The Tattooist of Auschwitz(10)

A shot rings out. Men flinch. Someone falls. Lale looks in the direction of the shot, only for Pepan to grab his face and twist his head away.

A group of SS, mostly young, walk towards Pepan and Lale, guarding an older SS officer. Mid-to late forties, straight-backed in his immaculate uniform, his cap sitting precisely on his head – a perfect mannequin, thinks Lale, like those he occasionally helped dress when he worked in the department store in Bratislava.

The SS stop in front of them. Pepan steps forward, acknowledging the officer with a bowed head as Lale watches.

‘Oberscharführer Houstek, I have enlisted this prisoner to help.’ Pepan indicates Lale standing behind him.

Houstek turns to Lale.

Pepan continues. ‘I believe he will learn fast.’

Houstek, steely-eyed, glares at Lale before wagging a finger for him to step forward. Lale does so.

‘What languages do you speak?’

‘Slovakian, German, Russian, French, Hungarian and a little Polish,’ Lale answers, looking him in the eye.

‘Humph.’ Houstek walks away.

Lale leans over and whispers to Pepan, ‘A man of few words. I take it I got the job?’

Pepan turns on Lale, fire in his eyes and his voice, though he speaks quietly. ‘Do not underestimate him. Lose your bravado, or you will lose your life. Next time you talk to him, do not raise your eyes above the level of his boots.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Lale says. ‘I won’t.’

When will I learn?





Chapter 3


June 1942


Lale is slowly waking, holding onto a dream that has put a smile on his face. Stay, stay, let me stay here just a moment longer, please …

While Lale likes meeting all kinds of people, he particularly likes meeting women. He thinks them all beautiful, regardless of their age, their appearance, how they are dressed. The highlight of his daily routine is walking through the women’s department where he works. That’s when he flirts with the young and not so young women who work behind the counter.

Lale hears the main doors to the department store open. He looks up and a woman hurries inside. Behind her, two Slovakian soldiers stand in the doorway and don’t follow her in. He hurries over to her with a reassuring smile. ‘You’re OK,’ he says. ‘You’re safe here with me.’ She accepts his hand and he leads her towards a counter full of extravagant bottles of perfume. Looking at several, he settles on one and holds it towards her. She turns her neck in a playful manner. Lale softly sprays first one side of her neck and then the other. Their eyes meet as her head turns. Both wrists are held out, and each receives their reward. She brings one wrist to her nose, closes her eyes and sniffs lightly. The same wrist is offered to Lale. Gently holding her hand, he brings it close to his face as he bends and inhales the intoxicating mix of perfume and youth.

‘Yes. That’s the one for you,’ Lale says.

‘I’ll take it.’

Lale hands the bottle over to the waiting shop assistant, who begins to wrap it.

‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ he says.

Faces flash before him, smiling young women dance around him, happy, living life to the fullest. Lale holds the arm of the young lady he met in the women’s department. His dream seems to rush ahead. Lale and the lady walk into an exquisite restaurant, dimly lit by minimal wall sconces. A flickering candle on each table holds down heavy Jacquard tablecloths. Expensive jewellery projects colours onto the walls. The noise of silver cutlery on fine china is softened by the dulcet sounds of the string quartet silhouetted in one corner. The concierge greets him warmly as he takes the coat from Lale’s companion and steers them towards a table. As they sit, the ma?tre d’ shows Lale a bottle of wine. Without taking his eyes from his companion, he nods and the bottle is uncorked and poured. Both Lale and the lady feel for their glass. Their eyes still locked, they raise their hands and sip. Lale’s dream jumps forward again. He is close to waking up. No. Now he is rifling through his wardrobe, selecting a suit, a shirt, considering and rejecting ties until he finds the right one and attaches it perfectly. He slides polished shoes onto his feet. From the bedside table he pockets his keys and wallet before bending down and pushing a wayward strand of hair from the face of his sleeping companion, and lightly kissing her on the forehead. She stirs and smiles. In a husky voice she says, ‘Tonight …’

?

Gunshots outside catapult Lale into wakefulness. He is jostled by his bunkmates as they look for the threat. With the memory of her warm body still lingering, Lale rises slowly and is the last to line up for rollcall. He is nudged by the prisoner beside him when he fails to respond to his number being called.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing … Everything. This place.’

‘It’s the same as it was yesterday. And it will be the same tomorrow. You taught me that. What’s changed for you?’

‘You’re right – same, same. It’s just that, well, I had a dream about a girl I once knew, in another lifetime.’

‘What was her name?’

‘I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter.’

‘You weren’t in love with her then?’

‘I loved them all, but somehow none of them ever captured my heart. Does that make sense?’