‘We need to weigh them down,’ I said.
We took them out once more, feeling the warmth that came from their skin as if the water were making them alive again. With effort, we secured some rocks to their feet and tried again, this time seeing them sink under the water.
‘What do we do now?’ Jeremiah asked. ‘Watch them cook?’
‘I think so.’ I sat near the vat and prodded at the coals with a stick that had been left for us, along with a heap of coal and a few bits of firewood.
I tried not to think of the boys in the water. I tried not to think of their parents who would wonder what had happened to them.
‘How do you think they died?’ Alexander asked.
‘I don’t even want to guess,’ I said.
‘They were experimented on.’ Jeremiah sat the furthest away from the vats, his eyes searching the camp grounds for something to look at.
‘Experimented?’ Alexander asked.
‘There’s a doctor. Well, he was a doctor. He was asked to work in one of the buildings here. He said that they experiment on women, men and children. They like twins, he said, when they are identical. He said he saw twin girls have injections given to them every day that made them cry out for their mother. He could not sleep after seeing that. He wanted to save them – but what could he do, what can any of us do?’
‘I didn’t know,’ I said. I felt foolish, useless – how could I not know? Had I been blind, or did I just not want to see?
‘I hear you work at the house?’ Alexander tried to change the subject.
I nodded. ‘Gardener.’
‘Is that who you were before?’
‘I was a student. I will be again.’ Then I looked at the vats and realised that I probably would never be the same person again.
We were allowed lunch. A thin soup in the mess hall whilst two others watched over the boiling bodies.
For the first time in months, I could not eat. Neither could Jeremiah or Alexander. My stomach growled and moaned with hunger; even my saliva was not upset by what I had seen and filled my mouth at the scent of food. Yet, there was a block between my hunger and my heart. I could not, would not eat today. The boys in the water deserved that much from me.
When we returned to the vats…
I don’t think I can write it.
I know I must. I must write it. I must explain what is happening here but the sight, my Lord, the sight that awaited us.
The two men who had been asked to watch the water and keep it boiling had not been told what was in the vats. I wish now I had said something – I wish I hadn’t tried to save them from the knowledge.
They were eating. They were eating the pieces of flesh that had come away from the bones and were floating on top of the water.
This time I vomited. Alexander ran towards them, waving his arms in the air. I did not hear what he said to them – perhaps he told them they would get in trouble. Either way, the two men walked right past me, neither looking as though they knew what they had done, leaving us with the memory instead.
It is a week since I last wrote. It feels like longer.
I could not raise a word, either by my hand or mouth, after what happened last week. It was as though I was struck dumb with the images that swirled in my brain.
I have slept weakly. My dreams merging all the time with water, and sometimes a doctor who looks over me and tries to give me an injection.
Alexander and Jeremiah have slept badly too. I see them walking around the camp as if they are dead, as if all three of us died a little bit that day.
One thing I cannot understand is that the hum of bees, the singing of birds and the colours of flowers still exist. How can things carry on as if nothing so horrific is happening around us?
Chapter 21
Anna
March 1945
She felt lighter than she had done in weeks. Seeing Isaac again, hearing the rumours of the Americans coming closer – all of it filled her with a happiness that she could not contain. Greta was a little better and returned to work for half-days, once again mothering her, making sure she ate and drank.
She did not fear Liesl’s screaming demands, did not care that Herr Becher was home more often, locked in his study, always smelling of alcohol, the fires always burning as if someone were adding fuel to them that she never saw.
The arrival of the cars surprised her. Neither was new and shiny like the ones they had had before – both were a little worn, beaten and average.
But they had brought Isaac back to her; he was to fix them, he told her. He was to make it so that they worked perfectly. So now, instead of watches, he had engine parts in front of him, his trembling hands constantly smeared with oil, his fingernails blackened with it.
Anna made coffee for Liesl and took it to her room. She knocked gently on the door, expecting not to receive an answer and to leave it outside. Yet Anna heard her voice from within, weak, pleading, ‘Come in.’
She turned the doorknob, and instead of finding Liesl in bed, she was in her silk shift, her breasts straining against the material, her hair uncombed, falling in knotted tendrils down her back.
Liesl did not turn to look at Anna but stared at herself in the mirror, surrounded by a puddle of dresses and skirts, as if she had tried on everything in her wardrobe and found them all wanting.
‘I brought you coffee.’ Anna placed the cup on her bedside table and made to leave.
‘Look at me.’ Liesl turned, her eyes red and puffy, a smear of lipstick on her cheek where she had attempted to wipe it away with the back of her hand.
Anna did. She looked at her. Her arms were thick at the top, tapering until her wrists met her childlike hands. Her thighs were dimpled and there was a bruise on one of her knees.
‘What am I to do?’ she asked. ‘Look at me. Is this a woman who can survive this?’
‘I think we can survive many things,’ Anna ventured.
‘You have,’ Liesl spat, then looked at herself again.
‘I’ll leave you to dress.’ Anna tried to walk backwards, her hand feeling for the doorknob behind her.
‘When I was younger – wait, how old are you?’
‘Twenty-nine,’ Anna answered.
‘Yes, when I was about your age, I had everything. Men wanted me – all of them, and I took my time choosing. It’s not like choosing a dress, or a lipstick, or even a piece of jewellery, it’s more than that – you have to be sure. I can’t deny I liked the courting, however.’ Liesl smiled to herself, then sat on her dressing chair and opened a small gold cigarette case, taking from it a long thin cigarette which she lit with shaking fingers.
Anna had never seen her smoke before, and the surprise must have shown in her face.
‘Oh, this,’ Liesl waved the cigarette, ‘I used to smoke, when I was young. But then I stopped because my husband said that it was common.’ She grinned again, showing some lipstick on her teeth, then took a deep drag and blew out a plume.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ Anna tried, her hand on the brass doorknob now, waiting to turn it and leave.
‘They all wanted me.’ Liesl looked through the smoke as if she were looking back on a memory contained there. ‘All of them. Lawyers, nobles, wealthy, powerful men. But then, I fell in love. Have you been in love?’
Anna didn’t answer.
‘Well, look at you!’ Liesl tipped her head back and laughed. ‘Those arms like spindles, your chest flat as a child. But me, I was the stunning one. I was the one who was slim, but not too slim.’ Liesl tapped the ash on the floor, then smudged it with a big toe that had chipped red nail polish. ‘He loved that about me – couldn’t get enough. Thank God the Führer came to power when he did – made him a rising star! Before that, he was plain, but soon he grew in confidence, and I grew towards that as a sunflower seeks out the sun. But then, all things good must change. Friedrich changed it. He… didn’t see me as before anymore, he dare not touch me for a year after the birth. I was a mother, you see
– I had ceased to be the new bride. I was just a mother.’
‘Friedrich loves you,’ Anna said, sure that she needed to say something about the boy.
‘Does he?’ Liesl looked surprised now, and ground out her cigarette on her dressing table. ‘He looks at me with those sad eyes, and I can’t bear it. It’s as if he wants something from me all the time. I carried him in my body, gave him life – is that not enough?’
Liesl stood and walked to the mirror once more, running her hands over her hips, tilting her head to the side. ‘I must find something to wear,’ she muttered to herself.
Anna took this as a signal to leave and quickly departed, her breath coming quick as soon as she was out of that room. She decided that Greta should take the coffee to Liesl next – she could not do it again.
That afternoon, Anna found her thoughts turning towards Piotr, but in her mind’s eye his features were mingled with Isaac’s, his voice Isaac’s too. She tried to concentrate on polishing the windows in the dining room, now and then allowing herself to look out into the garden. As she did, she saw a robin that flitted from branch to branch, singing a song, his red breast thrust out proudly. She swallowed, then opened the window a crack and called to the bird. He flew closer to her, sitting on the edge of a stone planter, his wings twitching as his tiny black eyes looked at her.
‘Piotr?’ she whispered.
The bird twitched once more, then let out a quick trill before flying off into a thicket of trees.
Closing the window, she sat on the window seat, feeling foolish for talking to the bird – Piotr’s favourite. If her mother were here, she would tell her that it was a sign – that Piotr had come to let her know he was all right, that it was good she was replacing his face in her mind with someone else’s.
A small ball of anger surged in Anna’s chest – something she could not quell completely. He had left her to work with the resistance and by doing so had been shot in a raid, leaving her without him, without anyone. Then, she saw a figure move in the garden – Isaac – who walked slowly around the shed, stopping at a sprig of daffodils to touch their petals. Then he walked back to the shed, and Anna did not feel completely alone.
That evening, the camp was unusually quiet. Anna was led to her bunkhouse in the dark, some of the floodlights switched off. She tripped on what she thought was a stone or twig, but when she looked down, she saw that it was a foot protruding in all its whiteness from a heap of bodies that had been dumped.
Nina had stayed awake for her, and climbed into her bunk as soon as she could.
‘They’re coming.’ Anna could see her grin, even in the gloom. ‘That’s why the lights are out – we’ve been hearing the bombs drop all day. They’re really coming, Anna.’
Anna felt some of her hopefulness fall away as the reality of their present thrust itself into her mind – the bodies outside, the fact that they were still here, the hunger and the tiredness that plagued them all.
‘Just think, we can plan now – what it will be like when we leave. Remember we used to talk about how I would be a dancer?’ Nina continued.
Anna nodded, remembering. That’s all they had done. Remember their past, try to ignore it, try to get through each day. But now, Anna felt fear instead of the hope that oozed through Nina’s every pore.
‘What is that saying?’ Anna mumbled. ‘The calm before the storm.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean it may get worse before it gets better.’
‘How can it get worse? We didn’t even get counted tonight – imagine that! They’re giving up, Anna, I can tell. Then soon we can find Kuba, and you …’ Nina tailed off.
‘I will find someone,’ Anna said, thinking of Isaac.
‘Not someone.’ Nina hugged her, held her close. ‘You will have me; we will have each other.’
Chapter 22
Friedrich
Mother was acting strangely – this Friedrich knew. At first it had scared him, seeing her half dressed for dinner, or wandering about the hallways with a cigarette in her hand, her nightdress askew. But now, it had become almost comforting. She did not shout at him when she was like this – she barely even noticed that he was there.
So on the day he asked her to open the bedroom doors opposite his own, the ones that had windows looking out into the garden, she simply handed him the key, her eyes glassy and uninterested.
He looked at the key in his palm and could not believe his luck. Finally, he could see the place where Isaac was taken back to each night – finally, he could see what his parents had been trying to hide from him.
He did not waste time and hurried to the first door, which would not yield. The lock in the second, however, gave way to his key and he pushed open the door, revealing a bare room, the long windows grimy with dust and dirt.
He spat on the sleeve of his jumper, then pulled it over his hand and wiped a pane clear, smearing the grey muck as he did.
At first, he saw Isaac’s shed. The light wasn’t burning in the window; instead the door was open, and he could see Isaac just inside, sitting on a stool cleaning something in his hands.
His eyes focused next on the row of trees behind the shed. Then beyond, where wire fences could be seen. He ran back into his bedroom and found the binoculars his father had given him for Christmas two years ago. At the window he held them up to his eyes and corrected the focus, so he could see what lay inside the wire.
There were people moving slowly, all wearing the same striped uniform as Isaac and Anna. He could see the guards’ watchtower and saw that they held guns.
He scanned left, then right, where he could see children sitting playing in the dirt, all of them thin, skeletal, their faces indistinguishable from each other.
Friedrich lowered the binoculars.
He ran from the room, down the stairs and out into the back garden. He passed Isaac, who looked at him with surprise as he ran to the trees at the edge of the garden and tried to find his way through. He didn’t think about what he would do when he got there – all he knew was that he had to see it up close, had to see what was really there.
But the undergrowth was too thick, and his jumper snagged on a branch. He tried to pull himself free while scratching himself all over, his tears hot and thick running down his cheeks.
Suddenly there were hands on him, hands that tugged him free and drew him into an embrace.
He sobbed into Isaac’s chest. Isaac did not speak, did not ask what he was doing. He just let him cry until the sobs became fewer, shorter, and he found his breath again through sorrowful hiccups.
Isaac wrapped his arm around Friedrich’s shoulder and led him away from the trees back to the garden, towards the shed, then sat him down in his chair and placed a blanket on his lap.
Friedrich did not know what to say. There were questions swirling in his brain as he tried to piece it all together, but again, Isaac did not prompt him – did not ask what was wrong – he simply waited.
‘I saw,’ Friedrich finally said, gazing upwards at Isaac.
‘I know.’
‘There are children. Like me.’
‘I know.’
‘Father – he put them there. He said they were evil – that you were all evil – that you were dangerous.’
Isaac smiled at the boy. ‘But you see we are not.’
Friedrich nodded then wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘My parents are wrong. I need to tell them they are wrong.’ Friedrich stood, but then felt Isaac’s hands on his shoulders pushing him back into the seat.
‘You cannot. It would not matter, not one bit. It’s not just your parents, Friedrich, it’s so many people. If you tell them, and you tell them that we are friends, then that will be dangerous for me.’
‘We are friends?’ Friedrich asked.
‘Of course we are!’
Friedrich smiled then. ‘I only had one friend, Otto. But now I have two.’
‘You do. You have two friends.’
From the house, a m
urmur of music lifted out and carried towards them. ‘Father keeps playing music,’ Friedrich said. ‘All the time. He locks himself away and plays music. Greta leaves bottles of whiskey for him outside the door, and when I go back a few minutes later, they are gone.’
‘Things are changing,’ Isaac said.
‘What does that mean?’
‘I don’t really know. Perhaps it means I can go home soon. Perhaps it means that your father will need to find a new job.’
‘You will leave? But I thought we were friends?’
‘We are.’ Isaac knelt down and took Friedrich’s hands in his. ‘We are friends. And one day, when you are old enough, you will come to my workshop and I will show you how to mend watches, just like me, and we will walk in the fields together and look at the wildflowers, and sit in my garden in the evening.’
‘And we can listen to music – but different music to Father’s,’ Friedrich added.
‘I would have to get myself a gramophone, but yes, we could listen to music.’
Friedrich watched as Isaac stood slowly, holding his thigh as he did, his face a picture of pain. Isaac sat on the bucket, stretching his leg in front of him.
‘It’s nothing,’ Isaac told him. ‘Just my age.’
‘Does it hurt all the time?’
‘Most of the time, yes.’
‘It’s just that, I was thinking… I was thinking about the music and when I was at school, sometimes there was a song on the radio and Otto and I would dance around the room, and it was really fun. I thought you may want to dance to music too?’
‘I cannot dance.’ Isaac shook his head.
‘Because of your leg?’
‘Because I’ve never really tried.’
‘Not even with a lady?’
‘Only once, at my wedding. And I was no good.’
Friedrich thought for a moment, a seed of an idea forming in his brain.
‘Do you think Anna can dance?’ Friedrich asked.
The Watchmaker of Dachau: An absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 historical novel Page 16
