Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(22)

Once harmless, this word has come to symbolise their greatest fear. Paraded before the SS, the girls must appear fit and healthy, show no sign of weakness, no tremor in their hands or faces. Those who fail this examination are ‘selected’ – and never seen again.

The heat has been so oppressive illness is everywhere, and what little food they have often spoils. But, today, a little breeze scatters dry leaves on the ground around them as they line up outside their block, gazing dumbly down the street at all the other blocks and the thousands of other women and girls. The silence is palpable as they await roll call. But, Cibi notes, catching sight of trucks positioned at the end of the road, something is different today.

A female German SS officer patrols the street, pausing to talk to the guards of each block. ‘Some of you are moving to another location today.’ The officer stands beside Ingrid, shouting instructions into their faces. ‘Get into your work details and follow your kapo. Those of you who can’t walk may use the trucks.’

Cibi quickly moves towards Ingrid once the officer has moved on to the next block. By now she and the kapo share an odd kind of friendship. It has grown slowly, but surely. There is something about Livi which has thawed a corner of this woman’s heart. Cibi never probes – it is enough to receive her small mercies.

‘What does she mean, “another location”?’ Cibi is suddenly breathless: fear has crashed through her fatigue and dull-headedness. Life is bad, but they understand the rules here, at Auschwitz. Will they have to start all over again, with different guards, different routines, new tortures?

‘You are to going to live in Birkenau. Just do as you are told, and don’t get in the truck, whatever happens. You must walk – understand? Rita will be your new kapo.’ Ingrid glances around, noting the position of the SS guards. She lowers her voice. ‘I have asked her to look out for you and .?.?. and Livi.’ Ingrid turns her back on Cibi and walks away. Cibi knows she will get no more out of her kapo, the risk is too great for them both.

Cibi watches Livi look longingly at the trucks, but she tugs hard on her sister’s arm, and they walk out of the gates together, heads held high. Cibi glances up at the words she has read on exiting and entering the compound every day for the last five months: ARBEIT MACHT FREI. What rubbish, none of them are free. They are prisoners, treated like animals, their lives worth nothing. This ‘freedom’ means only death.

Once again they walk the road to the building site.

‘I think we’re about to be reacquainted with our bricks,’ Cibi tells Livi, slipping an arm around her sister’s shoulders.

‘The buildings the Russians were putting up? But they aren’t finished.’

‘Some are. Do you think they care if they’re half-built? For the likes of us?’ Cibi bites her tongue; it would be so easy to lash out at their captors, to reveal that she has given up hope, but she must remain strong, for Livi. ‘Maybe it will be better where we’re going, kitten.’ Cibi plants a kiss on her sister’s cheek, but Livi just carries on stumbling along the road.

The sun beats down on the girls; the dry dusty track throws dirt into their faces. Ahead, a girl faints. An SS officer marches over, takes his pistol from its holster and shoots her in the head.

Cibi and Livi don’t break their stride as they manoeuvre around the girl’s body. They have learned to appear indifferent; never to register shock or fear, anger or horror. To survive one must remain invisible. Drawing attention to yourself, however insignificant the detail, is often all that’s needed for an instant death.

‘She should have taken the truck,’ Livi whispers.

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, whether she was on the truck or on the road,’ says Cibi. Livi looks puzzled. ‘Have you seen any trucks go past? Look around, we’re almost there and not one has driven by. Those girls are not coming to Birkenau.’

Livi doesn’t answer. Now she understands.

They walk on in silence. Ahead, the girls are turning off the road into the new camp where completed brick blocks sit side by side with those still under construction. There are three ‘streets’, each containing a row of five blocks. A wire fence surrounds the compound, and wooden watchtowers have been erected to keep an eye on the new residents. Armed SS guards watch from above, rifles trained on the girls. More nonsense, thinks Cibi wearily. What can even a thousand half-starved wretches do to these men?

They await instructions in a wide clearing.

‘Before you go into your new homes you need to get your numbers inked again. Too many of them have faded,’ a female SS guard yells at them.

Livi looks at the number on her arm. Cibi does the same. All around them girls are looking at their left arms.

‘I can still see my number,’ Livi says.

‘I can see most of mine,’ Cibi replies.

‘Get in line,’ the guard yells.

The girls shuffle into something resembling a line.

‘Livi, is that Gita? Ahead of us?’ Cibi points a finger. ‘Gita, Gita,’ she calls out.

A girl turns round, smiling when she sees Cibi and Livi. It is their school friend.

‘I didn’t know you were here,’ Gita whispers. ‘How long?’

‘Months,’ Cibi replies. ‘You?’

‘Same. I wish we’d met on the train from Vranov – I feel like I’ve been here my whole life,’ sighs Gita. ‘I’m working in the laundry.’