Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(79)

‘And?’ he asks.

‘I’ve said yes.’

The room erupts. Both Livi and Magda burst into tears. Ivan is holding Cibi tight, telling her Chaya would be so proud, that Mischka is exactly who she would have chosen for her eldest daughter. When the noise abates, Ivan is still holding Cibi’s hands.

‘I have an announcement too,’ he says, blushing.

‘Uncle!’ yells Livi. ‘You’re getting married too?’

‘I am. Her name is Irinka. She is also a survivor.’

*

A few weeks later, in April 1946, Cibi marries Mischka. She couldn’t have cared less it is on Hitler’s birthday; Cibi was glad, in fact. She wished every Jew could find something to celebrate on this day, to show this man and his army of murderers that hope flourishes in the darkest of places. The couple move into another apartment in their uncle’s block, ready to begin their lives together.

Not long after the wedding, Cibi and her sisters are having coffee and cake in their favourite café, a routine that hasn’t ceased despite her newly married status. The groaning hunger that defined so much of their experience in the camps is now part of their DNA; they will never forget their desperation to put something, anything, in their stomachs. These days they savour every mouthful, but, more than that, they cherish the freedom to move around the city as they choose, no longer under the watchful and penetrating gaze of a kapo or worse, an SS officer.

‘The other day,’ Livi tells her sisters, biting into flaky pastry and moaning with pleasure. ‘I stood in front Madam Cleo’s boutique. You know the one?’ The girls nod. ‘Just because I could. ‘No one was going to tell me to go and clean the toilets or dig holes or sort the mail of dead people; I was just free to stand there and dream myself into those dresses.’

‘I know what you mean,’ says Magda, about to launch into her own stories of the incredulous wonder of being in control of her own body, but she doesn’t, because she has noticed that Cibi has gone very red in the face.

‘Are you OK?’ she asks Cibi. ‘You’ve gone all .?.?.’

‘I’m having a baby!’ Cibi blurts.

The sisters slam down their coffee cups and burst into howls of excitement.

‘If Grandmother were here she’d deliver the baby,’ says Livi finally, turning back to her pastry.

‘She’d put ruby earrings into her ears,’ says Magda, gulping down her now cold coffee.

‘Would she still do that if it was a boy?’ Livi asks.

The girls dissolve into laughter.

*

Every day and for the next seven months, Magda and Livi visit Cibi; they feel the baby kick and they marvel at the expansion of Cibi’s belly. They quiz her midwife, letting it be known they will be present at the birth. Mischka, however, won’t, and it’s not expected of him.

Magda and Livi turn up unexpectedly at Cibi’s apartment one day, demanding she accompanies them on a secret mission.

‘I don’t want to go anywhere! Look at me, I’m an elephant,’ she wails.

‘Even elephants go shopping.’ Livi giggles. ‘Come on, Jumbo. Get up.’

‘Where are we going? You wouldn’t do this to me if you knew what it was like to have a giant football in your tummy.’

‘We don’t know, you’re right. And that’s because you, as the eldest, have taken it upon yourself to do everything first,’ Magda says.

‘But I look so bloated and puffy.’

‘You’ve looked worse, trust me,’ Livi says, grinning.

‘That’s not fair! You looked just as bad as me,’ Cibi throws back at her.

‘I never looked as bad as you two did, did I?’ Magda says, suddenly serious.

‘But you would have, if you’d been there as long as we had,’ Livi says, and immediately wants to bite back the words. ‘I’m sorry, Magda, that came out wrong. I’m an idiot.’ Livi hangs her head.

‘I know it did. It’s OK. Just help me get the elephant up off the sofa, into her shoes and out of the door.’

Cibi lets herself be dragged out of the apartment and onto the busy high street. Livi lingers by every clothes shop they pass and each time Magda urges her on.

‘This trip is for Cibi,’ she says, impatiently, ‘not you. Come on, we’re nearly there.’

Magda and Livi stop in front of a large shop, its windows full of prams and cots and tiny mannequins sporting colourful children’s clothes.

‘We’re here!’ Magda announces, finally.

‘I can’t afford anything in there,’ Cibi says, deflated.

‘But we can, Cibi.’ Livi takes her arm to lead her into the shop, but Cibi resists.

‘It’s OK,’ Livi soothes. ‘We’ve saved a little money from our wages these past few months and now we have enough to buy a pram for that soccer ball.’

‘All you have to do is choose the one you want,’ Magda says.

‘We weren’t going to have a pram; we can’t afford one.’

‘You are going to have a pram, Cibi Meller!’ Livi insists. ‘Mumma would have wanted you to have one, and we want you have one.’

‘Will you please come inside and choose one?’ Magda takes Cibi’s arm and, finally, Cibi allows herself to be dragged inside the shop.