When the prayer was over, Berek fell back into his fever trance. The others became silent, then slept. But there was something new in the barrack with them tonight, a palpable exultation. Stephen looked around at the sleepers and thought, We’re surviving, more dead than alive, but surviving….
“You were right about that Musselmann,” Viktor whispered. “It’s good that we saved him.”
“Perhaps we should sit with him,” Stephen said. “He’s alone.” But Viktor was already asleep; and Stephen was suddenly afraid that if he sat beside Berek, he would be consumed by his holy fire.
As Stephen fell through sleep and dreams, his face burned with fever.
Again he wakes up screaming.
“Josie,” he says, “I can remember the dream, but there’s something else, something I can’t see, something terrible….”
“Not to worry,” Josie says, “it’s the fever.” But she looks worried, and Stephen is sure that she knows something he does not.
“Tell me what happened to Viktor and Berek,” Stephen says. He presses his hands together to stop them from shaking.
“They lived, just as you are going to live and have a good life.”
Stephen calms down and tells her his dream.
“So you see,” she says, “you’re even dreaming about surviving.”
“I’m burning up.”
“Dr. Volk says you’re doing very well.” Josie sits beside him, and he watches the fever patterns shift behind his closed eyelids.
“Tell me what happens next, Josie.”
“You’re going to get well.”
“There’s something else….”
“Shush, now, there’s nothing else.” She pauses, then says, “Mr. Gregory is supposed to visit you tonight. He’s getting around a bit, he’s been back and forth all day in his wheelchair. He tells me that you two have made some sort of a deal about dividing up all the nurses.”
Stephen smiles, opens his eyes, and says, “It was Gregory’s idea. Tell me what’s wrong with him.”
“All right, he has cancer, but he doesn’t know it and you must keep it a secret. They cut the nerve in his leg because the pain was so bad. He’s quite comfortable now, but remember, you can’t repeat what I’ve told you.”
“Is he going to live?” Stephen asks. “He’s told me about all the new projects he’s planning, so I guess he’s expecting to get out of here.”
“He’s not going to live very long, and the doctor didn’t want to break his spirit.”
“I think he should be told.”
“That’s not your decision to make, nor mine.”
“Am I going to die, Josie?”
“No!” she says, touching his arm to reassure him.
“How do I know that’s the truth?”
“Because I say so, and I couldn’t look you straight in the eye and tell you if it wasn’t true. I should have known it would be a mistake to tell you about Mr. Gregory.”
“You did right,” Stephen says. “I won’t mention it again. Now that I know, I feel better.” He feels drowsy again.
“Do you think you’re up to seeing him tonight?”
Stephen nods, although he is bone tired. As he falls asleep, the fever patterns begin to dissolve, leaving a bright field. With a start, he opens his eyes: he has touched the edge of another dream.
“What happened to the man across the hall, the one who was always screaming?”
“He’s left the ward,” Josie says. “Mr. Gregory had better hurry if he wants to play cards with you before dinner. They’re going to bring the trays up soon.”
“You mean he died, don’t you.”
“Yes, if you must know, he died. But you’re going to live.”
There is a crashing noise in the hallway. Someone shouts, and Josie runs to the door.
Stephen tries to stay awake, but he is being pulled back into the cold country.
“Mr. Gregory fell trying to get into his wheelchair by himself,” Josie says. “He should have waited for his nurse, but she was out of the room and he wanted to visit you.”
But Stephen does not hear a word she says.
There were rumors that the camp was going to be liberated. It was late, but no one was asleep. The shadows in the barrack seemed larger tonight.
“It’s better for us if the Allies don’t come,” Viktor said to Stephen.
“Why do you say that?”
“Haven’t you noticed that the ovens are going day and night? The Nazis are in a hurry.”
“I’m going to try to sleep,” Stephen said.
“Look around you; even the Musselmanner are agitated,” Viktor said. “Animals become nervous before the slaughter. I’ve worked with animals. People are not so different.”
“Shut up and let me sleep,” Stephen said, and he dreamed that he could hear the crackling of distant gunfire.
“Attention,” shouted the guards as they stepped into the barrack. There were more guards than usual, and each one had two Alsatian dogs. “Come on, form a line. Hurry.”
“They’re going to kill us,” Viktor said; “then they’ll evacuate the camp and save themselves.”
The guards marched the prisoners toward the northern section of the camp. Although it was still dark, it was hot and humid, without a trace of the usual morning chill. The ovens belched fire and turned the sky aglow. Everyone was quiet, for there was nothing to be done. The guards were nervous and would cut down anyone who uttered a sound, as an example for the rest.
The booming of big guns could be heard in the distance.
If I’m going to die, Stephen thought, I might as well go now, and take a Nazi with me. Suddenly, all of his buried fear, aggression, and revulsion surfaced; his face became hot and his heart felt as if it were pumping in his throat. But Stephen argued with himself. There was always a chance. He had once heard of some women who were waiting in line for the ovens; for no apparent reason, the guards sent them back to their barracks. Anything could happen. There was always a chance. But to attack a guard would mean certain death.
The guns became louder. Stephen could not be sure, but he thought the noise was coming from the west. The thought passed through his mind that everyone would be better off dead. That would stop all the guns and screaming voices, the clenched fists and wildly beating hearts. The Nazis should kill everyone, and then themselves, as a favor to humanity.
The guards stopped the prisoners in an open field surrounded on three sides by forestland. Sunrise was moments away; purple-black clouds drifted across the sky touched by gray in the east. It promised to be a hot, gritty day.
Half-step Walter, a Judenrat sympathizer who worked for the guards, handed out shovel heads to everyone.
“He’s worse than the Nazis,” Viktor said to Stephen.
“The Judenrat thinks he will live,” said Berek, “but he will die like a Jew with the rest of us.”
“Now, when it’s too late, the Musselmann regains consciousness,” Viktor said.
“Hurry,” shouted the guards, “or you’ll die now. As long as you dig, you’ll live.”
Stephen hunkered down on his knees and began to dig with the shovel head.
“Do you think we might escape?” Berek whined.
“Shut up and dig,” Stephen said. “There is no escape, just stay alive as long as you can. Stop whining, are you becoming a Musselmann again?” Stephen noticed that other prisoners were gathering up twigs and branches. So the Nazis plan to cover us up, he thought.