Camp 30 (15 page)

“That is so kind of you.”

Jack offered the paper but pulled it back. “But why don't they let you have newspapers?”

Otto shook his head. “I really do not understand. The paper is censored, so it does not seem to matter. It is not
as though there are secrets. Most of the men would just like to know who won at hockey—many of the men have become fans of the game, very exciting. Others like to do the crossword puzzle—it helps with English lessons.”

“I guess there's no harm in you having a paper,” Jack said. He offered the paper again and Otto took it. “They don't always have the Toronto paper, but I can get you the
Bowmanville Bugle
if you want.”

“Any paper would be good. And those other items— silly, I know—but if you could bring them in…?”

“We can bring some of them for sure,” I offered.

“Yeah, we can try,” Jack confirmed.

“Maybe we should go and get that ice cream now,” Otto suggested.

I wasn't about to turn down ice cream, even if it did feel a bit creepy now, knowing that Otto was just using us to get what he needed for the escape. It was harder to feel friendly toward him, easier to remember that he and the others were our enemies in this war.

“We'd better get home,” Jack said. We have to cut the lawn before supper.”

“But we just cut it a few days ago,” I said.

“And it's growing fast so we have to do it again.” “I didn't know.”

“Now you do.” Jack got up and I followed him.

“See you tomorrow,” I said.

I trailed Jack out of the building.

“You really are stupid,” Jack said to me.

“What are you talking about?”

“First off, don't mention Whitby ever again, understand?”

I nodded.

“And second, if I say the lawn needs to be cut then just agree with me.”

“I just didn't know it had to be cut.”

“It doesn't,” Jack said. “We needed to get home as soon as possible is all. We have to talk to Bill about all those things that Otto wants.”

“Those things didn't make any sense. Why would he want a dry-cleaning ticket?” I asked.

“I don't know, but Bill will, and that's what I want to find out.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IT WAS STRANGE
being at the camp at night. It wasn't that it was dark—the lights on the fence kept the compound brightly lit—but it was … different.

Jack and I walked up to the gate.

“Coming for the show, are we?” Smitty asked.

“I hope it'll be good,” I said.

“I 'eard the last one was a sight to behold,” he told us. “Everyone's makin' a big to-do about it. Lots of important folk are 'ere.”

“They are?” I asked.

“Colonel Armstrong, a few high mucky-mucks and the mayor of Bowmanville—they're all inside already.”

“We're not late, are we?” I asked. “The ticket says it starts at eight and it's not even seven-thirty yet.”

“It's four minutes
after
that, and I know that one for a fact 'cause my relief is late again and I'm supposed to be 'eading 'ome for me supper!”

“Maybe you should stick around and see the play,” I suggested.

Smitty started to open the gate. “I 'ave no need to see a bunch of Germans speaking old English, and butchering it to boot, prancing around up on no stage! 'Sides, them prisoners stays on their side of the fence and I stays on my side of the fence and everybody is 'appy.”

“Enjoy your supper,” I said.

We were let in through the second gate and proceeded across the compound. There wasn't much activity, but the prisoners we saw were in their dress uniforms, and their boots were shined. We exchanged greetings—a few words, nods of the head or waves—with those that we knew.

“I'm not sure I'm going to enjoy this,” I said to Jack. “I'd rather just go to the movies and see a Western than some play.”

“You and me both,” Jack agreed.

“But I thought you really wanted to come tonight.”

“Not to see the play,” he said.

“Jack, we're not going to do anything stupid … right?”

 “I never do anything stupid— Hey, there's Otto.”

Otto was standing at the entrance to the hall where the play was being performed. He was standing beside the field marshal, and as prisoners went in they saluted the two men. They were both in their dress uniforms, all sorts of medals and decorations plastered across their chests.

“Hello, Captain Kretschmer,” I said. It didn't seem right to call him Otto when he was dressed up and wearing all those medals.

“Good evening, boys. And where is your dear mother?”

“She couldn't come,” I said. “She wasn't feeling good.”

“Hopefully nothing too serious,” he said. He sounded concerned.

“It's a headache. She gets them sometimes,” Jack explained.

“But she takes this medicine and it knocks her right out,” I added. “She's dead to the world for the night, and when she wakes up she feels better.”

“She's probably asleep right now,” Jack said. “She won't even wake up when we get home.”

“Hopefully she will be having pleasant dreams. Let me walk you to the door.”

He said something in German to the field marshal and guided us up the stairs.

“I am so glad you could come tonight,” he said.

“We're glad we could be here,” I replied.

He opened the door. “I have always enjoyed our times together.” He paused. “Now I must return to welcome guests. I am afraid that the best seats are already taken.”

“We'll find something,” I said.

There was a soldier just inside the door and he asked for our tickets. The tickets were modelled after one—
ripped in two—that we had given Otto, telling him it was from a play we'd seen two years ago. We had, of course, gotten the torn ticket from Bill.

We'd also given him some postcards, and cancelled stamps, and a number of newspapers, and those dry-cleaning tickets. Every time we brought something in I'd sweat my way through the gates. Jack tried to convince me we really had nothing to worry about because, in the first place, nobody ever searched us, and second, what could they say even if they found the dry-cleaning ticket in my pocket? I knew what he said made sense, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach had nothing to do with logic.

Bill had explained to us the significance of the different objects we were bringing in. Most were items that an escaped prisoner could show to military police if he were stopped, to “prove” that he was just a regular guy with a history on the outside.

We moved into the hall. It was crowded, packed with folding chairs arranged in rows. Most of the seats in the centre were already filled. Off to one side, near the front, we saw Colonel Armstrong, along with three other uniformed officers we didn't know and three men in suits—probably one of them was the mayor.

“Did you hear what he said?” Jack asked quietly.

“Otto?”

“Of course. Did you hear what he said?”

“That he was glad to see us but all the good seats are taken—”

“Not that!” Jack muttered. He motioned for me to follow him into a corner away from the crowds.

“He said he always enjoyed his time with us.”

“Yeah? So he likes being around us. I like being around him, too.”

“He didn't say
enjoys,
he said
enjoyed
… like in the past, like it was over, like he wouldn't be spending any more time with us,” Jack explained. “Don't you see?”

I shook my head. “He probably just got the two words confused in English.”

“He speaks English better than we do. I just wonder if something is going to happen.”

“Tonight?” I asked.

“Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow before roll call,”

Jack said.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm not sure. If I was, we'd get out of here and contact Bill.”

“Then what
should
we do?”

“We stay and watch.”

That sounded reasonable. I was afraid he was going to suggest something risky.

“How about if we sit there?” I suggested to Jack, pointing to two seats in the centre about halfway back.

“How about if we sit right here?” He pointed to two solitary seats off at the back by themselves. They were directly in front of a curtain that blocked the light coming from a side exit.

“But that's a lot farther away. We won't be able to see as well from there.”

“That's where you're wrong. We'll see even more from there than we ever would from the middle rows.”

I didn't agree, but I didn't feel like fighting. Especially since I really didn't care whether or not I saw the play. After all, maybe Shakespeare sounded better the farther away you got. We settled into our seats. Quickly the other seats started to fill.

“Look at the orchestra,” Jack said.

There were close to fifty musicians—the prisoners' symphony orchestra—all together in front of the stage.

“Do you see who's playing the trumpet?” Jack asked.

“There are three trumpets and … it's the accordion player!”

“Keep it down!” Jack whispered.

“I hope he plays the trumpet better than he plays the accordion.”

“I don't care how he plays. The important thing is that if he's here, he can't be sitting outside House Four,” Jack said.

Dozens of times over the past few weeks we'd seen him sitting outside that house, playing the accordion.

There was something going on—we were sure of that— but something we couldn't put our finger on.

The hall continued to fill until every seat was taken and the balcony, where everybody was standing, was filled to overflowing. Below the stage was where the orchestra was set up and the musicians were tuning their instruments. It was a funny combination of racing scales, melodies and disjointed notes. It was somewhere between music and mayhem as the different chords and notes sounded out.

“How much longer before they start?” I asked over the din.

He looked at his watch. “It's one minute before eight, so count on it beginning in one minute. You know how the Germans are about being punctual.”

I did know. I got the feeling they'd rather be on time and wrong than late and right.

“Looks like everybody in the whole camp is in here,” I said.

Jack leaned close to me. “That's what I'm hoping for.” “What do you—?”

Suddenly the lights went out and the audience noise hushed. There was complete silence, like everybody was holding their breath at once. The orchestra jumped into the void and the music swept through the darkness. Up front the curtain opened. A lone figure walked onto the stage and the audience began to clap.

Jack tugged me by the arm to get my attention. He then slipped out of his seat and dropped to the floor, crawling away into the darkness and disappearing through the curtain covering the exit. Anxiously I looked around. None of the few faces I could see were looking in our direction. Nobody had noticed. I dropped to my knees and crawled off for the curtain after him. The darkness was both disconcerting and reassuring. I flattened myself against the floor to push through the curtain, hoping it wouldn't even flutter as I passed by.

There was more light—it was still dark, but not pitch-black. Now Jack was standing at the bottom of a short set of stairs. Behind him was a door, and light was flowing in through the glass at the top. Silently I made my way down.

“This isn't smart,” I said. “We shouldn't be doing this.”

“
We
don't have to. I'm going to check out House Four, but it's probably better if I go by myself.”

“How do you figure that?” I asked.

“One person can move faster than two. Besides, if somebody notices I'm gone you can make an excuse for me.”

“What sort of an excuse?”

“Tell them I had to go to the bathroom, or I was feeling sick, or how Shakespeare bores me. The last one wouldn't even be a lie.”

“I don't want to be in there by myself,” I said reluctantly.

“Then just come with me. Nobody is going to notice anything until intermission and we can be back by then if we leave now. Are you coming or what?”

I knew the smart thing to do. I also knew I wasn't going to do it.

“I'm coming.”

Jack put his shoulder against the door and it groaned loudly. I practically jumped out of my skin. He opened the door just enough to get through. I squeezed through after him. Jack bent down, picked up a stone and put it in the door jamb so the door was held slightly ajar.

I looked around the compound. We were partially hidden in the shadows of the building and protected by some bushes. I didn't see anybody. A ring of lights clearly marked the fences, and within the compound, like spokes on a bike, the paths linking the buildings were illuminated. We'd have to avoid the fences and the paths.

Jack moved around the auditorium. We couldn't risk going anywhere near the front. We'd have to make a wide circle that would take us past the playing field and behind the dining hall. Not everybody was going to be in the theatre, but it was a pretty safe bet they wouldn't be at either of those locations at this time of night.

We skipped across a path and ran onto the playing field. It was dark and empty. The fence and three different guard towers were clearly visible from where we were, but there was no way the guards could see us—at least, I
was almost certain we were invisible. And anyway, if they did see us, what would they care? People were allowed inside the compound. The eyes of the guards would be focused where their lights were aimed—on the fence and the gate. That was a little reassuring.

We left the field and darted across another path, stopping when the shadows of the dining hall hid us. We were now only two buildings away from our objective: House Four. Jack started around the building in one direction and then skidded to a stop.