Cibi and Livi watch one man pick up an empty sardine tin, Livi almost retching as he runs a finger around the inside, sucking on it before holding the tin to his lips to drain the last of the oil. He looks up and notices the sisters watching him, but he carries on licking the tin, unabashed.
The line of girls begins to move towards the gates.
‘Listen to me, Livi,’ Cibi whispers urgently. ‘We will eat stones, nails, and whatever we can get our hands on, but we must survive this place. Do you understand?’
Speechless, traumatised, Livi can only nod ‘yes’。
Part II
The Gates of Hell
CHAPTER 7
Auschwitz
April 1942
‘J
ust keep walking, Livi. Stay in line,’ Cibi murmurs to her sister.
Once they are through the gates, the girls are led down a tree-lined street, the first flush of spring leaves waving in the cool breeze. Heat emanates from the harsh overhead lighting and Cibi is ironically reminded of a warm summer evening. They pass a grey concrete building, meeting the blank stares of young men and women who gaze back at them, expressionless, from the windows. Cibi shivers – they could be the Yeshiva boys, the shaven-headed youth who study the Torah. But she can’t allow herself to think about home, about her friends. She must stay alert. Red-brick barracks line both sides of several of the streets the girls pass through. Tall trees and pretty flowers in neat garden beds adorn the earthy plots in front of each building, giving the illusion of a welcoming home.
Finally, the girls are led into a red-brick, two-storey building, where they find themselves face to face with its other occupants. It is a vast room, with high ceilings, but as large as it is, it is still a tight fit for the hundreds of inhabitants inside. At least a thousand, thinks Cibi. The loose straw on the floor reminds her of a stable or barn, somewhere animals would sleep – not girls. The smell of manure adds to the impression that this room is for livestock.
‘They’ve put us in with boys!’ Cibi whispers, incredulous. But she can see that there are girls here, too .?.?. will the sisters end up like them? Wide-eyed and skinny? Blank-eyed and desperate?
The boys are in uniform – Cibi thinks it is Russian soldiers’ uniform: worn khaki trousers and button-down shirts, a yellow-bordered red star with the hammer and sickle. Cibi thinks they are looking at the girls with pity, probably because they know only too well what awaits them. Or maybe they just don’t want to share this confined space with them.
‘I think they’re girls, Cibi.’ Livi is unable to tear her eyes away from the emaciated figures who are still staring at them, in silence.
‘Welcome to Auschwitz.’ A boy steps forward. ‘You’re in Poland now, in case they haven’t told you. This is where we live.’ He waves a hand around the room, at sacks of straw scattered on the ground. Surely they can’t be expected to bed down on these things? Cibi thinks.
‘What happens now?’ a scared voice calls out.
‘You sleep with the fleas,’ another answers.
‘But we haven’t eaten,’ the first cries, scared, tired.
‘You’re too late. You’ll eat tomorrow. I warn you, you will also have your heads shaved like us – they shave all of your hair – and you will be put in a uniform like this. And then to work. Never resist. If you do you will be punished, but so might we.’
The figure lowers his voice to a whisper. Cibi notes his eyes: pretty eyes in a thin boy’s face. Livi is right, these boys are girls. ‘The SS are everywhere,’ she says, conspiratorially, ‘but it’s the kapos who look after us we have to be wary of. Sometimes they’re worse than SS. They’re prisoners, just like us, but you must never trust them – they have chosen their side.’
Prisoners. The word startles Cibi. They are in a prison, and they will remain there until the Germans decide they can leave. Attempting to hide her fear, Cibi springs into action, claiming a lumpy mattress in the middle of the dark room.
‘Come on.’ She takes Livi’s hand and gently pulls her onto the ‘bed’。 They lie down fully clothed, and in their coats, the straw crackling beneath their bodies, poking through rough hessian to scratch at their hands and heads. Cibi wishes they’d been allowed to keep their suitcases – perhaps they’ll be reunited with them tomorrow.
One by one, the girls find beds and settle down, but there are not nearly enough, and two, three, four girls have to squeeze together, like sardines.
Livi is crying, softly at first, but then she is sobbing. Cibi folds her arms around her sister and wipes away her tears with her sleeve. ‘It’s all right, Livi. You’re hungry; we’re both hungry. Tomorrow we’ll eat, and it will be daylight and we’ll feel better. Please stop crying, I’m right here with you.’