Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(77)
‘This is Klara and Branka,’ says Imrich to Cibi. ‘The girls need a home,’ he tells his friends.
‘Of course,’ says Klara, the taller of the two women. ‘There’s plenty of room for you – a whole room, in fact, which you could share.’ She turns to Branka. ‘We just need more bedding, don’t we?’
‘Klara and I sleep here.’ Branka points at the mattress. ‘And Kamila and Erena share the other bedroom. We’re a cosy family.’
Cibi’s eyes well up. She feels for her sisters’ hands. ‘How do we thank you?’ she says.
‘Don’t be silly.’ Klara laughs, throwing her arms around Cibi. ‘You’ve just forgotten what it feels like to have friends. We all have.’
Magda and Livi watch in silence as Cibi weeps in Klara’s arms; their brave older sister, undone by this simple gesture of kindness.
Frodo and Imrich make their excuses and leave and the sisters are shown to their new bedroom.
‘It’s perfect, isn’t it, Cibi?’ Magda asks.
Cibi is rubbing her eyes, but she’s smiling and nodding.
‘Help us with dinner,’ Klara calls, and once the girls have opened a window to air out the room, they join their new landlords in the tiny kitchen.
Cibi and Livi find the cutlery and an odd assortment of plates and lay the table. The sun is setting and the room dims.
‘I’ve got some candles in a drawer, I’ll get them,’ says Branka. ‘Magda, can you find something to put them in? We don’t want them falling over and burning down what’s left of the building.’
As Branka pulls two candles from a drawer, Magda gasps. ‘I’ve got just the thing,’ she says, leaping from the table. Moments later she returns, holding the silver candlesticks, now liberated from the pillowcase. ‘Will these do?’ she asks.
‘They’re perfect! Where did you get them?’ Branka asks, delightedly.
‘They’re all we have left of our mother,’ says Magda, in a whisper.
‘Mumma would love the thought of them at our first meal with new friends,’ Cibi says, her voice dropping to a whisper too.
‘I’ll light them,’ pipes up Livi, taking the candlesticks from Magda. ‘Cibi’s right. Tonight we eat by the light of Mumma’s watchful eyes.’
*
Later that evening, after a meal prepared with the apartment’s final two residents, Kamila and Erena, the women retreat to the large flat on the top floor which has access to the rooftop. Survivors from other apartments gather to share their stories of life in the camps, and life after.
The sisters learn that every day, the men and women go out looking for work. Some are lucky, and those who aren’t are tasked with making their living conditions more comfortable, by scouting the other flats for food, furniture and toiletries.
‘Tomorrow, you must visit the Red Cross offices,’ Branka tells the sisters. ‘They’ll register your return and help you find family and friends.’
‘Someone will help us? Actually help us find our uncle?’ Livi’s voice is shrill and the rooftop falls silent.
Branka reaches for her hand. ‘I hope so, little Livi,’ she says, softly. ‘I really hope so.’
The evening draws to a close and people begin to shuffle to their feet and head for their beds. Cibi is aware that several young men and women linger to finish their conversations, their heads bent close as they talk. Normal life might be possible after all, ponders Cibi. She remembers Yosi, the cheeky boy from the Hachshara, who so loved to throw his bread at her head. Maybe, one day, she too might find someone to love.
*
The sisters’ lives fall into a pleasant rhythm, each of them happy to lose themselves in a new, independent routine. Cibi is the luckiest, finding short spells of office work where she uses her typing skills. Livi and Magda find themselves office work too, filing paperwork and helping tally the accounts of small businesses, or cleaning. When they’re not working, they fix up the apartment.
Cibi and Livi had spent enough time watching the Russians construct Birkenau, so it’s no surprise that they prove to be dab hands at mixing cement and fixing broken bricks back into the walls of their flat, to afford them some protection over the winter months.
‘You girls sure know your way around construction,’ Frodo says, watching in awe as Cibi and Livi slap the bricks with mortar.
As the weeks pass, the sisters feel like they’re waking up from a bad dream. Each night, before they go to bed, the girls look through the photos, their hearts aching as they relive their happy childhoods, before it all went so wrong. But it’s no longer unbearable to face these memories. Livi cries herself to sleep every night, the pain of losing their home in Vranov still so fresh in her mind. Her dreams are confused things: the thug at their house shoving them into the street, into the arms of an SS officer who orders them onto a cattle wagon which is laden with actual cows. But each morning she wakes up and decides life must go on and, slowly, she begins to feel stronger.
Cibi visits the Red Cross at least once a week, scanning the lists for her uncle and aunt’s names, but so far she has had no luck.
One afternoon, two months into their residence in Bratislava, she returns home to find a man lurking outside the door of their apartment. Friend or foe, she wonders, instinctively, but Cibi reminds herself she is safe here, that a single cry for help would bring people from every apartment running to her aid.