Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(78)

‘Can I help you?’

The man turns round slowly. He is clutching his hat in his hands, twisting it round and round with thin fingers. ‘I’m looking for .?.?.’ he begins.

Cibi gasps, reaches for the wall for support. ‘Uncle Ivan?’ she whispers.

‘Cibi!’ he cries. In seconds they are hugging, each of them sobbing onto the shoulder of the other.

Cibi recognises him by the glint in his eyes, the shape of his nose – but everything else about her uncle is different. His once proud posture is stooped, his black hair is now white and straggly. Lines etch his features, but his smile is as wide and warm as it had ever been. ‘Magda? Livi?’ he says, hesitantly.

‘They’re fine. We’re all fine. And Aunt Helena? The children?’ It’s Cibi’s turn to sound hesitant. Ivan looks at his misshapen hat. ‘The children have been through a lot; it will take some time for them to adjust.’

‘Aunt Helena?’

Ivan hangs his head as the tears begin to spill down his cheeks. ‘We lost her, Cibi. She’s gone,’ he croaks. ‘She fell on the death march .?.?.’

He doesn’t need to say anymore and Cibi doesn’t press him. Once more they’re crying in each other’s arms.

‘I want to see Magda and Livi,’ Ivan says, finally.

Cibi nods, takes his hand and leads him into the apartment.

*

The next day the family gathers at their uncle’s apartment block, mere minutes from their own. The sisters listen as their cousins recount the moment their mother fell and was then shot by an SS officer. It is painful to hear, but Cibi knows now that talking about it will help them, however distressing the memories.

‘There is an empty apartment above,’ Ivan tells the sisters. ‘It would make me very happy if you girls moved in. We could be a family again.’

The sisters don’t even need to discuss it. That same afternoon, they say goodbye to Branka and all their friends, with promises to stay in touch, and move their meagre possessions to Ivan’s block.

They celebrate the first night of their reunion with their uncle, drawing up chairs and crates to sit round a small table and eat. When the table is set and the food steaming in mismatching bowls, Magda reaches for her bag and pulls out the candlesticks, replete with the long tapers given to her by Branka.

Livi strikes a match and the room glows in the yellow flickering light.

‘Are these .?.?.?’ Ivan begins, but can’t continue, because he has started to cry.

The children circle their father, patting his back, wiping away his tears. ‘It’s OK, Daddy,’ they say over and over.

Slowly Ivan sits up, arms around his children ‘Where .?.?.? How did you get them?’ he says.

‘I hid them in the ceiling of our house, Uncle,’ says Magda. ‘Before we left. And then I went back for them.’

‘There are photos,’ Cibi says. ‘Magda hid those, too.’

While the rest of them eat, Ivan doesn’t put a single morsel into his mouth; he is lost in the memories stirred up by the black-and-white photographs. Gradually, the solemn mood shifts into something lighter as the children become enamoured of these images of their father as a young man.

‘Daddy, you were a boy once!’

‘Aunty Chaya is so pretty.’

By candlelight, they all begin to recall episodes from the lives of the brother and sister, their spouses, and Grandfather.

Ivan rubs away the melted wax from the silver surface of the candlesticks. ‘I feel Chaya is with us,’ he says. ‘Looking at these photos in this special light, we have remembered the past without grief. And if we can do that, we can also look ahead without fear.’

*

Cibi recognises the move to their uncle’s block as a new chapter in their lives. While work is still irregular and poorly paid, and the daily and not so subtle anti-Jewish sentiment that seems to be imbedded in Bratislavan society is increasingly grating, the sisters are thankful to be with family once more. Slowly they begin to build a life together in Bratislava.

Nor was Cibi misguided in her musings about romance that day on the rooftop. Mischka, a friend from the old apartment, is very keen to remain in touch and Cibi finds herself looking forward to his visits, despite the fact that Magda and Livi waste no opportunity in making fun of their big sister.

‘Oh, Mischka, I love you!’ Livi teases, in a high squeaky voice.

‘You are so handsome, Mischka. So strong!’ Magda moans. ‘Cibi, marry him quickly or one of us will.’

‘Yuk,’ laughed Livi. ‘That would be like marrying your brother!’

But the teasing stops when, one evening, Cibi breaks the news.

Uncle Ivan, her cousins and sisters are gathered together in her uncle’s apartment, playing a game of charades. Cibi stands up, sits down, stands up and begins to pace.

‘What is wrong with you?’ asks Livi. ‘You’re ruining the game.’

‘I have something to tell you,’ says Cibi, sitting down once more.

‘Well, tell us then,’ says Magda, when Cibi says nothing.

‘OK, OK. Give me a second.’ Cibi is flushed, happy, grinning stupidly. ‘Mischka has asked me to marry him!’

The sisters stare at Cibi in silence, waiting for more. Ivan leaves his chair to sit beside his niece.