The Undertaking by Audrey Magee Read Free Book Online

Berlin.’
    ‘You should have stayed here then.’
    ‘Any news on winter clothing?’
    ‘Who knows? Kraus said soon.’
    ‘He said that before I left.’
    Faber drank from his water canister, sluicing down the meat stuck in his teeth.
    ‘Is Fuchs still coughing?’ he said.
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘I hate that noise. Every bloody morning.’
    ‘He can’t help it.’
    ‘How has Faustmann been?’
    ‘Fine. Same as ever.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Can we trust him?’
    ‘Faustmann? What are you on about?’
    ‘Well, he speaks Russian.’
    ‘Jesus, Faber, I speak French.’
    ‘That’s different. We’re at war in Russia and he speaks the language of our enemy.’
    ‘You never gave a shit when I spoke French in Belgium.’
    ‘That’s different.’
    ‘Only if you want it to be.’
    ‘It’s not that simple.’
    ‘Make it as complicated as you like, Faber. I’m going to get more food.’
    The following morning, they wandered by the river and through Kiev, ending up at the market, the soldiers picking over jewellery, picture frames, coats, scarves and ties, the peasant sellers dressed in high-heeled shoes, fur stoles and long white leather boots. One woman used a silver clutch bag as her till.
    ‘Where did it all come from?’ said Faber.
    ‘It’s Jewish,’ said Weiss. ‘They don’t need it any more.’
    ‘They’ll take whatever you offer,’ said Faustmann. ‘It’s all an unexpected harvest for them.’
    Faber bought a silver bracelet for Katharina, and a silk scarf with swirls of a green that matched her eyes. He bought some apples and pears too, and some coarse vodka and bread, then went down to the river with Weiss, Kraft and Faustmann. It was midday and the sunwas warm. They sat on a beach and picnicked close to a bridge bent and twisted by the retreating Russians. Faber stared at the expanse of the river.
    ‘Is there any end to this country?’
    ‘We’re only on the edge of it,’ said Faustmann.
    ‘My wife’s father had some notion that I should move here after the war.’
    ‘What for?’ said Kraft.
    ‘To farm and grow food for Germany.’
    ‘There’ll be empty plates in Berlin if they send you,’ said Weiss.
    They laughed and lay down, relishing the warmth until the sun gave way to the late autumn winds.

 
     
     
    8
    At five, Kraus bellowed them awake.
    ‘Up! Out! Let’s go! There’s a war to win.’
    Faber groaned.
    ‘I thought we had one more day.’
    ‘Change of plan, Faber. Up.’
    ‘I wanted to write to my wife today.’
    ‘You should have written yesterday, Faber. Up.’
    He rolled onto his hip, sat up, scratched under each armpit and pulled on the rest of his clothes. He packed his rucksack, ate hot porridge, drank cold coffee and fell into line alongside buildings still in darkness, the blue, grey and pale yellow of their stone yet to bepicked out by the day’s light. Kraus ran up and down, counting, checking and shouting.
    ‘Right men, march.’
    Faber quietly swore at the sergeant. He didn’t want to go. Nor did he want to stay.
    ‘So where are we off to?’
    ‘East,’ said Weiss.
    ‘I gathered that, Weiss.’
    ‘I heard talk of Poltava first, then Kharkov or towards Rostov,’ said Fuchs. ‘We’ll know when we’re there.’
    ‘Another grand plan,’ said Weiss. ‘How far is it?’
    ‘About two hundred miles to Poltava and three hundred to Kharkov. Rostov is too far to think about.’
    Lace curtains twitched as they walked through the streets towards the river, hidden eyes tracking them as they passed.
    ‘When did the others leave?’ said Faber.
    ‘Most infantry last week.’
    ‘Why are we so late?’
    ‘The whole army was waiting for you, Faber,’ said Weiss.
    Fuchs laughed.
    ‘You took a bit of a risk,’ he said. ‘Marrying a stranger like that.’
    ‘I suppose I did. But it worked out.’
    ‘What’s her family like? Her parents?’
    ‘They were kind to me.’
    ‘And her father?’
    ‘Not easy to get used to. But a