the last night
1) THE LAST NIGHT1 (FROM CHARLOTTE GRAY) by SEBASTIAN FAULKS
André and his brother Jacob are two orphaned boys in France in the 1940s. They are waiting to be taken to a concentration camp.2
André was lying on the floor when a Jewish orderly came with postcards on which the deportees might write a final message3. He advised them to leave them at the station or throw them from the train as camp orders4 forbade access to the post. Two or three pencils that had survived the barracks search5 were passed round among the people in the room. Some wrote with sobbing passion, some with punctilious care6, as though their safety, or at least the way in which they were remembered7, depended upon their choice of words.
A woman came with a sandwich for each child to take on the journey. She also had a pail of water, round which they clustered, holding out sardine cans8 they passed from one to another. One of the older boys embraced her in his gratitude9, but the bucket was soon empty.10
When she was gone, there were only the small hours of the night to go through. André was lying on the straw, the soft bloom of his cheek laid, uncaring, in the dung11. Jacob’s limbs were intertwined with his for warmth.
The adults in the room sat slumped12 against the walls, wakeful and talking in lowered voices13. Somehow, the children were spared the last hours of the wait by their ability to fall asleep where they lay, to dream of other places14.
It was still the low part of the night when Hartmann and the head of another staircase came into the room with coffee. Many of the adults refused to drink because they knew it meant breakfast, and therefore the departure15. The children were at the deepest moments of their sleep.
Those who drank from the half dozen cups that circulated drank in silence16. Then there went through the room a sudden ripple, a quickening of muscle and nerve17 as a sound came to them from below: it was the noise of an engine — a familiar sound to many of them,
André and his brother Jacob are two orphaned boys in France in the 1940s. They are waiting to be taken to a concentration camp.2
André was lying on the floor when a Jewish orderly came with postcards on which the deportees might write a final message3. He advised them to leave them at the station or throw them from the train as camp orders4 forbade access to the post. Two or three pencils that had survived the barracks search5 were passed round among the people in the room. Some wrote with sobbing passion, some with punctilious care6, as though their safety, or at least the way in which they were remembered7, depended upon their choice of words.
A woman came with a sandwich for each child to take on the journey. She also had a pail of water, round which they clustered, holding out sardine cans8 they passed from one to another. One of the older boys embraced her in his gratitude9, but the bucket was soon empty.10
When she was gone, there were only the small hours of the night to go through. André was lying on the straw, the soft bloom of his cheek laid, uncaring, in the dung11. Jacob’s limbs were intertwined with his for warmth.
The adults in the room sat slumped12 against the walls, wakeful and talking in lowered voices13. Somehow, the children were spared the last hours of the wait by their ability to fall asleep where they lay, to dream of other places14.
It was still the low part of the night when Hartmann and the head of another staircase came into the room with coffee. Many of the adults refused to drink because they knew it meant breakfast, and therefore the departure15. The children were at the deepest moments of their sleep.
Those who drank from the half dozen cups that circulated drank in silence16. Then there went through the room a sudden ripple, a quickening of muscle and nerve17 as a sound came to them from below: it was the noise of an engine — a familiar sound to many of them,