The Tattooist of Auschwitz (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #1) - Heather Morris Page 0,72

it I would have left it there for you to find?’

Fredrich considers him. ‘I suppose not.’ He pockets it. ‘I’ll return it to the vault.’

‘What did you want to see me about?’ Lale asks, changing the topic.

‘I’m being transferred tomorrow, so you’ll be doing the morning run and pick-up on your own from now on.’

‘You mean with someone else?’ asks Lale.

‘No. You’ve proven you can be trusted; the general’s very impressed with you. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and when it’s time for everyone to leave here there might even be a little bonus for you.’

‘I’m sorry to see you go. I’ve enjoyed our conversations in the truck. Look after yourself; there’s still a war going on out there.’

They shake hands.

Once Lale is alone, securely locked in his room, he gathers up the gems on his bed and puts them back in the sock. From the closet he chooses the nicest-looking suit and puts it aside. He lays a shirt and several pairs of underpants and socks on the table, and slots a pair of shoes underneath it.

•

The next morning Lale showers and dresses in his chosen clothes, including four pairs of underpants and three pairs of socks. He puts the sock containing the gems into his inside jacket pocket. He takes one last look around his room and then makes his way to the vault. Lale helps himself to his normal amount of money and jewels and is about to leave when the accountant officer stops him.

‘Wait. Take extra today. We have two very senior officers from Moscow arriving this afternoon. Buy them the best.’

Lale takes the extra money and jewels. ‘I might be a little bit late back this morning. I’m going to the library as well to see if I can borrow a book.’

‘We’ve got a perfectly good library here.’

‘Thanks, but there are always officers in there, and … well, I still find them intimidating. You understand?’

‘Oh, OK. As you wish.’

Lale walks into the garage and nods to the attendant, who is busy washing a car. ‘Lovely day, Lale. Keys are in the jeep. I hear you’re going alone today.’

‘Yes, Fredrich’s been transferred; sure hope it isn’t to the front.’

The attendant laughs. ‘Just be his rotten luck.’

‘Oh, I’ve got permission to be back later than usual today.’

‘Want a bit of action for yourself, do you?’

‘Something like that. See you later.’

‘OK, have a good day.’

Lale hops casually into the jeep and drives away from the chalet without looking back. In the village, he parks at the end of the main street, leaves the keys in the ignition and walks away. He spots a bicycle leaning outside a shop, which he casually wheels away. Then he hops on and cycles out of town.

A few kilometres away he is stopped by a Russian patrol.

A young officer challenges him. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I have been a prisoner of the Germans for three years. I am from Slovakia and I am going home.’

The Russian grabs hold of the handlebars, forcing Lale to dismount. He turns away from him and receives a firm kick up the bum.

‘The walk will do you good. Now fuck off.’

Lale walks on. Not worth arguing.

Evening arrives and he does not stop walking. He can see the lights of a small town ahead and picks up his pace. The place is crawling with Russian soldiers, and even though they ignore him, he feels he must move on. On the outskirts of town he comes across a railway station and hurries over to it, thinking he might find a bench to lay his head for a few hours. Walking out onto a platform, he finds a train alongside, but no signs of life. The train fills him with foreboding, but he represses the fear, and walks up and down, peering inside. Carriages. Carriages designed for people. A light in the nearby station office catches his attention and he walks towards it. Inside, a stationmaster rocks on a chair, his head dropping forward as he fights the need to sleep. Lale steps back from the window and fakes a coughing fit before approaching with a confidence he doesn’t really feel. The stationmaster, now awake, comes to the window, opening it just enough for a conversation.

‘Can I help you?’

‘The train, where is it headed?’

‘Bratislava.’

‘Can I travel on it?’

‘Can you pay?’

Lale pulls the sock from his jacket, extracts two diamonds and hands them to him. As he does so, the sleeve on his left arm rides up, revealing his tattoo. The stationmaster