A Peaceful Summer. Ace Anthony

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ mid-September? To celebrate your birthday with us.”

      “I’ll think about that,” he lied. “Are you going with me or with Mother?”

      She said nothing.

###

      There were six of them. Six tired, gloomy people heading to unknown destiny in a shaky covered lorry.

      One of them, Rilke, a young man with a stubborn look on his face was of a tougher sort. He studied the ashy faces of his companions again and again, thinking that he would never be reduced to their state.

      His throat felt dry. He felt dust grind on his teeth. It’s been a long journey with very little food or water. They’d been let out only once, and that was hours ago.

      But the greatest inconvenience of all was the uncertainty. He scanned the blank faces again. The question on everybody’s mind but not lips: “Where are we being taken?”

      “Transported to another place? But why so few of us? To be killed? Why waste the petrol to take us so far? To work? Makes little sense. Only two of us are strong and healthy. That one is old. This one is too skinny. And Red Cross has hardly any life left in him.”

      Red Cross was the only man present that Rilke knew: they were from the same barrack. A sad man of few words, worse for wear, with that haggard look on his thin face which Rilke didn’t like in people. He had to make an exception for Red Cross, though, because the man was kind, truly kind – weak, foolish – but kind. At the risk of being beaten, he often engaged in negotiations with guards about medicines or blankets for sick people, and he sometimes got what he’d asked for. This had earned him the nickname Red Cross. The man laughed when he knew about it. That was the only time he was seen laugh. He said his real name, but nobody remembered it; they kept calling him Red Cross. “Good man.” Rilke thought. “Good man… But spineless. By the looks of him he gave up a long time ago. Pity, because his kind doesn’t survive. I’m different. I’ll never give up.”

      They stopped off several times, for meals, apparently. They could smell food and hear the guards chatting. Rilke’s stomach groaned. He rubbed his aching thighs to help circulation. “This has to end soon.” Nobody obliged him with a supporting remark.

      Rilke tried to focus on happier things. It was a sunny day, judging by the bright light peeping through cracks and holes. They could hear sparrows chirp briskly. The noise was growing. It sounded like somebody was throwing bread crumbs around, and more and more birds raided the place to sample the treat.

      “Unbelievable,” Rilke thought. “An inch of wood separating me from normal life. Spring, freedom. Sunshine. Chats with friends over a beer or two. Girls. Better not to think about it.” He caught Red Cross’s eye and pointed at the elderly man, signing: “How is he?” The man had been sitting for hours with his face buried in his hands. Red Cross touched his arm: “You’d better lean on my shoulder.” The man shook his head. Maybe he was concentrated in a prayer, and just as Rilke thought about it, something biblical happened: the back side of the lorry flung open, and a bucket of water was shoved in, a whole bucket of fresh, cool water. “Hey, things aren’t that bad,” Rilke cheered splashing not unlike one of those sparrows. Red Cross nodded rubbing water into his scalp covered with thick jet-black stubble – the only convincing evidence of his young age, Rilke noted.

      The doors slammed and the engine started. Red Cross supported the old man, who nearly fell off his seat. It was getting hotter. The cheerful mood was wearing out. The lorry was speeding along a smooth road, and the men were rocked into stupor again. It was another couple of hours before the lorry came to a halt. Hurried footsteps. Barking reprimands:”… supposed to have arrived twenty minutes ago…” Inaudible voices delivered explanations. Then the back of the lorry flung open again.

      “Frankel! ’ the barking voice called.

      “It’s me, ’ Red Cross said quietly. Five heads turned towards him. They stared with that indefinite expression on their faces, not knowing what to think or say.

      “Frankel! Out!”

      Frank rose carefully, bending his head. He took a few seconds to balance his thin, tall body, then shuffled to the exit and jumped off the lorry. For a moment Rilke thought he was sitting in a dark cinema and watching a film. The bright rectangle in front of him shows a man down to his waist, a glimpse of grey road behind him, dusty bushes. The man looks around, blinking and shielding his eyes from bright sunlight. Then he turns his head and walks away slowly; the camera doesn’t follow him. The film finished with a sharp howl of rusty hinges. It was dark again. The lorry started with a jerk, and Rilke came to himself. It felt empty. He wondered if the remaining four men felt the same. Nobody commented. “I didn’t even have time to say good bye, ’ Rilke thought.

      Chapter 2

      Frank was now sitting in the back seat of a car. He was still none the wiser as to where he was being taken, or why he had been separated from the group. He was in no position to ask questions. He didn’t even dare to lean back in the seat. He was sitting stiffly looking at his coarse, heavy hands lying on his lap. He noted with some dull resignation that he didn’t want any answers. Not now, not yet. This intermission was too precious to be wasted. Every pore of his being was soaking up hungrily the fragmented glimpses sliding past him.

      What a beautiful day it was! It looked as beautiful as it had sounded through the walls of the lorry. Frank knew he wasn’t supposed to see or enjoy it. He watched stealthily from the corner of his eye, devouring ordinary scenes of ordinary life. Life. A man repairing his car by the side of the road. His little son squatting nearby and hitting a stone with a spanner. The car overtook two girls pedalling away on their bicycles. One of them shouted something to the other over her shoulder. She had blue ribbons in her pleated hair; a bunch of flowers sat between the handlebars bobbing their white heads cheerfully. Then there was a dog chasing a group of screaming children, two women hanging up their washing. Lovely pictures which had no idea how lovely they were; they flashed too fast for his disabled senses to take them in. He was stringing them hurriedly like beads. Later, if there’s still any later for him, he’ll be savouring each, rubbing their bright colours between his fingers, imagining their smells and sounds. Forbidden joy, stolen, or borrowed, surely, there was a price to pay for it. “I’ll soon find out…”

      The car speeded on smoothly, purring like a sate cougar. It slowed down slightly then gained speed with a soft jerk, and the leather seat accepted obligingly the weight of his reclining back. His body relaxed before he could command it not to do so. He could almost hear his shoulders, spine, legs moan with grateful pain. He stole a glance at the driver, who didn’t seem to have noticed anything.

      Meanwhile, the silent movie was reeling away outside the window. The stretch of the country life remained behind. It was a landscape now, fresh and cheerful in its spring attire. The green leaves yet untouched by heat and dust glittered brightly, and he imagined he could hear them rustle in the wind. The day began to wane, he noted; long shadows were stretching across the road sweeping their cool, loosely knitted shelter over him. Just as he wondered again when and where this bliss was going to end, the car turned off the main road. In a few minutes it pulled up in a driveway. Frank stepped out on the warm gravel and looked around to see a white villa of exquisite Neo-Renaissance beauty half-hidden in the midst of a small park.

      He was led inside through the backdoor, through cool corridors and rooms towards the lively commotion brewing somewhere in the centre of this maze; the sound grew louder and louder until he was left to wait at the entrance of a large sunlit room.

      It СКАЧАТЬ