Running With Ivan, page 15
When I pulled out the needle, blood dribbled down her arm. Ivan wiped it with his handkerchief, then pressed on her skin to stop the bleeding.
‘What now?’ she asked.
My hand was still shaking. ‘Now we wait for you to get sick.’
Ten minutes went by, then fifteen, then twenty, then twenty-five. Nothing happened.
An hour later, Olinda returned to her packing.
I was beside myself. So many possibilities jumped around in my head. Perhaps I hadn’t injected it properly, perhaps I hadn’t injected enough — perhaps the concentration was wrong. I didn’t know. I just didn’t know. That was the truth of it. I didn’t have a clue why it hadn’t worked.
We were left with no choice now: we had to take Olinda to the transport.
When we arrived at the assembly point, a group of SS officers were standing guard at the entrance. Olinda’s hands trembled as she showed them her notification.
‘Inside,’ they ordered her, their voices rough. ‘Not the others, just you.’
With a cry, Olinda threw herself at Ivan. I couldn’t bear how frightened she was. And it was my fault, all my fault. I’d completely failed her.
Olinda lifted her head. ‘Look after each other.’
Her words made me want to weep.
‘I was the one who was supposed to look after you,’ I wanted to bellow. ‘I was supposed to save you.’
But she was gone before I could say anything at all.
Ivan and I walked back in silence, slowly climbing the stairs to our room. Inside, everyone would be carrying on as normal. Some of the boys might be reading, others would be playing cards or sketching or just chatting together. All this would be happening while Olinda was being forced onto a train that would take her to her death. I couldn’t stand the thought of it. I didn’t want to see anyone, especially not a roomful of people.
‘Come on,’ said Ivan, his voice faltering, ‘come inside.’
Tears pricked at my eyes as I shook my head. ‘I can’t,’ I whispered, ‘I can’t.’
Ivan put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Yes, you can,’ he said.
When still I hesitated, he spoke a little louder. ‘Please, Leo.’
And, keeping my head down so Ivan wouldn’t see me crying, I followed him inside.
21
But not into the dormitory. The dormitory was gone and Ivan was nowhere to be seen.
I was back.
For a moment I was bewildered, then I felt myself slump.
So much had happened but what had I achieved? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I hadn’t saved Olinda and once more I’d abandoned Ivan. Yet again, I’d failed him.
Guilt and sadness burned through me as the last notes of that lullaby tune came wafting towards me, slowing down, note by note, until there was only silence.
It was dark in the garage; dark and still in the house, too. Only when I stepped into the bedroom did Cooper shatter the silence with his snorting and snoring and snuffling.
Slipping into bed, I sank into the mattress, grateful for the warmth of my quilt. But I couldn’t relax. I could only think of Olinda, imagining her cries of horror as she boarded that train meant for animals. When morning came, I was exhausted and filled with despair.
On the other side of the room, Cooper was stirring. Keeping very still, I pretended to be asleep. I didn’t want to talk to anyone — especially not him — so I waited until he was up and out of the room before I even opened my eyes.
Lying there, just staring at the ceiling, I felt helpless. Helpless and useless. I should have tried harder. I should have done something more.
Go back, said a voice in my head, go back.
But what would be the use in that? I wouldn’t be able to save her. It was too late for that. She’d already been taken; forced onto that transport headed for Auschwitz.
And knowing that, how could I possibly face Ivan when I’d been such a failure?
That morning, I went to school feeling like death. Even George couldn’t cheer me up.
We had history first up, but when we arrived in the classroom, Mr Sheridan was nowhere to be seen.
I sat down and George slid in beside me. ‘You’re pretty quiet today,’ he said. ‘Everything okay?’
I was about to say, ‘Yeah, all good,’ when something stopped me. Something that rose inside me. Something that felt like it was going to burst right out of me.
I’m going to tell him, I decided. Tell him everything. About the music box, about Ivan, about Olinda, about what I’d tried to do and how badly it had all turned out.
My pulse was racing now and I needed to take a deep breath just to slow myself down. ‘Well, the thing is,’ I said, my voice cautious, ‘I’m just not sure where to begin.’
George lifted an eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t really asking for a life story but, you know, feel free.’
That’s when Mr Sheridan appeared in the doorway. ‘No time for your life story, I’m afraid, Mr Arnold. We’ve got other life stories to think about today.’
George grinned. ‘Like whose, sir?’
‘Like Josef Stalin.’
George screwed up his face. ‘Josef who?’
‘Keep your head to the front and eyes on me, and you’ll soon find out.’ Then he gave me a smile. ‘You too, Mr Arnold.’
Slipping back into my seat, I tried to return his smile. ‘Sure thing, sir.’
By the afternoon, my mood hadn’t lifted and I couldn’t stop thinking about Olinda. The walk to the oval seemed longer than usual and, with no one to distract me, I felt even sadder.
Mr Livingston was already waiting for me. ‘So,’ he called out, ‘it seems you are the winner. Today, you have beaten Sandy to training.’
This surprised me. Sandy’s school was really close and she always arrived before me.
Mr Livingston gave me a wink. ‘Let’s hope she hasn’t defected to another squad.’
I did my best, but I couldn’t even muster up a laugh. I could barely raise a smile.
Mr Livingston’s eyes searched mine. ‘Is there something wrong, Leo?’
Is there something wrong? Yes, there’s something wrong, I wanted to roar. Something very, very wrong.
‘All good,’ I managed to mumble instead.
He looked unconvinced. ‘Are you certain?’
‘The regional carnival,’ I lied. ‘I’m a bit nervous about it.’
I watched him consider this. ‘Nervousness is not always such a bad thing,’ he said, ‘it can also be a good thing. At its best, it can give you energy; at its worst it will consume you.’ He gave me a little smile. ‘Just try not to let it overwhelm you —’
‘But what if it’s not just a race,’ I interrupted. ‘What if it’s something else?’
His smile faded. ‘Then it is even more important. Then you really need to be in control. The adrenalin that fills your body in times of stress is what makes your mind sharper and your speed greater — so long as you keep it in check. Tell me,’ he said, his voice becoming softer, ‘when you warm up for a race, why do you do it?’
I shrugged. ‘Well, like you said, to warm up. So you don’t sprain a muscle.’
‘And that is a very good reason to stretch. But answer me this. When you stretch before a race, do you stretch with many people around you or do you walk away a little and stretch by yourself?’
‘By myself.’
‘And why do you do this?’
‘To clear my head.’
‘Exactly. Stretching is a muscle protection exercise but it is also a chance to contain the nerves: to keep what you need inside you while breathing out what is too much. It helps you focus and makes you run faster.’ His smile had returned now. ‘Because you know how it is, don’t you? Second is almost first, third is almost second, but fourth is nothing.’
Breaking off, he put a hand up to his eyes. When I followed his gaze, I saw Sandy coming towards us.
‘Isn’t it true?’ Mr Livingston asked her.
‘Isn’t what true?’
‘That second is almost first, third is almost second, but fourth is nothing.’
She smiled. ‘Maybe.’
Mr Livingston smiled back at her. ‘You are looking very well today. Even if you are late.’
‘I’m happy,’ she replied. ‘I’m really happy.’
‘Because of your excellent result at the championships?’ he asked.
I looked at her. ‘How did you go?’
‘Pretty good,’ she replied.
‘Pretty good?’ repeated Mr Livingston. ‘To be the winner for both the four-hundred-metre race and the eight-hundred-metre race is more than simply pretty good.’
‘First in both? No wonder you’re so happy, then.’ I was pleased for her. Really pleased. But envious, too: I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘it’s more than that. It’s my mum. She’s come home: she’s better again.’
My heart started to pound. ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘oh, that’s great.’
Because it was. It was great. It was wonderful. And I wanted to be happy for her, I really did. But my head was throbbing now too, and to my shame, it wasn’t with happiness. It was throbbing with surprise and wistfulness instead.
And envy. Envy that her mum was better but mine wasn’t.
‘I missed her so much,’ Sandy was saying. ‘And no one would tell me what was happening. But now she’s back. And I’m so, so happy.’
My throat tightened. ‘That’s wonderful,’ I said softly, ‘really wonderful.’ And as I tried not to cry, Mr Livingston placed a hand on my shoulder.
‘Things will be better, Leo,’ he murmured. ‘About this, you must trust me.’
22
On the morning of the regional carnival, we were early to the stadium. Early enough to get seats in the front row of the grandstand. Julia was especially excited. ‘Not every family has an eight-hundred-metre champion,’ she said, a smile stretching across her face, ‘and it’s not every day a girl gets to watch her stepson at the regionals.’
I tried to smile back but I was just too nervous. ‘I should go and warm up,’ I murmured.
Dad nodded and Julia gave my arm a squeeze. ‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘I’ll be crossing everything.’
Crossing everything?
‘You know: fingers, legs, arms — I’ll be crossing everything. That’s what you do.’
In my family, we didn’t cross anything. Daumen drücken, that’s what we did: we pressed down our thumbs.
Which was what Dad was doing now. ‘Viel Glück,’ he mouthed. Good luck.
Lifting my hands to show him, I pressed my thumbs, too. ‘Danke,’ I mouthed back.
There was jostling at the starting line as we waited for the pistol to fire. The sound was startling, but straightaway I was off.
One lap in, and I’d edged towards the front of the pack. I was running well, the rhythm pulsing, bursting, beating out of me as I strode forward. Sprinting down the straight, I accelerated through the curve and into the final lap.
With two hundred metres to go, I was still up with the leaders. I just needed a way through them. As I turned into the straight, I found a space and ran hard. Hard enough to win the race if I could only drive myself just a little bit more. Less than a stride away from the lead now, I willed myself to go faster.
But I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t run fast enough.
Second. I came second — and if only I’d pushed harder, I could have been first.
When I returned to the grandstand, Julia stood up and started clapping. ‘Bravo,’ she called out, ‘bravo.’
It was so embarrassing. It was really embarrassing. Actually, it was more than that. It was mortifying.
Sit down, I wanted to shout at her, please just sit down.
My mum wouldn’t have done it; no way would she have embarrassed me in public like that. ‘Gut gemacht,’ she would have said. Well done. Proud but quiet, not loud and embarrassing like Julia.
Dad was sitting down beside her. ‘Well run,’ he said.
I shook my head. ‘I didn’t push hard enough.’
‘You were absolutely fantastic,’ said Julia, her voice really loud.
That wasn’t true. I wasn’t absolutely fantastic. But I had made it to state.
That night, Cooper and I were at home by ourselves. Troy was staying at a friend’s place and Julia and Dad had been invited to a dinner party.
Before they left, Dad gave us a wink. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ he said in that weird cheery voice that made my toes curl.
Cooper laughed. ‘Sure thing, Pete — nothing you wouldn’t do — ha-ha, that’s funny.’
As soon as they’d left, I headed for the bathroom: my easiest escape from Cooper. I filled up the bath, almost to the top, and slipped into it. Leaning my head back, I tried to relax. I couldn’t, though. I could only think about Olinda. And even after the bath had turned cold and I’d pulled myself out, still my head was crowded with worry and guilt.
Once I was in my pyjamas, I ventured back into the bedroom. The light was on but, to my relief, the room was empty. So I slipped into bed, reached out for my book and settled down to read it.
Then the room went black and all I could hear was Cooper cackling in the darkness. ‘Sorry, mate, but I thought you said you only needed your bed lamp.’
Ignore him, I told myself, reaching over to switch on the lamp, just ignore him.
Cooper was standing there in the doorway. ‘So short-arse, what nerdy book are you reading this week?’ he called out to me.
I kept my eyes on the page. Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him.
Then I changed my mind. ‘Can’t you just shut up for a change?’
He put on a high voice. ‘Can’t you just shut up for a change?’ he mimicked.
I put my book down. ‘What is it about you?’ I asked softly, but very deliberately. ‘Why are you such an idiot?’
Cooper said nothing. Hunching over, he made a weird sort of grunting sound instead.
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ I continued. ‘You don’t see how dumb that makes you look. I mean, it’s not even funny. It’s just really, really stupid.’
But Cooper kept grunting until I had the urge to reach over and shake him. ‘I can’t believe I have to live here,’ I murmured instead.
Cooper stopped mid-grunt. ‘So why don’t you go and live with your dead mother then?’
That’s it.
Jumping out of bed, I dived at him and started punching — on his face, on his arms, on his chest, in the stomach — wherever I could. At first, he didn’t even try to hit back. And then when he did, he missed.
He wasn’t done, though. As he made a lunge for me, I grabbed a clump of his hair and hung on. And after he started yelling, I hung on even harder. ‘Shut up,’ I said, ‘or I’ll pull it all out.’
He shut up.
‘I can’t live with my mother because she’s dead,’ I hissed at him. ‘Which is the only reason you get to have my dad. Because if my mother wasn’t dead, my dad would be with her and so would I. And you would be nowhere near us. And that would be my dream come true.’ I readjusted my hand to tighten my grip on his hair. ‘But actually, Cooper, this is what I’ve really been wondering about. Since your dad isn’t even dead, how come I’ve only seen him here once? Doesn’t he want to see you or something? My mum can’t see me because she’s dead — you’re right about that — but your dad could see you whenever he wants. So why doesn’t he come and see you?’
Cooper mumbled something I didn’t understand.
‘What?’ I asked, pulling his hair even harder. ‘What was that?’
He gave a soft cry. ‘Because he’s in the army. That’s why.’
I shook my head. ‘That’s not why. And you know it. He doesn’t come because he doesn’t want to see you. So you decided to take my dad because your own dad doesn’t want you. That’s what you both decided, you and your stupid brother.’
Cooper’s face was red and his eyes were glistening. ‘Not true,’ he said. ‘It’s not true. My dad’s in the army; he’s always away with the army. Otherwise I could live with him. He said I could.’ But his voice was wavering.
‘Whatever,’ I said, my fingers still clutching his hair. ‘But the fact is, you don’t live with him because you can’t live with him. And I can’t live with my mum. Which means we’ve all got to be here. I don’t want to be here. I never wanted to be here. And I really don’t want to see your ugly face every time I wake up. Because I am sick to death of you.’ I gave another tug of his hair. ‘You got it?’
When there was no answer, I tugged harder. ‘You got it?’
This time he nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘okay.’
And with that, I let go.
Face white, eyes wide, he stumbled over to his bed. He was scared. I could see that: I could see he was scared stupid. A warm feeling of satisfaction filled my body and for a moment I was tempted to step forward again, to step so close our faces would almost be touching. That would feel good, I thought, that would feel really good. And if I smashed him? Well, that would feel even better.
Inside, my body was dancing, filled with an excitement I’d never experienced before. I wanted to watch Cooper crumble. I wanted to punch him hard enough to make him collapse. I wanted to get him back for every taunt, every jeer, every sneer. I wanted to punch him so hard he couldn’t speak.
Something stopped me.
Something made me pull away instead, and when I had — just as soon as I had — the fear fell from Cooper’s face.
I could change that. I just needed to lunge forward — before he had the chance to defend himself — and the fear would be back. Knowing this — knowing I had the power to fill Cooper with such fear — made me feel strong and powerful and triumphant.
No, I told myself, don’t. Don’t do it. But I wanted to. I really wanted to see his face crumble as I got him back for everything he’d done to me. I wanted to watch him collapse.
