Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(33)

Armbruster looks at her feet but says nothing. He leaves the room and returns with a basin of warm water. While Cibi soaks her painful feet in the water, Armbruster once again leaves the room, this time returning with ointment, clean socks, sturdy shoes and a box containing several small canisters. They are filled with tea leaves, some with added herbs and spices, some with tiny, dried flowers. He fills the small kettle and places it on the wood burning stove.

Armbruster asks Cibi to select the tea she would like to drink.

‘Have you any linden flowers?’ she says quickly, her heart suddenly racing.

‘I don’t think so. I don’t know that tea. These are from my wife, who knows I like a cup of tea before I got to bed.’

Cibi unscrews the lids of several of the canisters, inhaling deeply the scent of the leaves. She chooses the most pungent and hands it back to Armbruster.

Without a word he makes Cibi a mug of hot, strong, spicy tea.

For the next few days basins of warm water are delivered to Cibi by Armbruster. She sips on a different tea each day, while her feet soak.

But while the wounds of one sister heal, the other begins to suffer. Livi starts to complain of stomach cramps. She is even paler than usual and Cibi worries she has typhus again.

Cibi begins to rush through her office work, so she can help Livi with the sorting. The train tracks have been extended, linking the camps, and now transports of prisoners arrive at Birkenau too, in their hundreds, day and night. The girls have their work cut out for them in the sorting rooms. Cibi hears the rumours about the ghettos in Poland being cleared, the elderly and very young executed, and the young men and women transported to Auschwitz. She overhears Armbruster discussing with a colleague the large numbers of residents being moved out of the town of Lodz. She doesn’t know where Lodz is, and tells herself it doesn’t matter – what matters is sorting through as quickly as possible the precious possessions they bring with them.

They keep their minds and their thoughts on their jobs.

In the sorting room, Cibi is emptying a suitcase onto the table. She picks through the clothing, separates the underwear from the skirts. A stale waft hits her full in the face. She continues to rummage until she finds the source of the bitter stench. Wrapped up in a piece of cotton is an onion, its juices permeating the garments that surround it.

‘Livi, come over here,’ she calls to her sister.

Livi glances at her from where she is hunched over a table sorting socks. Cibi can see her stomach is hurting again. Livi shakes her head, wary of the kapo. But the woman is busy delivering more suitcases into the room.

Slowly, Cibi makes her way over to Livi, the onion held firmly behind her back. ‘I have something for you. I want you to eat. It will make you feel better,’ she says, holding the onion out to Livi.

Livi’s eyes go wide, her nose wrinkles. ‘I’m not eating raw onion,’ she announces.

‘Livi, please. Don’t you remember what Grandfather used to say? An onion is the best medicine in the world.’ Cibi pulls the little knife from Livi’s breeches and starts to cut the onion into quarters in her hand.

‘Please don’t make me!’ Livi moans, pinching her nose between her fingers.

‘Yes, that’s good. Hold your nose. Now, open your mouth.’

‘No!’

‘Do it!’ Cibi insists.

Livi opens her mouth and Cibi pushes the quarters of raw onion between her teeth until Livi swallows, one by one. Tears run down her cheeks as she chews and, eventually, swallows.

‘I want you to eat it all.’ Cibi is smiling with what she hopes looks like encouragement, and Livi, laughing and crying, eats the whole onion, bite by tiny bite.

The next morning, Livi wakes up feeling much better. The sun is shining, and winter is giving way to spring. The trees in the forest are flush with new growth.

Later, Cibi places a piece of paper in the typewriter and types the date. 29th March 1943. Suddenly, her hands start to shake. Her head dips to her chest as it dawns on her that it has been almost exactly one year since she and Livi left their home. A year since she has seen her mother, grandfather and Magda. For a moment, she pictures the three sisters on that afternoon, so long ago now, when they made a promise to never be apart.

Magda’s features are crystal clear to Cibi. She closes her eyes, desperate to hang on to the image of her beloved sister, lays her head on the desk, and remembers .?.?.





CHAPTER 14

Vranov nad Topl’ou

1939

‘H

urry up, Magda! Cibi and Livi are ready to go!’ Yitzchak calls.

‘I’m coming. I just want to put a cardigan on; it’s so cold outside,’ Magda yells back.

‘It’s not cold. You are cold! Even when it’s hot outside. Come on, if we don’t hurry someone else will get the flowers,’ shouts Cibi.

Magda is doing up the buttons on her thick cardigan when she leaves the house. Cibi and Livi wear tunic dresses with a short-sleeved blouse. Yitzchak has on the jacket, shirt and tie he only ever wore outside. He holds a folded cotton sheet in his arms.

‘Are we all ready?’ he asks.

Since the girls have been forced to abandon their education months earlier, twelve-year-old Livi is no longer able to take part in games and sports with her school friends. She is getting restless at home, all day, every day. Livi loves having someone to take her out and about, someone who shares in her passion for wandering the forest, learning the names of the flora and fauna, collecting mushrooms. Cibi also shares her sister’s love of the outdoors, but Magda is different, preferring to stay at home with Chaya to help her prepare meals and manage the household chores. When he can, Yitzchak drags Magda along: it is important to him that all the girls have an understanding and respect for their environment.