"I see.”
"It would be a good idea to conduct a search for a bloodied shirt. And if you happen to find the murder weapon, that would be great too."
"All right. I’ll see that it’s done.”
We walked a few more paces before I asked my next question.
"Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Franz?”
"No."
"Someone he had a fight or an argument with, maybe?"
"The boy was well liked.”
"What sort of boy was he?"
Mathias considered this. "Quiet. Smart. Adaptable.”
“Adaptable? What does that mean?”
"He knew how to survive in this place," Mathias said, stopping outside a block not that far from my own. “This is it. You wait here. I’ll go get him."
It took less than a minute before Mathias emerged from the block in the company of a second prisoner, this one not a functionary.
"What goes on?" the prisoner asked in broken German. "Where you taking me?"
Mathias stopped a few meters from the block and pointed to where I was standing. “To him," he said, and took a step back.
Andris Farkas turned his face in my direction and squinted. His eyes widened as I stepped out of the shadows. He took a frightened step backward, bumping into Mathias who had unobtrusively moved to block Farkas’s retreat. Farkas turned his head to see who was behind him, then shifted back to me. He managed to say, “No. Wait, I—" before I hit him. I punched him right where the Lageralteste had punched me. And into that punch went all the fear I’d felt since Farkas had made me out the previous day and all my anger at him for informing on me, knowing he was sentencing me to an agonizing death.
The punch knocked the air out of him. He folded into me, and I pushed him away and onto the ground. He lay there much as I’d lain on the floor of the Lageral-teste's room. The main difference was that I did kick him. I kicked him several times, each kick venting a portion of my rage—both at him and at the world at large. I kicked him in the crotch. I kicked him in the stomach. I kicked him in the face. That last kick broke something, and blood spurted onto my clog. Farkas lay whimpering on the ground, his body squeezed into a small knot, one hand held to his bloodied face, the other raised in a pathetic attempt to ward off the next kick.
But there was no next kick. Seeing Farkas there on the ground, hurt and bleeding, made me pause and step back before I gave in to the desire to do more damage. Bent over with my hands on my knees and panting for breath, I felt like screaming at the sky, at God, at everything and everybody. I felt like crying for the man I used to be and the one that I’d become.
When I had my breath back, I said to Mathias, “Can you get him into the hospital tonight?”
Mathias gave me a look. He had not twitched a muscle when I was kicking Farkas, nor did his expression shift. But now he was frowning. "Why? I thought you wanted—"
"I know what I wanted,” I said, cutting him off. "I’ve changed my mind. Can you get him into the hospital or not?"
The prisoner hospital was said to be a place of horrors, overflowing with the wretchedly sick and weak, almost entirely devoid of medicine and medical equipment. It was also where frequent selections took place, the Nazis not wishing to waste food on those who would not be able to return to work in the very near future.
Yet it was also a place in which the prisoners performed no labor, where a man with a minor injury might rest for a few days and regain his strength. Farkas’s injury would be considered minor. A few missing teeth and a broken nose do not prevent a man from digging trenches or laying bricks, not if he’s allowed a short respite from work. The hospital would offer Farkas such a respite. And given that he was not emaciated, compared to the other patients, he would likely survive any selection that might take place there. It was the best place for him.
Mathias studied my face. What his thoughts were I couldn’t say. Maybe he thought I was weak, that I lacked the stomach to go through with what I’d asked the Lageralteste. Which was to kill Andris Farkas.
He certainly deserved it. When he’d gone to the Lageralteste and told him I was a former cop, he had sentenced me to death. I was within my rights to do the same to him. And when I followed Mathias to Farkas’s block, when I was waiting for him to come out, when I punched him and kicked him, I had every intention of ending his life. But that moment, that sickening moment when I heard the crunch of something break in his face, had switched off that desire like a light bulb. I did not pity him. Nor did I regret injuring him. But I no longer wished to kill him.
"Well?’’ I said.
Mathias nodded. "Yes, I can do that. You’re going to your block?"
"Why? Do you need help carrying him?”
"I’ll manage. If your Blockalteste gives you any trouble—’’
"I’ll tell him that by order of the Lageralteste, I’ve been posted to Kanada. That would make him think."
Again, Mathias smiled his tiny smile. "I’m sure it would." He looked around. We were alone in the empty stretch of ground between the blocks. Already, the lamps atop the fences had been switched on, and the watchtower searchlights were scratching their insidious yellow claws across the camp. All the prisoners had gone into their blocks for the night. Very soon, night curfew would go into effect, and any prisoner roaming outside would be liable to get shot. "Just so you know, Adam, nobody but the Lageralteste and me know about your history. Nobody else but this lowlife right here." He gestured at the groaning Farkas. “If other prisoners learn that you used to be a cop, they might target you. So let me ask you this: Are you absolutely sure you want to keep this man alive?"
"Yeah, I’m sure," I said, noticing that this was the first time Mathias had used my name, while the Lageralteste hadn’t done so once. I wished I could have more time with Mathias, because I had a slew of questions I had yet to ask him. About Franz. And about the Lageralteste.
"Very well," Mathias said. “I’ll warn him to keep his mouth shut. That if he tells anyone else about you, he’ll pay even more dearly than he did tonight. But he might still talk, you understand?"
"I understand."
"All right. You better go now.”
I did, glancing behind me once to see Mathias pull Andris Farkas to his feet and drape one of his arms around his shoulders. There was something oddly gentle about the way Mathias was supporting Farkas, or maybe it was a trick of the dwindling light. I turned my head forward and could see them no more.
The Blockalteste was standing outside the block like a highwayman ready to extract a toll from every passing traveler. He frowned when he saw me. I was supposed to be dead, and here I was without a mark on me. I told him of my new posting, getting a cheap but delicious spark of pleasure at watching his jaw drop.
Inside the block, I encountered another man who was surprised to see me. It was Vilmos. He was sitting hunched over on the heating duct right next to our bunk. When I called out his name, he turned a tear-streaked face toward me, his eyes growing big.
"Adam?" he muttered. “Adam, I can’t believe it.”
"I can hardly believe it either," I said.
"How? What happened?"
"I explained that I was in the middle of a chess game, and that I might actually win this time."
"Come on. Be serious. Tell me.”
I motioned with my eyes to indicate the hundreds of men surrounding us. "We’ll talk about it tomorrow morning, Vilmos, all right?"
Vilmos nodded, wiping his eyes, which had overflowed yet again, this time with tears of joy. I was moved by his reaction. It was nice to have at least one person who would mourn me if I died and rejoice if I lived.