The beam of Sergeant Lewis’s flashlight picked up a pair of glowing eyes. The duck gave a startled quack, which set off a flurry of movement in the basement. Spooked by the sudden intrusion, the poultry made a racket that echoed off the bare walls. The squawks were punctuated by high-pitched squeals, which the flashlight revealed were made by a trio of frightened guinea pigs penned up alongside half a dozen rabbits.
The sergeant directed the beam around the room. There was nothing much else to be seen. Just a few gardening implements and a pile of hay.
“What’s that? In the middle of the floor?” Martha had spotted a glint of something as the beam of light swept across it.
Sergeant Lewis angled the light down. “A wet patch—like someone’s been cleaning up, maybe?”
“Could just be they spilled water when they fed the animals.” Corporal Brody pointed to a half-full bucket beside the pile of hay.
“We’d better go and search upstairs,” Martha said, hoping Brody was right.
She trailed behind the men as they pulled back the blankets dividing families’ living quarters. Watching them open suitcases and poke around under beds made her very uneasy.
“What about the latrines?” Brody said when they’d worked their way from one end of the blockhouse to the other.
“We’d better check, I suppose,” Martha replied. It was a revolting thought, concealing fresh meat in such a place. But if someone were desperate enough . . .
“Nothing in here,” Sergeant Lewis called when he opened the door.
“What about those cubicles—two of the doors are shut.” Brody pushed past him.
“Wait!” Martha shouted. “There might be . . .”
But Brody was already kicking the doors open. “Jeez! Pardon me, ladies!” He came rushing out, red-faced. “Two old girls in there,” he spluttered. “Sorry, Mrs. Radford, I just thought . . .”
“Okay, Corporal.” Martha pulled the door shut behind him. “You two go look in the other blockhouses. I’ll wait here and apologize.”
Martha stood outside the latrines, summoning the few Polish phrases she had mastered. It was bad enough that the people in this place had had soldiers rifling through their meager belongings, but for elderly DPs to have been disturbed while on the toilet was an indignity too far. She wished Kitty were with her to say something more than a simple “I am sorry.”
Five minutes passed. Then ten. When there was still no sign of anyone emerging, Martha opened the door and peered inside. There was no one to be seen. The doors of the two cubicles were still shut. They must both be ill, she thought, to still be in there after all this time. She made her way past the urinals and the water pump and knocked softly on one of the doors.
“？le si? czujesz?” Are you unwell? It was one of the phrases she’d picked up from Delphine.
There was no reply. No sound at all from either of the cubicles. Martha racked her brains for more words. “Potrzebujesz pomocy?” Do you need help?
Still nothing. Could Corporal Brody have been mistaken, she wondered? Had he imagined seeing the two old ladies? Gingerly, she pushed open the door. She gasped at the sight of a hunched seated figure with a shawl pulled over the head.
“Oh my God!” Martha’s first thought was that the poor woman had died of shock when Brody’s boot had forced the door. Instinctively she reached out, pulling back the shawl. But what she revealed was not a woman’s face. What she was staring at was the whiskery snout of a pig.
“That’s unbelievable!” Delphine listened, open-mouthed, as Martha related the story.
“Quite brilliant, really,” Martha said. “Honestly, they were so lifelike. Whoever did it had put long skirts on the carcasses to cover the trotters, then swathed them in shawls so the heads were in shadow. You should have seen Corporal Brody’s face—I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man blush like that.”
“What did he say when he found out it was the pigs in disguise?”
“I haven’t told him. I’m going to keep it quiet for now. The fewer people that know, the better. It’s such a battle getting the food quota from the local farmers—if word got around that our DPs were stealing . . .”
“I see what you mean.” Delphine nodded. “In some ways, you can’t blame them for it; the meat we’ve been getting is all bone and gristle. But what about the farmer who made the complaint? What will you say to him?”
“I’m going to send Corporal Brody around to tell him we searched the place but found nothing. That’s not a lie, as far as Brody’s concerned. He’ll take a couple of hundred cigarettes from the warehouse as a peace offering. Hopefully, that’ll calm things down.”