The Tattooist of Auschwitz

  As Lale is leaving Leon, Baretski calls out to him. “Tätowierer, where have you been? I have been looking for you.”

  “I was told I had the day off.”

  “Well, you don’t anymore. Come, we have a job.”

  “I have to get my bag.”

  “You don’t need your tools for this job. Come.”

  Lale hurries after Baretski. They are heading toward one of the crematoria.

  He catches up with him. “Where are we going?”

  “Are you worried?” Baretski laughs.

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “No.”

  Lale’s chest tightens; his breath comes too short. Should he run? If he does, Baretski will surely turn his weapon on him. But then, what would it matter? A bullet is surely preferable to the ovens.

  They are very close to Crematorium 3 before Baretski decides to put Lale out of his misery. He slows his long strides.

  “Don’t worry. Now come on before we both get into trouble and end up in the ovens.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me?”

  “Not just yet. There are two prisoners in here who appear to have the same number. We need you to look at them. It must have been you or that eunuch who made the marks. You have to tell us which one is which.”

  The redbrick building looms in front of them; large windows disguise its purpose, but the size of the chimneys confirms its horrifying true nature. They are met at the entrance by two SS, who joke with Baretski and ignore Lale. They point to closed doors inside the building, and Baretski and Lale walk toward them. Lale looks around at this final stretch of the road to death at Birkenau. He sees the Sonderkommando standing by, defeated, ready to do a job no one on earth would volunteer for: removing corpses from the gas chambers and putting them into the ovens. He tries to make eye contact with them, to let them know he, too, works for the enemy. He, too, has chosen to stay alive for as long as he can, by performing an act of defilement on people of his own faith. None of them meets his eye. He has heard what other prisoners say about these men and the privileged position they occupy—they are housed separately, receive extra rations, and have warm clothing and blankets to sleep under. Their lives parallel his, and he feels a sinking in his gut at the thought that he, too, is despised for the role he plays at the camp. Unable to express in any way his solidarity with these men, he walks on.

  They are led to a large steel door. In front of it stands a guard.

  “It’s all right, all the gas is gone. We need to send them to the ovens, but we can’t until you identify the correct numbers.”

  The guard opens the door for Lale and Baretski. Pulling himself up to his full height, Lale looks Baretski in the eye and sweeps his hand from left to right.

  “After you.”

  Baretski bursts out laughing and slaps Lale on the back. “No, after you.”

  “No, after you,” Lale repeats.

  “I insist, Tätowierer.”

  The SS officer opens the doors wide and they step into a cavernous room. Bodies, hundreds of naked bodies, fill the room. They are piled up on each other, their limbs distorted. Dead eyes stare. Men, young and old; children at the bottom. Blood, vomit, urine, and feces. The smell of death pervades the entire space. Lale tries to hold his breath. His lungs burn. His legs threaten to give way beneath him. Behind him, Baretski says, “Shit.”

  That one word from a sadist only deepens the well of inhumanity that Lale is drowning in.

  “Over here,” an officer indicates, and they follow him to one side of the room, where two male bodies are laid out together. The officer starts talking to Baretski. For once, words fail him, and he indicates that Lale can understand German.

  “They both have the same number. How could that be?” he asks.

  Lale can only shake his head and shrug his shoulders. How the hell should I know?

  “Look at them. Which one is correct?” the officer snaps.

  Lale leans down and takes hold of one of the arms. He is grateful for a reason to kneel and hopes it will stabilize him. He looks closely at the numbers tattooed on the arm he holds.

  “The other?” he asks.

  Roughly, the other man’s arm is thrust at him. He looks closely at both numbers.

  “See, here. This is not a three, it’s an eight. Part of it is faded, but it’s an eight.”

  The guard scribbles on each cold arm the correct numbers. Without asking for permission, Lale gets up and leaves the crematorium. Baretski catches up with him outside, where he is doubled over and breathing deeply.

  Baretski waits a moment or two.

  “Are you all right?”

  “No, I’m not fucking all right. You bastards. How many more of us must you kill?”

  “You’re upset. I can see that.”

  Baretski is just a kid, an uneducated kid. But Lale can’t help wondering how he can feel nothing for the people they have just seen, the agony of death inscribed on their faces and twisted bodies.

  “Come on, let’s go,” says Baretski.

  Lale pulls himself up to walk beside him, though he cannot look at him.

  “You know something, Tätowierer? I bet you’re the only Jew who ever walked into an oven and then walked back out of it.”

  He laughs loudly, slaps Lale on the back, and strides off ahead.

  15

  LALE WALKS DETERMINEDLY FROM HIS BLOCK AND ACROSS THE compound. Two SS officers approach him, rifles at the ready. Without breaking step, he holds up his bag.

  “Politische Abteilung!”

  The rifles lower and he passes without another word. Lale enters the women’s camp and heads immediately to Block 29, where he is met by the kapo, who is leaning against the building looking bored. Her charges are away working. She doesn’t bother to move as he approaches her and takes from his bag a large block of chocolate. Having been warned by Baretski not to interfere in the relationship between the Tätowierer and prisoner 34902, she accepts the bribe.

  “Please bring Gita to me. I’ll wait inside.”

  Stuffing the chocolate down her ample bosom and shrugging her shoulders, the kapo sets off to the administration building. Lale goes inside the barracks block, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t have to wait long. A flash of sunlight as the door opens tells him she has arrived. Gita sees him standing in the semidarkness, his head bowed.

  “You!”

  Lale takes a step toward her. She steps back, hard up against the shut door, clearly distressed.

  “Are you all right? Gita, it’s me.”

  He takes one step closer and is shocked by her visible trembling.

  “Say something, Gita.”

  “You . . . you . . .” she repeats.

  “Yes, it’s me, Lale.” He takes hold of her two wrists and tries to hold them tightly.

  “Do you have any idea what goes through your head when the SS come for you? Any idea at all?”

  “Gita—”

  “How could you? How could you let the SS take me?”

  Lale is dumbfounded. He relaxes his grip on her wrists, and she pulls free and turns away.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just asked your kapo to have you brought here. I needed to see you.”

  “When someone is taken away by the SS, they are never seen again. Do you understand? I thought I was being taken to die, and all I could think of was you. Not that I might never see my friends again, not Cilka who watched me go and who must be so upset, but that I would never see you. And here you are.”

  Lale is ashamed. His selfish need has caused his beloved this distress. Suddenly she runs at him with her fists raised. He reaches out to her as she crashes into him. She strikes him in the chest, and tears stream down her face. Lale takes the hits until they subside. Then, slowly, he lifts her face, wiping away tears with his hand and attempting to kiss her. As their lips meet, Gita pulls away, glaring at him. He holds out his arms for her to come back to him. Seeing her reluctance, he lowers them. She runs at h
im again, this time knocking him back against a wall as she tries to tear his shirt off. Stunned, Lale holds her at arm’s length, but she will have none of it and pushes herself hard against him, kissing him violently. He lifts her by her bottom and she wraps her legs around his waist, kissing him so hungrily that she bites his lips. Lale tastes the salt of blood but kisses her back and stumbles onto a nearby bunk, where they tumble down together, tearing at each other’s clothes. Their lovemaking is passionate, desperate. It is a need so long in the making that it cannot be denied. Two people desperate for the love and intimacy they fear they will otherwise never experience. It seals their commitment to each other, and Lale knows at this moment that he can love no other. It strengthens his resolve to go on another day, and another day, for a thousand days, for however long it takes for them to live by his words to Gita: “To be free to make love wherever, whenever we want to.”

  Exhausted, they lie in each other’s arms. Gita falls asleep and Lale spends a long time just looking at her. The physical fight between them is over, replaced by a raging tumult within Lale. What has this place done to us? What has it made us become? How much longer can we go on? She thought it was all ending today. I caused that pain. I must never do that again.

  He touches his lip. Winces. It breaks his dark mood and he smiles at the thought of where the pain has come from. He gently kisses Gita awake.

  “Hi there,” he whispers.

  Gita rolls onto her stomach and looks at him, troubled. “Are you all right? You looked, I don’t know . . . Even though I was upset when I came in, now that I think about it, you looked terrible.”

  Lale closes his eyes, sighing deeply.

  “What happened?”

  “Let’s just say I took another step into the abyss but got to step back out of it.”

  “Will you tell me one day?”

  “Probably not. Don’t push it, Gita.”

  She nods.

  “Now I think you’d better go back to the office so Cilka and the others can see that you’re OK.”

  “Mmmm. I want to stay here with you, forever.”

  “Forever is a long time.”

  “Or it could be tomorrow,” she says.

  “No, it won’t be.”

  Gita turns her head away, blushing, closing her eyes.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  “I’m listening. To the walls.”

  “What are they saying?”

  “Nothing. They’re breathing heavily, weeping for those who leave here in the morning and do not return at night.”

  “They are not weeping for you, my love.”

  “Not today. I know that now.”

  “Or tomorrow. They will never weep for you. Now, get out of here and get back to work.”

  She curls into a ball. “Can you go first? I need to find my clothes.”

  After one last kiss, Lale scrambles around for his clothes. Dressed, he gives her another quick kiss before leaving. Outside the block, the kapo is back in her position against the wall.

  “Feeling better, Tätowierer?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “The chocolate is lovely. I like sausage, too.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You do that, Tätowierer. See you.”

  16

  MARCH 1944

  THE KNOCK ON HIS DOOR WAKES LALE FROM A DEEP SLEEP. HE opens up gingerly, half expecting to see one of the Romany boys. But two young men stand in the doorway, glancing this way and that, clearly frightened.

  “What do you want?” Lale asks.

  “Are you the Tätowierer?” one of them asks in Polish.

  “Depends who’s asking.”

  “We need the Tätowierer. We were told he lived here,” says the other boy.

  “Get in here before you wake the babies.”

  Lale shuts the door behind the boys and indicates for them to sit on the bed. They are both tall and skinny, and one has a smattering of freckles.

  “I’ll ask again, what do you want?”

  “We have a friend—” the freckled boy stammers.

  “Don’t we all?” Lale interrupts.

  “Our friend is in trouble—”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  The two boys look at each other, trying to decide whether to continue.

  “I’m sorry. Go on.”

  “He got caught, and we’re scared they’re going to kill him.”

  “Caught doing what?”

  “Well, he escaped last week and they caught him and brought him back here. What do you think they’re going to do to him?”

  Lale is incredulous.

  “How the hell did he escape, and how was he then stupid enough to get caught?”

  “We’re not sure of the full story.”

  “Well, he’ll be hanged, probably first thing tomorrow morning. You know that’s the punishment for trying to escape.”

  “Can you do anything? People say you can help.”

  “I can help if you want some extra food, but that’s about it. Where is the boy right now?”

  “He’s outside.”

  “Outside this building?”

  “Yeah.”

  “For god’s sake, get him in here at once,” Lale says, opening the door.

  One of the boys hurries outside and soon returns with a young man, head bowed, shivering with fear. Lale points to the bed and he sits. His eyes are puffy.

  “Your friends tell me you escaped.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “Well, I was working outside and I asked the guard if I could take a crap. He told me to go into the trees because he didn’t want to smell it. Then when I went to return to my detail, they were all walking off. I was worried if I ran after them I might get shot by one of the other guards, so I just walked back into the forest.”

  “And?” asked Lale.

  “Well, I kept walking. Then I got caught when I went into a village to steal some food. I was starving. The soldiers saw my tattooed number and brought me back here.”

  “And now they’re going to hang you tomorrow morning, right?”

  The boy’s head drops. Lale reflects that this is how he will look tomorrow when the life has been strangled from him.

  “Is there anything you can do to help us, Tätowierer?”

  Lale paces his small room. He pulls up the boy’s sleeve and studies his number. One of mine. He returns to pacing. The boys sit silently.

  “Stay here,” he says firmly, grabs his bag, and hurries from the room.

  Searchlights scan the compound outside, as do violent eyes looking for someone to kill. Hugging buildings, Lale makes his way to the administration block and enters the main office. He is instantly relieved to see Bella behind the desk. She looks up at him.

  “Lale, what are you doing here? I have no work for you.”

  “Hi, Bella. Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, anything. You know that, Lale.”

  “When I was here earlier today, did I hear talk of a transport going out tonight?”

  “Yes, there’s one leaving for another camp at midnight.”

  “How many on it?”

  Bella picks up a sheet nearby. “One hundred names. Why?”

  “Names, not numbers?”

  “No, they’re not numbered. They only arrived earlier today and are being sent to a boys’ camp. No one is numbered there.”

  “Can we squeeze one more onto that list?”

  “I guess so. Who? You?”

  “No, you know I’m not leaving here without Gita. It’s someone else—the less you know, the better.”

  “All right, I’ll do that for you. What’s his name?”

  “Shit,” Lale says. “I’ll be right back.”

  Furious with himself, Lale makes haste back to his room. “Your name—what’s your name?”

  “Mendel.”

  “Mendel what?”

  “Sorry, Mendel Bauer.”

&
nbsp; * * *

  BACK AT THE OFFICE, BELLA ADDS TO THE BOTTOM OF THE typed list.

  “Won’t the guards question a name not typed like the others?” Lale asks.

  “No, they’re too lazy to question that. It would create too much trouble for them to get involved. Just tell whoever it is to be in the compound when he sees the truck being loaded up.”

  From his bag, Lale takes a ring encrusted with rubies and diamonds and hands it to Bella. “Thank you. This is for you. You can either keep it or sell it. I’ll make sure he is at the transport.”

  * * *

  BACK IN HIS ROOM, LALE SWEEPS MENDEL’S TWO FRIENDS OFF the bed, takes out his bag, and sits down beside him.

  “Give me your arm.”

  As the boys look on, Lale sets about changing the number into a snake. The job isn’t perfect, but it’s good enough to conceal the numbers.

  “Why are you doing this?” one of the boys asks.

  “Where Mendel is going, no one is numbered. It wouldn’t take long for his number to be seen, and then he would be right back here, to keep his appointment with the hangman.”

  He finishes the job and turns to the two boys looking on.

  “You two get back to your block now, and go carefully. I’m only good for one rescue per night,” he says. “Your friend won’t be here tomorrow. He’s going out on a transport at midnight. I don’t know where he’s going, but wherever it is, he will have at least a chance of staying alive. Do you understand?”

  The three boys hug and make promises to catch up on the other side of this nightmare. When the friends have gone, Lale sits back down beside Mendel.

  “You’ll stay here until it’s time to go. I’ll take you to the transport, and then you’re on your own.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “If you manage to escape again, don’t get caught. That will be thanks enough for me.”

  A short while later, Lale hears the telltale sounds of movement in the compound.

  “Come on, time to go.”

  Sneaking out, they edge along the walls of the building until they can see two trucks with men being loaded on.

  “Move quickly and try to get into the middle of one of the lines. Push your way in and give them your name when asked.”