The Tattooist of Auschwitz (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #1) - Heather Morris Page 0,63

Dana search the rows, all too aware that any straggling is dealt with by a bullet. They ask a hundred times, ‘Have you seen Cilka? Have you seen Ivana?’ The answer is always the same. The women try to support each other by linking arms. At seemingly random times they are halted and told to take a rest. Despite the cold they sit in the snow, anything to give their feet some relief. Many remain there when the order to move on comes, dead or dying, unable to take another step.

Day becomes night, and still they march. Their numbers dwindle, which only makes it harder to escape the watchful eye of the SS. During the night, Dana drops to her knees. She can go on no longer. Gita stops with her and for a while they are unseen, screened by other women. Dana keeps telling Gita to go on, to leave her. Gita protests. She would rather die here with her friend, in a field somewhere in Poland. Four young girls offer to help carry Dana. Dana will not hear of it. She tells them to take Gita and go. As an SS officer advances on them, the four girls pull Gita to her feet and drag her with them. Gita looks back at the officer, who has stopped beside Dana but moves on without drawing his pistol. No shot rings out. Clearly he thinks she is already dead. The girls continue to drag Gita. They will not let her go as she attempts to break free and get back to Dana.

Through the dark the women stumble on, the sound of random shots barely even registering now. No longer do they turn around to see who has fallen.

As day breaks, they are brought to a halt in a field by a train track. An engine and several cattle wagons stand waiting. They brought me here. Now they will take me away, thinks Gita.

She has learned that the four girls she is now travelling with are Polish and not Jewish. Polish girls taken from their families for reasons they do not know. They come from four different towns and hadn’t known each other before Birkenau.

Across the field stands a lone house. Behind it a dense wood spreads out. SS bark out orders as the train engine is stoked with coal. The Polish girls turn to Gita. One of them says, ‘We’re going to make a run for that house. If we get shot then we will die here, but we’re not going any further. Do you want to come with us?’

Gita stands up.

Once the girls are running, they don’t look back. The act of loading thousands of exhausted women onto the train takes all the guards’ attention. The door to the house is opened before they reach it. Inside, they collapse in front of a roaring fire, adrenaline and relief surging through them. Hot drinks are placed in their hands, along with bread. The Polish girls talk frantically to the homeowners, who shake their heads in disbelief. Gita says nothing, not wanting her accent to give away the fact she isn’t Polish. It’s better their saviours think she is one of them – the quiet one. The man of the house says they can’t stay with them as the Germans often search the premises. He tells them to take their coats off. He takes them out the back of the house. When he returns, the red slashes are gone and the coats smell of petrol.

Outside, they hear repeated shooting, and peering through the curtains they watch as all surviving women are finally herded onto the train. Bodies litter the snow beside the tracks. The man gives the girls the address of a relative in a nearby village, as well as a supply of bread and a blanket. They leave the house and enter the woods, where they spend the night on the freezing ground, curled up together in a vain attempt to stay warm. The bare trees provide little in the way of protection, either from being seen or from the elements.

•

It is early evening before they arrive in the next village. The sun has gone down and the weak street lamps cast little light. They are forced to ask a passer-by for help finding the address they have been given. The kind woman takes them to the house they seek and stays with them while they knock on the door.

‘Look after them,’ she says when the door opens, and walks