‘Did you want that?’ Cibi asks, smoothly. ‘I thought it was rubbish.’ Cibi indicates the stove. ‘So I threw it in the fire.’
Suddenly, Heinz is towering over her. ‘You did what?’ he says, slowly.
‘I put it in the fire,’ Cibi repeats, faltering a little now.
Without missing a beat, Heinz has pulled out his pistol and aimed it at her head. Cibi shrinks back, her senses suddenly screaming. Gone is her bravado. Gone is her small victory. Now, she thinks only of Livi. She has been stupid, cavalier with her life. For nothing.
Volkenrath gently pushes his arm aside. ‘She didn’t mean anything by it,’ she says, briskly. ‘She’s a tidy one, that’s all.’
Very slowly, Heinz holsters his gun and strides out of the post office, slamming the door behind him. Cibi lets out her breath.
‘Don’t ever cross Heinz!’ Volkenrath snaps. ‘And next time I won’t stop him, so be warned.’
A few days later, the post office girls are tending to a delivery of boxes that have been dumped outside the building. Cibi is helping her workmates sort their contents. She enjoys the rhythm of this work and she likes Rosie from Bratislava, a new recruit to the small team.
Rosie is on her knees, gazing into the box of books she has just opened. She picks them up, one by one, reading the titles. Cibi joins her, noting that many are prayer books. The girls turn them over in their hands.
‘What are those?’ A kapo has appeared from nowhere. He grabs a book, inspects the title, turns the pages. In seconds, he is hurling the books to the ground and stomping on them until their spines are broken and their pages torn. He is showing off to the SS officers who are lurking close by, that much is obvious. But then Rosie is suddenly on her feet, tall and defiant, cursing the kapo, firing words of abuse into his face.
Cibi is convinced one or other of the officers will execute her on the spot but she is powerless to help. But the kapo merely kicks the detritus of the books aside and laughs.
An SS officer wanders over to them. ‘What are you so upset about?’ he asks Rosie. ‘They’re just books!’
Cibi, on her feet now, takes Rosie’s arm, trying to pull her away, trying to stop her from digging her own grave, but Rosie shrugs her off. And then Cibi has an idea.
‘Let me tell you a story,’ she says, stepping in front of Rosie and towards the SS officer. ‘One day, the gold asked the iron, Why do you shout when you are beaten? I get hit too, but I keep quiet. The iron replied, I cry because the hammer is made from iron – it is my brother and that hurts me. You are hit by a stranger.’
The officer turns away without a word.
The next day, the officer turns up at the post office with a grey box, which he hands to Cibi.
She opens it to reveal a prayer book covered in pale grey leather.
‘This is my gift to you. A good luck omen so we won’t lose the war.’ He smirks.
‘We also pray for our enemies,’ Cibi replies.
The officer is staring at her now, his head on one side. ‘Don’t you remember me, Cibi?’ he says. ‘I’m Eric. From the Kanada?’
Cibi wonders why this SS officer would care whether she remembered him or not, but she has given up being surprised by anything that happens in this place. She looks him up and down. ‘You look thin,’ is all she says.
‘So do you.’
‘I am a prisoner. You’re not.’ Cibi is feeling bold.
‘These days I live off vodka. Food has lost its appeal.’
Cibi marvels at the fact they’re having a conversation. ‘Are you sick?’
‘Only in the head.’ Eric sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He points a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Usually, I’m stationed by the gates, where the transports come in.’ He looks at his boots. ‘Where they make the selections.’
Cibi’s curiosity turns to cold, hard, unsentimental fury. Is he expecting sympathy from her?
Understanding, even?
‘Eric, why don’t you go and pack your suitcase and go back to your mumma?’ Cibi says, turning her back on the young man.
She is thinking of this exchange, trying to understand why Eric was so keen for Cibi to know he has a conscience, when she sees a little girl standing by the door to the post office. The mail room is next to the hospital block where Mengele houses his ‘children’。 Too many times Cibi has witnessed his shiny black car pull up outside and disgorge the unremarkable man along with the little girls and boys. She has watched him herd the children through the doors of the hospital, joking with them as he hands out sweets. Cibi has no idea what happens to those children exactly, but it can’t be good.