And then one morning they heard the bar lift, the barn door open perhaps a little too quickly. In the loft they waited to hear the heavy thud of Frau Blanc’s cloth bag as she set it on the floor. But before the realization came to them, that the old woman had been there only two days earlier, that their bellies were still full, they saw the glint of metal, heard the command that shook the ground like an earthquake, felt the chickens hit the wire cage as they flew about hysterically. And before their brains could register bold steps on the ladder and that Yes, this was it, they have finally come, they felt the sharp nudge of a pistol against their ribs, amid the shouts of “Aus! Aus!” Get out!
Jacob and his friend emerged from the hayloft, their bodies stooped like old men, their faces flushed with fear. The soldiers ordered them to sit, backs against the barn wall, as one of the men, a blond, blue-eyed Aryan, no older than Jacob himself, riffled through the cloth bag up in the hayloft, devouring the sausage and half slice of black bread that was left. Another, only slightly older, with dark eyes that resembled small bullets and a scar running down the right side of his face, walked over to the farthest corner of the barn, where a pile of dead mice snuggled in a corner, opened his coat and the zipper of his pants, and took a long piss. The other, perhaps the most innocent looking of all, with a white face and arched eyebrows that looked painted on and gave him the aspect of a fairy, and with platinum hair cropped in soldier’s fashion, close to his head, walked over to the chicken coop, where all now except for one running in circles were pecking at the ground. Observing the birds with the mild curiosity of an academic, he hushed the animals, said something softly under his breath that neither boy could hear, then opened the latch and reached in. With one hand, he grabbed the bird and twisted its neck as Jacob and Zalman looked on, horrified. Just as calmly, he dropped the limp creature outside the cage, where the other chickens eyed it curiously. He stared down at the animal, a barely perceptible smile on his face, removed a clean handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his hands. His companions didn’t seem to notice. In fact, not one of them appeared interested in their captives; it was as if they had become another rock, or the skinny pig, still snoring in the corner. But when Zalman, finally taking his eyes off the terrifying scene before him, leaned over to whisper “We are next” to Jacob, the air split between them as a silver bullet whizzed by, lodging itself beneath a rotting shelf on which a bucket teetered.
“Shaah!” barked the older, who eyed them from his place against the wall, gray uniform still unbuttoned, fly open. He returned the pistol to its holster, closed his eyes once more, as if nothing at all had ever happened.
How long can a man hold his breath? Jacob wondered, forcing his eyes to look straight ahead at the motionless pig, which looked more dead than alive by then. The two boys stood against the wall as the ray of roof light flickered with each passing of a cloud. They stood, breathing, Zalman imagining again that he was watching a movie, waiting for the next scene, as Jacob dared not think of his family or his dreams for fear that the tears would put an end to his inconspicuousness—so he didn’t think at all, hoping to melt somehow into the wall behind him.
Someone barked, shattering the silence again, and soon Jacob and Zalman were outside under a sun that was more radiant, more alive, than either had seen in their lifetimes. And then their feet were moving on a day when the air was light despite the still-leafless trees, light and warm and full of promise. After about a half hour of walking, always looking straight ahead, never behind or to the side, they joined the others; some were women, and there were a couple of adolescent males like themselves. Most were ageless, different, perhaps, but essentially all the same in the eyes of their captors, who laughed and pushed them forward, ever forward. They walked. The group joined others, and more joined them until they were a mass, a great wave. Were there twenty, a hundred? No one took the time or had the inclination to count. Just forward, one step in front of the other, all silent, with brains that had long ago stopped thinking and hearts that, despite their desires, would not cease.
Ultimately, they reached a clearing, and with a stiff command and a prod, they stopped, nearly falling upon one another. Some of the older men, and a few women, sank to their knees; others fell in a heap, so sudden was the shift. And when they looked ahead, finally, at a sight that only a year ago would have made them cringe with terror, these men and women had only resignation in their eyes. They soon met others, this group all men who looked to be in their midthirties, with bruises lining their thin arms, giant holes in their shirts, their pants brown from dirt. Jacob guessed they were the ones who had escaped to the forest only weeks before he himself had left home. The men’s fingers were tightly clenching the handles of iron shovels and were striking the ground, bringing up piles of earth and setting them in mounds at the perimeter of a growing, massive hole.