Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(27)

‘Oh, Livi, really! Stay here.’

Cibi strides across the room towards Rita who is circling the office, stopping now and then to talk to the girls, presumably asking them the same question.

‘Rita, Livi said you asked her if she knew how to type and she said no.’

‘That’s right, I’m now asking .?.?.’

‘I know how to type,’ Cibi blurts. ‘I learned at school. I can use all ten fingers and .?.?. and I’m good at arithmetic, too.’ She is trembling, unsure of what she has just offered herself up for.

‘Come with me,’ snaps Rita, and leads Cibi towards the office at the front of the sorting room.

An SS officer sits behind the larger of the two desks that fill the small room. On the smaller desk sits a typewriter, a pile of blank paper, a tray and some pencils. Rita introduces Cibi to the officer, telling him she is the new clerk and will be typing up the daily log of clothes the girls had sorted.

The officer, Armbruster, acknowledges Cibi with a nod. He is a slim man in his fifties at least; his grey hair and the wrinkles around his eyes give him an air of wisdom. He could be her grandfather. Rita sits down at the smaller desk and holds up a typed list. She hands Cibi several handwritten pieces of paper that contain the details of the clothing compiled, and ready for transport. She explains how Cibi is to create a daily log itemising the men’s, women’s and children’s clothing. She is to send one copy with the daily transports, keep one copy and create a monthly log. Errors will not be tolerated.

When Rita leaves the room, Cibi places a piece of paper in the typewriter, and winds it on. With a confidence she is yet to feel, Cibi begins to type, ‘Men’s clothing’, using only two fingers.

‘Is that how you type?’ Armbruster asks.

Cibi looks at the German officer. ‘No. I learned how to type with all ten fingers, but I can do it quicker with two,’ she replies.

‘Give me the page when you’re done, I’ll check it before it goes out.’ He turns away.

Cibi slowly compiles a list of clothing using the new figures from the scraps of paper. When she has finished, she dramatically pulls the sheet from the machine and takes it to Armbruster.

Back at her desk, she starts the women’s clothing list. She is still working her way through when the officer appears at her side.

‘You made some mistakes, and I have corrected your spelling, and you will have to do it again,’ he says, without the all-too familiar note of threat in his voice. ‘And take your time to get it right. It isn’t a race.’

*

1943 is a new year, it is no different to 1942. Livi works in the Kanada, and Cibi is SS officer Armbruster’s clerk, so at least they are still together in the white kerchief detail. Cibi is still not praying, but each night she whispers, ‘Mumma, Magda, Grandfather,’ and pictures them at home, safe in the little house in Vranov. Each night she pulls Livi close. And these are the ways in which they keep going.





CHAPTER 12

Vranov nad Topl’ou

March 1943

‘I

t’s time, Magda. Get your coat and go.’ Chaya is whispering, careful not to wake Yitzchak from his nap in the armchair.

Magda remains curled up on the sofa, where she has been shifting her focus between the unlit fireplace and her sleeping grandfather.

‘Magda, get up! You have to leave! They will be here soon,’ Chaya repeats, but with more urgency.

‘Why, Mumma? What is the point? They will get me sooner or later, and maybe this way, I can join Cibi and Livi,’ Magda replies, not budging from the sofa.

Chaya retrieves Magda’s coat from its peg by the door and drops it onto her lap. ‘Magda Meller, put this on and head over to Mrs Trac’s. I spoke to her a short while ago and she is expecting you.’

Standing but not moving to put on the coat, Magda looks once more at her grandfather. She can tell he is awake, aware of their exchange. She wonders if he will get involved. Whose side will he be on? But he doesn’t stir.

‘It’s been nearly a year, Mumma. We can’t keep on living like this. Look around you, we have so little left to sell, at what point do we give up? When there are no chairs to sit on? No beds to sleep in? All of it gone for a loaf of bread!’

‘They have taken two of my daughters and I will not let them have you. I still have some jewellery to sell but, right now, I need you out of the house. It is just for one night.’

‘I’ll go this time,’ says Magda, finally, pulling on her coat. ‘But can you please ask Uncle Ivan if he has any more news?’

‘I will. Now, off with you.’

Magda kisses her mother on the cheek, before kissing her grandfather lightly on the head. ‘I know you’re awake,’ she whispers.

Opening his eyes, he smiles, his eyes locking onto Magda’s. It breaks her heart.

‘Good girl, you must always do as your mother asks. Now, run along.’

Standing and stretching, Yitzchak joins Chaya at the window as Magda opens the door, checking left and right for Hlinka guards before she trips down the path, steps onto the street and then runs to the house directly opposite.

As the neighbour’s door closes behind Magda, Chaya drops the curtain.

‘I will get us something to eat,’ she says.

‘I’m not hungry, you eat,’ says Yitzchak. ‘I’ll have some linden tea, if we have any left.’