“Like sardines,” Bill apologizes to Izzy, as if it’s somehow his fault that beds for ninety men are crammed into this small space.
In the center of the walkway is an iron stove, but it’s chilly in the room, and Bill knows it won’t be lit till the weather is much colder. On either side of the stove are tables with benches, and a couple of khaki-clad men sit there. A few others are lying on their bunks, sleeping or reading or just staring ahead into darkness.
Ralph Maddox asks a man on his right, “Is B company here?”
The man nods. “All present and correct.”
“And nobody else?”
“Not yet.”
“Post a lookout. I’ve got something to tell everyone.”
At the suggestion of news, people look up. Nobody wants to be the lookout who’ll miss the news, but Ralph points to two men and promises to tell them later.
He gives them each a cigarette, and they pull on coats to step outside. One exits out of the door behind them, and the other at the far end of the room, while the rest of the men obey Ralph’s call to “Gather round.”
Once the watchmen have given the “all clear,” Ralph raises his hand for silence. The twenty or so men are quiet immediately. Bill can see they obviously respect Ralph, but he has no idea if he’ll be able to control them once they’ve heard about Izzy. He is racked with misery and guilt.
Ralph’s voice is low, but everyone can hear. “This is Bill, joining us from the Eighth Army and a work camp in Czechoslovakia.”
A murmur begins, and Ralph raises his hand again. “And this…Steady now, men—” He pulls Izzy forward to stand beside him, keeping one hand on her shoulder.
She looks hard at her boots and chews the inside of her cheek. Bill forms fists and parts his feet for balance, in case he needs to defend her.
“This is his wife.”
A riot of noise erupts around them. One man bangs his tin cup on the table. Others cheer. Close by someone says, “A woman in the camp!”
Men call out, “Will she do us all?”
“I’m first.”
“Put her in a different bed each night!”
Bill steps in front of Izzy, raises his fists and wishes Harry was here beside him.
Ralph keeps his hand on Izzy’s shoulder and yells, “Quiet!” but this time it takes several seconds for the excited murmuring to die away. All around them men are pressing closer, where they can get a good view of Izzy.
Slowly she raises her head, and one by one she looks them in the eyes. Bill watches their faces, alert for any rush toward her. He sees exhilaration and thrill in their eyes, but nobody moves to grab her.
Ralph barks, “That’s the last time I hear anything like that, or God help you! She’s the wife of a British soldier, and we’ll all have to work together night and day to keep her safe. I don’t know if we can do it.” He pauses and looks around him. “But I know we can’t do it unless we all pull together.”
An electric charge of excitement runs through the hut.
Ralph pauses and calls, “Max?” and the other prisoners turn to a man who is still lying on his bunk, curled away from them. Slowly Max turns over and gazes blankly at them. And then, as if they slowly come into focus, he sighs and climbs down from his bunk, his dark hair standing up on end. Everyone’s watching him. He’s a stick of a man, with a long, mournful face and deep black circles under his eyes, as if he hasn’t slept for weeks. His cheeks are hollow, and Bill can see his skull beneath the flesh. The crowd parts to let him stand beside Ralph.
“I’m in,” he says. He speaks with the faintest trace of an American accent. He clears his throat, and everyone listens carefully. “We have to remember she isn’t military. Not covered by the Geneva Convention. If they find her now, they’ll say she’s a spy.” He nods to Izzy and Bill, and his eyes are deep brown pools of sadness. “Sorry to say this guys, but they shoot spies.”
Bill and Izzy glance at each other, aghast. How could she be a spy? Bill thinks. What would she tell? Who would she tell? This is a new horror, something he’s never considered. He looks around at the other prisoner’s faces and wonders what the Nazis do to men who harbor spies.
Over to Izzy’s right, a short, square man with sandy hair and piercing blue eyes pushes through the crowd. His Scots accent rips and jars the words, so Bill can hardly understand him. “I’m with ye.” He looks around the hut. “And by the by, I’ll kill the man who messes with the lassie.” Bill suspects from the silent way they receive this casual threat that the men know he means it.
Another steps forward, a man with a thin mustache. “I’m with you,” he says. But there’s something in the way his calculating scrutiny rests on Izzy too long that Bill doesn’t like. His eyes are fringed with long black eyelashes, like a cow’s, but he has none of the softness of a bovine gaze.
“OK. I’m in,” says one man, and then another and another.
“Don’t worry, love,” says someone. “They’ll have to take us down first.”
There’s murmured assent and a buzz of excitement from all the prisoners. Bill slowly lowers his fists.
Ralph nods. “OK, lads. This must be our secret. Our deadly secret. He’ll be known by everyone as Cousins. He’s listed here as Private Algernon Cousins.” He chuckles. “You may remember that Algernon was Biggles’ cousin.”
A laugh explodes around the hut and seems to release the pressure in the room. “The story is that he’s got shell shock and doesn’t speak.”
Bill looks around with a hopeful grimace. “If we can do this…”
Someone says, “You’ll have a lot of godfathers for your first,” and the tension breaks again into laughter.
“Tell us the story,” says someone else. There’s a mix of amusement and admiration on every face, and Bill can’t help himself rising to it. “I was on a work detail based at a sawmill in Mankendorf. Five of us was sent to her mother’s farm to help bring in the crops. I suppose you’d say it was love at first sight.”
There’s a mix of groans and cheers from the men. “We was married about ten days ago”—Bill pauses for effect, lifting his eyebrows suggestively, and there are more cheers and groans—“and we’ve been movin’ at night. Her dad and brother are in the resistance, so we thought we might get lucky and make a home run.…”
Five clear raps come at the far door of the hut and instantly everyone moves back to their previous places. A buzz of innocent chatter begins. The door opens and the lookout comes in, with a gust of fresh air. “Goon on the block,” he says. “And the working parties returning.”
The day’s turning darker outside the windows. Ralph nods, and the men return to their bunks, to their card games, dissolving in the gloom.
Ralph taps his lip with his forefinger and addresses Izzy. “I think we’ll hide you in plain sight, Cousins,” he says, indicating the first bunk by the door. “I’ll shift over, and you’ll come here by the window, in the middle bunk, with Bill below you. It’s warmest on top, but insects drop out of the ceiling. I’ll move to the next bunk.”
Bill feels Izzy shiver and remembers her fear of spiders. How trifling that seems now.