WRITERS ABROAD MAGAZINE : THE THIRD SPACE
Meanwhile , the Captain reads out a list of names , as he does most nights . ‘ Warsteiner , Schmidt , Schindler .’ Three men shuffle forward . Fear fills the eyes of all the remaining Jews . Deportation to Drancy is dreaded – a venture into the unknown . No word comes back , but rumours of evil abound . ‘ Cruz .’ No-one moves . The Captain ’ s voice rises . ‘ Cruz Joaquim !’ ‘ There must be some mistake ,’ Joaquim cries out . ‘ I am not a Jew .’ The Captain cannot conceal his look of victory . ‘ Joaquim is a Hebrew name .’ ‘ But it ’ s also Spanish ,’ he begins , ‘ and …’ He breaks off as out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of Angelica at the front of the straggling crowd , hobbling exhausted into the Camp . She stretches her neck and peers around . A flame leaps in his chest as their eyes meet . The world stops . They are back in Valencia in a tight embrace . His heart is set to explode .
His elation is short , as reality overwhelms him . This filthy , godforsaken place is no place for her . He should have insisted she lie low until the civil war is over . She stumbles and hauls herself up again . He catches his breath at the flicker of pain crossing her face .
Joaquim dashes towards her , remembering his own blistered feet on the long march to France , the constant fear shadowing him – of being captured , tortured or shot . His stride lengthens .
He ’ s almost there when the Captain ’ s hand grips his shoulder . Two guards grab him and force him – wriggling and shouting – into the truck heading for the station where the night train to Drancy waits . The rear door is slammed shut in his face .
‘ It ’ s all a terrible mistake ,’ he repeats a thousand times to his sentiment-weary companions . ‘ Joaquim is a Catalan name . I ’ m not a Jew .’ Tears stream down his cheeks . His fellow passengers shrug and turn away . He bangs his fists on the door , rattling the lock . His nails tear against the metal . Blood seeps from his fingertips . He slumps to the floor . Has he lost Angelica forever ?
Bumping their way to the station , he closes his eyes . He can smell the lavender soap fresh on her skin after her bath , feel the soft down of hair on her arms , the luxuriance of her hair . His shriek of despair draws only stares . Eyes vacant .
At the station , they are transferred – under heavy guard – into a windowless freight wagon , squashed together like turkey meat for Christmas . The door is forced shut and bolted . Joaquim inches as close to the side as possible until he can see the lock through a crack . He searches wildly for some tool to force it . His pockets are empty .
As the train rumbles off , an agonised moan escapes his throat . Seconds later – with a jolt – the train stops and the door slides open again . Someone else is thrust into the overcrowded wagon . Joaquim shoves hard to show there is no room , but the new arrival pushes against him without apology . Cursing , he looks down and glimpses a small pair of gloved hands touching his knee . This is not a man . Dare he hope ? This is Angelica dressed as one .
The door rolls shut again , the bolt drawn across . Hands shaking , Joaquim lifts back the hood of the new arrival ’ s coat , his eyes accustoming themselves to the dark . Angelica stares back at him , eyes round with fear , a finger pressed to her lips .
20 | MAY 2017