The Librarian of Auschwitz(53)

“How’s your father?”

Dita knows that this question hides another more serious one: Will he live?

“He’s not well, he has a high fever, and his chest rattles when he breathes.”

“You must have faith, Dita. Your father has overcome many things.”

“Too many.”

“He’s a strong man. He’ll fight.”

“He was strong, Margit. But these past few years have aged him a lot. I’ve always been an optimist. But I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know anymore if we’ll all be able to hold out.”

“Of course we will.”

“Why are you so sure?”

Her friend remains silent for a few seconds, biting her lip as she searches for an answer.

“Because I want to believe it.”

The two girls don’t say another word. The age when you think that just wanting something is enough to make it happen is slipping away from them.

The curfew siren goes off, and her mother emerges from the hut like a ghost dragging its feet through the mud.

“We must hurry,” says Margit.

“You go—run,” Dita replies. “We’ll come a bit more slowly.”

Her friend says good-bye, and mother and daughter are left by themselves. Her mother looks lost.

“How’s Papa?”

“A bit better,” Liesl replies. But her voice is so broken it gives the lie to what she’s saying. And anyway, Dita knows her all too well. Liesl has spent her entire life trying to make everything right, attempting to ensure that nothing alters the natural order of things.

“Did he recognize you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So did he say anything to you?”

“No … he was a bit tired. He’ll be better tomorrow.”

And they don’t say another word until they reach their hut.

He’ll be better tomorrow.

Her mother said it with a conviction that left no room for doubt, and mothers know these things. Dita takes her mother’s hand, and they walk more quickly.

When they enter the hut, almost all the women are already lying down on their bunks, and they come face-to-face with the Kapo, a Hungarian with the orange badge of a common criminal, a superior status. A thief, a swindler, a murderess … any one of these is more valuable than a Jew. She’s been overseeing the placement of the containers used by the women to relieve themselves during the night, and when she sees Dita and her mother arriving late, she lifts the stick in her hand threateningly.

“I’m sorry, Kapo, but my father—”

“Shut up and get on your pallet, idiot.”

“Yes, madam.”

Dita pulls on her mother’s hand, and they walk to their bunks. Liesl slowly climbs up and, before lying down, briefly turns toward Dita. Her lips don’t move, but her eyes show her pain.

“Don’t worry, Mama,” says her daughter encouragingly. “If there’s no change in Papa, we’ll talk to his Kapo in the morning about taking him to the doctor. If need be, I’ll speak with the director of Block Thirty-One. Fredy Hirsch will be able to help us.”

“He’ll be better tomorrow.”

The lights go out, and Dita says good night to her bunkmate, who doesn’t respond. She’s so distressed she can’t even close her eyes. She recalls images of her father and tries to sort out the best ones. There’s one she especially likes: It’s of her parents seated at the piano. Both of them are elegant and handsome—her father in a white shirt with the cuffs rolled up, a dark tie, and suspenders; her mother in a fitted blouse that accentuates her waist. They’re laughing, because it’s obvious they can’t find a way to coordinate their movements to play a four-handed piece. They are happy.

Dita remembers when they left Prague, that moment when they walked out the front door and put their suitcases on the landing. They were getting ready to close a door that they didn’t know if they’d ever open again. Her father went back inside the apartment for a moment while mother and daughter watched him from the landing. He walked up to the sideboard in the living-dining room and twirled the world globe one last time.

And Dita finally falls asleep.

But her sleep is restless; something is disturbing her. As dawn is breaking, she wakes up with a start, convinced that someone has called her. Uneasy, she opens her eyes, her heart beating loudly. The only things next to her are the feet of her sleeping bunkmate, and the only sounds disturbing the silence are the snores and muttering of the women talking in their sleep. It was just a nightmare … but Dita is filled with a sense of foreboding. She’s convinced it was her father who was calling her.

First thing in the morning, the camp fills with guards and Kapos for the morning roll call. It’s a two-hour roll call, which feels like the longest of her life. She keeps exchanging glances with her mother while they are lined up. Talking is forbidden, although in this instance, it’s almost better not to exchange words. When they finally break ranks, they take advantage of the endless lines for breakfast to go to Barrack 15. As they approach it, Mr. Brady steps out of his breakfast line, his shoulders weighed down by his bad news.

“Mrs.…”

“My husband? Is he worse?” asks Liesl, her voice breaking.

“He’s dead.”