The Tattooist of Auschwitz

  He arrived in Prague after a long, emotionally painful journey away from his family. He reported as instructed to the relevant government department and was told to find accommodations nearby and to report back weekly until his role was decided. On April 16, a month later, he was told to report with his belongings to a local school. There, he was housed with a number of young Jewish men from across Slovakia.

  Lale prided himself on his appearance, and his living situation did not prevent him from looking his best. Each day, he washed and cleaned his clothes in the school bathroom. He didn’t know where he was headed, but he wanted to make damned sure he looked his best when he arrived.

  After five days of sitting around, bored, frightened—mostly bored—Lale and the others were told to gather up their possessions and were marched to the railway station. They were told nothing about where they were going. A train designed to transport cattle pulled up, and the men were ordered to climb aboard. Some objected, explaining that the filthy wagon insulted their dignity. Lale watched the response, seeing for the first time his fellow countrymen raising their rifles at Jews and striking the ones who continued protesting. He climbed on board along with all the others. When no one else could be pushed into his wagon, Lale watched as the doors were slammed shut and heard them bolted by members of the Slovak army, men whose job it should have been to protect him.

  Over and over he hears the sound of the doors being slammed and bolted, slammed and bolted.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, THE TWO KIND PRISONERS HELP LALE from the block and stand with him to await roll call. How long has it been since I’ve stood like this? Numbers, numbers. Survival is always about your number. Being ticked off your kapo’s list tells you that you are still alive. Lale’s number is last on the list, since he is the newest occupant of Block 31. He doesn’t respond the first time it is called, has to be nudged. After a cup of old, weak coffee and a thin slice of stale bread, they are marched off toward their labor.

  In a field between the two camps of Auschwitz and Birkenau, they are made to carry large rocks from one side to the other. When the rocks have all been moved over, they are told to take them back again. And so the day goes on. Lale thinks of the hundreds of times he has walked the road alongside and seen this activity taking place. No, I only glimpsed it. I couldn’t watch what these men were enduring. He quickly works out that the SS shoot the last one to arrive with his rock.

  Lale needs to use all of his strength. His muscles ache, but his mind stays strong. On one occasion he is the second to last to arrive. When the day ends, those still living gather up the bodies of those slain and carry them back to the camp. Lale is excused from this task, but is told he has one day’s grace only. Tomorrow he will have to pull his weight, provided he’s still alive.

  As they trudge back into Birkenau, Lale sees Baretski standing inside the gates. He falls into step beside Lale.

  “I heard what happened to you.”

  Lale looks at him. “Baretski, can you help me with something?” By asking for assistance, he is admitting to the other men that he is different from them. He knows the officer’s name and can ask him for help. Marking himself as friendly with the enemy brings acute shame, but he needs this.

  “Maybe . . . What is it?” Baretski looks uncomfortable.

  “Can you get a message to Gita?”

  “Do you really want her to know where you are? Isn’t it better that she thinks you’re already dead?”

  “Just tell her exactly where I am—Block 31—and tell her to tell Cilka.”

  “You want her friend to know where you are?”

  “Yes, it’s important. She’ll understand.”

  “Hmm. I’ll do it if I feel like it. Is it true you had a fortune in diamonds under your mattress?”

  “Did they mention the rubies and emeralds, the Yankee dollars, the British and South African pounds?”

  Baretski shakes his head, laughing, slapping Lale painfully on the back as he walks off.

  “Cilka. Gita must tell Cilka,” he calls after him.

  A backward wave of Baretski’s arm dismisses Lale.

  * * *

  BARETSKI ENTERS THE WOMEN’S CAMP AS THEY ARE LINING UP for dinner. Cilka sees him approach the kapo and then point at Gita. The kapo beckons Gita with her finger. Cilka draws Dana in close as Gita slowly walks over to Baretski. They cannot hear what he says, but his message causes Gita to cover her face with her hands. She then turns toward her friends and runs back into their arms.

  “He’s alive! Lale is alive,” she says. “He said I’m to tell you, Cilka, that he is in Block 31.”

  “Why me?”

  “I don’t know, but he said Lale insisted I tell you.”

  “What can she do?” Dana asks.

  Cilka looks away, her mind working feverishly.

  “I don’t know,” says Gita, not in the mood to analyze. “I only know that he is alive.”

  “Cilka, what can you do? How can you help?” Dana pleads.

  “I will think about it,” says Cilka.

  “He’s alive. My love is alive,” Gita repeats.

  * * *

  THAT NIGHT, CILKA LIES IN SCHWARZHUBER’S ARMS. SHE CAN tell he is not yet asleep. She opens her mouth to say something but is silenced by him retrieving his arm from underneath her.

  “Are you all right?” she asks tentatively, fearing he will be suspicious of such an intimate question.

  “Yes.”

  There is a softness in his voice she has not heard before, and, emboldened, Cilka presses on. “I have never said no to anything for you, have I? And I’ve never asked you for anything before?” she says tentatively.

  “That’s true,” he responds.

  “Can I ask for one thing?”

  * * *

  LALE MAKES IT THROUGH THE NEXT DAY. HE DOES HIS BIT, helping to carry one of the murdered men back. He hates himself for having thoughts only of the pain it causes him, with little compassion for the dead man. What is happening to me? Step by step, the pain in his shoulders threatens to drag him down. Fight it, fight it.

  As they enter the camp, Lale’s attention is caught by two people standing just beyond the fence that separates the prisoners’ blocks from the staff quarters. The diminutive Cilka stands beside Schwarzhuber. A guard on Lale’s side of the fence is talking to them. Lale stops, slackening his grip on the corpse, which causes the prisoner at the other end of the body to stumble and fall. Lale looks at Cilka, who peers back at him before saying something to Schwarzhuber. He nods and points to Lale. Cilka and Schwarzhuber walk away as the guard approaches Lale.

  “Come with me.”

  Lale rests the legs he’s been carrying on the ground and looks for the first time at the dead man’s face. His compassion returns, and he bows his head at this tragic end to yet another life. He gives an apologetic glance to the other man carrying the body and hurries to follow the guard. The other inmates of Block 31 all stare after him.

  The guard tells Lale, “I’m instructed to take you to your old room in the Gypsy camp.”

  “I know the way.”

  “Suit yourself.” The guard leaves him.

  Lale stops outside the Romany camp, watching the children run around. Several of them look at him, trying to make sense of his return. The Tätowierer, they have been told, is dead. One of them runs to Lale and throws his arms around his waist, hugging him tight, welcoming him “home.” The others join in, and before long adults are coming out of the block to greet him. “Where have you been?” they ask. “Are you injured?” He deflects all their questions.

  Nadya is standing at the back of the group. Lale makes eye contact with her. Pushing his way through the men, women, and children, he stops in front of her. With a finger, he wipes a tear from her cheek. “It’s good to see you, Nadya.”

  “We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.”

  All Lale can do is nod. He needs to get away quickly before he breaks down in front of everyone. He rushes to his
room, closes the door on the world, and lies on his old bed.

  21

  ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE NOT A CAT?”

  Lale hears the words and struggles to register where he is. He opens his eyes to find a grinning Baretski leaning over him.

  “What?”

  “You must be a cat, because you sure have more lives than anyone else here.”

  Lale struggles to sit up.

  “It was—”

  “Cilka, yes, I know. Must be nice to have friends in high places.”

  “I’d gladly give my life for her not to need such friends.”

  “You nearly did give your life. Not that it would’ve helped her.”

  “Yeah, that’s one situation I can’t do anything about.”

  Baretski laughs. “You really think you run these camps, don’t you? Hell, maybe you do. You’re still alive, and you shouldn’t be. How did you get out of Block 11?”

  “I have no idea. When they took me out, I was sure I was headed for the Black Wall, but then I was thrown in a truck and brought back here.”

  “I’ve never known anyone to walk away from the Strafkompanie—so well done,” Baretski says.

  “That’s one piece of history I don’t mind making. How come I’ve got my old room back?”

  “Easy. It comes with the job.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the Tätowierer, and all I can say is, thank god. The eunuch who replaced you was no match.”

  “Houstek is letting me have my job back?”

  “I wouldn’t go anywhere near him. He didn’t want you back; he wanted you shot. It was Schwarzhuber who had other plans for you.”

  “I need to get my hands on at least some chocolate for Cilka.”

  “Tätowierer, don’t. You will be watched very closely. Now come on, I’ll take you to work.”

  As they are leaving the room, Lale says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get you the nylons you wanted. I’d made arrangements but got derailed.”

  “Mm, well, at least you tried. Anyway, she’s not my girlfriend anymore. She dumped me.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I hope it wasn’t because of something I suggested you say to her.”

  “I don’t think so. She just met someone who is in the same town—hell, the same country—as her.”

  Lale considers saying something more but decides to let it drop. Baretski leads him out of his block and into the compound, where a truckload of men has arrived and a selection is taking place. He smiles inwardly at the sight of Leon working, dropping the tattoo stick, spilling ink. Baretski wanders off, and Lale approaches Leon from behind.

  “Need a hand?”

  Leon turns around, knocking a bottle of ink over as he grasps Lale by the hand, shaking it vigorously, overjoyed.

  “It’s so good to see you!” he cries.

  “Believe me, it’s good to be back. How are you?”

  “Still pissing sitting down. Otherwise, I’m OK. So much better now that you’re here.”

  “Let’s get on with it, then. Looks like they’re sending quite a few our way.”

  “Does Gita know you’re back?” Leon asks.

  “I think so. It was her friend Cilka who got me out.”

  “The one who . . . ?”

  “Yes. I’ll try to see them tomorrow. Give me one of those sticks. I’d better not give them any excuse to throw me back where I was.”

  Leon holds out his tattoo stick as he rummages around in Lale’s bag for another one. Together they begin work, tattooing the newest residents of Birkenau.

  * * *

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, LALE WAITS OUTSIDE THE ADMINISTRATION building as the girls leave work. Dana and Gita don’t see him until he is standing right in front of them, blocking their path. A moment passes before they react. Then both girls throw their arms around him and hug him tightly. Dana cries. No tears come from Gita. Lale releases them and takes each by the hand.

  “Both still beautiful,” he tells them.

  Gita smacks him on the arm with her free hand.

  “I thought you were dead. Again. I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “Me, too,” says Dana.

  “But I’m not. Thanks to you, and to Cilka, I’m not. I’m here with the two of you, where I should be.”

  “But . . .” cries Gita.

  Lale pulls her toward him and holds her securely.

  Dana kisses him on the cheek. “I’ll leave you two. It’s so good to see you, Lale. I thought Gita would die of a broken heart if you didn’t come back soon.”

  “Thank you, Dana,” says Lale. “You’re a good friend, to both of us.”

  She walks off, the smile not leaving her face.

  Hundreds of prisoners mill around the compound as they stand there, not knowing what to do next.

  “Close your eyes,” Lale says.

  “What?”

  “Close them and count to ten.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it.”

  One eye at a time, Gita does as she is told. She counts to ten, then opens them. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m still here. I’ll never leave you again.”

  “Come on, we have to keep moving,” she tells him.

  They walk toward the women’s camp. With no bribe for the kapo, Lale can’t risk Gita getting back late. They gently lean in toward each other.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.”

  “It can’t last forever, my darling. Just hang in there, please hang in there. We’ll have the rest of our lives together.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I promised you we’d leave this place and make a life together.”

  “How can we? We can’t even know what tomorrow will bring. Look at what just happened to you.”

  “I’m here with you now, aren’t I?”

  “Lale—”

  “Leave it, Gita.”

  “Will you tell me what happened to you? Where you’ve been?”

  Lale shakes his head. “No. I’m back here with you now. What matters is what I’ve told you many times, that we will leave this place and have a free life together. Trust me, Gita.”

  “I do.”

  Lale likes the sound of that.

  “One day you will say those two little words to me under different circumstances. In front of a rabbi, surrounded by our family and friends.”

  Gita giggles and lays her head briefly on his shoulder as they reach the entrance to the women’s camp.

  * * *

  AS LALE WALKS BACK TO HIS BLOCK, TWO YOUTHS APPROACH and walk alongside him.

  “You’re the Tätowierer?”

  “Who’s asking?” says Lale.

  “We hear you might be able to get us some extra food.”

  “Whoever told you that was mistaken.”

  “We can pay,” one of them says, opening his clenched fist to reveal a small but perfect diamond.

  Lale grits his teeth.

  “Go on, take it. If you can get us anything, we would really appreciate it, mister.”

  “What block are you in?”

  “Nine.”

  How many lives does a cat have?

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, LALE HANGS AROUND THE MAIN GATES, bag in hand. Twice, SS approach him.

  “Politische Abteilung,” he says on both occasions, and is left alone. But he is more apprehensive than he used to be. Victor and Yuri break from the line of men entering the camp and greet Lale warmly.

  “Can we ask where you’ve been?” Victor asks.

  “Best not,” Lale replies.

  “You back in business?”

  “Not like before. I’m scaling it down, OK? Just a little extra food, if you can. No more nylons.”

  “Sure. Welcome back,” Victor says with enthusiasm.

  Lale extends his hand, Victor takes it, and the diamond changes hands.

  “Down payment. See you tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Yur
i looks on. “It’s good to see you again,” he says quietly.

  “You too, Yuri. Have you grown?”

  “Yeah, I reckon I have.”

  “Say,” says Lale, “you wouldn’t happen to have any chocolate on you? I really need to spend some time with my girl.”

  Yuri takes a block out of his bag and hands it to Lale with a wink.

  Lale heads straight to the women’s camp and Block 29. The kapo is where she always is, soaking up the sun. She watches Lale approach.

  “Tätowierer, good to see you again,” she says.

  “Have you lost weight? You’re looking good,” Lale says with the merest hint of irony.

  “You haven’t been around for a while.”

  “I’m back now.” He hands her the chocolate.

  “I’ll get her for you.”

  He watches her walk toward the administration building and speak to a female SS officer outside. Then he enters the block and sits, waiting for Gita to walk through the door. He doesn’t have to wait long before she appears. She closes the door and walks toward him. He stands and leans on the bunk post. He fears he will struggle to say the words he needs to. He arranges his face into a mask of self-control.

  “To make love whenever and wherever we want. We may not be free, but I choose now and I choose here. What do you say?”

  She throws herself into his arms, smothering his face with kisses. As they begin to undress, Lale stops and holds Gita’s hands.

  “You asked me if I would tell you where I disappeared to, and I said no, remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I still don’t want to talk about it, but there is something I can’t keep from you. Now, you’re not to be frightened, and I’m all right, but I did take a little bit of a beating.”

  “Show me.”

  Lale slides his shirt off slowly and turns his back to her. She says nothing but runs her fingers ever so softly over the welts on his back. Her lips follow, and he knows that nothing more needs to be said. Their lovemaking is slow and gentle. He feels tears well up and fights them back. This is the deepest love he’s ever felt.

  22

  LALE SPENDS LONG, HOT SUMMER DAYS WITH GITA, OR WITH thoughts of her. His workload hasn’t diminished, though; quite the opposite: thousands of Hungarian Jews are now arriving in Auschwitz and Birkenau every week. As a result, unrest breaks out in both the men’s and women’s camps. Lale has worked out why. The higher the number on a person’s arm, the less respect they receive from everyone else. Every time another nationality arrives in large numbers, turf wars ensue. Gita has told him about the women’s camp. The Slovak girls, who have been in there longest, resent the Hungarian girls, who refuse to accept that they aren’t entitled to the same small perks the Slovaks have worked hard to negotiate. She and her friends feel that surviving what they have should count for something. They have, for example, obtained casual clothing from the Canada. No more blue-and-white-striped pajamas for them. And they are not prepared to share. The SS do not take sides when fights break out; all involved are punished with an equal lack of mercy. They are denied their meager food rations; they might be flogged: sometimes it’s just the one blow with a rifle butt or swagger stick, but at other times they are beaten savagely while their fellow prisoners are forced to look on.