Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(65)

Cibi and Livi nod. The girls are still walking, taking care where to place their feet, wary of rocks beneath the snow which might upend them any moment. Their toes are numb, every part of them feels dead, but Magda’s story of sunshine is beginning to thaw their hearts at least.

‘I noticed a flash of colour, just by the trunk of the oak, so I ran over to it.’

‘What was it?’ Livi asks, fully engrossed. ‘And don’t you dare say an elf or fairy.’

‘Don’t be silly, Livi. This is a true story.’ Magda wants to get it all out now. She wants her sisters to feel the heat on their skin, to be dazzled by the blinding glare of the sunshine when she looked up into the canopy of leaves. To feel their ears twitch with the buzzing of insects.

‘It was the most magnificent sword lily I have ever seen. Just one. Those beautiful pink flowers didn’t look real. Grandfather and I stared at it for ages, and then he asked me if I knew the meaning of the word “gladiolus”.’

‘Do you?’ Livi says, her forehead scrunching, as if she’s trying to recall the meaning herself.

‘I do. Don’t you?’

‘I do,’ Cibi says.

‘I don’t,’ Livi says. ‘Magda, please keep going with the memory. What did you say?’

Cibi marvels at their younger sister. They are surely headed for their deaths, yet she is lost in Magda’s story, caught up in the summer’s day, in the appearance of a magical flower.

‘The gladiolus symbolises strength, Livi,’ Cibi tells her.

‘And do either of you know what family of plant the gladiolus belongs to?’ Magda asks. She is stamping her feet as she walks, trying to get a little blood flowing into her toes.

‘Don’t tell me! Don’t tell me, I know this. Just give me a minute,’ says Livi.

Cibi and Magda give her a few moments.

‘Iris! It belongs to the iris family,’ Livi blurts out, with pride.

‘Well done, Livi. And now a harder question. Do you know what the iris symbolises?’ asks Cibi.

Livi thinks for a moment and slowly shakes her head. ‘I don’t think I ever knew that,’ she says, quietly.

‘Hope, little sister,’ says Magda. ‘It means hope. Seeing that sword lily before we were taken away gave me strength and hope. And that’s why I’m telling you both this story now. We Meller girls must stay strong and carry hope in our hearts.’

After a long silence, Livi says, ‘I can feel Mumma and Grandfather with us now.’

*

The girls are still marching as night falls. The sound of bombing still stutters in the distance, but the noises are definitely moving away. Someone whispers that the Russians are winning, driving the Germans back, and that they are marching away from the Russian fighters. The sisters struggle to free their feet from the snow with each step. It is now past their knees, but they keep going because the only alternative is a bullet.

They walk through the night and into the dawn, into the day. The snow has eased up and the sun shines on the thousands of walkers. Cibi, Livi and Magda step over the thin corpses of those who could not take one more step. They watch as other girls pause to remove the shoes of the dead.

‘How can they do that?’ gasps Magda.

‘We’ve seen worse,’ says Cibi. ‘And if we needed extra clothing, I’d do the same.’

While the sun shines and the road ahead looms long and white, Cibi begins to wonder which of the sisters will collapse first. She hopes it’s her. She is struggling to breathe now; it takes effort to fill her lungs and even to expel the air.

‘Halt!’ The SS guards are suddenly animated, screaming at the girls to stop walking. The sisters freeze in place. They each have the same thought: they will die now, out here in the anonymous Polish landscape. Their bodies will be buried by the falling snow only to be discovered, perfectly preserved, in the spring.

But their guns are holstered. Instead, the officers direct the hundreds of women off the road towards a large barn into which they slowly file. Dozens at a time collapse onto the straw covering the ground.

‘My feet are dead,’ groans Livi, reaching for her shoes.

‘Don’t take them off,’ Cibi warns her. ‘Your feet will swell and then you’ll never get them on again.’ Cibi gathers handfuls of straw and packs them around her sister’s feet. ‘This will warm them up.’ She does the same for Magda and then for herself.

The sisters hunker down, keeping on their coats, laying the blankets they’ve been wearing across them. Despite their hunger and the bitter cold, they fall fast asleep.

*

The officers tell them it’s time to go and the sisters jump to their feet. Magda urges those around them to stand up, not to give up now. Some women never wake up, and their shoes and coats and cardigans are carefully and gratefully removed by those who need them. Those who refuse, begging the officers for a little longer in the shelter of the barn, are executed on the spot.

They are on the road again. The sun is shining, but its warmth is an illusion; within minutes, the girls are chilled to the bone. The snow is packed hard and the women slide over the ground.

‘A town!’ gasps Livi. Ahead, the outline of dark buildings against the blue sky. They make slow progress, but the fact they have a destination drives the women forward.

‘Oh, dear,’ says Cibi, as they enter the town. She points towards the train station at the top of the main street. ‘This isn’t good.’