The Tattooist of Auschwitz(21)

He staggers to his feet. ‘I was feeling sick, but I’m OK now.’

‘Maybe you should see a doctor. You know we have several at Auschwitz.’

‘No, thanks, I’d rather ask you to shoot me.’

Baretski withdraws his pistol from its holster. ‘If this is where you want to die, T?towierer, I would be happy to oblige.’

‘I’m sure you would, but not today,’ Lale says. ‘I take it we’ve got work to do?’

Baretski holsters his gun. ‘Auschwitz,’ he says, as he begins walking. ‘And take that blanket back to where you found it. You look ridiculous.’

?

Lale and Leon spend the morning at Auschwitz, tattooing numbers on frightened newcomers and attempting to soften the shock of it. But Lale’s mind is on Gita and several times he presses too hard.

In the afternoon, when the job is finished, Lale half walks, half runs back to Birkenau. He meets Dana near the entrance to Block 29 and gives her all his rations from breakfast.

‘We made a bed for her out of clothing,’ Dana says as she folds the food into makeshift shirt cuffs, ‘and we fed her water from pieces of snow. We took her back to the block this afternoon, but she’s still in a really bad way.’

Lale squeezes Dana’s hand. ‘Thank you. Try and get some food into her. I’ll have medicine tomorrow.’

He departs, his mind a whirlpool. I barely know Gita, yet how can I live if she does not?

That night, sleep evades him.

The next morning, Victor places medicine, along with food, into Lale’s bag.

That afternoon, he is able to get it to Dana.

?

In the evening, Dana and Ivana sit beside a now fully unconscious Gita. The pull of typhus is stronger than they are; the black stillness has completely overtaken her. They talk to her but she gives no sign that she hears them. From a small vial, Dana places several drops of liquid into Gita’s mouth as Ivana holds it open.

‘I don’t think I can keep carrying her to the Canada,’ an exhausted Ivana says.

‘She will get better,’ Dana insists. ‘Just a few more days.’

‘Where did Lale get the medicine from?’

‘We don’t need to know. Just be grateful that he did.’

‘Do you think it’s too late?’

‘I don’t know, Ivana. Let’s just hold her tight and get her through the night.’

?

The next morning, Lale watches from a distance as Gita is once again carried towards the Canada. He sees her attempt to raise her head on a couple of occasions, and is overjoyed at the sight. He now needs to seek out Baretski.

The main SS officers’ quarters are at Auschwitz. There is just a small building for them at Birkenau, and it is there that Lale goes in the hope of catching Baretski as he is coming or going. He appears after several hours, and seems surprised to see Lale waiting for him.

‘Not enough work for you, eh?’ Baretski asks.

‘I have a favour to ask,’ Lale blurts out.

Baretski narrows his eyes. ‘I won’t do any more favours.’

‘Maybe one day I can do something for you.’

Baretski laughs. ‘What could you possibly do for me?’

‘You never know, but wouldn’t you like to bank a favour, just in case?’

Baretski sighs. ‘What do you want?’

‘It’s Gita …’

‘Your girlfriend.’

‘Can you get her transferred from the Canada into the administration building?’

‘Why? I suppose you want her where there’s heating?’

‘Yes.’

Baretski taps a foot. ‘It might take me a day or two, but I’ll see what I can do. No promises.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You owe me, T?towierer.’ The smirk is back as he fondles his swagger stick. ‘You owe me.’

With more bravado than he feels, Lale says, ‘Not yet I don’t, but I hope to.’ He walks away, a small spring in his step. Perhaps he can make Gita’s life a little more bearable.

?

The following Sunday, Lale walks slowly alongside a recovering Gita. He wants to put his arm around her like he saw Dana and Ivana do, but he daren’t. It is good enough to be near her. It doesn’t take long for her to be exhausted, and it is too cold to sit. She wears a long woollen coat, no doubt something the girls have appropriated from the Canada with no objection from the SS. It has deep pockets and Lale fills them with food before he sends her back to her block to rest.

?

The following morning, a trembling Gita is escorted into the main administration building by an SS officer. The young woman has been told nothing and she automatically fears the worst. She has been sick and now she is weak – clearly the authorities have decided she is no longer of use. As the officer speaks to a more senior colleague, Gita looks around the large room. It is filled with drab green desks and filing cabinets. Nothing is out of place. What strikes her most is the warmth. The SS work here too, so of course there is heating. A mixture of female prisoners and female civilians work quickly and quietly, writing, filing, heads down.

The escorting officer directs Gita towards her colleague, and Gita stumbles, still suffering the after-effects of the typhus. The colleague breaks her fall before roughly shoving her away. She then grabs Gita’s arm and inspects her tattoo before dragging her towards an empty desk and shoving her down on a hard wooden chair, next to another prisoner dressed just like her. The girl doesn’t look up, only tries to make herself smaller, unobtrusive, so as to be ignored by the officer.