The Tattooist of Auschwitz(11)

‘Not really. I’d settle for one girl to love and spend the rest of my life with.’

?

It has been raining for days, but this morning the sun threatens to shine a little light on the bleak Birkenau compound as Lale and Pepan prepare their work area. They have two tables, bottles of ink, plenty of needles.

‘Get ready, Lale, here they come.’

Lale looks up and is stunned at the sight of dozens of young women being escorted their way. He knew there were girls in Auschwitz but not here, not in Birkenau, this hell of hells.

‘Something a bit different today, Lale – they’ve moved some girls from Auschwitz to here and some of them need their numbers redone.’

‘What?’

‘Their numbers, they were made with a stamp that was inefficient. We need to do them properly. No time to admire them, Lale – just do your job.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Do your job, Lale. Don’t say a word to any of them. Don’t do anything stupid.’

The row of young girls snakes back beyond his vision.

‘I can’t do this. Please, Pepan, we can’t do this.’

‘Yes, you can, Lale. You must. If you don’t, someone else will, and my saving you will have been for nothing. Just do the job, Lale.’ Pepan holds Lale’s stare. Dread settles deep in Lale’s bones. Pepan is right. He either follows the rules or risks death.

Lale starts ‘the job’. He tries not to look up. He reaches out to take the piece of paper being handed to him. He must transfer the numbers onto the girl who holds it. There is already a number there, but it has faded. He pushes the needle into her left arm, making a 3, trying to be gentle. Blood oozes. But the needle hasn’t gone deep enough and he has to trace the number again. She doesn’t flinch at the pain Lale knows he’s inflicting. They’ve been warned – say nothing, do nothing. He wipes away the blood and rubs green ink into the wound.

‘Hurry up!’ Pepan whispers.

Lale is taking too long. Tattooing the arms of men is one thing. Defiling the bodies of young girls is horrifying. Glancing up, Lale sees a man in a white coat slowly walking up the row of girls. Every now and then the man stops to inspect the face and body of a terrified young woman. Eventually he reaches Lale. While Lale holds the arm of the girl in front of him as gently as he can, the man takes her face in his hand and turns it roughly this way and that. Lale looks up into the frightened eyes. Her lips move in readiness to speak. He squeezes her arm tightly to stop her. She looks at him and he mouths, ‘Shh.’ The man in the white coat releases her face and walks away.

‘Well done,’ he whispers as he sets about tattooing the remaining four digits – 4 9 0 2. When he has finished, he holds on to her arm for a moment longer than necessary, looking again into her eyes. He forces a small smile. She returns a smaller one. Her eyes, however, dance before him. Looking into them, his heart seems simultaneously to stop and begin beating for the first time, pounding, threatening to burst out of his chest. He looks down at the ground and it sways beneath him. Another piece of paper is thrust at him.

‘Hurry up, Lale!’ Pepan whispers urgently.

When he looks up again she is gone.

?

Several weeks later Lale reports for work as usual. His table and equipment are already laid out and he looks around anxiously for Pepan. Lots of men are heading his way. He is startled by the approach of Oberscharführer Houstek, accompanied by a young SS officer. Lale bows his head and remembers Pepan’s words: ‘Do not underestimate him.’

‘You will be working alone today,’ Houstek mumbles.

As Houstek turns to walk away, Lale asks quietly, ‘Where is Pepan?’

Houstek stops, turns and glares back at him. Lale’s heart skips a beat.

‘You are the T?towierer now.’ Houstek turns to the SS officer. ‘And you are responsible for him.’

As Houstek walks away, the SS officer puts his rifle to his shoulder and points it at Lale. Lale returns his stare, looking into the black eyes of a scrawny kid wearing a cruel smirk. Eventually Lale drops his gaze. Pepan, you said this job might help save my life. But what has happened to you?

‘It seems my fate is in your hands,’ snarls the officer. ‘What do you think about that?’

‘I’ll try not to let you down.’

‘Try? You’ll do better than try. You will not let me down.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What block are you in?’

‘Number seven.’

‘When you’re finished here, I’ll show you to your room in one of the new blocks. You’ll stay there from now on.’

‘I’m happy in my block, sir.’

‘Don’t be stupid. You’ll need protection now that you’re the T?towierer. You now work for the Political Wing of the SS – shit, maybe I should be scared of you.’ There is the smirk again.

Having survived this round of questioning, Lale pushes his luck.

‘The process will go much faster, you know, if I have an assistant.’

The SS officer takes a step closer to Lale, looking him up and down with contempt.

‘What?’

‘If you get someone to help me, the process will go faster and your boss will be happy.’

As if instructed by Houstek, the officer turns away and walks down the line of young men waiting to be numbered, all of whom, bar one, have their heads bowed. Lale fears for the one staring back at the officer and is surprised when he is dragged by the arm and marched up to Lale.