Among the Living Read Online Free Page B

to numb himself to this. “This is a hot room. I leave the drapes closed when I’m not here. Very simple.”
    Jesler seemed momentarily at a loss.
    Goldah added, “And you’ve given me a blotter and pen on the desk. How very kind.”
    The silence was worse than the heat until Jesler said, “A Montblanc. If you want to do some writing. And that’s another lamp.” He turned it on. “Plenty of light even if you keep the curtains closed.” He pointed to the bureau where a porcelain basin sat with a cloth draped across it. “A damp towel at night can do wonders. Mary Royal changes the water every day.” He tried to find something else in the room to talk about but found only Pearl. Her eyes had glazed over.
    “Well,” said Jesler, “we’ll leave you to it then. Have a little lie-down or just take it easy.” He gently took Pearl by the arm. “Come on, honey. I’ll help you with the …” He lost the thought. “Got to have something they need me for in that kitchen, don’t they, Yitzhak?” He caught himself. “Ike. I mean Ike. Ike Goldah. I’m the one who came up with it, and here I am … Anyway. Okay then.”
    Jesler moved Pearl to the door. As they passed, she placed a hand on Goldah’s arm and Jesler let her stand there.
    “She’ll be fine,” said Jesler. “It just comes over her sometimes. I’ll call you when it’s time to come down. Maybe we’llhave a little talk.” He turned to Pearl and said quietly, “All right, honey. Ike’s here and we couldn’t be happier.”
    Jesler led her out of the room and pulled the door closed behind them.
    Goldah waited until he heard them on the steps and then turned off the lamps. He pressed his palms down onto the bed. The mattress was thick and gave with the springs. He sat down and placed his hand on the pillow. It was cool and crisp, and he leaned his shoulder down until his cheek was resting on it. The cloth creased against his skin and, keeping his shoes on, he brought his feet up, drew his knees into his chest and placed his hands under the pillow. He stared across at the fan and tried to feel its air blow over him.
    He would lie like this, he thought, with a solitude he could barely recall, and know it would ask more of him than he could ever give.

    Goldah dreams, the same dream he has had for the past three years.
    It never varies, the sound of a train whistle, then another, then the first again, and his brother is sitting across from him. They are at a table under a tree, water nearby, and a small glade where Goldah remembers holding a girl by the arms for the first time. A kiss, the redness in her face, the heat in his. Others sit beyond them, eating and laughing and listening to him tell of the hunger and the filth and the beatings from the Kapos. A wonderful feeling to be at home at last, with so many he knows and with so much to tell. And Goldah speaks and they listen until they are no longer listening because they have turned away to talk among themselves — words he cannot fully hear, things he cannot understand — and his brotherlooks at him as if he does not know him. His brother stands to go and Goldah is left to sit and to watch and to feel the heat through the leaves, and he wonders if he has ever left the camp except in this dream.
    He remembers the first time he recounted it to Pasco, an Italian Jew, small, who shared the wooden bunk with him and who spoke German. Pasco who taught him the most important thing — that shoes are life, that shoes are food, that swollen feet are only for the dead — and who explained that they all have this dream. All? Yes all. The exact same? Exact — what is exact? There is family and friends and listening and then no more listening, and grief because they have forgotten you or never knew you at all. That is enough. And when Goldah asks how it is that so many different minds can find this one dream, Pasco says it is a kind of gift, something owned and hidden away in the night where not even a Kapo