Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(50)

Livi, standing beside her sister at the end of a row, hopes an announcement is to be made. She prays that they are not about to be punished, or forced to watch a punishment. But it is still a shock to the sisters when Mala – naked, filthy, thinner than ever – is marched into the clearing by SS officers, and shoved to the ground. Bloodied and bruised, the young girl staggers to her feet, standing as straight as she can manage, a defiant tilt to her head. Livi finds the tiny knife in her pocket and closes her fingers around it.

‘Oh, Mala,’ she says, under her breath. ‘What have they done to you?’

And then SS Mandel steps into the compound. Her high ponytail catches the setting sun and glows red. Livi thinks she could be anywhere between forty and sixty years old. Livid patches of rouge on her cheeks make her look like a clown. She is not on her horse today, but she is no less intimidating as she begins to strut up and down the rows, berating the girls furiously, telling them to forget about escaping, that they are wasting their time even thinking about it. Look at Mala, they had found her, hadn’t they, and they would find any girl who was stupid enough to test them. There was no corner of the earth that the Germans could not cover. Mala wasn’t so clever after all, was she? She and her ‘boyfriend’ – Mandel spat this word from her mouth – had been recaptured so easily. He was being hanged right at this very minute, but Mala wouldn’t be so lucky – hanging was too good for Mala. She would be burned alive.

While Mandel is raging in their faces, she doesn’t see what is going on behind her – what every other prisoner is now witnessing. From the matted remains of her dark hair, Mala withdraws a small blade, which she drags along the length of her arms, from wrist to inner elbow. Into the eerie silence between Mandel’s outbursts, she lets out a low moan and collapses. Mandel spins to find her ‘prize’ lying on the ground, blood gushing from her arms.

‘She is not to die like this!’ she rages. ‘She is to die by fire!’

An officer runs into the clearing with a wheelbarrow. Mandel points at Livi and another girl. ‘Load her in and take her to the crematorium. Now!’ she screams.

‘Let me go!’ says Cibi, grabbing her sister’s wrist, but it’s too late: Livi is moving past the girls into the clearing.

With the other prisoner, Livi heaves the emaciated, bloody body of Mala into the wheelbarrow. The girls each take a handle and began the journey to the crematoria.

Mala is barely conscious, moaning softly. Two officers walk a short distance behind them.

Once outside the women’s camp, on the road heading towards the crematoria, the girls slow their pace. The SS do the same. Without exchanging a single word, the girls have acknowledged they will let Mala die in the wheelbarrow. She is quiet now – it shouldn’t take long. They walk slowly, staring straight ahead, aware that Mandel might appear at any moment.

As they draw closer to the crematoria Livi looks at Mala. The girl’s face is relaxed, her eyes are open, staring blankly up at the sky.

‘She’s dead,’ Livi whispers.

‘Good.’

Two male prisoners are standing at the entrance to the crematoria when they arrive. They stare at the girl in the wheelbarrow, before wheeling her away without a word.

The girls walk in silence back to the camp.





CHAPTER 20

Vranov nad Topl’ou

September 1944

Y

itzchak is dressed in his finest suit, a white shirt and tie. Clothing totally unsuitable for a hot, late summer’s day, but he would not be seen in public in anything less. Chaya wears her simple, functional black dress. With tiny buttons from collar to her midriff, the dress skims her calves and a black belt cinches her slim waist. Her hair is in a red and gold scarf; after all, she is a proud Slovakian woman and these are the colours of the traditional folk costume. Chaya tucks her black-stockinged feet into her sturdy shoes and throws a coat over her arm.

There was much discussion between mother and daughter as to what Magda should wear. They are going on a train journey and they don’t want to be uncomfortable. All that sitting around required some preparation. In the end, Magda wore a plain blue skirt and a collarless blouse covered in blue and yellow flowers. She decided against stockings, but insisted on wearing her best shoes: slingbacks with a silver buckle. She also packed some ‘sensible’ shoes. Magda refused the scarf Chaya pressed on her. She wanted her hair to be loose and wild, All the better for holding my head up high, she told her mother.

A small suitcase carried by each of them, they leave the house.

Magda turns to lock the door, but Chaya calls out. ‘Don’t!’

‘Don’t what, Mumma?’

‘Don’t lock it. It’s a lovely door and I would hate for it to be broken.’

Of course! Mother is right, thinks Magda. And didn’t she hide the candlesticks, their photos? They are hated by this town. These neighbours would think nothing of breaking down the door to steal their things.

‘Don’t underestimate them, Magda. They mocked your sisters on the day they were taken from me. They will race each other to our door once we’ve gone.’ Chaya’s eyes alight on a figure further up the road: Mrs Cerny, leaning on her gate, watching the Mellers. ‘She is one of them,’ hisses Chaya.

Yitzchak has been watching this exchange in silence. Now, he picks up Magda’s suitcase and hands it to her. ‘Magda, put the key in your pocket. Maybe the neighbours will steal from us, maybe they won’t. A locked door will not stop them.’ He puts his arm around her shoulders and draws her close to him for a moment. She can hear his heart beating, slow and steady. Magda takes in a deep breath and, finally, with a last look at the only home she has ever known, she joins her family as they begin their reluctant march up the street.