The Sugar Men

by Ray Kingfisher

  She holds onto the blanket, but Keller doesn’t let go, just gives it another, small shake.

  ‘To the kitchen,’ he says. ‘You understand?’

  She nods, and he lets go. It feels like there’s something inside the blanket, and also something in Keller’s expression of concentration. She swallows in surprise, her eyes opening fully for the first time in weeks. She leaves the tent and steps outside. The rain has eased, but still she’s getting soaked very quickly. She stops and looks all around, sees only a sentry guard through the veil of drizzle, and carefully looks inside the blanket.

  She lets out a gasp and tries to run to her cabin. She forgets about her weakness for a second and has to cough a few times, stumbling and muddying her knees as she does so, but not dropping the new blanket. Soon she has her feet inside the cabin door, and wipes the rain from her face, trying, in her panic, to make herself look presentable to her parents.

  Then she thinks of Ester, who has been such a good friend. But Mother and Father and Jacob must come first – it’s her duty. And then again, Ester has no family in the camp – nobody to take care of her. She’s as good as family.

  Susannah darts back out into the rain and heads for Ester’s cabin. She clasps the contraband to her chest, looking left and right for guards as she picks her way over earth that has thawed slightly due to the rain. She reaches the cabin and enters.

  Ester’s cabin is just as crowded as her own. It feels warmer, but smells worse; faeces, urine, bodies that haven’t washed in months, food utensils gathering a creeping mould. At one corner of the cabin water drips from the ceiling – still people are lying underneath because there’s no choice. There are few beds here, the room is mostly a rolling sea of bodies covered in rags, with the occasional chamber pot and soup bowl scattered between them. Susannah can hardly see the wooden floor – and she can’t see Ester at all. She scans the ocean of dirty cloth once more, and sees a figure smaller than the rest occupying one corner. She steps closer and whispers Ester’s name through the groans and subdued chatter. Sure enough, the small figure turns and returns the whisper. Susannah makes her way across, carefully tiptoeing on the few visible spots of floor.

  Ester is crouched – foetal-like – pressed into one corner, her head resting against the rough timber. There’s no lighting in here, but a few strands of dreary afternoon daylight enter the cracks in the timber wall, making the cobwebs and slug trails inches from Ester’s face shimmer. The gaps also let in icy jets of wind which whistle as they tingle any uncovered flesh.

  And Ester is crouched – foetal-like – because to stretch out her petite frame would be to encroach on others’ space. Susannah also sees another sign that order is breaking down: according to the rules men are allowed in women’s cabins for family visits only during daylight hours, but rubbing against Ester’s shoulder is the back of a young man half covered in a blanket, shivering himself to sleep. In a similar fashion Ester’s feet are constrained by the head and shoulders of another prisoner.

  Susannah has now adapted to the smell, and she knows why it seems warmer in here; the extra bodies afford everyone – including Ester – that little extra heat.

  Susannah stands over Ester and asks her to sit up. As she does this it leaves enough room for Susannah to kneel down next to her. Susannah smiles but isn’t sure whether Ester notices.

  ‘I have something,’ she says. Ester just gives a blank stare, so Susannah shows her the bag of sugar. And then Ester reacts – the eyes have all but lost the ability to lighten up but there’s a cracked smile.

  ‘How did you . . . ?’ Ester says.

  ‘Shh!’

  ‘But where . . . ?’

  Heads of other prisoners turn like silhouetted robots. The girls wait for them to turn back before speaking again.

  ‘For your family, yes?’ Ester says in an uncertain tone.

  ‘A little for you,’ Susannah says, knowing that a few months ago Ester would have said, ‘I can’t possibly . . .’ or ‘Not for me, surely?’

  But now Ester doesn’t politely refuse. This time she takes the bowl she keeps close to her belly and holds it out in front. Susannah glances around once more, then lifts the bag up. She squeezes it so that some of the precious energy crumbles off and drops into the bowl. Ester eats it as a dog might, licking up every last grain until the bowl is empty but for a layer of saliva that glistens like the slug trails that criss-cross everything around her.

  The girls exchange a hug, then Susannah stands and leaves, picking her way back through the sleeping bodies, and heads outside and to her own cabin. She starts to run again in excitement but her feet slip in the mud and she’s forced to slow down. By the time she reaches her own cabin the rain has mingled with tears of anxiety. She wipes her face with the blanket before entering.

  Inside, she sees that Father and Jacob have come over to be with Mother as promised. Good, she thinks, one less journey, and they can eat as a family again. She hurries over to them.

  ‘Look what I’ve got,’ she whispers.

  Her mother squints to see, and says, ‘Another blanket? You have another blanket? Well done, Susannah!’

  Susannah throws the blanket over her mother’s shoulders, then presents the bag of sugar. Her mother touches the bag as if it’s made of gold.

  By now Susannah’s father has got to his knees, is leaning on a bed, and shows that there’s still some life left in his hollow eyes. ‘Susannah, that’s wonderful,’ he says. But he isn’t smiling, and stares at Susannah. ‘Where did you get it from?’

  Susannah is aware that all eyes are on her. She parts her cracked lips, but can’t think of what to say.

  Eventually Mother gives the bag to Father and tells him not to ask, just to eat. He shakes the thought from his head. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Jacob and Susannah first, then you. Then me if there’s any left.’

  There are no more arguments. There are no more words at all. Mother reaches down and lifts the edge of the blanket, revealing a chamber pot to the left of her feet and a few eating utensils to the right. She picks up a small wooden spoon and wipes it with the clean blanket.

  She hands the bag and the spoon to Jacob, who takes them without hesitation and plunges the spoon in with gusto, a single stab breaking off a chunk of sugar, which he eats. He allows a moment for the sweetness to coat his tongue, then swallows. He does the same again and again, then looks up and freezes for a second as he sees three eager and expectant faces facing him. He licks his lips, then hands the bag and the spoon to Susannah.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve had enough?’ she asks.

  ‘Of course,’ he says, in a voice straining to boast the first bass tone Susannah has heard from her little brother.

  Susannah says she has already had some and offers the bag to her mother.

  ‘No,’ Father says. ‘Have more.’

  While Father pats Jacob on the back she does just that, taking three spoonfuls slowly, conscious of being watched. Then she hands over to Mother, who guides each spoonful between her lips with precision so as not to waste even one grain.

  Soon it’s Father’s turn, and he takes two spoonfuls, leaving the remaining crystals hiding in the folds of the paper. He lifts his head back and shakes the bag, showering the remaining granules into his eager mouth. Then he tears the bag into four pieces as if dissecting a dead animal. He passes the pieces of paper around and each of them takes one. They all watch as Father starts licking the sweet side, then opens out the folds and pokes the point of his tongue into every corner so that nothing goes to waste. For a fleeting second Susannah thinks he looks like a madman doing this, before remembering the father she knew back in Berlin. Then they all do the same with their pieces of the bag.

  Then Father takes back the pieces and compresses them into a pellet, which he places in the chamber pot. ‘We must get rid of this without the guards seeing it,’ he whispers.

  For a while the electric rush of sugar makes Susannah feel drunk, all the better to ignore the jealous looks fr
om the rest of the cabin’s occupants. And then comes the nausea from a stomach that’s used to nothing more than watery starch and now seems to want to take its revenge for months of neglect.

  But throughout all of this there’s now hope. A saviour exists, and his name is Keller.

  Jacob and Mother, licking their lips, discreetly thank Susannah for the sugar, then both lie down on the floor and pull blankets up to their necks. Father looks around, then shuffles closer to Susannah. ‘I need to know how you got it,’ he whispers.

  ‘I . . . I made friends with a guard.’

  Father’s face changes shape; it’s like Jacob’s used to be just before he started to cry. ‘Friends?’ he says. ‘With a guard?’

  ‘With Keller. It started when I cut my hand. He helped me, and—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Please. Don’t tell me any more. Just tell me whether you can get some more food.’

  ‘I . . . I . . . Yes,’ Susannah says, then, in more confident tones, ‘Yes. I’ll try to get another tomorrow – if not, then the next day.’

  ‘Good.’ He puts his arms around her and his slender frame squeezes hers. It’s the gentlest hug she has ever had from her father; he’s treating her like a newborn baby.

  ‘You’re such a good daughter,’ he says, his crackly voice almost breathing the words out.

  Susannah tries to leave his grasp but he doesn’t let her. She knows what he’s thinking. She knows the tears are for her. ‘It’s all right, Father,’ she says with the quietest of whispers into his ear. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  Eventually they separate, and Father takes a second to look directly into her eyes, their faces almost touching. ‘Oh, Susannah, I’m so, so sorry. We had such hopes for you and Jacob.’ He passes a hand along her damp hair and onto her shoulder. Then he hugs her once more, and rocks her, and Susannah feels his body pulse with the sorrow of a broken promise.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  For the next few days Susannah goes to the shoe tent alone, and leaves with no package. Keller was on duty for only one of those days, and even then he didn’t do anything, so Susannah accepts that perhaps he won’t bring food for them every day.

  But for the first time in months – even years – Susannah can glimpse a rainbow through the mist. Yes, every day more people die of hunger, disease and bullets, and many more flood into the camp. But some of the new prisoners say rescue is imminent – that the British, the Americans and others all continue their advance on various fronts, and that the worsening conditions are a sign of the Third Reich’s increasing desperation. And Susannah thinks Keller will supply more food until then – perhaps some sugar every few days.

  Also Father is in better spirits. He appears to believe Susannah when she says she hasn’t given anything to Keller, or done anything for him, in return for the sugar.

  The next morning Father and Jacob come to Susannah’s cabin. Father says he feels well enough to go to the shoe tent, so leaves Jacob with Mother and accompanies Susannah to work. It seems his spirits are buoyed – as are hers – by the promise of better things to come, and by the prospect of more food. But today their hopes are dashed because Keller isn’t on duty. However, they carry out their work and think of the next day, when he might be on duty and might have something for them.

  As they walk back together, Susannah considers making a joke about Keller being their very own Zuckerman – that he is perhaps related – but she thinks better of saying this, in case it breaks the spell. Then Father stops her and turns to face her.

  ‘Susannah, we have to tell Mother and Jacob that Keller promised us some more food tomorrow.’

  ‘You mean we should lie?’

  ‘We . . . we have to give them a reason to carry on.’

  Susannah thinks for a moment and nods. ‘That’s a good idea, and I’m sure Keller will give us more food the next time he’s on duty, so it’s only a white lie.’

  Then Father’s face turns sour. ‘We’ll see,’ he says.

  ‘You don’t believe he’ll give us more food?’ Susannah says, backing away slightly.

  Father tries to speak, then has to gather his thoughts. ‘You remember when were at the farmhouse, and in the first summer we had that beautiful honey fresh from the hive?’

  ‘On fresh wholewheat bread.’ Susannah’s mind drifts away for a second. ‘One of the nicest things I’ve ever tasted.’

  ‘You see, we went back a week later, but it was too dangerous. Sometimes you have to accept you can only raid the honeybee nest once.’

  The words upset Susannah, but she says nothing. They go back to the cabin and Father tells the white lie to Mother and Jacob. After the family have been to the kitchen to collect their ever smaller ration of bread and potato soup they return to the cabin and Susannah tries to sleep. But she’s still upset by what Father said; he obviously doesn’t believe Keller will help them again. It’s as if he doesn’t even want their wishes to come true, doesn’t want to survive. Perhaps he’s still suspicious of Keller’s motives. Eventually she falls asleep wondering whether there’s any substance to Father’s suspicions.

  But the very next day Father’s white lie is proved not to be a lie after all.

  Again Susannah and Father are working side by side in the shoe tent. This time Keller is on duty, and at the end of the shift he steps over to Susannah. He casually glances around, and when nobody is looking he places a small bag of sugar in her lap. He says nothing.

  It looks like the honeybee has granted them another harvest.

  Father looks up to Keller as if in silent worship.

  ‘What do you want for this?’ Susannah whispers.

  ‘Shh!’ Father hisses from her side. ‘Please, Susannah. Let’s just be grateful and leave.’

  But Susannah repeats the question.

  Keller looks behind him, then crouches down, so all three of their heads are inches apart. ‘We’ve all heard the rumours,’ he says. ‘Of course our government denies everything and we’re forbidden from talking about such things.’

  ‘The British?’ Father says.

  Keller nods. ‘Canadians too.’

  ‘You want us to help you if the camp is captured, is that it?’

  And for once Keller, even with his full, healthy figure and smart, clean uniform, looks every bit as haggard as the prisoners he guards. His fears and hollow spirit are etched on his cracked expression. ‘I don’t think it’ll come to that,’ he says. ‘I . . . I can’t do this anymore. I can’t look at everything around me for much longer and do nothing.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Father says. ‘Thank you so much for saying that.’

  At the time Susannah is puzzled by Father’s reaction. She can’t understand what he means by those words.

  Keller swallows. ‘You people have suffered too much to owe me anything. All I ask is that you remember me – nothing more.’

  ‘We will,’ Father says. ‘We will.’

  Susannah doesn’t speak, but knows she will remember Keller until the day she dies – whenever that day might be. As Keller stands up she points to one of his boots, the laces of which have come undone again. He hesitates, and for a moment Susannah thinks he is going to leave them undone and accept whatever scolding the other guards might give him. But he gives a weary sigh and corrects his misdemeanour.

  After work Susannah and Father rush back to the cabin like schoolchildren on their way to a party. Once there they scurry over to Mother and Jacob, and between the coughing, wheezing and asthmatic snoring Father whispers for the family to come in close. He tells Mother to get out her spoon, then opens the bag of sugar as carefully as if he is defusing a bomb.

  ‘There’s more than last time,’ Jacob says, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips.

  ‘Yes,’ Fathers whispers. ‘Almost half a bag. But just one spoonful each for now. Leave some for tomorrow.’

  They start with Jacob, then Susannah, then Mother, then Father, each savouring the sweetness and passing the bag on. In silence. In celebratio
n.

  They can’t resist and take two spoonfuls each and it seems like half of the sugar is gone within seconds.

  ‘Can I save some for Ester?’ Susannah says.

  Father gives a solemn nod. ‘Of course.’

  Susannah slowly rolls up the top of the bag and places it in her pocket.

  ‘I never thought sugar on its own could taste so good,’ Mother says.

  ‘It’s the taste of hope,’ Father says.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Susannah asks him.

  ‘Well, we have sugar, of course. But it’s not about that. We have something even better: we also have Keller. You know, when he gave you that bag – when he was talking to us – I didn’t see a guard; I saw a scared boy. I saw someone ashamed of what’s happening around him and prepared to do something to help. He’s a good man, and while there are good men around – or even when there’s one solitary good man – there’s a future of some sort.’

  Mother’s face lights up as she reaches out and holds Father’s hand. ‘You’re right,’ she says, squeezing it tightly. ‘Keller is a good man so there must be more.’ She’s more animated than Susannah has seen her for many months, like the Mother-of-old peering from beneath a shroud. Susannah looks to Jacob and they both nod in support. For the first time in months there’s true optimism in their voices, as if the sugar has given their hearts and minds a boost as well as their stomachs.

  Then the alarm sounds to signify that mixing time is over, and Father and Jacob leave.

  Susannah holds Father’s words – that there is a future – close to her heart as she curls up with Mother on the straw under the bed. In spite of the hard wooden boards beneath her, she falls into a deep, comforting sleep.

  Susannah Morgan was now sitting on a bench at the edge of the memorial taking some time to rest her legs as well as her mind. Was all of this reverie healthy? Well, that remained to be seen, but it had been a while since she last had palpitations, so perhaps she was getting used to the stress. She was stronger than her children gave her credit for. But they were well meaning. And David had problems of his own. Yes, it was time to give them an update. This time it was her daughter’s turn. She took her phone out of her handbag and rang her.