The Sugar Men

by Ray Kingfisher

  She shook her head and wiped the dribbles from the end of her nose. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Not me. Never. But thank you.’

  She stumbled out into the daylight and sat on a bench for a while, but could not settle. She got up and soon found herself blindly meandering along the main paths, beneath the pines that towered overhead.

  The man conducting the talk had been right. Apart from the Visitor Centre there were hardly any buildings, just wide open spaces covered in that spreading ivy and bramble, and also with heather and wild flowers sporadically breaking through the long grass. It could have been a nature reserve.

  Almost.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It’s now late 1944. With summer no more than a warm memory, cold winds have started to whip through the cabins at Bergen-Belsen. Prisoners huddle together for warmth, as many in a bed as will fit.

  But there are the occasional mild days too, when the wind dies down and prisoners venture out of their cabins and stand facing the sun, as if worshipping it. Their thin and wrinkled skin feels a slight burn. It’s a welcome burn.

  A lot of prisoners have now stopped working in the shoe tent through illness, meaning they get smaller rations. But Susannah still works there, even though the extra chunk of bread hardly justifies the effort. And because there are now fewer workers, there is usually only one guard on duty. Susannah senses a change of mood in the camp – on the part of the guards as well as the prisoners. A lot of the prisoners are lifeless, physically and mentally. There are few smiles – in fact, few facial expressions at all. A lot of them are simply waiting. If they still exist tomorrow, then so be it. If not, then their torture is over. The guards have started to relax certain rules – or have given up caring, but the brutality is still there, even if it’s intermittent and random. Perhaps the uncertainty is getting to them too.

  Susannah finds it difficult to concentrate on the work. Her hands are weak and she works slowly. She speeds up when Jung or Müller are on guard, but slows down when it’s Keller’s turn. His tie is still crooked and his hair is now longer and becoming even more unruly, with the odd stray curl dangling from under his cap.

  By now Susannah can recognize which guard is approaching by their footsteps. Jung announces his imminent arrival with that distinctive regular stomp of his jackboots, as though he’s trying to kill a rat with every step. Müller’s noise is much the same but her steps are smaller and more frequent. Keller has a slow loping stride, almost casual. Whenever Jung or Müller come to relieve Keller they always start by checking the prisoners are hard at work – as if it’s something they don’t trust Keller to do. And then they scold him about something – his hair or a stain on his jacket or a scuff mark on one of his boots. Susannah now almost likes Keller – she can relax when he’s on duty. She occasionally even looks him in the eye, but turns away if he looks back.

  As the days get shorter they also get darker, and afternoons of clear blue sky when the sun is strong and reviving are getting rarer. On one such afternoon Susannah and Ester are washing their clothes by the pool. The air feels thin and the cold water has turned Susannah’s hands numb – which hardly matters as she’s got used to ignoring that particular pain, and now the rest of her is warmed by the sunshine.

  She tells Ester about her father, his work in Berlin, how he used to come home in a smart suit and change into his ‘home’ suit before playing with her and Jacob, often in Rose Park. Ester says nothing to all of this.

  Then Susannah says, ‘You still hear no word of your parents?’

  Ester shakes her head. They both spend a few minutes squeezing and pummelling clothes underwater to rinse out the soap.

  ‘In my cabin there’s talk of war being over soon,’ Ester says eventually.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll meet your parents then,’ Susannah says. ‘When we’re all free.’

  Ester stops squeezing for a moment, then says, ‘Father told me he would always come back for me.’

  ‘I’m glad my family are all kept in the same camp,’ Susannah says. ‘Father says you should be able to be with yours too.’ She forces a smile. ‘Father says you should ask the Kommandant which camp they’re in.’

  Ester’s big childlike eyes look up to Susannah. For a second they’re moist and glassy. Then the muscles around her sockets tighten fit to burst.

  ‘Father says, Father says, Father says,’ she hisses. ‘I hate your father.’

  Susannah hears but doesn’t believe. ‘What did you say?’ she asks.

  But Ester has thrown down her clothes into the water, spun away from Susannah and is now running to the fence. Susannah’s first instinct is to look around for guards, to see who is on duty. Surely no guard would shoot a small girl running to the perimeter fence?

  She chases Ester down, her larger strides meaning she grabs her before she reaches the fence. She pulls her back, and sees thorns in her eyes – eyes which up until now have only shown happiness, hope and optimism. Her face is scarlet, a dribble of saliva breaks her lips, and her breathing is heavy and shallow.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asks Ester.

  ‘I hate your father. I hate your mother. I hate Jacob. And I hate you.’

  ‘But . . . but . . .’ Susannah cannot squeeze any more words out. As she stands open-mouthed at these words, which have replaced her friend’s usual endearing joy, they both hear boots running towards them and turn to see Keller approaching.

  ‘Away from the fence!’ he bawls. ‘Away! Back to your washing!’

  ‘Can’t you see she’s upset?’ Susannah says back.

  Keller looks to Ester, then his face stalls.

  Susannah glares at him. ‘She misses her parents.’

  Keller quickly glances all around him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, now quietly, almost softly. ‘But . . . but you must move away from the fence.’

  Susannah and Keller stare at each other for a few seconds. They’re disturbed by more shouts and both turn to see another guard approaching.

  Keller stands up straight, and waits for the other guard to get closer before starting to shout at the girls again. ‘Move away!’ His voice strains for volume. ‘Back to your washing!’ The other guard is Jung. As he arrives, breathless from running, Keller places the butt of his rifle on Susannah’s arm and shoves her and Ester away.

  ‘Trouble?’ Jung says.

  Keller shakes his head. ‘I’ve dealt with it.’

  As Susannah puts an arm around Ester and leads her back to the washing pool, she sees Jung becoming angry with Keller, slapping his rifle. She hears him telling the younger guard he has to shoot if anyone goes near the perimeter fence again.

  Then she stops listening to turn her attentions to Ester. She wants to reassure her that one day her mother and father will return and take her home to the Netherlands. But she thinks better of mentioning it again, and, although she tries hard, she can’t think of a single positive thing to say. They both gather their washing in their arms and head for their cabins in silence.

  Inside Susannah’s cabin Mother and Jacob are curled up on the bed. Father lies next to the bed, only straw between him and the wooden floor. ‘Father,’ Susannah says, gently shaking his shoulder. It doesn’t need much effort to shake him now; there isn’t much weight to move. ‘I’ve done the washing.’

  He sits up, resting his back against the bed, and caresses her face with a weak, trembling hand. ‘Well done.’ He whispers the words but Susannah isn’t sure whether it’s through weakness or in order to avoid waking Mother and Jacob. ‘You shouldn’t have to do your parents’ washing,’ he adds. ‘Nobody should. You’re a good daughter.’ The last few words are delivered with a tremble in his voice.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she says.

  ‘A little better. I think I can walk now. But Jacob and your mother aren’t so good. I think the lice and the stomach cramps are getting to them.’

  Susannah looks over to Jacob and Mother, curled up together like rats in a nest. ‘There’s . . . there’s talk of
the war being over soon,’ she says.

  She doesn’t know whether Father takes any notice or even hears. She sees that his eyes are now dull and grey, and the bone of his nose is more prominent. His chest sinks slightly and he covers his face with his hands and starts to weep.

  This is the first time in her life Susannah has seen her father cry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  By November 1944 winter has locked itself into the camp. There are so many prisoners that there would seem to be a shortage of guards to control them. So now there are kapos.

  The kapos are trusted prisoners – but never Jews – and are considered traitors by the rest of the prisoners. They have the clothes of prisoners but the arrogant air of guards; they also appear to have the authority – if not the rifles – to back up their orders. But what they lack in firearms they make up for in open brutality.

  Disease continues to attack like swarms of ravenous locusts devouring all before them. Every day bodies are removed from Susannah’s cabin by prisoners on the instructions of the kapos. Every day, however, more prisoners arrive to replace them. Susannah has heard rumours that the weaker prisoners are starting to die in the other camps as well, and that they too are being replaced by more inmates. Where are all these people coming from?

  There were brief spells when Susannah was accompanied by her father or mother in the shoe tent, but now she’s mostly on her own again. Only about twenty or thirty prisoners work there now; the others are too sick, or too weak, or simply can’t see the point in working for the meagre extra rations the work gives them. Prisoners have started stealing food from one another, but Father says they shouldn’t, so Susannah works when she can to earn food. It isn’t enough – everyone is losing more weight – but at least the rations slow down the rate of loss.

  One day, while Susannah rips shoes apart, her mind wanders back to the days in Berlin, to her schooldays, to playing in Rose Park with her friends, to when Father came home from a hard day’s work, hungry for food, eager to play with and talk to his children, to when Mother kept the house clean and tidy and ensured her children were healthy, well fed and well educated. It seems such a long time ago – in another lifetime even. What was the point of it all? Now, it seems, she hardly speaks to Mother, who leaves the cabin only when she’s ordered to work in the kitchens.

  She gets shaken from her thoughts by a distant rhythmic thudding noise – Jung’s jackboots. And the noise is getting louder. She also hears him laughing raucously. She glances to the doorway of the tent. Next to it Keller is motionless, staring straight ahead.

  Susannah’s gaze drops to the floor. She sees that one of Keller’s bootlaces is undone. She holds a hand up. She cannot hold her fingers out straight because of the pain in her knuckles, but she leaves her hand up until he notices.

  ‘What is it?’ he says, stepping forward to her. ‘Why have you stopped working?’

  She says nothing, but points to his feet. He opens his mouth wide and takes a breath, as if to shout, but glances to where she’s pointing and holds back when he notices the offending bootlace. His face turns red, he scans the interior of the tent and takes a quick look outside; the footsteps are getting louder. He fixes stern eyes on Susannah for a moment, then drops down to tie up his bootlace, standing back upright and back in position seconds before Jung enters.

  Jung walks straight up to him and looks him up and down, giving his face and jacket a cursory examination, then drops his gaze to check his trousers and boots. He nods approvingly. ‘Very good,’ he says, making his surprise plain in his tone. ‘Now you can go.’

  Susannah watches Keller turn to leave. There’s definitely a fraction of a second when he catches her eye. She doesn’t know whether it’s a thank you look or a disapproving glare, but he definitely looks.

  And at the same moment Jung shouts out, ‘You!’ causing Susannah to drop her knife. Jung steps towards her. He shouts at the other prisoners, tells them to stop gawping like stupid pigs and carry on working.

  ‘What were you looking at?’ Jung says.

  Susannah frowns and shakes her head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Pick up your tool,’ Jung says. ‘Carry on working.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he answers with a sturdy smile. Then he turns to Keller, who loiters at the tent opening.

  ‘So what are you waiting for?’ he says. ‘Go!’

  Keller doesn’t reply, but merely turns and leaves, his languid, light footsteps contrasting so much with those of Jung.

  And Susannah carries on working, but senses the tiniest glint of hope.

  Perhaps this is the hope Ester spoke of.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  At the memorial Susannah continued her walk along the pathways, meandering between the grassy mounds with signs that said, ‘10,000 buried here’ and ‘5,000 buried here’, wondering how many of those she knew in a different life.

  She tried to tell herself that the distress she’d suffered while listening to the talk was a fuss over nothing – that she was being small-minded in letting herself get so upset over mere words and pictures after the very real things that had happened to her (and to those at peace under those grassy mounds) all those years ago.

  Somehow that didn’t work; she still felt agitated, as if something or someone was creeping up on her – hunting her down.

  Perhaps coming back here had been a big, big mistake.

  Only the paths were left to remind anyone of the original camp layout. Like the Super Bowl, if you hadn’t been there at the time you simply wouldn’t understand. To look around without knowing the history, these could have been the ruins of a complex of factories or farms. Susannah was unsure whether this disguise was something to be grateful for or not. But at least she’d recovered her composure and started to appreciate the afternoon sunshine warming her face. She’d done that a few times before – except that back then it had been almost sumptuous rather than merely pleasant.

  ‘Sixty-four years,’ she mumbled to herself, looking at the empty spaces. ‘And I could be in a different city. Or country.’ She inhaled the scent of pine for a few minutes, and listened to nothing but birdsong.

  Then her shoulders jolted at the gunshot and her head dipped instinctively. She looked up and saw not lofty pine trees but latticework lookout towers; she turned to the side and saw not open space but a pit, and smelt not the heady freshness of pine but something that made her cover her mouth and turn away. She hurried as much as her antiquated joints allowed, keeping to the paths that took her as far away from the pit as possible, until after two or three hundred yards she stopped, breathless.

  She looked around her and saw no other visitors. Nobody.

  But she saw one building.

  She stared, then turned around, stumbling, almost falling, but blinked and saw nothing but barren space. She looked behind her, to where she’d just seen a building – that building. But again there was merely open space. She shook her head in dismay and headed back to the Visitor Centre. She needed a strong coffee and a sit down.

  Twenty minutes later she was sitting in a quiet corner of the cafeteria with a cup of coffee on the table in front of her and her phone in her hand.

  ‘I can tell you’re upset,’ David said.

  She wasn’t sure how he knew – she’d waited for her nerves to settle before ringing to give him an update. She’d started off by asking for the latest news on how his business was going, but he ignored the question. She was beginning to regret ringing.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said.

  ‘You know what the doctors said. You shouldn’t upset yourself.’

  ‘I’m not upset. It’s this line coming halfway across the world. It’s not my fault if my voice comes out all distorted.’

  Ha. That was very true.

  ‘So you’re enjoying yourself?’

  ‘Mmm . . . well . . .’

  ‘Sorry, Mom. Stupid thing to say.’

  ‘I’m . . . making progress.’
r />   ‘Good. I’m glad for you, but . . .’

  And then Susannah mouthed the words in a yacking fashion – Why you want to be there I’ll never know – lolling her head from side to side as she did so.

  But he didn’t say that, he said, ‘Please, Mom. Just don’t overdo it.’

  ‘I know, David. You don’t want the cost of flying home a coffin airfreight.’

  ‘Oh, Mother.’

  The word was groaned down the phone. And Susannah had to admit he was right to groan.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I’m all right, really. I can look after myself.’

  ‘Just make sure you do.’

  ‘So how’s business? Are you going to tell me?’

  ‘It’s . . . okay.’

  ‘Not so good then.’

  ‘Just ring me tomorrow, Mom. Please.’

  ‘I will.’

  A few minutes later she was beginning to regret saying those things. Especially the coffin gag. David deserved better than that. Then again, she always had been an impulsive sort, from as far back as she could remember.

  She pulled her coffee cup closer and placed her hands around it, faint wisps of steam swirling as they rose, almost hypnotizing her.

  The last time she’d been here the only nutrition available had been watery soup with a faint flavour of potato or possibly turnip – they never could tell which. It tasted like the water had been taken from the washing pool or the gutter. But it was hot, it replaced fluids lost to diarrhoea, and obviously had some calories hidden in it somewhere. But not enough.

  For a brief period early in December 1944 Susannah falls ill, and spends a few days on the straw covering the wooden floor of the cabin, being looked after by Mother and Father. Ester comes into the cabin every day to talk with her, telling her that she will get better and that one day she will be back in Berlin.

  Ester keeps apologizing for the unpleasant things she said about Susannah’s family, and Susannah keeps telling her to stop apologizing.