Over and over I patted him, until finally — finally — he settled and I could lie down again myself.
Morning came quickly — too quickly — voices ricocheting around me.
‘Wake up,’ I heard, ‘wake up.’ Forcing my eyes open, I saw Emil standing next to Ivan’s bunk. ‘Ivan,’ he was saying, his voice gentle but insistent, ‘it’s time.’
Four boys from Room 11 would be leaving on the transport. For breakfast that morning, Emil gave them each an extra slice of bread and an extra spoonful of jam.
Ivan wore the clothes he couldn’t fit into his bag. He was dressed in layers — a singlet, two shirts, a vest, a jumper, a scarf, a coat — and he was sweating by the time we reached the Hamburger barracks, where everyone had to assemble. There were crowds of people: many as overdressed as Ivan and all of them wearing a cardboard tag strung around their necks. Written on each tag was a combination of numbers and letters. The letters were the same — either Dl or Dm — but the numbers were all different.
I spied Olinda coming towards us. ‘Here,’ I called out to her, ‘we’re here.’
She gave me a smile but when she saw Ivan, she let out a cry and wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself close. When they broke apart, they were both crying.
Ivan squeezed her hand. ‘You should go now,’ he said. She was due at work and would be in trouble if she arrived late. Still she didn’t move; still she kept hold of Ivan’s hand.
‘Why are they doing this?’ she cried out. ‘Why do they keep taking everyone away?’
I wanted to say something, anything, to cheer her up. Don’t worry, I wanted to say, it’s all right. But it wasn’t all right. So instead of replying, I just lowered my head and looked away. When I turned back again, Olinda was gone.
‘I’m scared,’ Ivan whispered to me. ‘I’m really scared.’
We were quiet then. For a long time, we were quiet.
And as the silence grew between us, an idea came to me.
For a moment I hesitated. Then I took a deep breath, I cleared my throat and said, ‘Swap.’
Ivan frowned. ‘What?’
Swallowing, I tried again. ‘I’ll be you. I’ll take your place.’
‘What, now?’
I nodded. I was nervous and scared but suddenly energised too. ‘Yes, now,’ I said, reaching for the tag around Ivan’s neck. ‘Now!’
But Ivan held on to it. ‘Why would you want to swap with me? You don’t even know where the train’s going. If it’s Poland, it’ll be freezing and awful.’
‘I don’t belong here,’ I said, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. ‘I’m not even supposed to be in here, so no one’s going to care if I’m suddenly gone. You know that. You know how it is. I just turn up out of the blue, then I’m gone again. It’s never been this long before, so chances are it won’t last much longer. Which means it doesn’t really matter where the train goes — not for me, anyway — because I won’t stay long. One day, I’ll just be gone. But you won’t be. So it’s better if you stay here.’ My voice faltered. ‘Better for Olinda, too.’
More and more people had gathered in front of the barracks, and there was so much noise — so much yelling and crying — that I had to shout to be heard. ‘Go, just go.’
But Ivan didn’t move. ‘They chose my name,’ he said, ‘not yours. It’s not your problem.’
I shook my head. ‘Stay here,’ I told him, ‘let me go instead.’
He was beginning to waver — I could see it. ‘Go,’ I insisted.
Still he hesitated.
‘Give me your tag,’ I heard myself say, my voice suddenly commanding.
And, to my surprise, he did. Without speaking — without even a word — he took off his tag and handed it to me. Unzipping the duffel bag a fraction, I pushed the tag inside it.
‘Now leave,’ I told him. ‘Leave now.’
So he did. He laid a hand on my shoulder, whispered a very soft thank you and disappeared through the crowd.
Only then did the fear engulf me. Looking over at the long train on the platform, I began to tremble.
