‘You may have more if you wish,’ says a plaintive voice.
Lale takes a second helping of bread, looking at the prisoners around him who eat in silence, sharing no pleasantries, only surreptitious glances. The feelings of mistrust and fear are obvious. Walking away, the bread shoved up his sleeve, he heads to his old home, Block 7. He nods to the kapo as he enters, who seems to have got the message that Lale is no longer his to command. Going inside, Lale acknowledges the greetings of many of the men he has shared a block with, shared his fears and dreams of another life with. When he arrives at his old bunk, Leon sits there with his feet dangling over the side. Lale looks at the young man’s face. His wide blue eyes have a gentleness and honesty that Lale finds endearing.
‘Come outside with me for a moment.’
Leon jumps from the bunk and follows him. All eyes are on the two of them. Walking around the side of the block, Lale pulls the chunk of stale bread from his sleeve and offers it to Leon, who devours it. Only when it’s finished does he thank him.
‘I knew you would have missed supper. I get extra rations now. I will try and share them with you and the others when I can. Now go back inside. Tell them I dragged you out here to tick you off. And keep your head down. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Don’t you want them to know you can get extra rations?’
‘No. Let me see how things play out. I can’t help them all at once and they don’t need an extra reason to fight among themselves.’
Lale watches Leon enter his old block with a mixture of feelings he finds hard to articulate. Should I be fearful now that I am privileged? Why do I feel sad about leaving my old position in the camp, even though it offered me no protection? He wanders into the shadows of the half-finished buildings. He is alone.
That night, Lale sleeps stretched out for the first time in months. No one to kick, no one to push him. He feels like a king in the luxury of his own bed. And just like a king, he must now be wary of people’s motives for befriending him or taking him into their confidence. Are they jealous? Do they want my job? Do I run the risk of being wrongly accused of something? He has seen the consequences of greed and mistrust here. Most people believe that if there are fewer men, there will be more food to go around. Food is currency. With it, you stay alive. You have the strength to do what is asked of you. You get to live another day. Without it, you weaken to the point you don’t care anymore. His new position adds to the complexity of surviving. He is sure that as he left his block and walked past the bunks of beaten men, he heard someone mutter the word ‘collaborator’.
?
The next morning Lale is waiting with Leon outside the administration building when Baretski arrives and compliments him on being early. Lale holds his attaché bag and his table rests on the ground beside him. Baretski tells Leon to stay where he is and Lale to follow him inside. Lale looks around the large reception area. He can see corridors running off in different directions with what look like offices adjoining. Behind the large reception desk are several rows of small desks with young girls all working diligently – filing, transcribing. Baretski introduces him to an SS officer – ‘Meet the T?towierer’ – and tells him again to get his supplies and instructions here each day. Lale asks for an extra table and tools, as he has an assistant waiting outside. The request is granted without comment. Lale breathes a sigh of relief. He has saved one man from hard labour, at least. He thinks of Pepan and silently thanks him. He takes the table and stuffs the extra supplies into his bag. As Lale turns away, the administration clerk calls out to him.
‘Carry that bag with you at all times, identify yourself with the words “Politische Abteilung” and no one will bother you. Return the numbered paper to us every night, but keep hold of the bag.’
Baretski snorts beside Lale. ‘It’s true, with that bag and those words you are safe, except from me of course. Screw up and get me into trouble and no bag or words will save you.’ His hand goes to his pistol, rests on the holster, flicks the catch open. Closed. Open. Closed. His breathing grows deeper.
Lale does the smart thing, lowers his eyes and turns away.
?
Transports come into Auschwitz-Birkenau at all times of the day and night. It isn’t unusual for Lale and Leon to work around the clock. On such days Baretski shows his most unpleasant side. He screams abuse or beats Leon, blaming him for keeping him from his bed with his slowness. Lale quickly learns that the bad treatment gets worse if he tries to prevent it.
Finishing up in the early hours of one morning at Auschwitz, Baretski turns to walk away before Lale and Leon have packed up. Then he turns back, a look of indecision on his face.
‘Oh fuck it, you two can walk back to Birkenau on your own. I’m sleeping here tonight. Just be back here at eight in the morning.’
‘How are we meant to know what the time is?’ Lale asks.
‘I don’t give a fuck how you do it, just be here. And don’t even think about running away. I’ll hunt you down myself, kill you and enjoy it.’ He staggers off.
‘What do we do?’ Leon asks.
‘What the arsehole told us to. Come on – I’ll get you up in time to make it back here.’
‘I’m so tired. Can’t we stay here?’
‘No. If you’re not seen in your block in the morning they’ll be out looking for you. Come on, let’s get going.’
?
Lale rises with the sun, and he and Leon make the four-kilometre trek back to Auschwitz. They wait for what seems like an hour until Baretski shows up. It is obvious he didn’t go straight to bed but has been up drinking. When his breath is foul, his temper is worse.
‘Get moving,’ he bellows.
With no sign of new prisoners, Lale has to reluctantly ask the question, ‘To where?’
‘Back to Birkenau. The transports have dropped the latest lot there.’
?
As the trio walk the four kilometres back to Birkenau, Leon stumbles and falls – fatigue and lack of nourishment overcoming him. He picks himself back up. Baretski slows his walk, seemingly waiting for Leon to catch up. As Leon does, Baretski sticks his leg out, causing him to fall again. Several times more on the journey, Baretski plays his little game. The walk and the pleasure he derives from tripping Leon seem to sober him up. Each time he watches Lale for his reaction. He gets nothing.
On arriving back at Birkenau, Lale is surprised to see Houstek overseeing the selection of who will be sent to Lale and Leon to live another day. They begin their work while Baretski marches up and down the line of young men, trying to look competent in front of his superior. The sound of a young man squealing as Leon tries to mark his arm startles the exhausted boy. He drops his tattooing stick. As he bends down to pick it up, Baretski hits him on the back with his rifle, splaying him face down in the dirt. He puts a foot on his back and presses him down.
‘We can get the job done faster if you let him pick himself up and get on with it,’ Lale says, watching Leon’s breath become short and sharp beneath Baretski’s boot.
Houstek bears down on the three men and mumbles something to Baretski. When Houstek disappears, Baretski, with a sour smile, pushes his foot down hard on Leon’s body before releasing it.
‘I am just a humble servant of the SS. You, T?towierer, have been placed under the auspices of the Political Wing, who answer to Berlin only. It was your lucky day when the Frenchman introduced you to Houstek and told him how clever you are, speaking all those languages.’
There is no correct answer to this question so Lale busies himself with his work. A muddied Leon rises, coughing.
‘So, T?towierer,’ Baretski says, his sick smile returning, ‘how about we be friends?’