The Tattooist of Auschwitz(30)

Lale gently strokes her face. That he cannot protect the girl he loves anguishes him greatly. Gita leans back down and continues her search. Grabbing a handful of grass, she throws it at Lale with a smile. He grins back. Playfully he nudges her over and she lies on her back. Leaning over her he plucks a handful of grass and slowly lets it sprinkle down onto her face. She blows it away. Another handful of grass goes onto her neck and the top of her chest. She leaves it there. He undoes the top button on her shirt, drops more grass and watches it disappear down her cleavage.

‘May I kiss you?’ he asks.

‘Why would you want to? I haven’t brushed my teeth for I don’t know how long.’

‘Me neither, so I guess we cancel each other out.’

Gita answers him by raising her head towards his. Their previous fleeting kiss ignited a year’s worth of longing. Pent-up passions collide as they explore each other now. They want, they need, more of each other.

The moment is broken by the sound of a barking dog nearby. They know the animal must have a handler attached to it. Lale stands and pulls Gita up into his arms. One last kiss before they run back to the safety of the compound and a crowd they can melt into.

In the women’s camp, they spot Dana, Ivana and Cilka and begin walking towards them.

Lale notices Cilka’s pallor. ‘Is Cilka all right?’ Lale asks. ‘She doesn’t look well.’

‘She’s as well as can be expected. Under the circumstances.’

‘Is she sick? Do you need medicine?’

‘No, she’s not sick. You’re better off not knowing.’

As they near the girls, Lale leans into Gita, whispering, ‘Tell me. Maybe I can help.’

‘Not this time, my love.’ Gita is encircled by the girls and they walk off. Cilka, head down, lags behind.

My love!





Chapter 13


That night Lale lies on his bed, the happiest he’s been for as long as he can remember.

In her own bed, Gita lies curled up next to a sleeping Dana, her eyes wide open, staring into the darkness, reliving the moments she lay with Lale: his kisses, the longing her body felt for him to continue, to go further. Her face grows hot as fantasies of their next encounter play out in her mind.

In a grand four-poster bed Schwarzhuber and Cilka lie in each other’s arms. His hands explore her body as she stares into nothing, feeling nothing. Numb.

In his private dining room at Auschwitz, Hoess sits at an elegant table for one. Fine food rests on fine china. He pours 1932 Chateau Latour into a crystal goblet. He swirls, sniffs, tastes the wine. He won’t let the stresses and strains of his job impede life’s little luxuries.

A drunken Baretski stumbles into his room in the barracks at Auschwitz. Kicking the door shut, he staggers and falls awkwardly onto his bed. With difficulty, he removes the belt holding his sidearm and slings it over the bedpost. Sprawled on his bed, he registers the overhead light – still on, shining into his eyes. After an unsuccessful attempt to get up, he locates his weapon with a clumsy arm and pulls it from its holster. With his second shot he kills the recalcitrant light bulb. His gun drops to the floor as he passes out.

?

The next morning, Lale winks at Gita as he collects his supplies and instructions from Bella in the administration office. His smile disappears when he notices Cilka sitting beside Gita, her head down, once again not acknowledging him. This has been going on far too long. He resolves to force Gita to tell him what is wrong with Cilka. Outside he is met by a very hungover, angry Baretski.

‘Hurry up. I’ve got a truck waiting to take us to Auschwitz.’

Lale follows him to the truck. Baretski climbs into the cab, shutting the door. Lale gets the message and scrambles into the back. There he endures the trip to Auschwitz, tossed from one side to the other.

When they arrive at Auschwitz, Baretski tells Lale that he is going to lie down and that Lale is to make his way to Block 10. Once he finds the block, Lale is directed around the back by the SS officer standing out front. Lale notices that it looks different to the blocks back at Birkenau.

The first thing he sees as he rounds the corner of the building is the wire fence that encloses part of the back yard. Slowly he registers small movements in the enclosed area. He stumbles forward, transfixed at what lies beyond the fence: girls, dozens of them, naked – many lying down, some sitting, some standing, hardly any of them moving. Paralysed, Lale watches as a guard comes into the enclosure and walks through the girls, picking up their left arms, looking for a number, one possibly made by Lale. Finding the girl he wants, the guard drags her through the bodies. Lale looks at the girls’ faces. Vacant. Silent. He notices several leaning against the wire fence. Unlike the other fences at Auschwitz and Birkenau, this one is not electrified. The option of self-destruction has been taken from them.

‘Who are you?’ a voice behind him demands.

Lale turns. An SS officer has come out from a back door. Slowly Lale holds up his bag.

‘T?towierer.’

‘So what are you standing out here for? Get inside.’

One or two of the doctors and nurses in white coats greet him cursorily as he walks through a large room towards a desk. The prisoners here don’t look like people. More like marionettes abandoned by their puppeteers. He approaches the nurse sitting behind the desk and holds up his bag.

‘T?towierer.’