Page 32 of The Tattooist of Auschwitz
Baretski plays the game and waits.
Lale eventually blinks. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Well, now that you’ve asked, Tätowierer, we need you to find eleven prisoners to take on a team of SS in a friendly match.’
Lale considers laughing but keeps his gaze at the point over Baretski’s shoulder. He thinks long and hard about his reply to this bizarre request.
‘What, no substitutes?’
‘No substitutes.’
‘Sure, why not.’Where did that come from?There are a million other things I could say.Like, ‘Fuck off.’
‘Good, great. Get your team together and we’ll meet in the compound in two days’ time – Sunday. Oh, and we’ll bring the ball.’ Laughing loudly, Baretski walks off. ‘By the way, Tätowierer, you can have the day off. There are no transports today.’
•
Lale spends part of the day sorting his treasure into small bundles. Food for the Romani and the boys in Block 7 and of course Gita and her friends. Gems and currency sorted by type. The process is surreal. Diamonds with diamonds, rubies with rubies, dollars with dollars, and even a stack of currency he has never seen before, bearing the words ‘South African Reserve Bank’ and ‘Suid-Afrikaans’. He has no idea of its value or how it found its way into Birkenau. Taking several gems, he goes looking for Victor and Yuri to make the day’s purchases. He then plays for a while with the boys from his block as he tries to formulate what he will say to the men in Block 7 upon their return from work.
In the evening, Lale is surrounded by dozens of men looking at him incredulously.
‘You have got to be fucking kidding,’ one of them says.
‘No,’ Lale replies.
‘You want us to play football with the fucking SS?’
‘Yes. This coming Sunday.’
‘Well, I’m not gonna do it. You can’t make me,’ the same person replies.
From the back of the group a voice calls out: ‘I’ll play. I’ve played a little.’ A small man pushes his way through the gathered men and stands in front of Lale. ‘I’m Joel.’
‘Thanks, Joel. Welcome to the team. I need another nine of you. What have you got to lose? This is your one chance to get a little physical with the bastards and get away with it.’
‘I know a guy in Block 15 who played in the Hungarian national team. I’ll ask him, if you like?’ another prisoner pipes up.
‘What about you?’ Lale asks.
‘Yeah, sure. I’m Joel too. I’ll ask around, see who I can get. Is there any chance we can have a practice before Sunday?’
‘Plays football and has a sense of humour – I like this guy. I’ll be back tomorrow night to see how you’ve done. Thanks, Big Joel.’ Lale looks over at the other Joel. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken,’ Little Joel replies.
Lale produces bread and sausage from his bag and lays it upon a nearby bunk. As he leaves he watches two of the men share out the food. Each recipient breaks their portion into bite-size pieces and hands them around. No pushing, no fighting, an orderly distribution of life-saving nourishment. He overhears one man say, ‘Here, Big Joel, you have mine – you’ll need your energy.’ Lale smiles. A day that started badly is ending with a magnanimous gesture from a starving man.
•
The day of the game arrives. Lale wanders into the main compound to see SS painting a white line into what is far from an oblong shape. He hears his name being called and finds his ‘team’ gathered together. He joins the men.
‘Hey, Lale, I’ve got fourteen players, counting you and me – a couple in reserve if some of us fall over,’ Big Joel tells him proudly.
‘Sorry, I was told no substitutes. Just one team. Choose the fittest.’
The men look at each other. Three hands rise, and those volunteering to take no part walk away. Lale watches as several of the men stretch and jump up and down in the manner of a professional warm-up.
‘Some of these guys look like they know what they are doing,’ Lale mutters to Little Joel.
