‘We shall see.’
The kapo turns over a page. Running a finger down the list she calls out: ‘Prisoner 1742, what is your name?’
The girl whose arm bore the number 1742 calls out her name. It is correct. Ingrid recites more numbers, receives more responses.
With Cibi still standing beside her, Ingrid waves at one of the SS guards. He saunters over to them, his swagger stick bumping his leg as he walks. Ingrid presents him with the list.
‘How did you learn to write so beautifully?’ he asks Cibi.
With a bravado suited more to life in the Hachshara, she meets the guard’s eyes. ‘I didn’t grow up in the woods; I went to school,’ she replies.
Glancing at Ingrid, she sees the kapo turn away to hide the smile that might get her into as much trouble as Cibi.
The guard harrumphs. ‘Give her the job keeping your records,’ he says to the kapo, before stalking off.
‘Well, well,’ Ingrid says, laying a hand on Cibi’s shoulder. ‘You are neat and accurate. But your mouth will get you into trouble if you’re not careful. You are more useful to me alive than dead, so no more cheeking the guards. Do you understand?’
Cibi nods. She doesn’t like being touched by Ingrid, but then again, isn’t this what she wanted? To curry favour with those who might hurt them?
‘Each day you will record new prisoners and cross out those who are absent. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Ingrid. I can do that. I’d be happy to do it,’ says Cibi.
‘Now, off to work, all of you!’ Ingrid barks. And as Cibi turns away to join Livi and the others in her detail, she adds, ‘You keep your job on the cart.’
Livi approaches her big sister, shivering in the cold, terrified of what Cibi’s interaction with the kapo and the SS guard might mean for them.
‘Who is this?’ Ingrid asks. It is clear she does not recognise Livi from the night before.
‘My little sister.’ Cibi takes Livi’s bandaged hand.
‘You look cold,’ Ingrid says to Livi.
Livi nods, her teeth chattering. There is no denying that Livi looks younger than every other girl on the demolition site. She barely reaches Cibi’s shoulder and while she’s not yet as emaciated as the other girls, her prison uniform hangs off her slight frame. Cibi can’t help but catch a glimpse of something soften in Ingrid’s eyes.
The next day, when Cibi and Livi line up in the courtyard before they leave for the building site, Ingrid drops a heavy coat across Livi’s shoulders. ‘You’re about my sister’s size,’ she tells her. ‘What are you, eleven, twelve?’
‘Fifteen,’ whispers Livi, too terrified to meet Ingrid’s eyes.
Ingrid turns away abruptly and begins to lead the girls out of Auschwitz.
The other girls are jealous of Livi’s coat, muttering under their breath, and Cibi worries that Ingrid’s attention has marked them out. Could there be repercussions for this favouritism from a German kapo?
When they reach the demolition site, Cibi checks off the names of the girls, and hands the clipboard to Ingrid before she begins to once more load the card with bricks. And once again they push the laden wagon to the field, where they gratefully acknowledge the Russian prisoners of war who help them unload. Nothing is said about Livi’s coat. It is clear, in any case, thinks Cibi, that Livi works as hard as the rest of them, despite her injury.
*
As spring blossoms, the forest beyond the field grows lush with green leaves. Crops have been planted at the edge of the woods by the prisoners, hoping a good yield will provide them with more sustenance.
The road, despite the change in the weather, remains an obstacle course, with deep muddy potholes one day and the next, a trail of stones and rocks where the mud has dried out. It is on a very wet day when the front wheels of the cart dip into a crater and hold fast. The girls pile stones beneath the wheels to ease its passage out of the hole. Livi is at the back pushing, while Cibi and the other girls pull from the front. As the wheels slowly start to turn, Livi notices something poking out of the thick mud. It is a small knife. With its wooden handle, it nestles perfectly in the palm of her hand. Grateful for the pockets in her Russian army breeches, she hides the knife and carries on pushing.
Later, in the dark, in bed, she takes it out to show Cibi. ‘It’s worth millions to us here,’ she tells her sister, eagerly. ‘We can cut up our food, ration it.’
‘You know what they’ll do if they find this on you?’ Cibi hisses.
‘I don’t care,’ Livi snaps back. ‘I found it, so it’s mine. You wouldn’t let me keep the coin, but I’m holding on to the knife.’ Livi tucks it back into her pocket. It will be useful, Cibi will eat her words one day.