The Watchmaker of Dachau: An absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 historical novel

by Carly Schabowski

  Ismail nodded along with Mordecai, his face serious. How much had Father told Mordecai, and how much had he in turn told this stranger?

  ‘How about I tell you my story first, and then perhaps you will feel more comfortable telling me yours?’ Mordecai asked.

  I sipped at the bitter coffee and nodded. Ismail passed me a sugar cube and I dropped it into the drink, wondering whether he could read my mind.

  ‘I was twenty-two, I think, when I fell in love,’ Mordecai began. ‘I was travelling for work with a professor at the university – I was his assistant, you see. His speciality was the history of the Ottoman Empire, which of course led us to Constantinople, to review some ancient manuscripts that were held in a library.

  ‘I worked hard and barely left the library – only to eat, drink and sleep in the tiny hot hotel that was a few doors away. However, that time was all I needed to find love – those brief moments of sitting at a cafe, listening to the call to prayer, watching the world float by. In the evenings I would sit with my love, and we would drink alcohol spiced with aniseed, then drink water to calm the burning in our mouths.’

  It was then that I realised I had heard this tale before, the previous night in fact. ‘But you said that you sat with Ismail at the cafe?’

  ‘I did,’ Mordecai said simply.

  It took me a few more sips of the coffee until I reached the sediment at the bottom before I realised what Mordecai was trying to subtly tell me – his love was Ismail.

  I looked at them both and saw it instantly: the way they mirrored each other, the ease with which Ismail passed him a napkin or salt, neither of them having to ask – it had been learned from years of being together. How had I not seen this before?

  ‘Now it is your turn,’ Mordecai told me.

  I twisted a paper napkin around my fingers, watching as it stopped the blood flow, making my skin go pale. Then I released it, feeling the sensation of my pulse pushing blood back once more.

  ‘He was my best friend,’ I said, not looking at either of them. ‘We played when we were younger, and then as we grew, we studied together and laughed together. The other boys were always talking about girls and it was nice that I didn’t have to do that with him – he seemed indifferent to them, as I was.

  ‘One evening we were studying together in my room. I don’t know how it happened, but I found my lips kissing his cheek. He didn’t immediately pull away, so I tried to kiss him on his lips. It was then that he pushed me hard in the chest and stood up, his face red, his fists balled at his sides.

  ‘He didn’t speak, and neither did I. I didn’t know what to say. I watched him gather his things and leave, and it was then that I cried.’

  ‘But you told your father?’ Ismail asked.

  I nodded. ‘The next day, at school, people looked at me strangely and my friend – my best friend – became my enemy. He punched me in the face on the way home from school to the shouts and screams of the others. Father found me curled up on my bed, crying into a pillow.

  ‘I told him that I had been hit. He asked me why. I didn’t want to tell him, to say it out loud, and he didn’t push me to. All he did was hug me and tell me he loved me and was proud of me, and we never spoke of it again.’

  ‘Until now,’ Mordecai said.

  ‘Until now.’

  ‘Your father wrote me a while back and asked for my advice. I told him to bring you with him when he visited next and that perhaps I could help. You do see, don’t you, that your father is not ashamed of you – he simply was not sure how to talk to you about it. His kindness and love for you meant that he could bring you here, to his friend for the best part of his life, so that we could let you know it is going to be all right – that you are perfect as you are.’

  I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from crying. I realised at that moment how much my father and my mother loved me. How they had probably talked about it and decided to show me that they understood, knowing that my teenage anger and confusion would not allow a full conversation with them – would not allow me to be completely honest with them.

  When Father returned that evening, flustered from the heat, I hugged him, and he patted me on the back and whispered, ‘I love you.’

  ‘What about God?’ I asked, pulling away.

  ‘He loves you too,’ he said. ‘God is love. Don’t forget Him, as He hasn’t forgotten you.’

  That was our conversation about God – those simple few sentences, yet I wanted to write them, to remember them here, now, when I feel scared. God loves me, just as my father did, and I wanted to tell you that I love you – I wanted to end my story with love.

  Chapter 31

  Isaac

  That night, Isaac was sent back to the camp; the atmosphere in the bunkhouse was electric with fear and hope.

  ‘I heard they are evacuating us tomorrow,’ Jan said, as he and Elijah helped Isaac into his bunk.

  ‘All of us?’ Elijah asked.

  ‘Who knows. That’s just what I heard. A few have decided to hide in the infirmary.’

  ‘You?’ Elijah asked.

  ‘I’m going to try,’ Jan said. ‘You two should come too.’

  Isaac lay back on his bunk, his chest weighing heavy on him as if a boulder had been placed there. As Jan spoke, a scent reached him, pricking at his nose – lemons.

  He turned on his side and closed his eyes, waiting for the lemon scent to get stronger, falling into a fitful sleep in which he imagined he was in the street that Adam had described, sitting with Mordecai and Ismail, drinking coffee, whilst all around them people were screaming.

  He thought he had been asleep only moments when the guard with the scar over his eye woke him and half dragged him from his bunk.

  Isaac started coughing but the guard did not care, and pushed him in front of him towards the door.

  ‘Herr Becher needs you now,’ he told him.

  The sun was just breaking as he reached the house, birds waking up to sing for their breakfasts, the trees swishing and rustling as if telling secrets to one another. Isaac looked at the sky for a moment, marvelling at the world, at the nature all around him. He could not smell lemons anymore.

  Herr Becher was revving the engine of the black car and asked Isaac to check it once more.

  He fiddled with the petrol pump, as if it would help, and declared to Becher that everything was in working order.

  ‘Thank you, Isaac.’ Becher patted him on the back. ‘You have done a very good job, very good indeed.’

  It was then that Isaac noticed he had shaved off his moustache, leaving a clean top lip spotted with sweat. His clothes had changed too. Now he wore brown slacks, a white shirt, as if he were someone entirely different.

  ‘You’ll be rewarded,’ Becher said, ‘I owe you for this.’

  ‘Shall I take him back?’ the guard with the scar asked.

  ‘No. No. Isaac will stay here. In the shed, Isaac, off you go. I haven’t quite finished with him yet,’ Becher told the guard, whose eyes never left Isaac as he hobbled away back to the shed.

  He had one chance now, and this was it, he knew. He got on all fours and crawled, painfully, to the hiding place where he took out J. A. L.’s papers, placing the watch for Anna inside, then took a few sheets of spare paper and began to add his own story – one for Anna and Friedrich, the family that had been brought back to life.

  As his hand began to scratch words on the paper with the pencil, he smelled them again – lemons. He needed to be quick.

  Chapter 32

  Isaac

  My dearest Anna,

  I write to you with a hurried hand, to try to tell you things I have thought during our friendship.

  To begin, I wanted to say thank you – you brightened my days by just being you, by talking to me, and by caring for me. I think often of our talks, of how I was able to tell you about my life, my losses, which has relieved me of a weight I was not aware that I was carrying with me all these years. The dance we shared is seared into my memory –
a memory where I felt young again, hopeful and free. And I have you to thank for that too.

  Now I feel lighter, freer. It has helped me to imagine a future – one which I am not sure I will see, but one that gave me hope. In my imaginings, you were by my side, just as Hannah had been before. You are so much like Hannah – not just in the way you look at me, but in the way you consider everyone, worry for everyone and try to help. You brought Hannah back to me and for that I am forever thankful, as my heart is full once more with love, and I did not want to die consumed with hate and sorrow.

  I know that you are broken too – your fiancé, parents and brother all taken from you – but know that you can be mended once more. You can have new parts of your life, new memories to replace the old, which will keep you moving, keep the time ticking along.

  Remember, dear Anna, that you are strong, and you can overcome anything.

  To Friedrich,

  I never spoke to you of my son, but I wanted you to know that you are very much like he was – kind, thoughtful and intelligent. I hope that our friendship has given you hope and shown you that there will always be someone who can be a part of your life, sometimes much more than your own family are.

  Dear Friedrich, you brought me joy with your inquisitive nature, and gave me the opportunity to see how perhaps my son would have grown if he had had the chance.

  To you both, these past few months you have given me my family back – you have helped me to become alive again, even in this place of death.

  I am, forever yours and with all my love,

  Isaac.

  Chapter 33

  Friedrich

  His bags were sat at the foot of his bed, packed once more. He had wanted to take his train set, but his mother had told him there was no room and he was to leave it behind.

  The bed was stripped of its bedding, leaving the stark white mattress. He held the red engine in his hands, turning it over and over, trying to sear it into his memory – his toy that his friend Isaac had fixed for him, his toy that he was told he was not allowed to take with him.

  He hoped a new family would move into the house, and that perhaps they would have a little boy who loved trains and had always wanted a train set. He decided that if he thought about it enough, if he imagined it, then it would become real.

  Outside he heard the revving of the car engines, then his father’s voice. He walked to the window and looked out, seeing Isaac standing near the open bonnet, his shoulders drooped as if he were about to fall over at any moment.

  He watched him stare into the engine then straighten up, his father talking to him. Then, Isaac walked towards the side of the house – he was going to the shed.

  Friedrich ran from his room and took the stairs quickly, feeling as though his feet were flying down them.

  His mother was asking Anna to help her carry a suitcase to the car and he ran past them, straight out to the shed. He peered through the window and saw Isaac sitting on the floor, writing something on a piece of paper. He desperately wanted to go in, but he didn’t want to disturb him either.

  He’d wait, he decided. He’d sit in the trees at the back where no one could see him, and he’d wait a while and then go in.

  The pine needles that had dripped from the trees littered the floor, and when Friedrich sat down, a few pricked him in his thighs, so he had to keep moving to try and find a more comfortable spot.

  He could hear his mother shouting at his father on the driveway and wished they would forget they had a son and simply drive away without him.

  A plane flew low overhead and there was a smattering of gunfire from near the camp. He knew he did not have long – his mother would come looking for him soon. He had to disturb Isaac.

  Inside the shed Isaac was still sitting on the dusty floor, the paper from his hands gone.

  ‘Friedrich.’ Isaac’s voice was low, and simply saying his name seemed to require a lot of effort.

  ‘I wanted to say goodbye,’ Friedrich said.

  Isaac patted the floor next to him and Friedrich sat, letting Isaac place his thin arm around his shoulders, drawing him into his side.

  ‘Do you smell lemons, Friedrich?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘No. Should I?’

  ‘No. You shouldn’t.’

  ‘Do you smell them?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Where will you go now, Isaac? Will you have to go back to the camp?’

  ‘I’ll be going home,’ Isaac said. ‘I’ll be going home to see my wife Hannah.’

  ‘You never told me you had a wife!’ Friedrich exclaimed. He had thought he knew everything about him.

  ‘She’s a lovely woman, Friedrich. She likes to cook, and she likes to garden, making beautiful things grow from the soil. We’ll sit in the garden together when I get home, and we will talk and laugh, and I’ll tell her all about you.’

  ‘Can I come and see her?’

  ‘Not yet. But one day.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave.’ Friedrich sniffed and felt a tear roll down his cheek. ‘I don’t want to go with them. Can I please stay with you, and I will come with you and see your wife? I can help her in the garden, and I can help you in the shop fixing watches.’

  ‘Ah, yes! The shop. Here.’ Isaac gave him a scrap of paper with an address written on it. ‘You keep this, and when you are older, I want you to go to my shop.’

  ‘Will you be there?’ Friedrich asked.

  ‘Probably not. It may not even be a shop then. But, if you count eighteen floorboards from the front door and walk due north, you will find one floorboard that is nailed down with gold-tipped nails. Open this floorboard, Friedrich, for there is a treasure inside that is for you, and for you only.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a surprise. Promise me though, promise me you will remember, and you will go?’

  ‘I promise. I will memorise the address just like my Latin teacher taught me to do. I will memorise it and when I am old enough, I will go straight to your shop and I will find it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Isaac said, and pulled him even closer to his body. ‘Thank you, Friedrich.’

  Friedrich heard his name being shouted – his mother. He didn’t want her to come to the shed. ‘I have to go.’

  He felt Isaac relax his hold on him, then a light kiss on the top of his head. ‘You take care of yourself now, Friedrich. You be who you are. Help people. Be kind. Always be kind.’

  Friedrich stood, his mother calling his name louder now.

  ‘Go, go – you need to go,’ Isaac said.

  Friedrich suddenly flung himself at Isaac and took him in an embrace, allowing Isaac to rest his head on his shoulder for a moment, not wanting to let go.

  ‘Go, go now.’ Isaac’s voice was muffled, tears falling from his eyes. ‘Go now.’

  Friedrich stood, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He reached the door, then turned. ‘I love you, Isaac. You have been my best friend. Even better than Otto.’

  Isaac gave a watery smile, then waved. ‘And you, Friedrich. And you.’

  Chapter 34

  Anna

  Anna had been packing all night. She and Greta had stayed in the kitchen drinking strong coffee as they folded Liesl’s clothes, boxed hats and sorted shoes. Liesl and Herr Becher argued most of the night, their screams at each other bouncing off the walls.

  ‘If they make it to where they are going without killing each other, I’ll eat my own hat!’ Greta exclaimed, shoving a cream day hat into a box, denting the top.

  Anna grinned – first there would be broken plates on her arrival and now a dented, unwearable hat.

  It was Friedrich that Anna worried for. The boy was paler than usual, his face betraying every feeling that rushed through his body – fear, anger, sadness. She had wanted to hold him to her, to say that everything was going to be all right, but she couldn’t, and she knew he would not believe her words.

  As she helped Liesl carry a suitcase out to one of the cars, she saw the back
of Isaac retreating to the garden.

  When she returned to the kitchen, the back door was wide open and Friedrich was opening the shed door. She would give him a moment to say goodbye before fetching him, lest his mother find him in there.

  As tired as she felt, there was a fluttering in her stomach, the same as when it was her birthday and she couldn’t sleep with excitement. She knew it was foolish. She had been told that upon getting back to the camp, they were to be evacuated, led away by SS guards, all of them holding guns.

  Why she thought she would see the Americans she did not know, but perhaps, just perhaps there was a chance.

  Caught in her own thoughts, she did not hear Liesl calling for Friedrich and did not hear her footfall on the kitchen tiles. It was only when she was by her side, her cloying perfume taking the air away from her, that she realised it was too late.

  Liesl saw Friedrich come out of Isaac’s shed and her eyes narrowed. Anna held her breath and waited for her to scold the boy when he entered the kitchen, but she did not. Instead she grabbed him by the jumper and dragged him from the kitchen into the hallway, then told him to sit on the bottom step whilst he waited for his father.

  ‘It’s worse when she’s quiet,’ Greta said. ‘I had chills all over me.’

  ‘What will she do to him?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Probably spank him – what else can she do? Poor lad.’

  Anna could hear Herr Becher’s voice as Liesl explained where Friedrich had been.

  ‘Well, what are you going to do?’ she screamed at him. ‘What? You’re so useless – I never should have married you. I knew you had no backbone and I was right – look at where we are now!’

  Herr Becher adopted his calming voice, one not heard for some time, and then he spoke to someone else – a guard at the door. ‘Take him away,’ he told the guard.