The Shadowboxer (27 page)

Spangler did not have to be informed that the goods being unpacked had been culled from the possessions of that day's quota at the gas chambers. Thick wool socks, sweaters, shoes, underwear, a pair of suede gloves, half a packet of cigarettes and a fleece-lined jacket were among the items examined and appraised.

Bargaining began between Tolan, Der Gronck, and the suppliers. Values were finally established and agreed upon. Shaving soap, flour and sugar seemed most in demand by the Sonderkommando prisoners this particular night. The items were brought down from the cabinet shelves and pushed across to the liaison prisoners. Goods that were not paid for at the time were left on consignment with the cooks.

Individual negotiations between cook and supplier representative got under way. The prisoner opposite Tolan passed across a leather wallet. It was swollen with Reichsmarks. Der Gronck was examining a small cyanide capsule, the type that could fit under the tongue. Both items were considered windfall merchandise. That the SS had overlooked them in their initial search of the victims was the sheerest luck. Agreement was reached and the inventory recorded in the ledger.

The next group of traders represented the ramp Kommando, those inmates who greeted Birkenau's incoming trains, carried the new arrivals' baggage to the warehouse and sorted through the possessions under careful scrutiny by the SS. Two trains had arrived in the last five hours. The suppliers' merchandise included fresh fruit and vegetables, bags of fresh coffee, cakes and loaves of rich Rumanian bread. The fresh milk, eggs and butter were immediately locked away. The two pairs of fur-lined boots drew smiles from all. The most startling item was a side of fresh lamb; how the ramp Kommando had sneaked it past the SS no one could guess. Negotiations opened as with the Sonderkommando. A new commercial wrinkle was added—future contracts. Vassili had received an order from Bubel, one of his private clients, and had placed it with the ramp Kommando for filling. Now delivery was being made. Five fine lace-and-silk slips, five silk brassieres and five pairs of silk panties were pushed across to Spangler with three pairs of high-heeled leather shoes and six dolls. Payment was made in the official currency of the Bourse—bordello passes. Four passes to the officers' bordello and eight to the enlisted men's were handed to the ramp-Kommando suppliers.

The “special” supplier was last. A small prisoner with bifocals took a chair at the table, reached into a pocket and brought out two gold cigarette cases, a gold cigarette lighter and five pairs of gold-rimmed glasses. Tolan shook his head and pushed them back. The prisoner returned the items to his pocket, dug deeper and came out with a handful of ragged bits of gold filling. Again Tolan rejected the merchandise. The supplier emptied an inside pocket and handed across a small velvet pouch. Tolan untied the knot, and gems spilled over the table top. Bidding began. Ten SS-officers'-bordello passes and six loaves of bread were the final price. The “special” supplier was pleased. He reached into his trousers and spun his final item onto the table. Spangler watched as the round gold slug came to rest. It was almost two inches in diameter. Tolan burst into a broad smile. There was no haggling. The supplier demanded six passes to the Finishing School. It was paid immediately.

Then came the buyers. The first group came from the SS enlisted men's kitchen. They traded a pair of SS boots, a razor, half a bar of shaving soap, a quarter bottle of iodine and six passes to the enlisted men's bordello for Rumanian bread, four cakes and two sacks of coffee.

Security tightened. Truncheon-carrying subcooks lined the far wall. They were joined by six assistant cooks. Tolan and Der Gronck brought out their own pistols and laid them on their laps.

Anvil opened the door, and the room began to fill with Kapos representing black markets operating in other Birkenau compounds as well as in many of the subcamps. The auction began. Item after item was held up and bids were shouted in. There were arguments. Fights were stopped. A fleece-lined coat brought four officers'-bordello passes and two dry-cell batteries. A cake went for a stolen rifle with three clips of ammunition.

Bidding on the bottle brandy was interrupted by a piercing scream. Anvil had caught a Kapo stealing and had just pressed out one of the thief's eyes. Trading resumed and was soon at high pitch. The brandy brought two cans of petrol for a barracks stove, and a stick of scented shaving soap. Wool socks, sweaters and suede gloves were exchanged for a repaired Luger, three pages of a month-old Berlin newspaper, three more dry-cell batteries and a pillow slip. A tin of milk went for two sheets, a completed crossword puzzle, a pair of scissors and half a dozen detonating caps. Within fifteen minutes the table top was bare and the buyers began filing out.

The furniture was pushed back. Subcooks, apprentice cooks and slaves withdrew for bed. Coffee, brandy and cheese were brought out, and a single place was set at the far table.

Klempf entered the barracks and stood at the door. “You sent word?”

“Yes, Hauptsturmfuehrer,” Tolan said, standing to attention. “We think we have come across something of interest.”

“Show me.”

Tolan walked stiffly across and held out a leather wallet and the bag of gems.

Klempf studied the items, moved to the place which had been set at the table, seated himself, counted the marks in the wallet and carefully examined the jewels. “Quite extraordinary,” he finally admitted. “What are you asking?”

“Our own bordello, Hauptsturmfuehrer,” Tolan replied.

“You can place your whores in the camp bordello now. You're paid for them.”

“If you'll excuse me for saying so, Hauptsturmfuehrer, it is not quite the same thing.”

“Are you not provided with enough passes?”

“We would prefer our own establishment, Hauptsturmfuehrer.”

Klempf pondered as he fingered the stones. “Out of the question,” he finally concluded. “It would bring on complications. Other exchanges would want the same.”

“Other exchanges are not as wealthy as we, Hauptsturmfuehrer.”

“You are wealthy only because I
choose
for you to be wealthy!”

“Not to disagree, Hauptsturmfuehrer. We have grown wealthy since my arrival. I control the pick of the women, Hauptsturmfuehrer.”

“Then if you want to make extra money, open up that Finishing School of yours.”

“I doubt if that would please the
Obergruppenfuehrer
, Hauptsturmfuehrer.”

“You will have no private bordello,” Klempf stated emphatically. “Establish another price.”

“Exterior passes. Sixteen exterior passes.”

“No.”

“Then we can do no further business, Hauptsturmfuehrer,” Tolan said firmly. “The merchandise will have to be offered to the
Standartenfuehrer
.”

“Seventy-five bordello passes.”

“It is far too little, Hauptsturmfuehrer,” Tolan replied. “There is better than five thousand marks in the wallet alone.”

Klempf cut a slice of cheese and held it at knifepoint. “What about a radio?” he asked slowly. “Would a short-wave radio satisfy you?”

Tolan and Der Gronck tried to conceal their surprise.

Klempf barked out an order. An SS sergeant entered carrying a cumbersome apparatus.

“Do any of you know how to operate it?” Klempf asked.

Tolan and the other cooks looked at one another blankly and shook their heads. They turned to Spangler. He shrugged.

“Don't worry,” said Klempf “you'll find someone who does. I guarantee it's in working order. That bag contains extra parts and tubes. If I were you, I'd set it up in the secret room under the potato shed.”

Again Tolan and Der Gronck registered surprise. “Why are you doing this?” Tolan finally asked.

“Things are changing rapidly—as you'll find out from the radio. Who knows? In the near future it may be I who will be relying on you—and your secret organization. But be cautious,” Klempf said, picking up the wallet and the gems. “Special detachments of SS are moving into the area just beyond the camp. They'll be watching for trouble.”

He moved to the door. “I'll send over extra batteries tomorrow.”

A movement near his face woke Spangler. He rolled back against the wall. A massive hand was slowly groping over the top of the bunk. Spangler inched to the end of the bed and looked down into the contorted face of Vassili. The giant was on his knees, clutching one hand to his bandaged neck, flailing the other aimlessly in search of his adversary. Spangler grabbed the index finger of the massive hand and bent it sharply back. Vassili fell to the floor with a groan. Spangler went back to sleep.

45

The prisoners filed past the kitchen in the morning darkness, received their work rations, immediately re-formed in their respective labor Kommandos, picked up the chant as they stood marching in place and then, on command, tramped forward out of the compound to join the thousands of other prisoners high-stepping along the road.

Spangler followed Der Gronck back to the barracks. A tailor was waiting with a wooden box and a pile of cloths.

“First we get you a decent uniform,” Der Gronck told him, “and then I'll show you the routes.” He opened the center locker and started filling a sack. “Senior cooks own the routes, the trading areas. Or, I should say you, me and Anvil own them. Tolan isn't interested. He has the Finishing School—where they take the pretty young girls who are selected on the ramp. It's across in the Canada Compound.”

“Is it a bordello?” Spangler asked, standing naked as the tailor measured him.

“It
supplies
the bordellos. The girls go in there for six to eight days and then are either sent to various houses here or put on the train.” Der Gronck watched the tailor spread a woolen jacket on the table and begin cutting it apart at the seams. “A special railroad car comes once a week just to pick up the girls. You'll see for yourself, it's due in tonight or tomorrow.”

“What happens at the Finishing School?”

“No one is supposed to know or even ask. Only Tolan is allowed inside, not even Klempf. But Tolan has made certain exceptions—for money.”

“Have you been inside?”

Der Gronck broke into a jagged smile and watched the tailor baste the jacket back together.

“You're not answering,” Spangler said.

“It's better to find out about the Finishing School on your own.”

“Has it been here long?”

“That's a peculiar question.”

“How else am I going to find out about things?”

Der Gronck chuckled. “It's rumored the school didn't open until Tolan arrived.”

“I thought you were a veteran,” Spangler said as the tailor slipped the jacket on him and began marking it.

“I am. I've lasted longer than most. But sooner or later someone beats you and you're shipped away.”

“Did everyone become a cook by fighting?”

“Everyone but Tolan and Vassili. They
say
that Tolan and Vassili were the first cooks when the whole Process was conceived, but no one is sure. No one else has lasted longer than three weeks—and that's a ripe old age for most of us. If you want to stay around that long, you'd better kill Vassili.”

“Why?”

“Because he has the right to fight you again when he recovers—so why risk it? If he were in your shoes, he wouldn't give it a second thought.”

“How would the SS take my killing him?” Spangler slipped on a pair of trousers for the tailor.

“They
expect
it. Everyone expects it. That's how it is around here.”

“If I wait to fight him again, when would it be?”

“In about a week. They usually give you a week after your first fight. But since Vassili is in pretty bad shape, they may wait till he's strong enough to make an interesting contest.” Der Gronck watched Spangler step out of the trousers. “Klempf likes interesting contests.”

“What's Klempf's position?” Spangler asked.

“He's in charge of our line of compounds. He's also with Camp Security, the Birkenau secret intelligence agency. But he spends his time running the black markets. I think he owns most of them. He's a bad one. Stay clear of him. If he does manage to corner you, act afraid. He likes people to be frightened of him.”

“Tolan didn't act frightened.”

“Tolan's different. I don't think he can be replaced.”

“Why?”

“No one is certain. Some think because he's a red-triangle, a political prisoner. Others say it's the Finishing School—that he's needed here.”

“What do you think?”

“That he must be important to someone high up. I doubt if even Klempf can touch him. Tolan's the only prisoner that Klempf is cautious with. Klempf is powerful. If he's cautious, there has to be a good reason for it.”

“If Tolan is protected by someone, why does he have to fight?”

“He doesn't. He just likes to. And, after all, if he can't be replaced, what does he have to lose?” Der Gronck walked through the kitchen and into the dormitory. “Be back in a few minutes.”

The tailor's needle flew through the cloth. Jacket and trousers were chalked and fitted twice more. Then they were spread on the table and carefully striped with white paint. By the time Der Gronck returned, carrying a pair of jackboots, Spangler was dressed in his new attire. The suit had been converted into an SS tunic and breeches.

“What kind of triangle?” the tailor asked, reaching into his work kit and bringing out a thick, worn envelope.

“Green,” said Der Gronck.

“With authentic papers?”

“Yes.”

“That will be expensive.”

“How much?”

“A pass to the Finishing School.”

“You can have half a loaf of bread,” Der Gronck replied. The tailor reconsidered. “Six officers'-bordello passes and a jar of preserves.”