‘He left this morning for Munich.’
Isaac sighed and lifted his gaze to the boy, who now had his chin balanced in cupped hands. ‘You’ll be bored here.’
‘Teach me to fix something,’ Friedrich said.
‘I can’t.’
‘You can and you have to. I know who you are, and you have to do as I say.’ Friedrich stood now, his hands on his hips. ‘You have to. You are the Jew who can fix things, but Father says that does not mean you are not an animal like the rest.’
Isaac placed the tools on the small table next to him. He looked Friedrich in the eye. ‘I am no animal.’ His voice was firm, cold. ‘You need to leave now.’
The boy’s bravado left him as soon as it had arrived, and he dropped his hands from his waist to hang limply by his side.
‘Go. Now.’ Isaac pointed to the door.
Friedrich began to walk away, then suddenly he turned and kicked at the phone base that Isaac had placed to one side on the floor. He sent it across the dusty boards where it cracked against a metal jerry can.
‘Fix it,’ Friedrich said angrily, then left.
Isaac waited a few minutes after the boy had left, until he stood to fetch the base of the telephone from where he had kicked it.
The boy hadn’t meant what he said, he knew. He could tell when parents had put words into children’s mouths, and he could hear the boy’s father speaking through him as he told him what to do.
His bad leg almost gave way underneath him as he tried to kneel to pick up the phone base. He rubbed at it and wished he could sit in a warm bath, letting the water lap over the muscles and tendons, releasing them and allowing him some relief.
As he picked up the base, he knocked over the jerry can. Isaac crawled towards it to set it right again and saw that it had fallen into a small hole in the ground, where a floorboard had come away. He picked up the can and then he placed his hand in the hole, out of curiosity, almost as if he expected to find his grandfather’s pocket watch inside, as if he were back in his shop once more.
Instead, his fingers found a cloth bundle. He pulled it out. The red cloth was cut from a piece of one of the old blankets he had been using in the shed, and it was bound and tied with a shoelace. Isaac looked behind him at the door, then back at the cloth bundle. Slowly, he untied the shoestring and uncovered a sheaf of papers, each one covered with diary entries, journaling, letters and drawings, the initials J. A. L. written in each corner.
‘Isaac!’ Levi’s voice was coming from outside. ‘Can I come in? I know you are busy, and I’m scared to interrupt you!’ His voice was almost jovial.
Isaac quickly wrapped the pages back inside their makeshift cover and placed them inside the hole, moving the plank of wood on top.
He stood and opened the door to Levi.
‘May I?’ Levi grinned at him and doffed his cap, as if he were wearing a bowler and the two of them were going to sit in an office and have a cordial business meeting.
Isaac smiled. ‘Come in.’
Chapter 9
Anna
‘You need to stop staring,’ Greta warned.
Anna turned from washing the pots in the sink, realising that once again her eyes had strayed to the kitchen window, watching the lamplight in the shed.
She had not seen Isaac that morning when Schmidt had walked her to the house – her workday beginning an hour or so before his, it seemed. She had wanted to speak to him again, just like they had when they had walked back to the camp; she wanted to hear his soft voice and precise words, as if he measured them out before saying them, each one important. Just like Piotr.
‘He fixed the clock this morning. Madam has just been taken out by that Schmidt in the car – I heard him telling her that it would cheer her up after having Isaac in the house all morning.’
Anna turned to look at Greta who was kneading a ball of dough, her hands floured white, a smear of it on her cheek where she had brushed strands of escaping hair from her face.
‘Where did she go?’ Anna leaned towards her and wiped away the dusting of flour from her cheek.
‘Shopping, I imagine. Doubt we’ll see her until tomorrow. Herr Becher is in Munich for two days too.’
‘Did Friedrich go with her?’
‘Ha! No.’
‘So she’ll have to come home today, to take care of him.’ Anna opened a tin that held the last of the cake, and readied it on a blue china plate to give to the boy when she found him in the house.
‘She’s forgotten she’s got a son. She won’t be home today – you mark my words; she’ll stay at one of her friends’ so she can moan about her difficult life.’
Anna turned to finish the washing up, cleaning the last plate, and then began to dry them, feeling suddenly weary, as if her legs were going to give way from underneath, leaving her in a heap on the floor.
‘Once you’re finished in here, get the bedrooms and bathrooms cleaned whilst she’s out. We’ll tell her I did their bedroom, all right?’
Anna did not answer; it took all her energy to keep drying the plates and pots.
‘Did you eat that bread I gave you yesterday?’ Greta eyed her as her old hands stopped kneading the dough, wiping them now on her apron.
Anna nodded. She had meant to, but once back in the camp, the large lump of bread in her pocket began to feel like a selfish treat. The other women were completing harder tasks than her, kept out in the cold, whilst she was in the warmth of a house. Despite her own hunger, she’d given the bread away.
‘Here, sit for a minute.’ Greta pulled out a chair for her, poured her some coffee and went to the larder. She came back and placed in front of Anna a lump of cheese, a slice of cold chicken and some more bread.
‘Eat it. I want to see that you eat it.’ Greta sat on the chair opposite and watched Anna take each bite.
‘I can’t feed you all. God knows I wish I could.’ Greta wrung her hands as she spoke. ‘What with Levi and that Isaac and you, it’s hard to get you much without it being noticed. I’ve been making more bread, but Frau Becher has noticed how much flour I am asking for, so I had to lie and say I spilled a bag. You can’t keep giving it away, Anna – you have to eat too.’
‘I felt guilty,’ she said as she swallowed a mouthful then drank back some coffee, her head feeling less woozy, her eyes becoming alert once more.
‘I’ll make a soup.’ Greta suddenly stood. ‘I can do that. There’s leftover vegetables and some meat. It’ll be watery, mind you, but I can do it, and that will keep you three in some food for a few days.’
With that, Greta began to gather the carrots, onions and potatoes, and set them down to chop. Anna stood and placed her hand on Greta’s shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaving Greta to cry over the onions that stung her eyes.
Anna started in the Bechers’ bedroom – a room she had never been in before. The bed dominated the room; a four-poster with drapes tied back with tasselled, woven purple ropes.
The bed was unmade, covers half on the floor, even a pillow, as if Frau Becher had fought with herself in her sleep. Anna opened the curtains, letting the weak light filter in, then opened the window a crack so the fresh air could take away the cloying scent of rich perfume that Frau Becher must have sprayed on herself before she left the house.
Her dressing table was full of small glass jars, some holding cream, others perfume, each topped with a silver monogrammed lid. Anna smiled, thinking of her own set, which her mother had put away for the day she got married. She traced the curlicued L and B on a powder lid, then took her hand away quickly, as if Frau Becher would know what she was doing.
She began by making the bed, enjoying the sensation of the soft cotton sheets in her hand, wishing she could lie back and feel the feather-stuffed pillows under her head. She picked up Liesl’s silk dressing gown and nightgown, both pink, with a matching pattern of tiny birds and flowers. She placed the nightgown on the end of the bed and the dressing gown in the wardrobe. As she straightened the silk rob
e on its hanger, Anna could not tear her eyes away from the other clothes in the wardrobe. She took her index finger and touched the edge of each dress, shirt and skirt, feeling the soft textures. Her finger stopped when she reached a cornflower-blue dress with small yellow flowers. It was like her mother’s – almost identical, right down to the darker blue belt that slipped around the waist. The wind was knocked out of her as a memory took hold. She was young, maybe four or five, and she was sitting with her mother, brother and father on a picnic rug. Her mother wanted to dance, and Anna took her hands and the two of them twirled around and around, singing a song her mother had learned from the radio.
Even in the bedroom she could smell the flowers, the clean water from the stream that rippled nearby. She could feel the wind in her hair as she twirled, and her mother’s soft yet firm hands in hers, never letting her fall.
A loud shot peppered the air outside, bringing her back to the room. She looked out of the window. She knew where the gunshots came from, and her heart beat faster as they continued to ring out. Then, silence.
As if someone else had taken over her body, she reached out and took the dress from its hanger, quickly undressing herself and stepping into the flowery gown.
She did not button it; she did not tie the belt. She simply stood, the dress large over her thin frame, and ran her hands over her hips, her breasts, as if seeing them for the first time. They had changed, she had changed.
She turned and looked at herself in the full-length mirror, the cap still on her head. She removed the cap, held it limply in her hand and stared at her reflection. Her head seemed too large for her body now, her hair dull, lank, and stretched over her scalp into a tight bun. Her eyes were larger too, flecks of green in the brown, deep black rings underneath them, and her lips were chapped and raw. Anna spoke to the reflection: ‘Who are you?’ The girl in the mirror matched her movements. ‘Are you really me?’ she asked.
Suddenly a ball of anger rolled in her belly, and her hands lashed out and knocked all of the bottles of cosmetics from the dressing table, sending them rolling onto the floor. One smashed, and as soon as it did, emptying its liquid contents on the wooden floor, Anna came to her senses.
She wiped away the tears that had wetted her face, and the mucus from underneath her nose. She had broken something. She kneeled down and picked up the shattered bottle, not knowing what to do with it.
Then she quickly found her own clothes and began to undress. It was then that she saw a pair of eyes in the mirror that were not her own. A reflection of the boy – of Friedrich – standing in the doorway. She turned quickly, but he was gone.
‘I broke this.’ Anna’s hand shook as she showed Greta the perfume bottle.
Greta looked at Anna’s face intently. ‘I’ll tell her I did it.’
‘But you’ll get in trouble,’ Anna said, knowing that Liesl took every chance to complain about Greta’s age, how the plates rattled, how slowly she moved.
‘And what will they do to me? Send me back to my home, that is all. You would face much worse. It’s all right.’ Greta patted Anna’s hand and took the bottle away. ‘It’ll be all right.’
That evening, Anna was back in the camp early as there was no one to serve at the house.
She sat with Nina and Joanna, who looked ready to fall asleep in their bowls of soup, which was clear and held a piece of carrot.
Anna had eaten Greta’s soup earlier, and allowed Nina and Joanna to share her meal.
‘You’re not hungry?’ Joanna asked.
‘I’m all right.’
‘You look really pale,’ Nina said, her eyes wide with worry.
‘I was busy all day, that’s all. I just need to sleep,’ Anna looked down at her hands, not daring to raise them to her nose to check if she still smelled of Liesl Becher’s scent. She picked at a ragged nail and tore it off so it bled, the pain a welcome distraction.
‘You’re bleeding!’ Nina reached over to take Anna’s hand in hers, but Anna drew it away and placed it on her lap, allowing the blood to drip onto the rough cotton.
Merely a minute later, the women were ordered out of the mess hall, all of them walking slowly as if their legs had been filled with lead.
Anna was glad to get to her bunk for the first time since she had returned to the camp. She wanted the solitude, the quiet.
She lay down and pulled her blanket over her, turning to face the wall, thinking of the boy’s reflection in the mirror, his expressionless face. She felt sick. She knew he would tell his mother, and she in turn would tell her husband, and then – she couldn’t bear to think.
Nina’s body was next to Anna’s, curling around her as soon as the other women had silenced themselves into sleep.
‘What’s wrong?’ Nina asked.
Anna did not turn to look at her friend. ‘Nothing.’
‘Tell me, Anna, I know something is wrong. Please.’
‘I did something stupid.’
‘What? What did you do?’
Anna shifted so she was now face to face with Nina. ‘I made a mistake. I don’t know what happened – one minute I was fine, and then the next it was as though there was someone else in my body, making it move and do things, and I couldn’t stop it.’
Anna told Nina of wearing Liesl Becher’s dress, of the perfume bottle and of the boy who had seen her in his mother’s bedroom, dressed in her clothes.
‘Maybe it wasn’t someone else who made you do those things. Maybe it was you.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Anna replied, sniffing as silent tears ran over her face once more.
‘I mean that maybe you, the person that’s deep inside, which we have to keep hidden from everyone, maybe she came out, and for a minute you were yourself.’
‘I was angry. I was so angry, Nina, and I don’t know, I felt a kind of disgust when I saw myself, but it was more than that – I just can’t find the words to explain it.’
‘That’s you, the deep-inside you.’
‘No. I was never like that – never – I was always happy, and I never had feelings like that before.’
‘But the secret you, she’s changed. After this you won’t be like before, you will be different.’
‘My darling Nina.’ Anna wanted to laugh. ‘You do surprise me sometimes. Perhaps you should study philosophy when you are free.’
‘And not dance? I hardly think so!’
‘You could be a dancing philosopher!’
The two women giggled, and someone hushed them. They lay in silence for a little while.
‘I keep thinking of my brother Kuba.’ Nina’s whisper was barely audible. ‘I can’t help thinking that maybe he is dead.’
‘Hush. No, he is not. You know he was working just months ago, and was safe.’
‘The pyres were burning again. I have nightmares that he was in them.’
‘Things have changed, Nina. The guards seem on edge, the work is harder and the hours longer. How could he possibly get word to you at the moment? It would be impossible. Trust me. He is fine, Nina. He must be.’
Anna allowed Nina to turn away from her so she could place her arm around her waist, the two of them fitting together like two pieces of the same puzzle.
There was silence, then Nina whispered, ‘Tell me about Elias.’
‘You know about him.’
‘I know. But if you tell me maybe it will help, maybe you will feel close to him again and that will help you through to the end?’
‘There is nothing to say, Nina.’
‘You never talk about how it happened. It’s as if he just disappeared.’
‘He did.’
‘But how?’
‘Why do you want to know, Nina? Why?’ Anna’s voice was harsh now.
‘I just – I miss Kuba. I don’t know. I want to know so if he is dead, if he isn’t coming back to me, then I’ll know I can cope, because you did.’
Anna’s mind had been trying to avoid her brother for months, yet it was as if he were al
ways just on the periphery, waiting for her, begging her to think of him. She scrunched her eyes closed. ‘I can’t, Nina, I can’t say it out loud.’
Nina did not answer, and Anna waited until she could hear Nina’s breathing settle; only then did she allow herself to remember her brother.
Elias had been funny. He always joked – trying to find the humour in things. Even when they came for them in the middle of the night, and they had to pack just one bag each, he still tried to make Mother smile and make Anna laugh.
‘It’s like an adventure,’ he had said, as they walked towards the train station amongst a throng of others that shuffled along the pavement like ants, simply following the leader. ‘Just think, we can tell this story when we are old and grey, Anna. You will tell my grandchildren how I did a funny walk to try and make Mother smile, and I will tell your grandchildren how you were so brave.’
Seeing that her mother’s eyes were downcast, as if she could not bear to look ahead of her to see where her journey would take her, Anna had held her mother’s hand.
‘Remember that day when we were flying kites on that hill?’ Elias asked, trying to get her to think of something else.
She did remember.
‘It was that red kite we had drawn a face on, and the wind took it so I ran down the hill as fast as I could, trying to catch it, and I fell. Do you remember that, Anna – how I fell and tumbled and you came running after me, and when you reached me I was in a heap, laughing and laughing, and you laughed too… remember that, Anna?’
She looked at her brother then and realised how scared he really was, how the memories he was trying to locate were not really for her or Mother, but for him.
‘I remember,’ she told him, and forced a smile. ‘And remember that time you ripped your trousers on a tree branch, and we had to walk through town to get home and everyone was staring at you? Yet instead of being embarrassed, you told anyone who would listen it was old man Müller who had gone rabid and tried to bite you, ripping your trousers in the process?’
The Watchmaker of Dachau: An absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 historical novel Page 8