First Thrills - Lee Child [106]
Herman stared at Joachim’s yellow triangle. “I didn’t realize you were Jewish.”
He straightened on the bench. “Always was.”
“Being different didn’t used to be so difficult.”
Both sat silently. Joachim listened to the clatter of the train’s wheels and the high scream of the wind. The metal door clanked against the side of the car. Perhaps it had fallen off once and been refastened too loosely. Through the high window fragile black limbs of bare winter trees appeared and disappeared, each tree a sign that they were one step closer to their final destination.
“My name was in someone’s address book.” Herman’s voice cut through the wind. “Some imbeciles didn’t even know enough to throw them away.”
Joachim flinched. If informers heard Herman, it could cost Joachim his life. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m certain you don’t,” Herman said sarcastically. “Where are we going?”
He lied. “Don’t know. Another camp. They’re all the same.”
Herman picked at his ragged cuticles. “I’ve never been to a camp. What are they like?”
Joachim looked at him for the first time. Herman suddenly seemed plump and healthy in the clear, cold afternoon light stabbing through the window. “Bad. For you, even worse.”
Herman pointed to his pink triangle. “Because of this?”
“It’s the worst kind to have.” Joachim glanced involuntarily down the car at the bowed, bald heads of the other prisoners. No one paid them attention.
“You’ve been very careful, I see.” Herman twisted the right corner of his mouth into a smile.
“I’m here because I’m Jewish.”
Herman studied his face. “We could jump the guards when they stop the train. I’m still strong.”
The man on Joachim’s right shifted on the bench. Joachim froze. What if he overheard them?
“They have guns,” Joachim whispered. “I’ve never seen anyone escape like that. But I’ve seen men die trying. It’s reckless.”
Herman sighed. “I was never very good at being careful.”
Joachim stared blankly at the sliding door in front of him. Rust had bled deep lines into the metal. Loneliness howled through him like the wind through the open door. “I’ve always been good at it.”
Herman ran his palms along his cheeks, as if he just woke. “Good at what?”
“Being careful.”
Herman slid to a sitting position with his back to the door and wrinkled his nose. The smell of so many unwashed men crowded into the car obviously bothered him.
“It’s not a simple thing to do,” Joachim said.
Herman embraced his round knees. “I should be in Berlin. Studying for my degree in engineering or reading the paper and thanking the Führer for ridding the country of vermin like you. Of vermin like me.”
Joachim scratched a flea bite on his shrunken calf. It itched, but he tried not to think about it.
“Then I’d have dinner with my landlady, Frau Biedekin. She’s an exquisite cook. We’d have potatoes, smothered with butter. We’d have sauerbraten, since today is Sunday. For dessert, let’s see—”
Joachim’s stomach clamped into a tight knot. “Stop it!”
Herman snorted. “Is it more than you can stomach?”
Joachim glared at him until Herman stopped laughing.
“That’s the only way you’ll get it,” Herman said. “By dreaming.”
“Dreaming is not,” Joachim hesitated, searching for the right word, “careful.”
“I believe I mentioned that I was no good at being careful.”
Joachim shrugged, the coarse material of his jacket scraping across his shoulders. “Dream, then. Just quietly.”
“If you can’t escape from them in dreams, they’ve defeated you.”
“What do you know? You’ve never even been to a camp,” Joachim said. “Tell me about dreams in a month, friend.”
“If I can’t tell you about dreams then, I hope to have the sense to end it.”
Joachim drew in a sharp breath.
“Life,” Herman said as he stood, “is more than mere survival.”
Joachim shook his head. “Not right now.”
“No!” Herman’s voice echoed off the sides of the car. Several prisoners swiveled their heads toward him. No one spoke.
Joachim pretended to be asleep. He sat with his chin against his chest, swaying with