Three Sisters (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #3)(11)

‘Wake up, Livi. It’s time to wake up.’ Cibi gently nudges her sister, whose slumbering head rests in Cibi’s lap.

Sitting up, Livi looks dazed, staring around the room, confusion in her eyes.

‘Would you like something to eat, Livi?’ Cibi prompts.

‘I’m not hungry,’ says Livi, her eyes taking in the girls, some of whom are crying.

‘You have to eat something. We don’t know how long we’ll be here.’

Cibi opens her suitcase, looking for the food buried under and around her clothes. She takes the cake her mother had made for Shabbat dinner. Unwrapping it from the achingly familiar tea towel, Cibi inhales the aroma of Mumma’s cooking. She breaks off a small piece and hands it to Livi.

‘I don’t want any, you know I hate this cake,’ Livi complains, brushing Cibi’s hand aside.

‘All the same, we need to eat it. It won’t last and we need to save the tins. Doesn’t it mean anything to you that Mumma made it with her own hands?’ Cibi grins and holds out the cake to Livi once more.

Begrudgingly, Livi takes it and begins to nibble, rolling her eyes at each morsel, pretend-gagging as she swallows. Cibi forces her own portion down – her mouth is dry and the cake tastes of ashes.

‘I’m thirsty, I need something to get rid of the taste.’ Livi is beginning to whine and Cibi suddenly feels exhausted. She would like to whine too.

‘You will have to wait. I’m sure we will be given something soon.’

They don’t hear the door open, but jump to their feet as a voice booms, ‘Up on your feet, it’s time to go!’ The Hlinka guard slaps his baton into the palm of his hand.

Snapping the suitcase shut Cibi stands up fast, grabbing Livi’s case as she rises. ‘Hold on to your case, Livi,’ she reminds her sister. ‘You are not to let anyone take it from you, do you understand?’

Livi nods, her eyes on the doors at the front of the room from which more guards are entering their space. The girls are corralled into two lines and led outside. They squint in the bright sunshine of a beautiful day.

Cibi pushes Livi ahead of her, holding on to the back of her coat. They mustn’t lose each other, whatever happens. One side of the street is lined with Hlinka guards, and on the other side are the girls’ families, desperately calling to their daughters, granddaughters and nieces. They have broken curfew to be there: Jews can no longer wander where they will at whatever hour they choose. They are risking beatings and imprisonment, but for many, the punishment will be worth it to see their beloved children. Cibi knows that her mother and grandfather will not be amongst the crowd. They have never once left the house on Shabbat.

The Hlinka begin to march the girls down the street, away from the synagogue and the grief.

‘Where are we going?’ whispers Livi.

‘This is the way to the station,’ Cibi says, pointing ahead. ‘Maybe we’re to catch a train.’

As the plaintive cries of their families fade, new voices – angry, hate-filled voices – greet them as they make their passage through the town. Their former friends and neighbours are hurling rotten fruit and stale bread at their heads, yelling their joy that the Jews are finally leaving. Cibi and Livi are stunned by the taunts, the full-throated bile being dispensed from snarling mouths. What has happened to these people? These are the very individuals their grandmother had attended during childbirth; the same ones who shopped in their mother’s store or sought her wise counsel.

They pass Mrs Vargova, the cobbler’s wife. Cibi had taken their shoes to be repaired as and when they needed new soles or some stitching. Often Mrs Vargova would not allow her husband to charge for his work, reminding him the girls had lost their father after he had been injured fighting for their country. Now she is part of this roaring crowd, her hair out of its tidy bun, hanging loose and deranged around her shoulders, while she tells Cibi, Livi, and all the other girls that she hates them, that she wishes they would die.

Cibi pulls Livi close. She can’t prevent her sister from seeing or hearing what’s going on, but this is all she’s got: a warm body, enveloping arms. Cibi raises her chin, unlike the girls around them who are crying and wailing. This hateful crowd won’t get her tears.

‘Hi, Cibi, I didn’t think you were selected to leave today.’ Visik, her childhood ‘friend’ turned Hlinka traitor, is walking towards them. It was simply the promise of a smart black uniform that turned Visik into a monster. Cibi ignores him.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ he probes. His dull eyes look her up and down. ‘Why aren’t you crying like all the other weak Jews?’ He walks with them, as if they’re taking a pleasant stroll together in the sunshine. Cibi pulls Livi closer, and at the same time sidesteps so she’s shoulder to shoulder with Visik, turning to meet his eyes

‘You will never have the privilege of seeing me cry, Visik. And if I ever think about crying, I’ll just remember your ugly face, and I’ll laugh instead. And as for weak, I’m not the idiot who needs to hide behind the uniform of a thug,’ Cibi spits.

An older guard joins Visik. ‘Get them back into line,’ he orders him.

‘And then take this little boy back to his mumma,’ Cibi hurls after him, as she and Livi move back into the throng of girls.

‘Cibi. What are you doing?’ Livi’s eyes are wide with fear.