Page 18 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

Anna spent most of the morning doing as Greta had advised, trying to make herself as invisible as possible. Every time she heard the click-clack of Liesl’s heels on the wooden floors, she dipped into another room, polished dust from surfaces and laid fires.

‘Why are you so scared of her?’ Anna whispered to herself. ‘If you weren’t here, you wouldn’t be scared of her, you know, you would—’

‘Who are you talking to?’

Anna turned in shock to see the small boy from dinner standing at the door, a train engine in his hands.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Why are you sorry?’ he asked, and took a step inside the parlour.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps because I shouldn’t be talking to myself.’

‘I talk to myself,’ the boy offered. ‘Not at school, but here I do.’

Anna knew she shouldn’t speak to him, knew she should leave the room, yet it was the first time anyone had looked at her – not her uniform, not her religion, just her – and seemed interested to hear what she had to say. ‘I used to when I was young, like you. I used to talk to my imaginary friend.’

The boy sat in a chair and leaned forward. ‘What was his name?’

‘He was called Bobo.’ She smiled. ‘I would tell him about my day and about the girls at school who teased me.’

The boy laughed. ‘Bobo! That’s a silly name. But I like it. I don’t have an imaginary friend – I just talk to myself, sort of the same way I speak to my friend Otto. He lives far away, and we can’t see each other at the moment,’ he babbled.

‘Friedrich!’ Liesl was at the door.

Anna saw the fear in Friedrich’s eyes upon hearing his mother call his name, and she knew her face must look just the same.

‘What on earth are you doing in here? Why are you talking to her?’ Liesl’s nose crinkled as if she had smelled something rotten.

‘I was just looking for Father. My train…’ he said limply, and held up the engine to show her.

‘I’ll take you to him. Come with me.’ She held her arm out for Friedrich to take. ‘And you,’ Liesl looked at Anna, ‘do not talk to my son.’

Anna nodded and as soon as Liesl left, she exhaled. She tried to polish the side tables but her hand shook. Would she be punished? If so, she did not dare think what the punishment might be.

She looked out of the window at the gravelled driveway, the slurry mix of melted snow and dirt edging it, and in contrast, the patches of clean, pure snow that covered the lawn. Although the camp was a mere mile away, she felt as though she could be anywhere, perhaps at home, simply looking out of the window, waiting for Piotr to come to take her for dinner, a walk, perhaps even to a dance.

Piotr – he was there, back in her mind once more. She remembered the day he left, a bag slung over his shoulder, with a promise that he would survive, that this was the right choice – he had to do what he could to stop what was happening, he had to resist.

She had wanted to go. Embarrassment surged through her as she recalled the scene when she had begged him on her hands and knees to please take her with him – she could help, she could. But he had kissed her and told her to stay safe, and left her on the floor, tears streaming down her face. It was Elias, her brother, who had picked her up from the floor, Elias who had promised to keep her safe. And now she was alone.

A click-clack of heels on the floor alerted her to Liesl’s presence once more. She turned away from the window and gathered the feather duster, the cloths and the wood polish, and scurried away to seek refuge in the kitchen with Greta.

‘I knew having that boy here was going to cause trouble, I could sense it. Just say – politely to him, mind – that you cannot talk to him and leave the room next time it happens, and mark my words, it will. He barely gets any attention, let alone affection from them, so he’ll seek it out. I’ve seen it before,’ Greta told her.

Anna nodded. ‘Should I take their lunch through?’

Greta shook her head, ‘I’ll manage today, we’ll try again with you tomorrow. For now, go out to see that Isaac fellow. Herr Becher wants some sort of list from him – tools and whatnot; he’s waiting for it. I thought Isaac would bring it to me, but I suppose he realises he shouldn’t really leave the shed. Go and see him, but don’t be too long. And here,’ Greta passed Anna some hot soup in a tin mug, ‘take him this, it will warm him a little.’

Anna made her way towards the shed, feeling the warmth in her hands that the soup offered. She had to chastise herself for wanting to drink it, and hoped that Greta would have saved something for her too.

She knocked gently on the wooden door, then, feeling silly, opened it.

The shed was no longer cluttered. The gardening tools and junk were lined up, as if waiting to be used. The man, Isaac, was wrapped in blankets and old pieces of cloth, and sitting on a chair over a makeshift desk of a few boxes and crates, the lamp settled in the corner.

He did not look up at first from the piece of paper that lay on the desk, his head bent. He was muttering words and making small movements with his hands as if he were fixing something.

‘I’ve brought you soup,’ Anna said.