The Tattooist of Auschwitz

‘To save one is to save the world.’ Lale completes the phrase.

Their greatest desire was to have a child, but it simply would not happen for them. Eventually, they gave up hope. Then, to their great surprise and delight, Gita got pregnant. Their son, Gary, was born in 1961, when Gita was thirty-six and Lale was forty-four. Their lives were full, with a child, friends, a successful business, and holidays on the Gold Coast, all supported by a love that no hardship had been able to break.
The painting of the Romany woman Gita brought with them from Slovakia still hangs in Gary’s house.

Taking the food and coffee, Lale’s shoulders sag and he can’t hold back the tears. He looks up to see that the stationmaster also has tears in his eyes as he turns away, heading back to his office.
“Thank you.” He can barely get the words out.

He is here now, and he must do what he has to do before he can find her. He only eats half of what’s on his plate. Always save some; that is how he has lived these past years. Along with the food, Lale drinks most of a bottle of wine. It takes some effort to undress himself before he flops onto his bed and enters the sleep of the intoxicated.

you’d like prime beef for the price of sausage.

Lale slides his shirt off slowly and turns his back to her. She says nothing but runs her fingers ever so softly over the welts on his back. Her lips follow, and he knows that nothing more needs to be said. Their lovemaking is slow and gentle. He feels tears well up and fights them back. This is the deepest love he’s ever felt.

Death alone persists in this place.

He finds himself sinking into an acute homesickness. He can’t ignore his fears about the future. Dark thoughts he has kept at bay, about his family and their safety, consume him. If he can’t help them, then he will do what he can for this woman in front of him.
* * *

Several girls hold a hand over their mouth, eyes on the lookout for the SS who oversee their work.

WEEKS HAVE GONE BY