Page 39 of The Tattooist of Auschwitz
Leon smiles weakly at him. ‘Thanks, Lale.’
‘I knew the bastard was starving prisoners. I thought he was only doing it to girls.’
‘If only that was all it was.’
‘What do you mean?’
Now Leon stares directly into Lale’s eyes. ‘He cut my fucking balls off, Lale,’ he says, his voice strong and steady. ‘Somehow you lose your appetite when they cut your balls off.’
Lale reels back in horror, and turns away, not wanting Leon to see his shock. Leon fights back a sob and struggles to find his voice as he searches the ground for something to focus on.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that. Thank you for your offer. I am grateful to you.’
Lale breathes deeply, trying to control his anger. He badly wants to lash out, to take revenge on the crime committed against his friend.
Leon clears his throat. ‘Any chance I can have my job back?’
Lale’s face floods with warmth. ‘Of course. Glad to have you back – but only when you’ve regained your strength,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you go back to my room? If any of the Gypsies stop you, tell them you’re my friend and I’ve sent you there. You’ll find supplies under my bed. I’ll see you when I’m done here.’
A senior SS officer approaches.
‘Go now, hurry.’
‘Hurrying is not something I can do right now.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK. I’m gone. See you later.’
The officer watches Leon walk off and turns back to what he was doing previously: determining who should live and die.
•
The next day, Lale reports to the administration office to be told that he has the day off. No transports are arriving at either Auschwitz or Birkenau and there is no request from Herr Doktor to assist him. He spends the morning with Leon. He’d bribed his old kapo in Block 7 to take Leon in, on the understanding he will work for him when he has regained his strength. He gives him food that he had been planning to give to his Romani friends and to Gita for distribution.
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 towards 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 Three before Baretski decides to put Lale out of his misery. He slows his long strides.
