The Tattooist of Auschwitz(25)
Cilka tries to resist as she is dragged down a long corridor to an unknown part of the building. She is no match for the two men who, on stopping at a closed door, open it and literally throw her inside. Cilka picks herself up and looks around. A large four-poster bed dominates the room. There is also a dresser, and a bedside table with a lamp and a chair. Someone sits in the chair. Cilka recognises him: Lagerführer Schwarzhuber, the Senior Commandant of Birkenau. He is an imposing man, rarely seen in the camp. He sits tapping his tall leather boot with his swagger stick. From an expressionless face he stares at a space above Cilka’s head. Cilka backs up against the door. Her hand goes to the door handle. In a flash, the swagger stick hurtles through the air and strikes Cilka’s hand. She cries out in pain and slides down to the floor.
Schwarzhuber walks over to her and picks up his stick. He stands over her. His nostrils distend. He breathes heavily and glares at her. He takes off his hat and throws it across the room. With his other hand he continues to hit his leg firmly with his swagger stick. With every whack Cilka flinches, expecting to be struck. He uses the stick to push up her shirt. Realising what is expected, with shaking hands Cilka undoes the top two buttons. Schwarzhuber then places his stick under her chin and forces her to rise to her feet. She is dwarfed by the man. His eyes seem to see nothing; this is a man whose soul has died and whose body is waiting to catch up with it.
He holds out both his arms and she interprets this gesture as ‘undress me’. She takes a step closer, still at arm’s length, and begins undoing the many buttons on his jacket. A whack across her back with the stick hurries her up. Schwarzhuber is forced to drop the stick so she can slide his jacket off. Taking it from her, he throws it after his hat. He removes his own singlet. Cilka begins undoing his belt and zipper. Kneeling down, she pulls his trousers down to his ankles but can’t get them over his boots.
Unbalanced, Cilka falls heavily when he pushes her over. Dropping onto his knees, he straddles her. Terrified, Cilka attempts to cover herself as he rips her shirt open. She feels the back of his hand across her face as she closes her eyes and gives in to the inevitable.
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That evening, Gita runs from the office to her block, tears streaming down her face. Dana and Ivana find her sobbing on their bunk when they arrive a short while later. She is inconsolable and can only tell them that Cilka has been taken away.
?
It was only going to be a matter of time. Since becoming the T?towierer, Lale has had an entire block to himself. Each day upon returning there he has observed the progress made on the buildings going up around him. He is in a clearly defined camp, sleeping in the single room usually reserved in each block for the kapo, even though he is kapo to no one. He has always assumed that sooner or later the empty bunk beds behind him would be filled.
Today, Lale returns to his block and watches the children running around outside playing tag. Life is not going to be the same. Several of the older children run up to him and ask questions he fails to understand. They discover that they can communicate in a bastardised form of Hungarian, albeit not always accurately. He shows his room to those now sharing his block, telling them in his sternest voice that they are never, ever to enter. He knows they understand this, but will they respect it? Only time will tell. He considers his limited understanding of Gypsy culture and wonders if he needs to make alternative storage arrangements for what is under his mattress.
He walks into the block, shakes hands with many of the men, acknowledges the women, the older women in particular. They know what he does here and he tries to explain it further. They want to know what is going to happen to them. A reasonable question to which he has no answer. He promises he will tell them of anything he hears which might affect them. They seem grateful. Many tell him they have never spoken to a Jew before. He doesn’t think he’s ever spoken to a Gypsy either.
That night he has trouble sleeping as he adjusts to the sounds of babies crying and children begging their parents for food.
Chapter 10
Within days, Lale has been made an honorary Romani. Every time he returns to what is now officially known as the ‘Gypsy camp’ he is greeted by young boys and girls, who encircle him and ask him to play, or to dig food from his bag. They know he has access to it, he has shared some with them, but he explains that he will give what he can to the adults, to portion out to those in greatest need. Many of the adult men approach him daily, asking if he has any news of their fate. He assures them he will pass on anything he hears. He suggests they accept their situation as best they can. And recommends arranging some sort of schooling for the children, even if it is merely telling them stories about their home, their family, their culture.
Lale is happy to see them pursue this suggestion, and delighted that the older women are given the role of teachers. He notices in them a tiny spark that wasn’t present before. Of course his own return always interrupts whatever lesson is underway. On occasion he sits with them, listening, learning of a people and culture so different to his own. He often asks questions, which the women are pleased to answer, further educating the children who seem more interested when Lale has asked the question. Having spent all his life in one home with his family, the nomadic existence of the Romani intrigues him. His life of comfort and knowing his place in the world, his education and life experiences, seem mundane and predictable compared to the travels and struggles endured by the people he now finds himself living with. There is one woman he has often noticed on her own. She appears to have no children or family, no one who engages with her or shows her affection. Often she is just an extra pair of hands for a mother struggling with too many children. She looks like she’s in her fifties though Lale has learned that Romani men and women often look older than their years.