THE SELECTION
Hordes of frenetic men from all over the place swelled into great crowds and fled back and forth between the lines. The sadistic selection races were under way. Johan had seen his father losing ground, limping through the thick snow, falling back to the rear of the column. He had seen him. They had all seen him. Yet, he, Johan had obliviously continued to run out in front, letting the distance between them grow greater. Not only was it difficult for Johan’s father to keep up with this frenzied hustle, it was impossible not to notice the fixed stares he was receiving from the selection officer on the sideline. The German guard, with an assassin’s face, had already made his decision. When Johan had completed his selection run and turned around to search for his father, he was ashamed by what he saw. The tired eyes, veiled with despair, and that face, damp with tears and small remnants of frost. His father had quite simply given up on life and Johan had shown no sign of grief, no feeling of remorse, no last words of encouragement. He had inadvertently turned into a creature of human shape but stunted humanity. They had whispered later that night amongst themselves that Johan had sought this separation in order to rid himself of his father, his burden; the frail old man was an encumbrance which could lessen his own chances of survival.
Now that Johan’s father had succumbed to the hellish flames of the incinerator, he was without a family and seemingly without a soul. His limbs, numb with cold, despite the incessant labour, his throat parched, famished, breathless, on he went. What Johan kept living for was mystery to even himself.
THE PLAN
Today was the day. Light came through the cracked window, trickling morning all over the ominous room. As usual, Johan slept the sleep of the restless, the sleep of taunted memories, of cold, unspoken misery, of bitter winter. But most of all, intoxicated with sadness, he slept the morose sleep of broken youth. However, he was not to sleep for much longer.
Roused by the harsh sounds of the monotonous bell, Johan rose from his tattered bunk only to find his forehead bathed in cold sweat. Another morning. He had survived to see another day of destitution, another fleeting sunrise, another forgotten death. Over the dreary prison quarters the clear sky shone pale azure with the vast orb that was the sun, concealed and out of sight. Johan wandered outside and joined the long cue to receive his daily breakfast ration of tasteless, watered-down, black coffee. He looked awful. His nails where like talons, and the skin on his arms and legs, where the rags failed to cover his body, was peeling off in shreds.
All around him, the prisoners were noticeably more exhausted and edgy. Johan sipped his bland coffee, staring ahead at two anxious men who were in deep conversation.
‘… It is tonight, tell them all to meet after the guards have retreated to their quarters. Tell them to be swift, we do not have time to worry about the injured,’
Seeing Johan’s inquisitive gaze, the prisoner expressed a bitter scowl and added:
‘… the conceited or the cowardly.’
THE ESCAPE
As soon as night fell, Johan set out into the lonely darkness. He knew they were not expecting him. Since the death of his father, Johan’s fellow prisoners thought of him as a ghost, refusing to acknowledge his presence whenever he entered a room, and treating him as if he were the cause of their sorry condition. He did not care anymore. He was nothing – a nobody. Creeping silently through the black night that aided in disguising his feeble body, Johan’s mind was busy going over every last contingency that might arise and all sorts of new circumstances which could call for some sort of quick thinking and determination; sentiments which were all a blur to him now.
After reaching the barbed fence at the far end of the camp, Johan disappeared behind a guards’ waste shed and waited. The icy wind stung his withered face and made it almost impossible for him to remain still. Johan was experiencing a mixture of nervous irritation and controlled calm that often besets a man whose long awaited moment has come. Steadily, one by one they started to appear.
Once gathered, the fifteen or so members of the escape entourage exchanged brief glances of tense apprehension. Sensing a wave of unwanted scepticism, one prisoner murmured, “Alright men, come on, let’s get out of this hell hole.” Immediately the group stirred into movement, forming a silent hive of motion as they hurriedly tunnelled themselves through a tiny hole in the ground. The prisoners began to leave as they had come: like bare windswept shadows.
At that moment, from a short distance behind Johan, the booming voice of a German officer shouted. The words came from a faceless shape, approaching rapidly from the path that led to the guard’s quarters. “COME OUT YOU BASTARDS! COME OUT NOW AND YOUR DEATH SHALL BE SWIFT!” With not a second to lose, Johan had to make a decision. If he were to remain concealed, the six or so prisoners that hadn’t yet escaped would undoubtedly be shot dead, if not cruelly tortured. The voice of reason in Johan’s conscience urged him to self-preservation, to forget about the prisoners who had only ever shown him disdainful contempt, to turn away. But the voice of compassion was louder and Johan did not heed reason – instead he leapt to his feet and ran.
“GO! QUICK, GO NOW!” Sprinting past the bewildered remaining prisoners and heading in the direction of the faceless voice, Johan’s whole body and manner had been suddenly transformed. He had adopted the air of an unquestioning attacker and had allowed the adrenalin that pulsated through his delicate veins to engulf his entire body. The whole world was gliding past him – his lost hope, his charred past, his soon-to-be extinguished future. He ran as if he would never run again; straight into the face of death. Stopping himself in front of the prison officer, Johan struggled to catch his breath as he took a one last moment to gaze at the heavens. He inhaled a deep breath and smiled. Johan was whole again.
The snow continued to fall in thick flakes over his corpse.
