A Possible Life by Sebastian Faulks Read Free Book Online Page B

acres in extent, had many completed buildings, paths and roadways; it was surrounded by further wire through which Geoffrey could see what looked like bonfires in clearings among the trees, attended by further prisoners in striped uniform and overseen by SS men with guns and dogs. Columns of smoke with an unfamiliar smell emanated from the pyres.
    Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted, Geoffrey remembered from his course at Colchester. He would lie low and observe; and in planning his escape, there was no immediate hurry: the only sense of urgency seemed to come from the chance of malnutrition. It seemed that most of the prisoners in the camp were starving; they were being worked to death. He and Trembath needed to be on a train to the West to rejoin the war effort before they were reduced to the skeletal condition of the others.
    There was a further roll call at the end of the day, followed by a watery soup of swede or turnip in the bunkhouse. For the hours of darkness they were left alone by the Germans with only the Polish dormitory prefect, or ‘DP’ as Trembath called him, telling them what to do. The ablutions room had a stone floor, a row of basins and yards of overhead pipework for showers. What it lacked was water. The lavatories were overflowing; a kind of pit had been excavated behind them, though many prisoners were too enfeebled to make the journey.
    In the middle of the third night, there was a commotion as a group of six SS men came into the room for what they called a ‘fitness test’. The prisoners were lined up naked and shivering while the Germans walked between the ranks. Those incapable of standing were hauled out by the DP and two other trusted prisoners. From outside, a few moments later, came the sound of gunshots; but it seemed a further cull was needed.
    Geoffrey puffed out his chest and stood tall, though he was confident that even after the meagre food of occupied France he was in better condition than most. The concrete floor was cold on his bare feet. A further twenty men were taken out; others were pointed back to the bunks; but a line of fifty naked, shivering men remained. There was a laughing confabulation among the SS men, after which one with a long whip flicked it at the first naked prisoner. It grazed his side, leaving a weal below the ribs. The plaited leather was about six feet long with a metal-weighted tip; it took considerable judgement and wrist action to land the snap exactly – and this was their sport. When they had tired of legs and torso, their gaze turned to the men’s genitals, a difficult target, but one that would cause the most pain. There was no gambling or sense of competition; the inflicting of agony was amusement enough. The guards were allowed three turns each before passing the whip on. Geoffrey turned his eyes to the ceiling where a row of dim electric bulbs was strung, wondering whether it was better to be prepared for the bite of the whip or to be taken by surprise. A man three along from him fell howling and shrieking to the ground while the guards laughed. Geoffrey, when his turn came, escaped with no more than a flick across the upper thigh, shortly after which the guards tired of the game and went to their own beds.
    That night, lying close between Trembath and the Pole, Geoffrey thought how he might take his mind off where he was – off the pain in his thigh, the hunger in his belly – and open the gateway to sleep. He pushed his mind as far as he could from his surroundings. There was a particular cricket ground that had meant a great deal to him when he was growing up. It had a cedar tree in one corner, near the pavilion, a hedge that ran along the road and could be cleared with a mighty heave over midwicket, a bowling green at one end and cow pastures at the other. It was, for a club ground, remarkably flat and true; it was a place to score hundreds, though it never played quite as easily as might be expected, and you had to work for your