Children of the Dusk (24 page)

...a sea, calm and sparkling with light. A porpoise surfaced as if through a mirror of liquid gold, flapping its fins and chittering at the
Altmark
. From the ship's rail, she saw people descend the rope rungs of the Jacob's ladder to dinghies manned by German seamen in white uniforms.

It was all familiar to her. Then it changed and no longer grew from her experience----

----
She sees Jews in black-striped pajamas, oars lifted, and other Jews, helping men, women, and children into the crafts
.

"Isn't it wonderful, Lise?" says a woman wearing a cloche. She is staring across the sun-burnished sea to the shore. "A homeland of our own. Just as the Führer promised."

"But we had to give so much," says a woman in a white lab coat.
 

"Our property, certainly," the first woman says. "But consider the alternative."

The woman in the lab coat looks at her with expressionless eyes. "I not only considered the alternative, I gave it to him. That's why you're here."

"I don't understand," says the woman in the hat.

"You don't want to understand," the other woman says. "Believe me, you don't want to understand anything."

The people on deck continue to press forward, and Miriam finds herself being pushed along with the crowd. She tries to extricate herself, but is so tightly wedged that she cannot move her arms. Immigrants keep moving relentlessly toward the rail and the Jacob's ladder. Their murmuring and quickened breathing rise in crescendo, and there is about them a smell that assails her senses. At first she thinks it the odor of people cramped in the hold during the long voyage.
 
But it goes deeper than that.

The smell of fear. The smell of death.

"They have come to the island of lost souls to witness the birth of Deborah," Bruqah's voice says.

Someone places fingers on Miriam's bare arm, a sensation that chills her to the bone. The people press forward, eyes bulging, cheeks sunken, lips tight with determination.

"He kept his promise," someone says.

They are entering the rain forest. Despite the sun, mists curl up from among the foliage. Fruit bats by the thousands hang upside down, undisturbed by the gulls and paradise flycatchers that wheel in and out of the tendriled mists. The sea has turned the color of rust. The color of dried blood----

----"Your shepherd
bit
you?" Franz' voice. "That looks like more than a mere bite. Sagi tried to take your elbow off."

"Just bandage it."

Miriam recognized the voice as that of Holten-Pflug, the trainer who was always showing people pictures of his wife and daughter, back home in Wiesbaden, sometimes showing the same people the same pictures over and over again.

"You tell the Oberst about this, and there'll be more than an elbow that'll need attention."

"Don't worry." The corpsman chuckled. "We'll get you fixed up--and the Oberst none the wiser."
 

"It was an accident! Sagi didn't mean to hurt me."

"I understand that. Just hold still, won't you?"

"He's a good dog. Wouldn't hurt a fly except on command."

"You trainers and your animals," the corpsman said in a light scoff that indicated affectionate respect. "Sometimes I think you believe the war was invented just so you could show off your pets. Like some others I know," he added, his voice low and irate, "who treat Jews the same way.
 
Hold still, now. This is going to sting."

A grunt, followed by the rip of adhesive tape.

"There. That's it."

Canvas slapped. A third figure emerged into the haze of Miriam's vision, breathing heavily.

"Johann," the corpsman said. "Sounds as if you need some quinine."

"It's not malaria, I tell you," a youthful voice panted. "I won't be quarantined." His gasping grew louder. "Nothing's keeping
me
from doing my duty. Especially not tonight. You hear me, corpsman? You confine
me
, and I'll..."

"You'll do what?" Holten-Pflug taunted.

"Leave him alone. He's delirious."

"The hell I am!"

The sounds of scuffling ensued. Something hit the tent wall and she could see murky figures move with the same jerky chaos as the shadows she had once witnessed on that experimental gadget called television, installed under the stands during the Berlin Games.

From outside came a frenzied yapping and growling--a clamor that shook her as if Erich had seized her during one of his tantrums.

Holten-Pflug uttered "Holy God!" and the showcased figures of the three men ceased moving.

The barking that echoed in Miriam's ears made the hair along the back of her neck stand up.
 
Groaning, she managed to roll onto her side, facing away from the tent opening. Something landed on her cheek. A grasshopper.

"I have she, Lady Miri," Bruqah said.

She had not heard him enter. She turned her head and watched him walk the grasshopper outside.

"...
it is the other one, the one called Bruqah of whom I speak.
"

The voice echoed in Miriam's memory. I refuse to believe that he is anything but what he has shown himself to be, she thought.

"Tell me again about Princess Ravalona," she said when he returned to her bedside like a child begging for a story. "What did she...does she have to do with you."

"This my island. What affect island affect me." Bruqah perched at the edge of her cot. "My people await return of soul of Ravalona. Bruqah first man on island. They believe Ravalona first woman. My people believe soul wanders unless bones brought to proper homeland burial place. Ravalona die on Mauritius and not brought home."

He stood up and seemed to be deliberating whether or not he should continue.

"Bruqah male soul of Madagascar. Bruqah's wife female soul. So long she wanders, Bruqah incomplete. Count named vessel of woman, but because he false vessel, blood ran. Many people they die here."

"What does that have to do with me and with my child?" Miriam asked.

Bruqah looked surprised, though whether it was at her knowledge or her honesty, she did not know.

"If Zana-Malata wins--"

He stopped.

Miriam sat up with difficulty. "Are you saying that if your people mistake my child as the vessel that holds the soul of Ravalona, your island will run red with blood?"

"Even Bruqah cannot change history," he said, and as silently as he had appeared, he was gone.

T
he howling of the dogs made Solomon shiver despite the heat. Wrapped in his blanket to ward off the mosquitoes, he lay on the sleeping area's matted grass, experiencing a strange sense of compassion over the death of Aquarius.

Plaintive as a bird grieving for a mate, the sound of Bruqah's
valiha
rose from the foliage. As usual of late, he played "Glowworm."

Gradually the dogs quieted; a hush settled through the forest, as if the plinks of Bruqah's instrument had brought them a sense of calm. Sol found himself remembering and longing for the romance of Chopin, the sweet genius of Mozart, the order of Bach.

Droning, a mosquito landed on Solomon's neck. He slapped at the insect. At least, he thought wryly, putting his head down and pulling up the coarse blanket, the insects weren't racists. They fed as happily on Nazi as they did on Jew. Still, when the malaria hit--Bruqah had intimated that northeastern Madagascar was the worst place for the disease in all Africa--it would be the Jews who would die first. The quinine was certain to be distributed unequally.

He looked across the sleeping bodies, and cursed his pessimism. Hadn't they climbed out of Sachsenhausen and the
Altmark's
hold? Didn't they have a canvas canopy that afforded some protection from the elements? Minimal though sufficient food? Fresh water from the water tank and from the spring at the bottom of the sentry-post hill that formed part of the compound?

Yet the mainland beckoned beyond the compound's barbed wire perimeter, beyond the shark-infested bay.

"You awake,
Rabbi
?" Goldman asked.

Sol groaned and rolled over. Lucius was a good man, but--

"I know this isn't a rest farm, but might I ask when you last slept?" Sol propped himself up on an elbow.

"Haven't been sleeping much...but I shouldn't trouble you."

Sol touched the back of the man's hand. "Tell me."

"It will soon be Yom Kippur."

"We're all aware of that," Sol said quietly.

"I've spoken to some of the others. They want you to lead another Service."

"They all want that?"

Goldman hesitated. "Not all. Some say it would be too dangerous..."

"They are right, my friend. I believe that the Oberst's self-control--and his control of this compound--are near the breaking point. To push the matter would be...most unwise."

"If you won't help, I will lead a Service myself."

Sol shook his head. "Perhaps next year it will be possible. This year we must ask God to hear the silent prayers in our hearts."

"We will pray together
this
year. My father and mother are still alive. Our prayers must reach God's ears
together
."

"God will understand, Lucius."

A tear rolled down Goldman's left cheek. Sol held the bristly head, comforting Goldman as he might a child. He felt a longing for his own family. Were his mother and sister safe in Amsterdam? "I need to think," he said. "Meantime, try to get some sleep."

Standing, Sol made his way across bodies lying tangled as lianas and, stepping out from beneath the canvas, walked over near the fence. He stared at the moon, wishing it could provide him with answers.

That Major Hempel and Colonel Alois hated one another was obvious. The prisoners had engaged in many intense, whispered debates about whether they could--and should--try to deepen that hatred and broaden the division between the Abwehr trainers and Hempel's Totenkopfverbände. Solomon had begged a halt to the discussions, for fear Jewish unity was itself being divided.

Regardless of what the others thought, to him the matter was clear. Should Otto Hempel seize control of the camp, all was lost. Helping Erich solidify his command, despite its making escape more difficult, was in the prisoners' best interest.

If Erich proved worthy of trust.

If
.

Odd, he thought, that he should know Otto Hempel so well, while his former friend remained an enigma.

He heard footsteps behind him. "I told you that I need time to think," he said, expecting Goldman.

"I need your help, Solomon," Erich said.

"And I yours...Erich," Sol said, making his decision and risking the use of the familiar. "May I," he asked, thinking he might bring hope to Goldman and the others while simultaneously helping Erich put Hempel in his place, "make a request on behalf of the free laborers?"
 

"Give you a finger and you ask for a hand. Is that it?"

Solomon ignored the bait. "We would like permission to conduct a Kol Nidre Service, and to complete the Yizkor Service at sundown the following day."

"You had your prayers. There's been the devil to pay ever since." Looking toward Hempel's tent, Erich's eyes filled with a look of sly anger. "I'll consider it."

"We..."

"I said I'll consider it. Right now I have more urgent matters to attend to."

"You mentioned needing my help."

Erich hesitated. "Later," he said and strode off without mention of what had brought him to the Jewish quarters. Some advice to do with Miriam, perhaps?

"We heard everything," Goldman said, creeping into the moonlight. "Thank you. Perhaps even a Nazi heart can be opened."

"With a wooden stake," Solomon replied. What really lay within that heart, he wondered, watching the naked pygmies who had attached themselves to the camp during the past week leaping and cavorting among the shadows as they moved in a wild dance toward the Zana-Malata's hut. Glowworms?

Knowing he would find no rest that night, Solomon exercised the privilege that had, to his continued astonishment, not been removed, and made his way over to the medical tent. He found Miriam asleep, veiled by netting. Her eyes were squeezed shut; worry lines creased her forehead. She seemed oblivious to Taurus whimpering behind her, chest rising with each breath, fur rippling as if the muscle beneath were in constant spasm.

After a moment's hesitation--for fear of waking Miriam from the rest she so desperately needed, no matter how troubled it might be--Sol whispered
I love you
. For an instant she appeared to hover between sleep and waking. The worry lines deepened. Her hands tightened into fists.

Then she sighed and her shoulders sagged; her throat moved as she swallowed. In reflex action, her tongue touched her lips, like a small animal seeking moisture in the hot, oppressive tent. She turned on her side and put a hand protectively against her belly.