The Librarian of Auschwitz(96)
The little ones are nervous, and there are quarrels, shoving, fights, arguments, tears, and an air of confusion that seems to keep growing. They can’t keep still; they’re upset by the bites from bedbugs, fleas, lice, and all manner of mites that live in the wet straw. Good weather encourages not only flowers but all sorts of bugs as well.
Miriam makes a drastic decision: She decides to use the last bit of coal that was being kept for an emergency to heat up buckets of water to wash the children’s underwear. There’s a huge kerfuffle, and there’s no time to dry them fully on the chimney, so the children have to put them on again still damp, but it looks as if most of the insects have been drowned and as the day progresses, calm is gradually restored.
When those who have been assigned to work in Block 31 reach the row of huts where it is located, they think they have arrived at a bog. But discovering a clandestine school has left them stunned—and hopeful.
Lichtenstern calls them all together at the end of the day, when groups have been more or less organized and a certain school routine has been put in place. He introduces them to a young teenage girl with the legs of a ballerina and woolen socks, who is nervously rocking back and forth on her wooden clogs. Anyone who doesn’t look at her carefully would think she’s slight, maybe even fragile, but if they study her, they’ll see the fire in her eyes. She seems to move about shyly, but at the same time she shamelessly observes everything around her. She tells them she’s the block librarian.
Some people ask her to repeat what she’s just said because they can’t believe what they’re hearing: “Is there a library as well? But books are forbidden!” They don’t understand how such a dangerous and delicate matter can be in the hands of a young girl. So Miriam asks her to climb onto a stool so that everyone will listen to her.
“Good afternoon. I’m Edita Adler. We have a library of eight paper books and six ‘living’ books.”
The look of puzzlement on the faces of some of the recent arrivals is so obvious that even Dita, who started speaking in a serious voice in order to convey her responsibility properly to so many adults, can’t keep back a small laugh.
“Don’t worry. We haven’t gone mad. Obviously, the books aren’t alive. It’s the people who tell the stories who are alive; you’ll be able to borrow them for your afternoon activities.”
Dita continues to explain how the library works in Czech and amazingly fluent German. The newly appointed teachers standing in front of her are still bewildered by the inherent contradiction that arises in the discussion of the normal operation of a school inside the most abnormal place in the world. When she is done, Dita bows her head in the slightly exaggerated manner of Professor Morgenstern and barely manages to stop herself from laughing at her own formality. She finds even funnier the openmouthed amazement with which some of them look at her as she makes her way back through them to her more secluded spot.
“She’s the librarian of Block Thirty-One,” they whisper.
There’s such a racket in the afternoon that it’s impossible for Dita to hide away and read. She goes to her usual hiding spot and finds half a dozen boys gathered there torturing ants.
Poor ants, she thinks. They must already have a tough enough time finding crumbs in Auschwitz.
So she puts A Short History of the World under her clothes, scurries off to the latrines, and hides down the back behind some containers. Clearly it’s hard to see, and the smell is awful—but it’s so bad that the SS guards rarely stick their heads inside. What Dita doesn’t know is that for precisely that reason, the latrines are the preferred spot for black market deals.
It’s almost soup time and hence the time to do business. Arkadiusz, a Polish man who does repair jobs around the camps, is one of the most active black marketeers: tobacco, a comb, a mirror, a pair of boots.…
He’s Santa Claus with a prisoner’s face, who can be asked for anything as long as you’re prepared to give him something in return. Dita hears voices in the hut and turns over the pages of her book even more quietly. The conversation filters into her ears. One of the people talking is a woman.
Dita can’t see her, but Bohumila Kleinová has a pointed nose that turns up, making her look somewhat haughty, but her soft, swollen bruised eyelids spoil that impression.
“I have a client. I’ll need a woman the day after tomorrow, in the afternoon, before the evening count.”
“Aunt Bohumila can arrange it, but the Kapo in charge of our hut is a bit nervous, and we’ll have to give her more.”
“Don’t overdo it, Bohumila.”
And then the tone of voice gets louder.
“I’m not asking for me, stupid! I’m telling you that it’s the Kapo. If she doesn’t turn a blind eye and doesn’t let us use her cubicle, you’ll be left without your tasty morsel.”
Arkadiusz lowers his voice but he still sounds angry and menacing:
“We agreed on a ration of bread and ten cigarettes. You won’t get a crumb more from me. Split it up among you however you want.”
Even Dita hears the woman’s grumble.
“Everything would be settled with fifteen cigarettes.”
“I said that’s not possible.”
“Damned Polish moneylender! Fine, I’ll give the Kapo two more cigarettes from my commission. But if I lose my income and I can’t buy food on the black market, I’ll get sick. And who’s going to get you pretty young Jewish women? Then you’ll come crying to Aunt Bohumila, yes, indeed, and you’ll be sorry you were so pigheaded with me.”