‘Working for the kapo is not the same as defiling hundreds of innocent people.’
A long silence follows. Lale again enters his dark place. Do those making the decisions have a family, a wife, children, parents? They can’t possibly.
‘You can tell yourself that, but you are still a Nazi puppet. Whether it is with me or the kapo, or building blocks, you are still doing their dirty work.’
‘You have a way of putting things.’
‘So?’
‘Then, yes. If you can arrange it, I will work for you.’
‘Not for me. With me. But you must work quickly and efficiently and not make trouble with the SS.’
‘OK.’
Pepan stands, goes to walk away. Lale grabs at his shirtsleeve.
‘Pepan, why have you chosen me?’
‘I saw a half-starved young man risk his life to save you. I figure you must be someone worth saving. I’ll come for you tomorrow morning. Get some rest now.’
That night as his block-mates return, Lale notices that Aron is missing. He asks the two others sharing his bed what has happened to him, how long he’s been gone.
‘About a week,’ comes the reply.
Lale’s stomach drops.
‘The kapo couldn’t find you,’ the man says. ‘Aron could have told him you were ill, but he feared the kapo would add you to the death cart again if he knew, so he said you were already gone.’
‘And the kapo discovered the truth?’
‘No,’ yawns the man, exhausted from work. ‘But the kapo was so pissed off he took Aron anyway.’
Lale struggles to contain his tears.
The second bunkmate rolls onto his elbow. ‘You put big ideas into his head. He wanted to save “the one”.’
‘To save one is to save the world.’ Lale completes the phrase.
The men sink into silence for a while. Lale looks at the ceiling, blinks away tears. Aron is not the first person to die here and will not be the last.
‘Thank you,’ he says.
‘We tried to continue what Aron started, to see if we could save the one.’
‘We took turns,’ a young boy says from below, ‘smuggling water and sharing our bread with you, forcing it down your throat.’
Another picks up the story. He rises from the bunk below, haggard, with cloudy blue eyes, his voice flat, but still full of the need to tell his part of the story. ‘We changed your soiled clothes. We swapped them with someone who had died overnight.’
Lale is now unable to stop the tears that roll down his emaciated cheeks.
‘I can’t…’
He can’t do anything but be appreciative. He knows he has a debt he cannot repay, not now, not here, realistically not ever.
He falls asleep to the soulful sound of Hebrew chants from those who still cling to faith.
The next morning Lale is in the queue for breakfast when Pepan appears by his side, takes his arm quietly and steers him away towards the main compound. There the trucks unload their human cargo. He feels as though he has wandered into a scene from a tragic play. Some of the actors are the same, most are new, their lines unwritten, their role not yet determined. His life experience has not equipped him to understand what is happening. He has a memory of being here before. Yes, not as an observer, but a participant. What will my role be now? He closes his eyes and imagines he is facing another version of himself, looking at the left arm. It is unnumbered. Opening his eyes again, he looks down at the tattoo on his real left arm, then back to the scene in front of him.
He takes in the hundreds of new prisoners who are gathered there. Boys, young men, terror etched on each of their faces. Holding on to each other. Hugging themselves. SS and dogs shepherd them like lambs to the slaughter. They obey. Whether they live or die this day is about to be decided. Lale stops following Pepan and stands frozen. Pepan doubles back and guides him to some small tables with tattooing equipment on them. Those passing selection are moved into a line in front of their table. They will be marked. Other new arrivals – the old, infirm, no skills identified – are walking dead.
A shot rings out. Men flinch. Someone falls. Lale looks in the direction of the shot, only for Pepan to grab his face and twist his head away.
A group of SS, mostly young, walk towards Pepan and Lale, guarding an older SS officer. Mid- to late forties, straight-backed in his immaculate uniform, his cap sitting precisely on his head – a perfect mannequin, thinks Lale, like those he occasionally helped dress when he worked in the department store in Bratislava.
The SS stop in front of them. Pepan steps forward, acknowledging the officer with a bowed head as Lale watches.
‘Oberscharführer Houstek, I have enlisted this prisoner to help.’ Pepan indicates Lale standing behind him.
Houstek turns to Lale.
Pepan continues. ‘I believe he will learn fast.’
Houstek, steely-eyed, glares at Lale before wagging a finger for him to step forward. Lale does so.
‘What languages do you speak?’
‘Slovakian, German, Russian, French, Hungarian and a little Polish,’ Lale answers, looking him in the eye.
‘Humph.’ Houstek walks away.
Lale leans over and whispers to Pepan, ‘A man of few words. I take it I got the job?’
Pepan turns on Lale, fire in his eyes and his voice, though he speaks quietly. ‘Do not underestimate him. Lose your bravado, or you will lose your life. Next time you talk to him, do not raise your eyes above the level of his boots.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lale says. ‘I won’t.’
When will I learn?
Chapter 3
Lale is slowly waking, holding onto a dream that has put a smile on his face. Stay, stay, let me stay here just a moment longer, please…
While Lale likes meeting all kinds of people, he particularly likes meeting women. He thinks them all beautiful, regardless of their age, their appearance, how they are dressed. The highlight of his daily routine is walking through the women’s department where he works. That’s when he flirts with the young and not so young women who work behind the counter.
Lale hears the main doors to the department store open. He looks up and a woman hurries inside. Behind her, two Slovakian soldiers stand in the doorway and don’t follow her in. He hurries over to her with a reassuring smile. ‘You’re OK,’ he says. ‘You’re safe here with me.’ She accepts his hand and he leads her towards a counter full of extravagant bottles of perfume. Looking at several, he settles on one and holds it towards her. She turns her neck in a playful manner. Lale softly sprays first one side of her neck and then the other. Their eyes meet as her head turns. Both wrists are held out, and each receives their reward. She brings one wrist to her nose, closes her eyes and sniffs lightly. The same wrist is offered to Lale. Gently holding her hand, he brings it close to his face as he bends and inhales the intoxicating mix of perfume and youth.
‘Yes. That’s the one for you,’ Lale says.
‘I’ll take it.’
Lale hands the bottle over to the waiting shop assistant, who begins to wrap it.
‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ he says.
Faces flash before him, smiling young women dance around him, happy, living life to the fullest. Lale holds the arm of the young lady he met in the women’s department. His dream seems to rush ahead. Lale and the lady walk into an exquisite restaurant, dimly lit by minimal wall sconces. A flickering candle on each table holds down heavy Jacquard tablecloths. Expensive jewellery projects colours onto the walls. The noise of silver cutlery on fine china is softened by the dulcet sounds of the string quartet silhouetted in one corner. The concierge greets him warmly as he takes the coat from Lale’s companion and steers them towards a table. As they sit, the maître d’ shows Lale a bottle of wine. Without taking his eyes from his companion, he nods and the bottle is uncorked and poured. Both Lale and the lady feel for their glass. Their eyes still locked, they raise their hands and sip. Lale’s dream jumps forward again. He is close to waking up. No. Now he is rifling through his wardrobe, selecting a suit, a shirt, considering and rejecting ties until he finds the right one and attaches it perfectly. He slides polished shoes onto his feet. From the bedside table he pockets his keys and wallet before bending down and pushing a wayward strand of hair from the face of his sleeping companion, and lightly kissing her on the forehead. She stirs and smiles. In a husky voice she says, ‘Tonight…’