The Tattooist of Auschwitz(22)

‘Put her to work,’ the grumpy officer barks.

Once they’re alone, the girl shows Gita a long list of names and details. She hands her a pile of cards and indicates that she is to transcribe the details of each person first onto a card and then into a large leather-bound book between them. No words are spoken, and a quick glance around the room tells Gita to keep her mouth shut too.

Later that day, Gita hears a familiar voice and looks up. Lale has entered the room and is handing papers to one of the civilian girls working on the front desk. Finishing his conversation, he slowly scans all the faces. As his glance passes Gita, he winks. She can’t help herself – she gasps, and a few women turn to look at her. The girl beside her nudges her in the ribs as Lale hurries from the room.

?

With the day’s work ended, Gita sees Lale standing a distance away, watching the girls leave the administration building for their blocks. The heavy SS presence prevents him from approaching. As the girls walk together, they talk.

‘I’m Cilka,’ Gita’s new colleague says. ‘I’m in Block 25.’

‘I’m Gita, Block 29.’

As the girls enter the women’s camp, Dana and Ivana rush to Gita. ‘Are you all right? Where did they take you? Why did they take you?’ Dana demands, fear and relief on her face.

‘I’m OK. They took me to work in the administration office.’

‘How … ?’ Ivana asks.

‘Lale. I think he somehow arranged it.’

‘But you’re all right. They didn’t hurt you?’

‘I’m fine. This is Cilka. I’m working with her.’

Dana and Ivana greet Cilka with a hug. Gita smiles, happy that her friends are so immediately accepting of another girl in their midst. All afternoon she had worried how they would react to her now working in relative comfort, without having to deal with the cold or any physical effort. She could hardly blame them if they were jealous of her new role and felt she was no longer one of them.

‘I’d better go to my block,’ says Cilka. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Gita.’

Cilka walks off and Ivana watches her go. ‘Gosh, she’s pretty. Even dressed in rags she’s beautiful.’

‘Yes, she is. She’s been throwing me little smiles all day, just enough to reassure me. Her beauty goes beyond the surface.’

Cilka turns back and smiles at the three of them. Then, with one hand, she removes the scarf from her head and waves it to them, revealing long dark hair cascading down her back. She moves with the grace of a swan, a young woman unaware of her own beauty and seemingly untouched by the horror around her.

‘You must ask her how she has kept her hair,’ Ivana says, scratching absently at her own headscarf.

Gita pulls her own scarf from her head and runs her hand over her short spiky stubble, knowing all too well that it will soon be removed again, shaved back to her scalp. Her smile disappears briefly. Then she replaces her scarf, links arms with Dana and Ivana and they walk towards the meal cart.





Chapter 8


Lale and Leon have been working round the clock as the Germans storm every city, town and village and empty them of Jews; those from France, Belgium, Yugoslavia, Italy, Moravia, Greece and Norway join prisoners already taken from Germany, Austria, Poland and Slovakia. At Auschwitz they tattoo those unfortunate enough to be selected by the ‘medical team’ there. Those designated to work are brought in trains to Birkenau, which saves Lale and Leon a round-trip walk of eight kilometres. But with this many new arrivals Lale is unable to collect the loot from the girls in the Canada, and Victor’s treats go back home with him each day. Once in a while, when the numbers are dwindling and the time of day is right, Lale begs off for a toilet break and makes it to the Canada. The hoard of gems, jewellery and currency under his mattress increases.

Day has become night and still men line up to be numbered for life, be it short or long. Lale works robotically, reaching for the paper, taking the offered arm, numbering. ‘Move on.’ ‘Next please.’ He knew he was tired, but the next arm is so heavy that he drops it. A giant of a man stands before him, all chest and thick neck and massive limbs.

‘I’m very hungry,’ whispers the man.

Lale then does something he has never done. ‘What’s your name?’ he asks.

‘Jakub.’

Lale sets about tattooing Jakub’s number. When finished, he looks around and observes that the SS guarding them are tired and paying little attention to what is going on. Lale ushers Jakub behind him, into the shadows where the floodlights do not reach.

‘Wait there until I’m finished.’

The last prisoner having been numbered, Lale and Leon gather up their tools and table. Lale waves goodbye to Leon, and apologises that he has again missed his evening meal, promising to bring him something from his stash tomorrow morning. Or is it this morning? With Jakub still hidden, Lale stalls, making sure all the SS have moved on. Finally there is no one around. A quick glance at the tower posts reveals no one looking their way. He instructs Jakub to follow him and they hurry to Lale’s room. Lale closes the door behind them and Jakub sits down on Lale’s bed. Lale lifts one corner of the sunken mattress to produce some bread and sausage. He offers it to the man, and Jakub makes short work of it.

When he has finished eating, Lale asks, ‘Where are you from?’