Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(2)

‘I think so,’ says Cibi. ‘It’s when two people keep a secret, isn’t it?’

Menachem smiles. Cibi will always have a go, it’s what he loves most about her. ‘That’s close, my darling, but a promise can involve more than two people. I want this promise to be shared between the three of you. Livi is not going to understand, so I need you to keep talking to her about it, until she does.’

‘I don’t understand, Father,’ Magda interjects. ‘You’re being all confusing.’

‘It’s very simple, Magda.’ Menachem smiles. There is nothing that gives him as much pleasure as talking to his girls. Something catches in his chest; he must remember this moment, this sunny day, the wide eyes of his three daughters. ‘I want you to make a promise to me and to each other that you will always take care of your sisters. That you will always be there for one another, no matter what. That you will not allow anything to take you away from each other. Do you understand?’

Magda and Cibi nod, and Cibi asks, suddenly serious: ‘I do, Father, but why would someone want to take us away from each other?’

‘I’m not saying anyone will, I just want you to promise me that if anyone tries to separate you, you will remember what we spoke of here today and do everything in your power not to let that happen. The three of you are stronger together, you must never forget that.’ Menachem’s voice stumbles, and he clears his throat.

Cibi and Magda exchange a glance. Livi looks from sister to sister to father, knowing that something solemn has been agreed, but with little idea of what it means.

‘I promise, Father,’ says Magda.

‘Cibi?’ Menachem asks.

‘I promise too, Father. I promise to look after my sisters – I won’t let anyone hurt them, you know that.’

‘Yes, I do know that, my darling Cibi. This promise will become a pact between the three of you and no others. Will you tell Livi of this pact when she is old enough to understand?’

Cibi grabs Livi’s face in her hands, turning her head to look into her eyes. ‘Livi, say “promise”. Say “I promise”.’

Livi studies her sister. Cibi is nodding, encouraging her to say the words.

‘I pwomise,’ pronounces Livi.

‘Now say it to Father, say “I promise” to Father,’ Cibi instructs.

Livi turns to her father, her eyes dancing, the giggle in her throat threatening to explode, the warmth of his smile melting her little heart. ‘I pwomise, Father. Livi pwomises.’

Gathering his girls to his chest he looks over Cibi’s head and smiles at the other girl in his life, the mother of his daughters, who stands in the doorway of the house, tears glistening on her cheeks.

He has too much to lose; he has to survive.





CHAPTER 1

Vranov nad Topl’ou

March 1942

‘P

lease tell me she’s going to be all right, I’m so worried about her,’ Chaya frets, as the doctor examines her seventeen-year-old daughter.

Magda has been struggling with a fever for days.

‘Yes, Mrs Meller, Magda will be fine,’ Dr Kisely reassures her.

The tiny bedroom contains two beds: one in which Chaya sleeps with her youngest, Livi; and the other, which Magda shares with their older sister, Cibi, when she is home. A large cabinet takes up one wall, cluttered with the small, personal possessions of the four women of the house. Taking pride of place: the cut-glass perfume atomiser with its emerald green tie and tassel, and next to it a grainy photograph. A handsome man sits on a simple chair, a toddler on one knee, an older girl on the other. Another girl, older yet, stands to his left. On his right is the girls’ mother, her hand resting on her husband’s shoulder. Mother and daughters wear white lacy dresses and together they are a picture-perfect family, or, at least, they were.

When Menachem Meller died on the operating table, the bullet finally removed but the blood loss too great to survive, Chaya was left a widow and the girls fatherless. Yitzchak, Chaya’s father and the sisters’ grandfather, moved into the small cottage to offer help where he could, while Chaya’s brother, Ivan, lives in the house across from theirs.

Chaya is not alone, despite how she feels.

The heavy drapes are drawn in the bedroom, denying Magda, shivering, feverish, the brilliant spring sunshine which now peeks above the curtain rail.

‘Can we talk in the other room?’ Dr Kisely takes Chaya’s arm.

Livi, cross-legged on the other bed, watches Chaya place another wet towel on Magda’s forehead.

‘Stay with your sister?’ her mother asks, and Livi nods.

When the adults leave the room Livi crosses to her sister’s bed and lies down beside her, proceeding to wipe the perspiration from Magda’s face with a dry flannel.

‘You’re going to be OK, Magda. I won’t let anything happen to you.’

Magda forces a small smile. ‘That’s my line. I’m your big sister, I look after you.’

‘Then get better.’

Chaya and Dr Kisely walk the few steps from the bedroom to the main room in the small house. The front door opens directly into this cosy living area, with a small kitchen area at the back.

The girls’ grandfather, Yitzchak, stands washing his hands at the sink. A trail of wood shavings has followed him from the backyard, and more lie on the faded blue felt that covers the floor. Startled, he turns, splashing water onto the floor. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks.