Doctor Who_ Just War - Lance Parkin [46]
Without waiting for an answer, Wolff unbolted the door and ushered Kitzel inside. A woman, a long-legged brunette in her mid-thirties, sat in the corner. The skin around her eyes was grey-rimmed, as though it had been bruised. The eyes themselves were brown, but dull.
‘Stand.’
The prisoner shuffled to her feet. She was wearing a dress with a floral pattern and was barefoot. She swayed slightly as she stood.
‘Water.’ Kitzel handed Wolff the beaker. He took a sip, all the time watching the prisoner’s reaction.
‘Lovely,’ he said, presumably an English word, Kitzel didn’t speak much English. Finally, he handed the prisoner the water, which she drank eagerly.
‘Where am I?’ the prisoner asked, when she had finished.
‘In a prison cell. Nurse Rosa Kitzel, may I introduce the prisoner?’
‘Delighted to make your acquaintance,’ the prisoner said weakly in German, but with a trace of sarcasm. What occupied Kitzel’s attention more was the fact that Wolff knew her Christian name.
‘Undress.’
‘Yeah, right. Look, I know this psychological stuff is meant to make me feel inferior, less secure, et cetera. In a culture with a nudity taboo, like yours, it probably works all the time, reinforcing both your male authority and the female prisoner’s self-image as victim. Textbook stuff, well done for remembering your training and all that, but it won’t work on me.’ She had unbuttoned her dress, and now she stepped out of it. ‘See? Perfectly relaxed about the whole sans frock deal. To be honest, it’s having the opposite effect to the one intended: I’m just wondering whether you’d feel secure enough in your... masculinity... to do all this to a male prisoner. Where I come from we’re a relatively uninhibited lot, and so it’s pretty damn difficult to play on our inhibitions. To be honest with you,’ she unclipped her bra and handed it to Kitzel, who blushed at the prisoner’s shamelessness, ‘I’m feeling queasy, I’m still hungover, my stomach’s empty, I’ve not slept for three days, and I’m scared poohless just being here, because I know what the Nazis do to prisoners.’ She pulled off her knickers, and handed them to Kitzel, before continuing, ‘it’s those things that you should be playing on. All you prove by torturing me is your mental inferiority. Oh, thanks for the water, by the way.’
Whatever the prisoner had said, there was undoubtedly a trace of anxiety in her voice. She stood erect now, trying to look defiant in her nakedness, but she couldn’t disguise the paleness of her skin, or the toll that rationing had taken on her body. Her legs and arms were thin, her hair lank. She was tall, only a couple of inches shorter than Wolff, but the Standartenführer seemed so much larger. Her stomach and thighs were covered with bruises. Kitzel looked away, a little embarrassed.
Wolff took the parcel from her hands and passed it to the prisoner. ‘Open it.’
She did as Wolff said, and pulled out the contents: a short-sleeved buttonless shirt, and a pair of trousers in the same thin material with an elasticated waistband. Both were in the same pattern, black stripes on white. A serial number, F319-350042, was printed on the left breast and up one of the trouser-legs. It was what the slave workers wore, the standard outfit for inmates of the Reich’s prison camps.
Before Kitzel’s eyes, the last vestige of the prisoner’s resolve vanished. Shaking, even paler than before, she put her uniform on. All the time she tried to speak, but nothing came from her mouth except an inhuman whimpering noise. Not wanting to think about it, Kitzel picked up the bag, and put the beaker and the woman’s clothing in it. Wolff was speaking.
‘Thank you for the tip, prisoner. Incidentally, you have been here less than two days, not three. I wonder if you remember what that means from your textbook? I will talk to you tomorrow morning, after we’ve shaved your scalp. Come on, Kitzel.’
The nurse saw the prisoner slump to the floor again. She was on the verge of tears, but was too weak to cry. Wolff left.
Kitzel followed, closing the door behind her.
One hundred