The Tattooist of Auschwitz (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #1) - Heather Morris Page 0,52

him into her arms and stroked his hair: her boy, her young man.

•

Her image dissolves – tears, the picture blurs, he blinks – and he imagines Gita in his arms, him stroking her hair.

‘You were right, Mumma. I do know.’

•

Jakub comes for him. He drags him down a corridor to a small windowless room. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling. Handcuffs dangle from a chain on the back wall. There is a birch rod lying on the floor. Two SS officers talk together, seemingly oblivious to Lale’s presence. He shuffles backwards, not raising his eyes above the floor. Without warning, Jakub swings a punch into Lale’s face, sending him stumbling back against the wall. The officers now pay attention. Lale attempts to stand. Jakub winds his right foot slowly back. Lale anticipates the coming kick. He backs away just as Jakub’s foot connects with his ribs, then exaggerates the impact by rolling and heaving and clutching his chest. As he slowly rises Jakub punches him in the face again. He takes the full force this time, though Jakub had telegraphed his intention to hit him. Blood runs freely from his smashed nose. Jakub pulls Lale roughly to his feet and handcuffs him to the dangling chain.

Jakub picks up the birch, tears the shirt from Lale’s back, and lashes him five times. Then he pulls Lale’s trousers and underpants down and whips him across the buttocks five more times. Lale’s yelps are not feigned. Jakub jerks Lale’s head back.

‘Give us the names of the prisoners who steal for you!’ Jakub says, firm and menacing.

The officers look on, standing casually.

Lale shakes his head, whimpering, ‘I don’t know.’ Jakub strikes Lale ten more times. Blood runs down his legs. The two officers begin to pay more attention and step closer. Jakub jerks Lale’s head back and snarls at him, ‘Talk!’ He whispers in his ear, ‘Say you don’t know and then faint.’ And then louder, ‘Give us the names!’

‘I never ask! I don’t know. You have to believe me …’

Jakub punches Lale in the stomach. He buckles at the knees, rolls his eyes back and pretends to pass out. Jakub turns to the SS officers.

‘He is a weak Jew. If he knew the names, he would’ve told us by now.’ He kicks Lale’s legs as he dangles from the chains.

The officers nod and walk from the room.

The door closes and Jakub quickly releases Lale, laying him gently on the floor. With a cloth hidden in his shirt he wipes the blood from Lale’s body and gently pulls up his pants for him.

‘I’m so sorry, Lale.’

He helps him to his feet, carries him back to his room and lays him on his stomach.

‘You did good. You’ll need to sleep like this for a while. I’ll come back later with some water and a clean shirt. Get some rest now.’

•

Over the next few days Jakub visits Lale each day with food and water and the occasional change of shirt. He reports to Lale the extent of his injuries and that they are healing. Lale knows he will be marked for life. Perhaps the Tätowierer deserves that.

‘How many times did you strike me?’ Lale asks.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘It’s over, Lale, and you’re healing. Leave it alone.’

‘Did you break my nose? I’m having trouble breathing through it.’

‘Probably, but not too bad. The swelling’s gone down and it’s hardly out of shape. You’re still handsome. You’ll still have the girls chasing you.’

‘I don’t want girls chasing me.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve found the one I want.’

The next day the door opens and Lale looks up to greet Jakub but instead there are two SS officers. They indicate for Lale to get to his feet and come with them. Lale stays sitting as he tries to compose himself. Can this be the end? Am I for the Black Wall? He silently says his goodbyes to his family and, lastly, to Gita. The SS become impatient, step into his room and point their rifles at him. He follows them outside on trembling legs. Feeling the sun on his face for the first time in more than a week he staggers along, between the two officers. Looking up, preparing to meet his fate, he sees several other prisoners being bundled into a nearby truck. Maybe this isn’t the end. His legs give out and the officers drag him the remaining short distance. They throw him on and he doesn’t look back. He clings to the side of the truck all the