Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(18)

‘Stay where?’ says Yitzchak. ‘We have no idea where they are.’

‘Uncle Ivan could help us. He’s still here in Vranov, isn’t he?’ Magda is flushed, in shock, but determined.

Chaya nods slowly. ‘Of course he is.’

‘I want to see my uncle now,’ insists Magda. ‘He knows people. He has contacts. He can help us.’ Perhaps he has heard something useful, she reasons.

She is staring at the back door, which leads to the house on the other side of the lane, where her uncle and aunt live with their three small children.

‘We’ve spoken to Ivan and he has promised he will do all he can to keep us safe and in our home – that is all he can do.’ Yitzchak says firmly. He runs the handkerchief over his face once more.

Slowly, reluctantly, dazed by the terrible news, Magda collapses back onto the sofa and Chaya wraps her in her arms, trying to be the parent every desperate child needs.





CHAPTER 9

Auschwitz

Spring 1942

T

he kapo picks up the broken brick and waves it in Livi’s face before shoving it into her hands and instructing her to place it carefully back into the cart. Cibi is looking at the blood from Livi’s wound, smearing the brick as she lays it down. When the kapo walks away, Livi tries to wrap her bleeding hand in her shirt.

The gash in Livi’s palm has not healed and Cibi attempts to tear a strip from the thick fabric of her uniform shirt but it is too tough.

‘Use your left hand. I’ll cover you.’ Cibi shields Livi from their supervisor’s eyeline as they work.

When the cart is full of neat stacks of bricks, the kapo gives a nod to the two girls in charge of the sisters.

‘Get to the back, you two,’ they’re told again. ‘Push.’

They can hear the girls at the front straining in their harnesses. Cibi and Livi push against the back of the cart, but it doesn’t budge.

‘Push, you lazy bitches. Harder!’

Cibi puts her shoulder against the cart and indicates for Livi to do the same. Eventually, the cart begins to ease forward.

They make slow progress as the ground is littered with broken bricks and tiles, pieces of timber, the shattered remains of what were once people’s homes.

The girls are soon sweating from their exertion, despite the cold air and strong wind. Cibi can’t remember ever having worked so hard, not even at the Hachshara. She casts a sideways glance at Livi: with only one good hand at her disposal, her sister is struggling. The cart moves down a pitted road, passing fields, some of which have the new growth of potatoes pushing up through the frozen soil. They come to an empty field, where several men are awaiting their load. Piles of bricks have already been delivered and stacked. One man tells the girls where to position the cart. He and another help them unload and together they add the bricks to the existing piles.

With the cart empty, the return trip is faster. They repeat the whole exercise once more before being told by their kapo to take a break. Sitting down, their backs against the cart, Cibi examines Livi’s hand.

‘Someone should take a look at this, Livi. When we get back, I’ll ask if there’s a clinic, or a nurse,’ Cibi whispers.

‘I’ll need a clean shirt, too,’ says Livi, a tremble in her voice. ‘This one is covered in blood.’

‘We can wash your shirt. Come on, let’s get back to work.’

‘But we haven’t been told to. Can’t we rest a little longer?’

‘We could, but I want to impress the kapo, keep her off our backs. Come on, you can do it.’

By the end of the day the girls have made four trips with their cart. Cibi shivers as she recalls the scenes from earlier in the day, when several girls in their group were struck by bricks and tiles, haphazardly launched from the ruins. They are also wary of the random slaps and punches their kapo distributes freely to any who, in her opinion, is shirking. Exhausted, they drag themselves back to their block and the meagre rations that await them.

After they have swallowed their bread and gulped down the soup, Cibi approaches their kapo, dragging Livi behind her. She holds up Livi’s injured hand.

‘Kapo, is there somewhere we can get some first aid for my sister? She cut her hand on the journey here and it’s still bleeding. It needs to be bandaged if she is to keep working.’

The tall woman glances at the hand being held out to her. ‘The hospital is in the next block along. Maybe they will look after you, maybe not,’ she tells Livi, smirking, as she points down the street towards the gates of the compound.

As Cibi and Livi take the first couple of steps, the kapo calls out: ‘Go alone. You don’t need your big sister to hold your hand.’ She sniggers at her own joke. ‘And don’t call me “kapo” – my name is Ingrid.’ She smiles to reveal her missing tooth, and Cibi suddenly feels sick.

She gives Livi a gentle push. ‘You’ll be fine. I’ll save us a space to sleep.’

The compound is now floodlit again. The sun has set and the girls have completed their first full day of work at Auschwitz.

Cibi settles down against a wall to wait for her sister. Later, as she is trying to smooth the lumpy mattress, Livi bursts through the door calling her name.

There are at least a thousand girls in the room, some sleeping, some still awake, or talking quietly in small groups. Cibi stands up and waves until Livi spots her and begins to weave in and out of the mattresses towards her.