I’m amazed that Ralph can answer so casually, “It’s dirty work, I suppose, for a few fags. I wouldn’t do it!”
The guard stares at me, and I stare back, like Cousins might, though my knees are like water. At last he sneers, “All right, little washerwoman, you can wash my fuss-lag too!”
He considers me for another long moment before he turns away to Scotty, who’s escalating his play argument into a mock fight.
Ralph goes with him to break up the “fight,” and Bill comes round behind me,
“You want to give up smoking,” he says loudly. “Then you wouldn’t have to do this.” He takes the wet rags from me and begins to wring them out. “What you need is a mangle.” As he touches my hand, he can feel the shaking that rattles my bones. I lean back against the wall as waves of sickness overcome me.
“Let’s have a brew,” he says, and leads the way out of the washroom.
When we get back to the hut, he sits me on his bunk. My hands are like ice, and he rubs them between his. I pull them away and sit on them. What if one of the men sees who isn’t in on our secret?
“Come on, duck,” he says gently, though there’s a tremor in his voice. “I’ll make you a nice cup of tea. Lots of sugar this time. That’ll make you feel better. You’ll see. Then we’ll hang out these fuss-lag to dry.”
For once the sweet tea tastes good, and as I drink it, the shivering begins to diminish, though the thought of having to wash more rags tomorrow night fills me with dread. At least it will be stopping soon. One more day perhaps. I pray, “Make the bleeding stop.”
This evening most of the men are out of the hut at an event. While Bill is busy with the blower, Tucker stops by our bunk, touching a can of pears he wants us to leave for him that night. He glances over at Bill, who is out of earshot, and turns to me. “What else’ve you got for me, then?” he whispers. “Something hidden away? Bill won’t notice.”
I start to shake my head vigorously, as if shaking could rid myself of the sound of his whiny voice saying, “I’m too famished to keep this secret any longer. I bet the guards’d have fun with you and reward me with a slap-up dinner.”
It infuriates me that so many men in this hut are risking everything each day to protect me, to hide me, while this pig is daring to threaten me. I gesture him away angrily, and he picks up the tin of pears and slips it into his pocket.
“If you can’t find me something better than this, I’ll have a little word with the commandant at roll call tonight.”
This time the hard edge in his voice tells me it isn’t another of his threats. He really means to do it. I watch him saunter away and fury builds in me, like steam in a kettle. I won’t allow him to destroy me. When he stops to talk to Ralph and Max, I slip out toward Scotty’s bed and feel under the picture for his pocketknife.
Pushing myself between Ralph and Max, I face Tucker. With a swift movement, I pull out the knife and Tucker jumps back, assuming I’m going to attack him, but instead I hold it to my own throat. Grabbing his hand, I wrap it around mine, making him press the cold blade to my skin. My eyes bore into his.
“Do it, then,” I hiss. “Big man. Kill me.”
Tucker looks terrified and tries to pull his hand away. He doesn’t want to cut my throat, though he’d be happy to let someone else do it. Ralph and Max yank us apart. Bill hurls himself toward us over Ralph’s bed, scattering parcel contents.
Ralph grabs hold of my hand with the knife, while Max and Bill grip Tucker, with his arms behind his back. Some people look up at the noise of a scuffle, but they see Ralph has it under control and lose interest.
“Cousins,” whispers Ralph urgently, “what’s going on?”
I nod to Bill. I’ve done my speaking, made my point.
Bill shakes Tucker’s arm, and without loosening his grip, he whispers, “This bastard’s been blackmailing us ever since we arrived.” He punctuates his points by twisting Tucker’s arm more and more. “Taking food. Threatening to tell the goons about Cousins if we don’t. Threatening to tell them if we came to you. I didn’t know what to do.”
So swiftly that I think I must have imagined it, Max brings his knee up into Tucker’s groin and he doubles in pain. “You fucking, wankering coward. You would’ve murdered her in cold blood.”
Ralph puts out a warning hand. “Max!” and Max suddenly lets go of Tucker. Bill releases him too so he falls on the floor between the bunks with both hands nursing his testicles.
Ralph bends over him. “Do you know what would happen if I told the rest of the men what you’ve been doing, you filthy, miserable little rat?”
Tucker peeps up, his face scrunched with pain. “Don’t tell ’em. Don’t tell ’em. I’ll go to another hut. Skedaddle like.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll stay here, and I’ll put a watch on you. There won’t be a moment of night or day where we haven’t got our eyes on you. And you’d better keep as quiet as Cousins, or I’ll let the rest of the hut tear you apart.”
Tucker is nodding like a clockwork toy. “Don’t tell Scotty, will you? Please. He’ll…”
Ralph puts his face very close to Tucker’s. “He’ll what? Kill you? Like you were prepared to do to Cousins? I’m very, very tempted.”
He and Max pull Tucker to his feet and frog-march him back to his own bunk. Ralph moves off to speak to some other men, and immediately two of them station themselves alongside Tucker’s bunk. Tucker shrinks into the shadows of his bed.
I’m still boiling with anger. Bill reaches a hand to steady me.
“Are you OK? You’re so brave.”
But what I did was pure fury, and I see now that it could have gone horribly wrong. More of the rash risk-taking I’d promised myself I would stop. I wave the folded knife at Bill and return it to its hiding place behind Scotty’s picture. I’ve just turned away when Scotty comes back into the hut. Ralph nods to me, and I know that he’ll explain what’s happened and make sure Scotty finds a new hiding place for the knife.
Bill picks up the possessions that he sent flying as he leaped across the bed to save me. With everything gathered he looks up at me and grins. “It was nice to hear your voice,” he says. “I’d almost forgotten how scary you sound.”
Sixteen
We can’t stay here,” Bill blurts out to Ralph and Max later that evening. “I need to get Cousins to another hut.”
Ralph takes off his glasses and polishes them thoughtfully, hooking them back behind his ears. “You’re right,” he says. “It’s too dangerous here. But we might be even better in a labor camp. There’d be fewer guards.”
Bill is nodding furiously, and I remember how lightly he was guarded at the Mankendorf sawmill and on our farm. It would be a huge relief to be somewhere like that.
Max joins in. “Maybe we could find an Arbeitskommando in Czechoslovakia,” he says quietly. “There we might even have some chance of getting word out to the resistance.”
My heart leaps at the thought that my father or my brother might come at last to rescue me, and I grip Bill’s hand. I don’t know how hard it would be to hide my monthlies at a labor camp, but I do know I don’t want to be here when it happens again. And I want to be as far from Tucker as possible. Even under guard, I know he can’t be trusted.