The Tattooist of Auschwitz (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #1) - Heather Morris Page 0,11
Aron anyway.’
Lale struggles to contain his tears.
The second bunkmate rolls onto his elbow. ‘You put big ideas into his head. He wanted to save “the one”.’
‘To save one is to save the world.’ Lale completes the phrase.
The men sink into silence for a while. Lale looks at the ceiling, blinks away tears. Aron is not the first person to die here and will not be the last.
‘Thank you,’ he says.
‘We tried to continue what Aron started, to see if we could save the one.’
‘We took turns,’ a young boy says from below, ‘smuggling water and sharing our bread with you, forcing it down your throat.’
Another picks up the story. He rises from the bunk below, haggard, with cloudy blue eyes, his voice flat, but still full of the need to tell his part of the story. ‘We changed your soiled clothes. We swapped them with someone who had died overnight.’
Lale is now unable to stop the tears that roll down his emaciated cheeks.
‘I can’t …’
He can’t do anything but be appreciative. He knows he has a debt he cannot repay, not now, not here, realistically not ever.
He falls asleep to the soulful sound of Hebrew chants from those who still cling to faith.
•
The next morning Lale is in the queue for breakfast when Pepan appears by his side, takes his arm quietly and steers him away towards the main compound. There the trucks unload their human cargo. He feels as though he has wandered into a scene from a tragic play. Some of the actors are the same, most are new, their lines unwritten, their role not yet determined. His life experience has not equipped him to understand what is happening. He has a memory of being here before. Yes, not as an observer, but a participant. What will my role be now? He closes his eyes and imagines he is facing another version of himself, looking at the left arm. It is unnumbered. Opening his eyes again, he looks down at the tattoo on his real left arm, then back to the scene in front of him.
He takes in the hundreds of new prisoners who are gathered there. Boys, young men, terror etched on each of their faces. Holding on to each other. Hugging themselves. SS and dogs shepherd them like lambs to the slaughter. They obey. Whether they live or die this day is about to be decided. Lale stops following Pepan and stands frozen. Pepan doubles back and guides him to some small tables with tattooing equipment on them. Those passing selection are moved into a line in front of their table. They will be marked. Other new arrivals – the old, infirm, no skills identified – are walking dead.
A shot rings out. Men flinch. Someone falls. Lale looks in the direction of the shot, only for Pepan to grab his face and twist his head away.
A group of SS, mostly young, walk towards Pepan and Lale, guarding an older SS officer. Mid- to late forties, straight-backed in his immaculate uniform, his cap sitting precisely on his head – a perfect mannequin, thinks Lale, like those he occasionally helped dress when he worked in the department store in Bratislava.
The SS stop in front of them. Pepan steps forward, acknowledging the officer with a bowed head as Lale watches.
‘Oberscharführer Houstek, I have enlisted this prisoner to help.’ Pepan indicates Lale standing behind him.
Houstek turns to Lale.
Pepan continues. ‘I believe he will learn fast.’
Houstek, steely-eyed, glares at Lale before wagging a finger for him to step forward. Lale does so.
‘What languages do you speak?’
‘Slovakian, German, Russian, French, Hungarian and a little Polish,’ Lale answers, looking him in the eye.
‘Humph.’ Houstek walks away.
Lale leans over and whispers to Pepan, ‘A man of few words. I take it I got the job?’
Pepan turns on Lale, fire in his eyes and his voice, though he speaks quietly. ‘Do not underestimate him. Lose your bravado, or you will lose your life. Next time you talk to him, do not raise your eyes above the level of his boots.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lale says. ‘I won’t.’
When will I learn?
Chapter 3
June 1942
Lale is slowly waking, holding onto a dream that has put a smile on his face. Stay, stay, let me stay here just a moment longer, please …
While Lale likes meeting all kinds of people, he particularly likes meeting women. He thinks them all beautiful, regardless of their age, their appearance, how they are dressed. The highlight of his daily routine is walking through the