The Watchmaker of Dachau: An absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 historical novel
Page 24
Everyone duly stood or sat whilst she took her place next to the fire, the photograph of Anna on the mantel.
‘I’m so grateful that you could all come today to say goodbye to our dear friend, Anna,’ Nina began.
She waited whilst the murmur of acknowledgement died down. Then, with shaking hands, she picked up a bundle of papers she had left on the side table, ready to show them all.
‘As you know, Anna and I were best friends for many years. She and I were lucky to find love with two brothers, Frank and Paul, and even luckier to find homes near one another. Anna was a second mother to my children; to Katharina, whom I gave my own name, which was also my mother’s – to Isaac, whom I gave the name of the man who saved our lives, and to Jakub, named after his uncle.
Over the years, some of you have asked me about the war, about the camp, and I never responded. It was a time I wanted so much to forget, and yet when Anna died, I read these once more.’ She held up the papers.
‘I want to read something to you now: She was the positive out of my negatives, and since then, she had given me three more positives which have filled my life up so much that no negative experience can ever diminish them.
‘These were the words of my father, who spoke of my mother to my brother, Jakub. My brother wrote this memory down to try and make sense of the love that he felt for a fellow inmate in Dachau, and it was this that made me realise that my life in Dachau will always be a part of me – it was my negative which brought so many positives, and I cannot ignore it any longer.’
She felt the tears come now, and Frank handed her a handkerchief.
‘Mum, it’s all right, we can stop there.’ Jakub stood and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
‘I have to, I have to finish,’ she said.
Jakub nodded but did not leave her side.
‘Anna saved my life. It is that simple – I owe that to her, and when she lay dying, I told her I was angry with her that I owed my death first. She laughed at me.
‘That day she saved my life – she took me to the infirmary, where she told me to pretend I was dying so that they would not force us to march with the other prisoners, so many of whom died along the way.
‘I had given up. I had seen so much death around me for so long, and that day I had witnessed the unbridled violence of men and women who wanted one more chance to get rid of us, because we were Jewish, or Polish, or a gypsy, or gay. I wanted, in that moment, lying in the bed in the infirmary, to die. But Anna would not let me.
‘All the rest of that day and night she made up stories, silly, funny ones, and she did not tire in reciting them to me. At first I did not hear her, but bit by bit, she pulled me out of myself. She told me of Friedrich, of how he had given both her and Isaac the opportunity to dance together, of how in that moment of dancing with him, she had felt love once more – love that had been hidden from her since her family and fiancé died, a love she had not known she could feel again.
‘By the morning, we realised that not one guard had come to check on us all night. Indeed, the gunshots had ceased; the cries from inmates disappeared into the wind.
‘There were other women in the infirmary who had hidden just as we had, and one of them offered to sneak outside to see what was happening.
‘When the woman returned, her face said it all – it seemed to be over. Just like that.
‘There were American Jeeps and trucks pulling into the camp and we ran to them, ran, telling them we were inmates, begging them to help us.
‘They wrapped us in blankets and placed us into the back of their trucks. I remember there was a young soldier, perhaps no more than twenty, who was vomiting on the ground at the sight of the piles of corpses heaped around him.
‘Some of the SS guards had stayed and were being marched from the offices. I saw one, a woman who had overseen myself and Anna, Aufseherin Margarete Lange, smile at an American solider then giggle to the woman standing by her side. I felt a fury in me then – a complete anger that I had never known. Just like that she was flirting with a man, as if she had had no hand in our torment. I realised that in order to survive, in order to live, I had to forget.
‘But it isn’t so easy, is it, to forget one’s past. Soon after we reached the hospital, Anna gave me these papers, my brother’s writings – Jakub Adam Lietz, Kuba for short. She told me of how he had died by being beaten and then taken away, perhaps to be tortured, gassed or shot – that I do not know and I am thankful for it. We read the letters, the diaries together, and inside we found another letter, one from Isaac, the watchmaker. He had made a watch for Anna too, the one I wear on my wrist now, the one Anna wore for years and so loved.
‘He wrote of his last moments; he told Anna and Friedrich how much they meant to him, of the love they brought to him in his final days alive. It was Isaac who found my brother’s letters, it was Isaac who brought Anna close to him, and Friedrich too; it was Isaac who saved us after telling Anna where to hide on that day. Without Isaac, there would be no me, no Anna, and I would never have known my brother as I should have, and I would never have found such love in my life.’
There was a moment of silence in the room as everyone bent their heads and thought of Anna and Isaac.
Then Friedrich stood and made his way to Nina, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and leading her towards her chair.
‘Can we go outside?’ she asked him.
‘It’s snowing.’
‘I don’t mind. I just need a moment of fresh air to compose myself.’
Friedrich did as she requested and opened the back door where they stood, side by side, a carpet of snow in front of them, the briny waves peaking in the distance over the low garden wall.
‘I’m so glad you found Anna,’ Nina began. ‘She talked of you so often that when you came to her – what, in your twenties? – she was beside herself with happiness.’
‘I’m glad I found her too. And you,’ Friedrich said, then blew warm air into his cupped hands.
‘What will you do now?’ she asked, not looking at him, but focusing on the waves that rolled one on top of the other.
‘Travel some more, maybe? I don’t know.’
‘Make sure you have a family. Promise me that – make sure you find yourself a family.’ She turned now to look at him, trying to imagine him as the little boy who had befriended Anna.
‘I thought I already had,’ he said, his eyebrows raised in question.
She took his face in her hands and kissed the tip of his nose. ‘Indeed, you have. Forgive me. We are your family.’
That night, the snow stopped falling and a light wind cleared the clouds, leaving a perfect velvet pinpricked with light. Nina stood at her bedroom window and stared at the sky, remembering how she had done the same the last night she had seen Kuba, when they had buried their father.
She shivered at the cold, and for the first time in years, pulled the window closed and climbed into bed. As she did, she smelled something – something out of place, something that did not belong.
It was the tangy fresh scent of lemons.
If you were moved by Isaac and Anna’s beautiful story, you will be swept away by The Ringmaster’s Daughter. A heartbreaking wartime novel based on a true story, for fans of The Greatest Showman and Kristin Hannah’s The Nightingale.
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The Ringmaster’s Daughter
Get it here!
Circus people don't ask who you were before, or what god you believe in… when you join the circus, you are family, whatever your past.
Paris, 1940. Twenty-year-old Michel Bonnet lives on the edge of the law, finding work where he can breaking in horses on the outskirts of the city. But when the Nazis invade, Michel takes refuge as a stowaway on a rickety train bound for the rural south. It’s a journey that will change his life forever.
The train is property of Le Cirque Neumann – a travelling circus owned by the troubled and irritable showman Werner Neumann. Neumann offers Michel a job caring f
or the company’s horses – a lucky break, but with an unusual condition attached. Michel must keep to himself and never speak of what he sees behind the glittering curtain of the big top.
But as Michel finds himself pulled into the strange and wondrous world of the great spectacular it becomes more difficult to keep his promise. Why does the man with the performing monkey never speak, and the sword swallower turn his face away? Who are the silent, shadowy figures who flit like moths between the wagons when the sun is down? It’s clear that Neumann is keeping his performers hidden away… but why?
And how can Michel win the love of the beautiful and exotic trapeze artist Freida – the graceful, green-eyed star of Neuman’s spectacular – when he’s been forbidden to even meet her gaze?
A heartbreaking and uplifting wartime novel – perfect for fans of Water for Elephants, The Nightingale and The Tattooist of Auschwitz.
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Books by Carly Schabowski
The Watchmaker of Dachau
The Ringmaster’s Daughter
Available in Audio
The Ringmaster’s Daughter (Available in the UK and the US)
A Letter from Carly
Hello,
Firstly and most importantly, a huge thank you for reading The Watchmaker of Dachau. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
If you want to keep up to date with my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. I can promise that your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
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The Watchmaker of Dachau was a particularly hard story for me to write as this was not only inspired by a true story, it is based on the reality of what so many holocaust victims suffered. As such, I wanted to approach this story responsibly; without appropriating their stories, but still describing and bringing forth the reality of this time. It became important to me to then hone in on the characters themselves – their loves, hopes and lives prior to the camp – and show the relationships that they can build, even during the harshest of times. Friedrich, especially, became a conduit for this to happen – he was able to move about in places other than the camp, he was able to hear and see what they could not know, and of course, I was able to explore a relationship between the victim and what we deem the perpetrator to be.
It’s always wonderful to hear from my readers – please feel free to get in touch directly on my Facebook page, or through Twitter, Goodreads or my website.
Thank you again,
Carly Schabowski
Acknowledgements
As always, my friends and family deserve to be acknowledged for their support during the writing of this book – it is a lonely and sometimes frustrating process, that of writing a novel, and their patience and kindness is something that keeps me going.
I would also like to thank my wonderful editor, Kathryn Taussig, for talking over suggestions with me, and correcting me when I am completely wrong! A big thanks goes to my agent, Jo Bell, who is kind, thoughtful and patient, and the best agent I could ask for.
Published by Bookouture in 2021
An imprint of Storyfire Ltd.
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50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
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Copyright © Storyfire Ltd., 2021
Written by Carly Schabowski
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-83888-640-0
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.