The Tattooist of Auschwitz (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #1) - Heather Morris Page 0,16

the four kilometres back to Birkenau, Leon stumbles and falls – fatigue and lack of nourishment overcoming him. He picks himself back up. Baretski slows his walk, seemingly waiting for Leon to catch up. As Leon does, Baretski sticks his leg out, causing him to fall again. Several times more on the journey, Baretski plays his little game. The walk and the pleasure he derives from tripping Leon seem to sober him up. Each time he watches Lale for his reaction. He gets nothing.

On arriving back at Birkenau, Lale is surprised to see Houstek overseeing the selection of who will be sent to Lale and Leon to live another day. They begin their work while Baretski marches up and down the line of young men, trying to look competent in front of his superior. The sound of a young man squealing as Leon tries to mark his arm startles the exhausted boy. He drops his tattooing stick. As he bends down to pick it up, Baretski hits him on the back with his rifle, splaying him face down in the dirt. He puts a foot on his back and presses him down.

‘We can get the job done faster if you let him pick himself up and get on with it,’ Lale says, watching Leon’s breath become short and sharp beneath Baretski’s boot.

Houstek bears down on the three men and mumbles something to Baretski. When Houstek disappears, Baretski, with a sour smile, pushes his foot down hard on Leon’s body before releasing it.

‘I am just a humble servant of the SS. You, Tätowierer, have been placed under the auspices of the Political Wing, who answer to Berlin only. It was your lucky day when the Frenchman introduced you to Houstek and told him how clever you are, speaking all those languages.’

There is no correct answer to this question so Lale busies himself with his work. A muddied Leon rises, coughing.

‘So, Tätowierer,’ Baretski says, his sick smile returning, ‘how about we be friends?’

•

An advantage of being Tätowierer is that Lale knows the date. It is written on the paperwork he is given each morning and which he returns each evening. It is not just the paperwork which tells him that. Sunday is the only day of the week the other prisoners are not forced to work and can spend the day milling around in the compound or staying near their blocks, huddled together in small groups – friendships brought into the camp, friendships made in the camp.

It is a Sunday when he sees her. He recognises her at once. They walk towards each other, Lale on his own, she with a group of girls, all with shaven heads, all wearing the same plain clothing. There is nothing to distinguish her except for those eyes. Black – no, brown. The darkest brown he’s ever seen. For the second time they peer into each other’s souls. Lale’s heart skips a beat. The gaze lingers.

‘Tätowierer!’ Baretski places a hand on Lale’s shoulder, breaking the spell.

The prisoners move away, not wanting to be near an SS officer or the prisoner to whom he is talking. The group of girls scatters, leaving her looking at Lale, looking at her. Baretski’s eyes move from one to the other as they stand in a perfect triangle, each waiting for the other to shift. Baretski has a knowing smile. Bravely, one of her friends advances and pulls her back into the group.

‘Very nice,’ Baretski says as he and Lale walk away. Lale ignores him and fights to control the hatred he feels.

‘Would you like to meet her?’ Again Lale refuses to respond.

‘Write to her, tell her you like her.’

How stupid does he think I am?

‘I’ll get you paper and a pencil and bring her your letter. What do you say? Do you know her name?’

34902.

Lale walks on. He knows the penalty for any prisoner caught with pen or paper is death.

‘Where are we going?’ Lale changes the subject.

‘To Auschwitz. Herr Doktor needs more patients.’

A chill runs through Lale. He remembers the man in the white coat, his hairy hands on that beautiful girl’s face. Lale has never felt so uneasy about a doctor as he did on that day.

‘But it’s Sunday.’

Baretski laughs. ‘Oh, you think just because the others don’t work on Sunday, you should get it off too? Would you like to discuss this with Herr Doktor?’ Baretski’s laughter grows shrill, sending more shivers down Lale’s spine. ‘Please do that for me, Tätowierer. Tell Herr Doktor it is your