Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(14)

Finally, the girls are led into a red-brick, two-storey building, where they find themselves face to face with its other occupants. It is a vast room, with high ceilings, but as large as it is, it is still a tight fit for the hundreds of inhabitants inside. At least a thousand, thinks Cibi. The loose straw on the floor reminds her of a stable or barn, somewhere animals would sleep – not girls. The smell of manure adds to the impression that this room is for livestock.

‘They’ve put us in with boys!’ Cibi whispers, incredulous. But she can see that there are girls here, too .?.?. will the sisters end up like them? Wide-eyed and skinny? Blank-eyed and desperate?

The boys are in uniform – Cibi thinks it is Russian soldiers’ uniform: worn khaki trousers and button-down shirts, a yellow-bordered red star with the hammer and sickle. Cibi thinks they are looking at the girls with pity, probably because they know only too well what awaits them. Or maybe they just don’t want to share this confined space with them.

‘I think they’re girls, Cibi.’ Livi is unable to tear her eyes away from the emaciated figures who are still staring at them, in silence.

‘Welcome to Auschwitz.’ A boy steps forward. ‘You’re in Poland now, in case they haven’t told you. This is where we live.’ He waves a hand around the room, at sacks of straw scattered on the ground. Surely they can’t be expected to bed down on these things? Cibi thinks.

‘What happens now?’ a scared voice calls out.

‘You sleep with the fleas,’ another answers.

‘But we haven’t eaten,’ the first cries, scared, tired.

‘You’re too late. You’ll eat tomorrow. I warn you, you will also have your heads shaved like us – they shave all of your hair – and you will be put in a uniform like this. And then to work. Never resist. If you do you will be punished, but so might we.’

The figure lowers his voice to a whisper. Cibi notes his eyes: pretty eyes in a thin boy’s face. Livi is right, these boys are girls. ‘The SS are everywhere,’ she says, conspiratorially, ‘but it’s the kapos who look after us we have to be wary of. Sometimes they’re worse than SS. They’re prisoners, just like us, but you must never trust them – they have chosen their side.’

Prisoners. The word startles Cibi. They are in a prison, and they will remain there until the Germans decide they can leave. Attempting to hide her fear, Cibi springs into action, claiming a lumpy mattress in the middle of the dark room.

‘Come on.’ She takes Livi’s hand and gently pulls her onto the ‘bed’. They lie down fully clothed, and in their coats, the straw crackling beneath their bodies, poking through rough hessian to scratch at their hands and heads. Cibi wishes they’d been allowed to keep their suitcases – perhaps they’ll be reunited with them tomorrow.

One by one, the girls find beds and settle down, but there are not nearly enough, and two, three, four girls have to squeeze together, like sardines.

Livi is crying, softly at first, but then she is sobbing. Cibi folds her arms around her sister and wipes away her tears with her sleeve. ‘It’s all right, Livi. You’re hungry; we’re both hungry. Tomorrow we’ll eat, and it will be daylight and we’ll feel better. Please stop crying, I’m right here with you.’

But Livi’s tears are contagious, and soon the room is full of sniffing and gasping sobs.

Girls stumble to their feet, tripping over each other as they head for the door. Voices call out to them to stop, come back. ‘You’ll get us all into trouble!’ a voice yells – very obviously now, a girl’s.

‘Go back to bed. It’s worse out there than it is in here!’ shouts another.

Livi’s sobs slowly subside, and the room falls silent, until a cry of, ‘Something bit me!’ and the reply: ‘It’s just fleas. You’ll get used to it.’

*

It is still dark when the girls are woken at 4 a.m. by the kapos shouting at them to get moving.

It is bitterly cold. Cibi and Livi slept fitfully, and now they are chilled, hungry and thirsty. Rubbing sleep from their eyes, they follow the inmates who have learned the rhythm of the morning ritual, lining up to use the makeshift bathroom of long troughs with dripping taps and open toilets.

Cibi and Livi hold on to each other as they begin to file out of the room, but then Cibi lets out a cry and stumbles, falling to her knees.

‘Cibi, Cibi, what’s wrong?’ Livi says.

Cibi rips off her shoes and socks to reveal feet alive with jumping fleas. Cibi holds the socks she had just removed in one hand and stares, paralysed, at her feet. Around them the girls climb over the straw sacks to get outside.

‘Cibi, you’re scaring me. We need to keep moving!’ Livi cries, shaking her sister’s arm.

Cibi looks at the socks and flings them away.

‘It’s OK, it’s OK. We just need to wash your feet. I’ll help. Come on.’

But Cibi pulls away from Livi. This is her problem, and she must be strong for her sister.

A young, shaven-headed girl pushes her way back through the crowd and grabs Cibi’s discarded socks. ‘She’ll need them,’ she tells Livi. ‘I shook out all the fleas.’ Livi is stunned by the girl’s tone: robotic, utterly devoid of emotion. But it is an act of kindness all the same.

Livi takes the socks with a nod and shows them to Cibi. ‘The fleas are gone. Please put them back on.’