Page 8 of The Tattooist of Auschwitz
‘What’s her name?’
‘My sweetheart? I don’t know. We haven’t met yet.’
Pepan chuckles. The two men sit in companionable silence. Lale traces a finger over his numbers.
‘What is your accent?’ says Lale.
‘I am French.’
‘And what happened to me?’ Lale asks finally.
‘Typhus. You were destined for an early grave.’
Lale shudders. ‘Then why am I sitting here with you?’
‘I was walking past your block just as your body was being thrown onto a cart for the dead and dying. A young man was pleading with the SS to leave you, saying that he would take care of you. When they went into the next block he pushed you off the cart and started dragging you back inside. I went and helped him.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Seven, eight days. Since then the men in your block have looked after you during the night. I’ve spent as much time as I can during the day caring for you. How do you feel?’
‘I feel OK. I don’t know what to say, how to thank you.’
‘Thank the man who pushed you from the cart. It was his courage that held you back from the jaws of death.’
‘I will when I find out who it was. Do you know?’
‘No. I’m sorry. We didn’t exchange names.’
Lale closes his eyes for a few moments, letting the sun warm his skin, giving him the energy, the will, to go on. He lifts his sagging shoulders, and resolve seeps back into him. He is still alive. He stands on shaking legs, stretching, trying to breathe new life back into an ailing body in need of rest, nourishment and hydration.
‘Sit down, you’re still very weak.’
Conceding the obvious, Lale does so. Only now his back is straighter, his voice firmer. He gives Pepan a smile. The old Lale is back, almost as hungry for information as he is for food. ‘I see you wear a red star,’ he says.
‘Ah yes. I was an academic in Paris and was too outspoken for my own good.’
‘What did you teach?’
‘Economics.’
‘And being a teacher of economics got you here? How?’
‘Well, Lale, a man who lectures on taxation and interest rates can’t help but get involved in the politics of his country. Politics will help you understand the world until you don’t understand it anymore, and then it will get you thrown into a prison camp. Politics and religion both.’
‘And will you go back to that life when you leave here?’
‘An optimist! I don’t know what my future holds, or yours.’
‘No crystal ball then.’
‘No, indeed.’
Through the noise of construction, dogs barking and guards shouting, Pepan leans forward and asks, ‘Are you as strong in character as you are physically?’
Lale returns Pepan’s gaze. ‘I’m a survivor.’
‘Your strength can be a weakness, given the circumstances we find ourselves in. Charm and an easy smile will get you in trouble.’
