The Tattooist of Auschwitz

  “You cannot have her. I will not let you take her from me,” he calls.

  Prisoners move away from him. The SS have chosen to stay inside on this bleak, dark day and soon Lale finds himself alone, paralyzed by cold and fear. Finally he begins to move his feet. His mind rejoins the rest of his body. And he stumbles back to his room and collapses on his bed.

  * * *

  DAYLIGHT CREEPS INTO HIS ROOM THE NEXT MORNING. THE room feels empty, even of him. Looking down from above, he does not see himself. An out-of-body experience. Where have I gone? I have to come back. There’s something important for me to do. The memory of yesterday’s meeting with Dana jolts him back to reality.

  He grabs his bag and his boots, throws a blanket around his shoulders, and runs from his room to the front gates. He doesn’t check who is around. He must get to Victor and Yuri immediately.

  The two men arrive with the others in their detail, sinking into the snow with each step they take toward work. They see Lale and move away from the others, meeting him halfway. He shows Victor the gems and currency in his hand, a small fortune’s worth. Everything he has, he drops into Victor’s bag.

  “Penicillin or something similar,” Lale says. “Can you help me?”

  Victor places his packages of food into Lale’s open bag and nods. “Yes.”

  Lale hurries over to Block 29 and watches from a distance. Where are they? Why haven’t they appeared? He paces up and down, oblivious to the eyes in the towers surrounding the camp. He must see Gita. She has to have made it through the night. Finally he sees Dana and Ivana, with Gita hanging weakly from their shoulders. Two other girls help to block the scene from easy view. Lale drops to his knees at the thought that this could be the last time he sees her.

  “What are you doing down there?” Baretski appears behind him.

  He staggers to his feet. “I was feeling sick, but I’m OK now.”

  “Maybe you should see a doctor. You know we have several at Auschwitz.”

  “No, thanks, I’d rather ask you to shoot me.”

  Baretski withdraws his pistol from its holster. “If this is where you want to die, Tätowierer, I would be happy to oblige.”

  “I’m sure you would, but not today,” Lale says. “I take it we’ve got work to do?”

  Baretski holsters his gun. “Auschwitz,” he says as he begins walking. “And take that blanket back to where you found it. You look ridiculous.”

  * * *

  LALE AND LEON SPEND THE MORNING AT AUSCHWITZ, TATTOOING numbers on frightened newcomers and attempting to soften the shock of it. But Lale’s mind is on Gita, and several times he presses too hard.

  In the afternoon, when the job is finished, Lale half walks, half runs back to Birkenau. He meets Dana near the entrance to Block 29 and gives her all his rations from breakfast.

  “We made a bed for her out of clothing,” Dana says as she folds the food into makeshift shirt cuffs, “and we gave her pieces of snow for water. We took her back to the block this afternoon, but she’s still in a really bad way.”

  Lale squeezes Dana’s hand. “Thank you. Try to get some food into her. I’ll have medicine tomorrow.”

  He departs, his mind a whirlpool. I barely know Gita, yet how can I live if she does not?

  That night, sleep evades him.

  The next morning, Victor places medicine, along with food, into Lale’s bag.

  That afternoon, he is able to get it to Dana.

  * * *

  IN THE EVENING, DANA AND IVANA SIT BESIDE A NOW FULLY unconscious Gita. The pull of typhus is stronger than they are; the black stillness has completely overtaken her. They talk to her, but she gives no sign that she hears them. From a small vial, Dana places several drops of liquid into Gita’s mouth as Ivana holds it open.

  “I don’t think I can keep carrying her to the Canada,” an exhausted Ivana says.

  “She will get better,” Dana insists. “Just a few more days.”

  “Where did Lale get the medicine from?”

  “We don’t need to know. Just be grateful that he did.”

  “Do you think it’s too late?”

  “I don’t know, Ivana. Let’s just hold her tight and get her through the night.”

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, LALE WATCHES FROM A DISTANCE AS GITA is once again carried toward the Canada. He sees her attempt to raise her head on a couple of occasions and is overjoyed at the sight. He now needs to seek out Baretski.

  The main SS officers’ quarters are at Auschwitz. There is just a small building for them at Birkenau, and it is there that Lale goes in the hope of catching Baretski as he is coming or going. He appears after several hours and seems surprised to see Lale waiting for him.

  “Not enough work for you, eh?” Baretski asks.

  “I have a favor to ask,” Lale blurts out.

  Baretski narrows his eyes. “I won’t do any more favors.”

  “Maybe one day I can do something for you.”

  Baretski laughs. “What could you possibly do for me?”

  “You never know, but wouldn’t you like to bank a favor, just in case?”

  Baretski sighs. “What do you want?”

  “It’s Gita . . .”

  “Your girlfriend.”

  “Can you get her transferred from the Canada into the administration building?”

  “Why? I suppose you want her where there’s heating?”

  “Yes.”

  Baretski taps a foot. “It might take me a day or two, but I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You owe me, Tätowierer.” The smirk is back as he fondles his swagger stick. “You owe me.”

  With more bravado than he feels, Lale says, “Not yet I don’t, but I hope to.” He walks away, a small spring in his step. Perhaps he can make Gita’s life a little more bearable.

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING SUNDAY, LALE WALKS SLOWLY ALONGSIDE A recovering Gita. He wants to put his arm around her like he saw Dana and Ivana do, but he doesn’t dare. It is good enough to be near her. It doesn’t take long for her to be exhausted, and it is too cold to sit. She wears a long woolen coat, no doubt something the girls have appropriated from the Canada with no objection from the SS. It has deep pockets and Lale fills them with food before he sends her back to her block to rest.

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, A TREMBLING GITA IS ESCORTED into the main administration building by an SS officer. The young woman has been told nothing and she automatically fears the worst. She has been sick, and now she is weak—clearly the authorities have decided she is no longer of use. As the officer speaks to a more senior colleague, Gita looks around the large room. It is filled with drab green desks and filing cabinets. Nothing is out of place. What strikes her most is the warmth. The SS work here, too, so of course there is heating. A mixture of female prisoners and female civilians work quickly and quietly, writing, filing, heads down.

  The escorting officer directs Gita toward her colleague, and Gita stumbles, still suffering the aftereffects of the typhus. The colleague breaks her fall before roughly shoving her away. She then grabs Gita’s arm and inspects her tattoo before dragging her toward an empty desk and shoving her down on a hard wooden chair, next to another prisoner dressed just like her. The girl doesn’t look up, only tries to make herself smaller, unobtrusive, so the officer will ignore her.

  “Put her to work,” the grumpy officer barks.

  Once they’re alone, the girl shows Gita a long list of names and details. She hands her a pile of cards and indicates that she is to transcribe the details of each person first onto a card and then into the large leather-bound book between them. No words are spoken, and a quick glance around the room tells Gita to keep her mouth shut, too.

  Later that day, Gita hears a familiar voice and looks up. Lale has entered the room and is handing papers to one of the civilian girls working at the front desk. Finishing his conversation, he slowly scans all the fac
es. As his glance passes Gita, he winks. She can’t help herself—she gasps, and a few women turn to look at her. The girl beside her nudges her in the ribs as Lale hurries from the room.

  * * *

  WITH THE DAY’S WORK ENDED, GITA SEES LALE STANDING A distance away, watching the girls leave the administration building for their blocks. The heavy SS presence prevents him from approaching. As the girls walk together, they talk.

  “I’m Cilka,” Gita’s new colleague says. “I’m in Block 25.”

  “I’m Gita, Block 29.”

  As the girls enter the women’s camp, Dana and Ivana rush to Gita.

  “Are you all right? Where did they take you? Why did they take you?” Dana demands, fear and relief on her face.

  “I’m OK. They took me to work in the administration office.”

  “How . . . ?” Ivana asks.

  “Lale. I think he somehow arranged it.”

  “But you’re all right. They didn’t hurt you?”

  “I’m fine. This is Cilka. I’m working with her.”

  Dana and Ivana greet Cilka with a hug. Gita smiles, happy that her friends are so immediately accepting of another girl in their midst. All afternoon she had worried how they would react to her now working in relative comfort, without having to deal with the cold or any physical effort. She could hardly blame them if they were jealous of her new role and felt she was no longer one of them.

  “I’d better go to my block,” says Cilka. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gita.”

  Cilka walks off, and Ivana watches her go. “Gosh, she’s pretty. Even dressed in rags, she’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, she is. She’s been throwing me little smiles all day, just enough to reassure me. Her beauty goes beyond the surface.”

  Cilka turns back and smiles at the three of them. Then, with one hand, she removes the scarf from her head and waves it to them, revealing long dark hair cascading down her back. She moves with the grace of a swan, a young woman unaware of her own beauty and seemingly untouched by the horror around her.

  “You must ask her how she has kept her hair,” Ivana says, scratching absently at her own headscarf.

  Gita pulls her own scarf from her head and runs her hand over her short, spiky stubble, knowing all too well that it will soon be removed again, shaved back to her scalp. Her smile disappears briefly. Then she replaces her scarf and links arms with Dana and Ivana, and they walk toward the meal cart.

  8

  LALE AND LEON HAVE BEEN WORKING AROUND THE CLOCK AS the Germans storm every city, town, and village and empty them of Jews; those from France, Belgium, Yugoslavia, Italy, Moravia, Greece, and Norway join prisoners already taken from Czechoslovakia, Germany, Austria, Poland, and Slovakia. At Auschwitz, they tattoo those unfortunate enough to be selected by the “medical team.” Those designated to work are brought in trains to Birkenau, which saves Lale and Leon a round-trip walk of five miles. But with this many new arrivals, Lale doesn’t have time to collect the loot from the girls in the Canada, and Victor’s treats go back home with him each day. Once in a while, when the numbers have dwindled and the time of day is right, Lale begs off for a toilet break and makes it to the Canada. The hoard of gems, jewelry, and currency under his mattress increases.

  Day has become night and still men line up to be numbered for life, be it short or long. Lale works robotically, reaching for the paper, taking the offered arm, numbering. “Move on.” “Next, please.” He knew he was tired, but the next arm is so heavy that he drops it. A giant of a man stands before him, all chest and thick neck and massive limbs.

  “I’m very hungry,” whispers the man.

  Lale then does something he has never done before. “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “Jakub.”

  Lale sets about tattooing Jakub’s number. When he has finished, he looks around and observes that the SS guarding them are tired and paying little attention to what is going on. Lale ushers Jakub behind him, into the shadows where the floodlights do not reach.

  “Wait there until I’m finished.”

  When the last prisoner has been numbered, Lale and Leon gather up their tools and tables. Lale waves goodbye to Leon and apologizes that he has again missed his evening meal, promising to bring him something from his stash tomorrow morning. Or is it this morning? With Jakub still hidden, Lale stalls, making sure all the SS have moved on. Finally, there is no one around. A quick glance at the tower posts reveals no one looking their way. He instructs Jakub to follow him, and they hurry to Lale’s room. Lale closes the door behind them and Jakub sits down on Lale’s bed. Lale lifts one corner of the sunken mattress to produce some bread and sausage. He offers it to the man, and Jakub makes short work of it.

  When he has finished eating, Lale asks, “Where are you from?”

  “America.”

  “How did you end up here?”

  “I was visiting my family in Poland and got trapped here—I couldn’t leave—and then we got rounded up, and here I am. I don’t know where my family is. We got separated.”

  “But you live in America?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit, that’s tough.”

  “What’s your name?” Jakub asks.

  “I’m Lale. They call me the Tätowierer, and, like me, you will do well here.”

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  “Your size. The Germans are the cruelest bastards ever to live, but they are not entirely stupid. They have a knack for finding the right person for the right job, and I’m sure they will find work for you.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to wait and see. Do you know what block you are assigned to?”

  “Block 7.”

  “Ah, I know it well. Come on, let’s sneak you in. You’d better be there to answer when your number is called out in a couple of hours.”

  * * *

  TWO DAYS LATER, IT IS SUNDAY. HAVING WORKED THE PAST five Sundays, Lale has missed Gita terribly. Today the sun is shining down on him as he walks the compound, looking for her. As he rounds the corner of one block, he is startled by cheering and applause. Such noises are unheard of in the camp. Lale pushes his way through a crowd to reach its focus. There, center stage, surrounded by both prisoners and SS, Jakub is performing.

  Three men carry a large piece of timber to him. He takes it and tosses it away. Prisoners have to scramble to get out of the way. Another prisoner produces a large metal rod, which Jakub sets about bending in half. The show goes on for some time as heavier and heavier items are brought to Jakub for him to display his strength.

  A hush falls over the crowd. Houstek is approaching, guarded by SS. Jakub continues his performance, unaware of his new audience. Houstek watches him raise a piece of steel above his head and twist it. He’s seen enough. He gives a nod to the nearby SS, who advance on Jakub. They make no attempt to touch him but point their rifles in the direction they expect him to go.

  As the crowd thins, Lale sees Gita. He rushes toward her and her friends. One or two giggle when they see him. The sound is so out of place in this camp of death, and Lale delights in it. Gita beams. Taking her by the arm, he steers her to their spot behind the administration building. The ground is still too cold to sit on, so Gita leans against the building, tilts her face to the sun.

  “Close your eyes,” Lale says.

  “Why?”

  “Just do as you’re told. Trust me.”

  Gita closes her eyes.

  “Open your mouth.”

  She opens her eyes.

  “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

  Gita does so. From his bag, Lale produces a small piece of chocolate. He places it on her lips, letting her feel the texture of it, before slowly pushing it a little farther into her mouth. She presses her tongue against it. Lale pulls it back to her lips. Now moistened, he rubs the chocolate gently across her lips, and she licks it off with delight. When he pushes it into her mouth she bites down, taking a chun
k off, opening her eyes wide. Savoring the taste, she says, “Why does chocolate taste so much better when it’s fed to you?”

  “I don’t know. No one has ever fed it to me.”

  Gita takes the small amount of chocolate Lale still holds in his hand.

  “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

  The same teasing takes place. After Gita has smeared the last bit of chocolate on Lale’s lips, she gently kisses him, licking the chocolate away. He opens his eyes to find hers shut. He pulls her into his arms and they kiss passionately. When Gita finally opens her eyes, she wipes the tears that are running down Lale’s face.

  “What else have you got in that bag of yours?” she asks playfully.

  Lale sniffs, and laughs. “A diamond ring. Or would you prefer an emerald?”

  “Oh, I’ll have the diamond, thank you,” she says, playing along.

  Lale rummages around in his bag and produces an exquisite silver ring with a single diamond set in it. Handing it to her, he says, “It’s yours.”

  Gita can’t take her eyes off the ring, the sun bouncing off the stone. “Where did you get this?”

  “Girls working in one of the Canada buildings find jewels and money for me. That’s what I use to buy the food and medicine I’ve been giving you and the others. Here, take it.”

  Gita puts her hand out as though to try on the ring, but then pulls back. “No, you keep it. Put it to good use.”

  “OK.” Lale goes to put it back in his bag.

  “Stop. Let me look at it one more time.”

  He holds it between two fingers, turning it this way and that.

  “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Now put it away.”

  “It’s the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” says Lale, looking at Gita. She blushes and turns her face away.

  “I’ll have some more of that chocolate, if you have any left.”

  Lale hands her a small block. She snaps off a piece and places it in her mouth, closing her eyes for a moment. She wraps the rest within her sleeve and tucks it up.