The Angel Makers (10 page)

By midday, Sari has to get out of the house. Judit is unbearably bad tempered due to the heat (she sometimes claims that she’s only happy for about a week in spring and a week in autumn, and Sari’s not convinced that it’s a joke), so Sari invents some flimsy pretext, and five minutes later she’s sliding down the river bank, dipping her feet in the water, and scanning the plain for activity. It’s a slow day, though, too hot for many people to be about, and she’s considering giving up and going for a walk in the woods instead, when there’s a noise behind her, a pounding, like running feet.

Sari gathers up her skirt and tenses, prepared to make a dash for it if necessary, but when she turns she sees that it’s only Lilike, and relaxes again. Only Lilike’s not looking as calm and smug as she normally does these days: her hair is crazily untidy, she’s soaked in sweat, and her eyes are wild.

‘Sari!’

Sari thinks that no one has ever looked so glad to see her. She scrambles up the bank to meet Lilike.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

Lilike is panting. ‘I’ve been looking for you – went to Judit’s house, but she – said you might be—’ ‘

What’s wrong?’ Sari asks again, surreptitiously looking Lilike over for signs of illness or injury. It must be something medical, as she knows that Lilike wouldn’t come to her in emotional distress.

‘It’s Umberto. He’s ill.’

Sari feels herself going very still; she’s suddenly extremely conscious of Lilike’s darting eyes and laboured breathing beside her.

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘It’s his stomach. He has terrible pains, and he’s vomiting.’

‘But they’ve got a doctor down at the camp, haven’t they?’

Lilike shakes her head impatiently. ‘Doctor, yes, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong, he’s tried different things, but nothing works and this afternoon he’s busy at the other camp near Város, anyway. I think – I think it might be something he ate, something poisonous, and so you might know something that can help.’

Sari notices that Lilike’s crying now, though she’s not sure that Lilike’s aware of it herself; the tears are leaking from the corners of her eyes and she’s not bothering to brush them away. Sari is horribly excited, thrillingly frightened.

‘What about Judit? Can’t she go?’

‘She said that you’re better and she’s right. She’s great with anything to do with pregnancy and birth and babies, but when it comes to everything else – you really know what you’re doing, Sari. Everyone knows that.’

Sari knows Lilike’s right – it’s the legacy of growing up with her father – but is honestly surprised that anyone else has noticed. Of course, every now and again people express a preference to see her rather than Judit, but she never thought that was anything more than reluctance to have Judit’s wizened face staring down at them when they were already sick or in pain. It’s that – the feeling of being trusted and respected – that decides her, more even than the thought of an iron-clad excuse to go down to the camp.

‘Wait here,’ she says to Lilike abruptly. ‘I just need to get a few things. I’ll be back in a second.’

Ten minutes later, she’s being ushered by a shaking Lilike through the gates to the camp. Gunther comes out to meet them – Sari hasn’t seen him up close since that morning in spring, and she’s shocked at the change the past few months have brought about in him. He’s like an old man gone to seed, spreading around the midriff, his eyes pouchy. Lujza has muttered darkly about how much Gunther and the other guards have started to drink – her own father has been selling them his
szilva
– and it shows, both in his physical appearance and his lazily swaggering manner.

‘This is Sari,’ Lilike says eagerly. Sari wonders whether Gunther can understand Magyar spoken so fast, but his eyebrows raise.

‘She’s a child,’ he says flatly. Defiant, Sari lifts her eyes to meet his, and he recoils ever so slightly from her direct gaze.

‘I’m sixteen,’ she says in slow, clear German, ‘I’ve been dealing with the sick people in this village for two years, and I helped my father for years before that. But if you don’t think I am suitable to treat your prisoners, well …’ she turns, but Lilike catches her arm and grips it tightly. Her back to Lilike and Gunther, she hears Lilike say in a low, fervent voice: ‘Please … please …’ Lilike has always been persuasive, and Gunther sighs, as Sari knew he would, and says ‘Very well.’

The prisoners are housed in what used to be outbuildings and servants quarters. Sari has never been to this part of the Gazdag house before, and from the looks of it, neither has Lilike. No matter how lax discipline has become here over the last few months, Gunther has evidently not relaxed so much as to allow women into the men’s living quarters. It’s not as unpleasant as she would have thought, the beds in neat rows like a ploughed field, and despite the unorthodox surroundings, it’s clean and tidy and reasonably comfortable looking.

Gunther gestures towards the end of the long room, where a group of men are clustered around one of the beds. Sari gathers together as much dignity and gravitas as she can muster, and, with Lilike gripping her hand, approaches.

Umberto doesn’t look at all well. His face is unnaturally pale, which makes his olive expression look drawn and sallow. His skin has a sheen of sweat, and his eyes are unnaturally bright and feverish. Sari’s never seen him up close before, but certainly, in his present condition, he fails to live up to Lilike’s exalted descriptions of him. She pushes through the crowd and drops down next to the bed. Ignoring the murmuring behind her, she attempts a nervous smile to put Umberto at ease, but when it ends up looking more like a grimace she’s glad that he’s too distracted by pain to notice.

She touches his stomach and he moans slightly: it is hot and rigid. ‘You said you thought he’d eaten something?’ Sari calls over her shoulder to Lilike.

‘I – I don’t know. He still – we can’t talk much to each other, but I know that before, when we’ve been out walking, he’s picked berries and eaten them – always things I knew were safe,’ she adds, hurriedly, at Sari’s thunderous expression. ‘But he was out alone this morning, while I was at the market, and so I think that maybe—’ she stutters to a close.

Sari looks back at Umberto, eyes slightly wild. ‘Lilike – how’s your Italian? I need to ask him some questions.’

Lilike reddens. ‘I know a few words, but I don’t think they’ll be of any use to you …’

‘What about Gunther, or one of the others?’

Lilike shakes their head. ‘None of them speak more than a few phrases.’

‘Right,’ Sari says to herself, ‘Right,’ and, raising her voice, she addresses herself to the surrounding throng: ‘Do any of you speak Magyar?’

There’s a subdued muttering but all the eyes staring at her are uncomprehending.

‘All right,’ she says, switching languages. ‘Does anyone speak German, then?’

For a moment she thinks she’s out of luck, that she’ll just have to try a variety of potions on Umberto and hope for the best that she doesn’t poison him. But then there’s movement to the left of her and a man steps out of the crowd. He looks familiar, and Sari realises that he is the man who was leaning against the wall in the courtyard that day back in spring.

‘I speak a little,’ he says, and despite his slightly haughty appearance his voice is diffident and stumbling.

‘Fine,’ she says briskly, and turns back to Umberto. ‘You’ll do.’

Looking down at Umberto sweating and shaking on the bed, all her nervousness and insecurity starts to ebb away. ‘Right, then,’ she says, decisive. She
knows
this, this is her area; this is what she does. Her mind stills and her hands become steady, and when she speaks, she is surprised at how firm and confident her voice sounds.

‘What’s your name?’ she asks the man who’s now squatting down beside her.

‘Marco.’

‘Right, Marco. Can you get everyone else out of here, please?’ Marco turns and speaks to the other men, who start to move away from the bed slowly, obviously reluctant – Sari’s not sure about whether it’s out of concern for Umberto, or a scavenger-like appreciation for any bit of drama in their dull and sedentary lives.

Marco squats beside her again and gazes at her with intense curiosity. ‘Who are you?’ he enquires in slow, halting German.

‘My name’s Sari.’

‘No, I mean—’ He waves his hand eloquently, encompassing Umberto on the bed, and the small pile of bottles and bags that Sari has brought with her. ‘What do you do?’

She doesn’t know the German word for
midwife
, so she tells him that she’s a nurse; it’s close enough. ‘Marco, I need you to ask him some questions. I think he’s eaten something that he shouldn’t have, but I need to find out exactly what it is before I can treat him. Do you understand?’

His eyes narrow with concentration as she’s talking, then he nods with comprehension.

‘Ask him if he ate anything in the forest.’

Marco turns back to Umberto and starts to speak. After a pause, Umberto responds, clearly in the affirmative.

‘He says that he did, but nothing he hasn’t eaten before, when the girl – Lilia? – was with him.’

Sari sighs. ‘Some of the plants are easy to confuse. Can you ask him what he ate? Was it berries? Or mushrooms?’

Over the next few minutes they manage to establish that he ate some berries, and that they were small, and round, and red, and came from a bush with dark green glossy leaves. Sari is relieved.

‘It’s not serious,’ she says to Marco, who looks relieved in his turn and translates the news to Umberto, who looks in far too much discomfort to be relieved about anything. ‘I’ll go down to the kitchens and prepare some medicine for him to take now. Lilike can help me prepare what he’ll need. Tell Umberto I’ll be back in half an hour or so.’

Umberto’s still looking distinctly miserable and slightly frantic by the time they reappear with a collection of vials and bottles. He says something in agitated tones to Marco, who smiles slightly and asks, ‘He wants to know what took you so long.’

Ignoring Marco’s comment Sari explains how to take the medicines, which are in three bottles.

‘It’s important that you get this right,’ she says to Marco, ‘so you should write the directions down.’

She hands Umberto the bottles and waits while Marco translates, scrawling cryptic notes on a piece of paper as he does so. Clearly sceptical, Umberto sniffs at the murky liquid before taking a tentative gulp, and then grimaces, letting fly a torrent of rather harsh sounding words in Marco’s direction. Marco suppresses a laugh, looking a little embarrassed.

‘He says—’

‘I don’t care what he says,’ Sari replies coolly. ‘It’s his taste for sweet things that got him in this mess in the first place.’

There’s a pause, wherein Marco’s eyes move and settle deliberately on Lilike, his mouth quirking upwards. Sari struggles with a sudden, wild desire to laugh, uncommonly pleased that her intended double meaning has survived her imperfect German and Marco’s imperfect understanding. Lilike, standing at the end of the bed, picking at the loose threads in her skirt, is oblivious. Umberto mumbles something and Sari looks questioningly at Marco. ‘He says he’s sorry,’ Marco says, ‘and thank you for coming.’

‘That’s quite all right.’ Now that she’s no longer needed she feels self-conscious, and it’s making her prim. ‘So – I should go.’

Lilike has sat down on the edge of Umberto’s bed, and is stroking his hair in what’s supposed to be a comforting manner, though Umberto looks far more interested in the clear view he has of her cleavage. When Sari moves to leave, Lilike shoots a pleading look at Gunther, who is slouched in the corner.

He looks bored, and gives a defeated shrug. ‘Do what you like,’ he mutters.

Lilike looks pleased. ‘I’ll stay then,’ she says to Sari.

Sari and Marco walk out of the room in silence. She is suddenly conscious of a need to get out of there, and heads swiftly for the stairs but before she gets there he catches her arm. ‘Wait,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘How do you know all those things? Who taught you?’

Sari sighs. How can one explain these things to a foreigner? ‘My father—’ she struggles for a way to phrase it – ‘he was like a doctor. I learnt a lot from him. And now, I work as a – a nurse for babies and—’ She doesn’t know the word for ‘pregnant’, so she mimes it, hand curving sinuously over her belly. He nods as if he understands.

‘How old are you?’

‘Sixteen. You thought I was younger, didn’t you?’

He shakes his head. ‘No. You have – you have old eyes.’ He pauses in thought. ‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?’

‘I came here on the first day, when all the women came looking for jobs. I think I saw you, out there.’ She points at the courtyard, and a look of recognition spreads over his face.

‘Of course! You were with two of the other girls who work in the kitchens now. But you’ve never been back. Why not?’

‘I’m busy. People are always getting sick, so we always have enough work to get by.’ A shriek of laughter rings out from the room behind them, and they both jump; evidently Umberto is feeling better already. ‘And also,’ Sari continues, her face pink, ‘I’m not like
that
.’ She jerks her head in Lilike’s direction.

‘Are you married?’ Marco asks, frowning.

‘No, but I—’ She doesn’t know how to say ‘engaged’. ‘I will get married when my – my man comes back from the war.’

‘I see.’ There is a silence, and then Marco says, abruptly, ‘But you will come back now, won’t you? You can see that we could use someone like you here.’

He’s looking at her intently, and, furious with herself, she feels herself blushing again.

‘I – I’m not sure that I—’

‘I get these headaches, myself. From an injury. The doctor here, he’s too busy with the camp for ordinary soldiers, and when he’s here he just gives morphia, nothing else. I hate it. Perhaps you could—’

She should just walk away, she knows she should, but part of her mind’s already ticking, working out how she could put together some sort of potion for Marco that would best relieve pain.

‘No one else would take me seriously. You saw the way they looked at me when I arrived today.’