It’s too chilly to take off any clothes, so I lie down as I am in my British army uniform, and wrap my home blanket over me. I look at the bruise forming on my hand and think I’m lucky to have escaped so far with so little injury. I lay Jan’s coat over my feet to pull up if it gets colder in the night. The straw mattress is hard and lumpy, but it smells of farms, under the powerful reek of cigarette smoke and unwashed bodies that fills the hut. I could almost be in our stable, wrapped in a blanket still carrying the faint scent of my mother’s laundry soap. I close my eyes, and I’m somehow comforted to know I’m resting my head on my kit bag filled with clothes from home, my brother’s long underwear and castoff sweater. As I wriggle to get comfortable, the whole bed rocks a little. The underside of the top bunk is close above me, and I hope there aren’t any spiders. How stupid to be scared of spiders with the whole Nazi army just outside the walls, ready to drag me from Bill, and shoot me for a spy, or do much worse.
I drop my hand down the side of the bed out of sight of the hut, beside the shuttered window, and Bill reaches up and gives it a squeeze, as I knew he would. My new wife’s body longs for his, to wrap my arms around him and sleep in his arms just one more time.
Then he releases his grip, and I withdraw my hand. I feel for one square of chocolate and put it on my tongue to melt as slowly as possible. It tastes of all the happiness we’ve known in the last ten days.
Listening to the hum of voices from around the hut, I think I should work harder at being Algernon Cousins, the boy who grooms and feeds the horses and wants to ride to the races; a boy who left home young to fend for himself in the world, self-reliant and tough. A boy who’s almost invisible. He’s not a thoughtless chatterbox like me, but is silent because he prefers the company of horses to people. You know where you are with horses, he’d think. He watches and listens, alert as a mare to a little click of the tongue, but speaks only when it’s absolutely necessary. He’s considered in all his actions, not impulsive like me; he wouldn’t frighten the horses by sudden movements or loud sounds. He’s schooled himself in self-control, which makes him slow to anger. Cousins has spent so much time with horses that he seems to have taken on some of their qualities, their alert wariness, but also their patience, strength and endurance. That’s who I’ll be tomorrow. The new me. Gee-gee Cousins.
I curl into myself and count up—I’ve not slept for twenty-seven hours, apart from a few minutes in the truck and the town hall. They have been the most exhausting hours of my life. I say my prayers. I pray most ardently for a miracle to keep me undiscovered, to keep me alive with Bill, for us both to survive unscathed. I pray for my family, and when I think of my mother, tears prickle the back of my throat. I force myself to think of something else: how the square of chocolate has almost melted in my mouth, how all this is worth it for even one more day with Bill.
Thirteen
When I wake the next morning, I know immediately where I am, with a sick lurch in my stomach. The wooden bunk bed is hard through the thin straw mattress, and my kit bag makes a lumpy pillow. I lie for a moment, listening to the sound of so many men breathing, snoring, snuffling like pigs. I’ve woken up because I badly need to pee. Terror grips me. How am I to do this?
I hear the voice of Gee-gee Cousins, the new me, in my head, Easy now, he says, as if I was a skittish pony. Easy now. The shutters are still closed outside the window, and a thin streak of gray light appears around the edges of them. It must still be very early.
I pull the blanket around me and swing my legs over the edge of the bunk on the window side. I feel for Bill’s bed below mine with my feet, then ease myself out and down. I stand beside him, bending to try to make out his face in the dark; then I edge cautiously out into the gangway. Nobody else is moving. I smell rather than see my way to the apple tub, and feel around the rim.
Praying that this will not be the moment that the shutters are thrown back, or the door flies open, or a strange man wakes to urinate, I unbutton my army trousers, push down my brother’s shorts, cautiously lift the blanket behind me so I don’t wet it and struggle uncomfortably into a position where I can wee into the tub and not onto the floor. Letting go of my full bladder is a relief, but I have to shake like a boy, and have nothing to dry myself with but my hand. I hope it won’t be long before I can wash.
I pull up my clothes and creep back to bed, pausing only to kiss the fingers of my other hand to lightly touch Bill’s hair. He stirs but doesn’t wake. I throw the blanket up ahead of me, and climb back to my bunk.
In bed, I sit back against the wall and reach up under my clothes to readjust the bust-flattening corset. It’s the first time I’ve slept in it, and it feels tight and uncomfortable. I feel sorry for my poor little breasts, squashed under it. When it’s in a better position, I wriggle back down to lie curled toward the shuttered window. Sleep won’t return, so I lie and look at the gray sliver of light becoming whiter and wonder if these are the last hours when Bill and I will be together. If this will be my final day in this world.
When the shutters are thrown back, with a simultaneous loud rapping on the door and a shout of “Raus,” I jerk up and hit my head on the bunk above. My heart is beating wildly and misery sweeps over me. I know the time has come for discovery and all that means.
I fold my blanket and smooth the top of it with my hand as if it’s a friend I must say good-bye to. Everything in life suddenly seems so precious. I touch the kit bag, which has come from home with me, and pull Jan’s coat with me as I climb down. Bill winks at me anxiously and quickly pats my arm.
The door’s hurled open, and a cold blast of air swirls round my legs, even through the army trousers. I thrust my arms into the coat sleeves, wrapping it around me, and sit on Bill’s bunk to pull on my boots, ever grateful for the felt lining my mother made, blessing the thought of her, in case it’s the last time I have the power to do so. We form up into a line. Ralph is at the head with Max behind him, then me, then Bill, then Scotty, then Tucker, and all the nameless others stretching out behind.
Ralph leads us out of the hut into the cold air. I guess it’s about seven a.m., and the sun is just rising over the compound. We follow Ralph between the huts onto the parade ground and form up into rows to be counted again. The guard who’s counting approaches me along the row. It’s a man I haven’t seen before. As he walks, he scratches himself obsessively, first one arm, then the other. The closer he comes, the faster my heart beats. As he comes level, I hold my breath and look straight ahead, but he’s not really looking at me, just muttering numbers under his breath. I see an angry patch of eczema rising from his uniform collar. He probably wants to finish as soon as possible to get inside for a hearty breakfast and a good scratch. As he moves away, my fear ebbs a little.
The count is not satisfactory in some way and has to be done again to the loud groans and jeers of the prisoners. This time the guard looks closer at me, and I fold my arms over my chest, but he goes on past without comment. It begins to drizzle lightly, and I turn up my coat collar. My wrists are covered with goose pimples. I’m glad my brother’s coat sleeves are long enough to almost cover my hands.
Eventually the count is complete. Ralph turns to me. “You must be hungry.”