Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(101)

‘Shall we order some drinks?’ Livi picks up the menu.

‘And then you’ll tell me?’

Part of Livi wishes she hadn’t decided to confront Ziggy today. Or any day.

They sip their iced coffee and share a pastry in silence. Ziggy is a patient man, thinks Livi. He’d probably just sit here for an hour waiting for me to say something.

‘Ziggy, you’ve told me so much about your life since you arrived in Israel,’ says Livi, finally. ‘But I don’t know what happened to you.’

‘Is that what’s on your mind?’ he asks, setting his glass on the table. Ziggy suddenly looks very tired, and Livi wants to take back her words. ‘I’ve told you. It’s all in the past, Livi. What does it matter?’

‘It matters to me. You know everything about me. Won’t you tell me a little about your family, and where you were born at least?’ she persists. She firmly believes her story is a part of what makes Livi Livi, however painful it is to remember the past.

Ziggy sighs, running his hands over his face, drawing his fingers through his thick hair. ‘I come from a town called ?esky Tě?ín, in Moravia,’ he begins. ‘Well, it was Moravia when I lived there. It’s now part of Czechoslovakia.’

‘And your family, are they still alive?’ Now Ziggy has begun, Livi is impatient to hear it all at once

‘OK, Livi, I’m getting there. I was one of four boys, the youngest brother. My father was a tailor in town and my mother .?.?.’ Ziggy stops talking, hangs his head and sniffs.

She feels his pain, of course she does; it is her agony too, and the agony of every survivor, but Livi also realises she has to let him tell her in his own time.

‘My mother .?.?. oh, Livi, she baked the best cakes in town; every day we’d come home from school to a house that smelled like heaven. Bread, cakes, biscuits .?.?.’ Ziggy drifts off, no longer sniffing, but smiling at the memory. ‘When things started turning bad for us and we weren’t allowed to go to school, or to work, my oldest brother went to fight with the Russians and was killed. My father was worried about me being so young so he sent my mother and me to an uncle in Krakow. We were there for months, and finally Mother wanted to go home, to my father, my brothers, and of course, her kitchen.’ Ziggy sighs again. He pushes his plate away and signals to the waitress for more coffee. ‘On the way back we were stopped by the Nazis.’ Ziggy is now clutching the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric, and a button pops.

Livi reaches out and places a calming hand on top of both of his. He smiles and lets go of his shirt.

‘They beat her, Livi. In front of my eyes they beat her, and didn’t lay a finger on me.’

Livi squeezes his hand hard, hoping the gesture will make him feel less alone in his memories.

‘When they finally let us go, I helped Mother back to our uncle’s place in Krakow. Maybe a few weeks passed, not long, and we heard they had started to round up all the Jews in the area for transportation. Mother and I hid in a cupboard, but they found us and then .?.?. then we were all taken into the town square and there they separated us. That was the last time I saw her.’

Livi doesn’t say a word because she knows Ziggy is gathering his strength to tell her the worst part of his story, just as she had stumbled over hers.

‘She was taken to Auschwitz and she never left.’

‘Oh, Ziggy, I am so, so sorry.’ Tears are flowing down Livi’s face.

‘Anyway, I was moved between camps in Freiburg and Waldenburg where they set me to work making optics for German submarines, then to Gross-Rosen and finally Reichenbach.’

‘You did get around,’ Livi says, with a small smile.

‘That’s one way of looking at it. I was liberated at Reichenbach and taken back to Prague, but eventually I headed home to Moravia.’ Ziggy takes a drink from the long glass of cold coffee which the waitress has just placed in front of him. ‘Home, ha!’ Ziggy snorts. ‘There were Germans living in our house, so I kicked them out and—’

‘Wait,’ Livi interrupts. ‘You kicked them out?’

‘Of course. They had taken our lives, Livi, they weren’t having my house too.’ Ziggy’s eyes flash and Livi has no trouble imagining this strong, handsome man chasing those Germans out of his home and down the street.

‘Go on,’ says Livi, sipping her coffee, wishing Ziggy had been around to dispatch her own intruders in Vranov.

‘Well, I moved back in and then, one day, a knock on the door and it’s my father standing there. Can you believe it? He and my two brothers had been taken to ?ód? in Poland and when the Russians came through, they ran away and joined the Czech Legion. My brothers were still in Prague, but eventually we were reunited.’

‘Ziggy, thank you for telling me your story.’

Ziggy sighs, closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly. ‘I had a relatively easy time during the war, Livi – weren’t you listening? I didn’t suffer like you or your sisters. I don’t even have a number on my arm.’

‘A number on your—? Ziggy, what are you talking about? It isn’t a competition. It’s a terrible story, all our stories are equally awful.’

‘I’m just saying, your suffering was worse, much worse than mine. I can still see it in your eyes, Livi .?.?. whenever you think no one is watching, you disappear.’