Page 66 of The Tattooist of Auschwitz
The guard looks perplexed.
From his mouth Lale takes a diamond, wipes it on his shirt and hands it to him. ‘Now you can’t say you never got anything from a Jew.’
•
Vienna. Who wouldn’t want to visit Vienna? It was a dream destination for Lale in his playboy days. The very word sounds romantic, full of style and possibility. But he knows it will now fail to live up to this perception.
The guards are indifferent to Lale and the others when they arrive. They find a block and are told where and when to get their meals. Lale’s thoughts are dominated by Gita and by how he can get to her. Being shunted from camp to camp to camp – he cannot bear it much longer.
For several days he observes his surroundings. He sees the camp commandant doddering about and wonders how he is still breathing. He chats to amenable guards and tries to understand the dynamic among the prisoners. Once he discovers that he is probably the only Slovakian prisoner here, he decides to keep to himself. Poles, Russians and a few Italians sit around all day talking with their countrymen, leaving Lale largely isolated.
One day, two young men sidle up to him. ‘They say you were the Tätowierer at Auschwitz.’
‘Who are “they”?’
‘Someone said they thought they knew you there and that you tattooed the prisoners.’
Lale grabs the young man’s hand and pulls up his sleeve. No number. He turns to the second man.
‘What about you, were you there?’
‘No, but is it true what they say?’
‘I was the Tätowierer, but so what?’
‘Nothing. Just asking.’
The boys walk away. Lale goes back to his daydreaming. He doesn’t see the approaching SS officers until they yank him to his feet and frogmarch him to a nearby building. Lale finds himself standing in front of the ageing commandant, who nods to one of the SS officers. The officer pulls up Lale’s sleeve, revealing his number.
‘You were in Auschwitz?’ the commandant asks.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Were you the Tätowierer there?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So you are a Jew?’
‘No, sir, I am a Catholic.’
The commandant raises a brow. ‘Oh? I didn’t know they had Catholics in Auschwitz.’
‘They had all religions there, sir, along with criminals and politicals.’
‘Are you a criminal?’
‘No, sir.’
‘And you’re not a Jew?’
‘No, sir. I’m Catholic.’
‘You have answered “no” twice. I will ask you only once more. Are you a Jew?’
‘No, I am not. Here – let me prove it to you.’ With that, Lale undoes the string holding up his trousers and they fall to the floor. He hooks his fingers into the back of his underpants and starts to pull them down.
‘Stop. I don’t need to see. OK, you can go.’
