The Librarian of Auschwitz(52)

“To Barrack Fifteen.”

“And your tits?”

“Later.”

“Did you say Barrack Fifteen? But that’s a men’s hut—”

“Right…” And Dita puts the hood over her head, leaving it almost completely hidden.

Milan stops.

“Wait. You’re not seriously thinking of going in there? Women are forbidden. I have no intention of going in there with you. If they catch you, they’ll punish me, too. I think you’re a bit mad.”

“I’m going inside. With you or without you.”

The boy’s eyes widen, and he shivers even more with cold.

“If you want, you can wait for me at the door.”

Milan has to walk faster because Dita is striding quickly. She sees her mother a few meters away, lurking near the entrance to her father’s hut, and she doesn’t stop to greet her. Liesl Adler is so upset that she hasn’t even recognized her daughter inside the male garment. Dita walks into the hut without hesitating, and nobody takes any notice of her. Milan has stopped by the door cursing, unsure whether the girl has tricked him and he’ll never see his jacket again.

Dita makes her way through the rows of bunks. Some men are lying on top of the horizontal stove, which isn’t operating, while others are sitting on their bunks and chatting. Some are lying down on their bunks, even though doing so before lights-out is prohibited, all of which suggests they have a benevolent Kapo. The smell is really strong, worse than in her women’s hut, a nauseating smell of acrid sweat. Dita hasn’t removed her hood, and nobody pays any attention to her.

She finds her father at the back of the hut, stretched out on the straw mattress of his bottom bunk. She pulls back her hood and brings her face close to his.

“It’s me,” she whispers.

His eyes are half closed, but when he hears his daughter, he opens them slightly. Dita puts her hand on his forehead; it’s burning. She’s not sure if he’s recognized her, but she takes one of his hands and continues to talk to him in a whisper. It’s usually difficult to talk to someone when you don’t know if he’s hearing you, but her words flow with surprising ease, and she tells him the things you never stop to say because you think there’ll always be time in future to say them.

“Do you remember when you used to teach me geography at home? I remember it really well.… You know so many things! I’ve always been very proud of you, Papa. Always.”

And she talks to him about the good times during her childhood in Prague, and the good moments in the Terezín ghetto, and how much she and her mother love him. She tells him over and over again so the words will filter through his fever. And she thinks he moves slightly. Maybe somewhere deep inside, he’s listening to her.

Hans Adler is fighting against pneumonia with very few weapons—a lone, malnourished man broken by all the elements of war against a microbial army bursting with energy. Dita recalls Paul de Kruif’s book about the microbe hunters she had read just before they left Prague: If you look at germs under a microscope, they look like a miniaturized pack of predators. Too many to take on.

She releases his hand, tucks it under the dirty sheet, and kisses him on his forehead. She pulls up her hood again and turns to leave. And in that moment, she catches sight of Milan, a few steps away. She thinks he must be furious, but the boy is looking at her with unexpected tenderness.

“Your father?” he asks.

Dita nods. She hunts for something under her clothing and pulls out her evening ration of bread. She holds it out to him, but the boy keeps his hands in his pockets and refuses it with a shake of his head. She reaches the door of the hut and removes the jacket. When her mother recognizes her, she looks puzzled.

“Will you lend it to my mother for a moment?” And without waiting for his answer, she says, “Put it on and go inside.”

“But, Edita—”

“You’ll be disguised. Come on! It’s at the back on the right. He’s not conscious, but I think he can hear us.”

The woman adjusts the hood and, covered up, goes inside stealthily. Milan stands silently beside Dita, unsure what to do or say.

“Thanks, Milan.”

The boy nods and hesitates for a moment, as if he is searching for the right words.

“As far as … you know what,” Dita says to him as she looks down at her almost-flat chest.

“Forget it, please!” Milan replies, blushing and waving his hands dramatically. “I’ve got to go now; return the jacket tomorrow.”

He turns on his heel and rushes off. He wonders how he’s going to explain to his friends why he’s returning with no jacket and no girl. They’ll think he’s an idiot. He could tell them that he ate the bread on his way back to them, and that he touched her tits on behalf of all of them, since the jacket is his, after all. But he dismisses that with a shake of his head. He knows they’ll spot the lie right away. He’ll tell them the truth. They’ll laugh at him for sure, and tell him he’s gullible. But he knows how to fix things like that. He’ll hit the first one who says anything so hard he’ll have to search for his teeth with a magnifying glass. And then everyone will be friends again.

Margit turns up while Dita is waiting for Liesl to reappear. From the distraught expression on her face, it’s clear that Margit has heard about Dita’s father. In Auschwitz, news, and bad news in particular, spreads fast. Margit walks up to her and gives her hug.