Cibi and Magda offer words of comfort, share their own stories of certain events which take centre stage above all others, but neither of them can explain why Livi relives this girl’s death over and over again. Maybe it’s because this simple story has come to symbolise the microcosm of her entire time in Birkenau, a night in which she lived and another girl died.
A night in which Mala, with a few words spoken into a wisely chosen ear, had saved her life.
There’s an awful symmetry to these memories, Livi thinks, as she sees herself wheeling the body of the dead translator to the crematorium.
CHAPTER 30
Rehovot
1951
T
he heat of the midday sun is relentless and Livi and Ziggy escape into a café for a few minutes’ respite. Livi is both nervous and scared: nervous of broaching a subject that will hurtle Ziggy headlong into a past he would rather forget – that much is obvious to her now, as they have been together for two months and Ziggy hasn’t once opened up about his life in captivity; and scared, because if he can’t share this part of himself, they probably have no future.
‘You look so worried, Livi,’ Ziggy tells her as they take their seats. ‘You’ve hardly said a word all the way here.’
‘I’m not worried,’ says Livi quickly. And then adds, ‘Maybe a little.’
‘Will you tell me?’ When Ziggy focuses his whole attention on Livi, as he is doing now, she becomes flustered, tongue-tied.
‘Shall we order some drinks?’ Livi picks up the menu.
‘And then you’ll tell me?’
Part of Livi wishes she hadn’t decided to confront Ziggy today. Or any day.
They sip their iced coffee and share a pastry in silence. Ziggy is a patient man, thinks Livi. He’d probably just sit here for an hour waiting for me to say something.
‘Ziggy, you’ve told me so much about your life since you arrived in Israel,’ says Livi, finally. ‘But I don’t know what happened to you.’
‘Is that what’s on your mind?’ he asks, setting his glass on the table. Ziggy suddenly looks very tired, and Livi wants to take back her words. ‘I’ve told you. It’s all in the past, Livi. What does it matter?’
‘It matters to me. You know everything about me. Won’t you tell me a little about your family, and where you were born at least?’ she persists. She firmly believes her story is a part of what makes Livi Livi, however painful it is to remember the past.
Ziggy sighs, running his hands over his face, drawing his fingers through his thick hair. ‘I come from a town called ?esky Tě?ín, in Moravia,’ he begins. ‘Well, it was Moravia when I lived there. It’s now part of Czechoslovakia.’
‘And your family, are they still alive?’ Now Ziggy has begun, Livi is impatient to hear it all at once
‘OK, Livi, I’m getting there. I was one of four boys, the youngest brother. My father was a tailor in town and my mother .?.?.’ Ziggy stops talking, hangs his head and sniffs.
She feels his pain, of course she does; it is her agony too, and the agony of every survivor, but Livi also realises she has to let him tell her in his own time.
‘My mother .?.?. oh, Livi, she baked the best cakes in town; every day we’d come home from school to a house that smelled like heaven. Bread, cakes, biscuits .?.?.’ Ziggy drifts off, no longer sniffing, but smiling at the memory. ‘When things started turning bad for us and we weren’t allowed to go to school, or to work, my oldest brother went to fight with the Russians and was killed. My father was worried about me being so young so he sent my mother and me to an uncle in Krakow. We were there for months, and finally Mother wanted to go home, to my father, my brothers, and of course, her kitchen.’ Ziggy sighs again. He pushes his plate away and signals to the waitress for more coffee. ‘On the way back we were stopped by the Nazis.’ Ziggy is now clutching the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric, and a button pops.
Livi reaches out and places a calming hand on top of both of his. He smiles and lets go of his shirt.
‘They beat her, Livi. In front of my eyes they beat her, and didn’t lay a finger on me.’
Livi squeezes his hand hard, hoping the gesture will make him feel less alone in his memories.
‘When they finally let us go, I helped Mother back to our uncle’s place in Krakow. Maybe a few weeks passed, not long, and we heard they had started to round up all the Jews in the area for transportation. Mother and I hid in a cupboard, but they found us and then .?.?. then we were all taken into the town square and there they separated us. That was the last time I saw her.’