Page 35 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

‘Spring’s not far away,’ Levi said, as he rummaged in the shed to find the shears.

Isaac was glad of Levi’s company. It was his third visit to the house, seemingly only brought here when one of the Bechers noticed something in the garden that was amiss. He liked the way Levi spoke – always about a bird he saw, or the bud of a flower in the ground, trying to push its head out. He made Isaac feel almost normal again – as though he were simply in his own workshop and a friend had dropped in for a quick chat.

Isaac watched Levi fumble about, his hands near the jerry can that marked the spot of the loose floorboard and the bundle hidden beneath. Was it Levi? Isaac thought, thinking of the initials J. A. L. written in the corner.

‘You know, I love spring – the way it all seems new again,’ Levi said.

‘It’s still the middle of winter,’ Isaac replied.

‘February tomorrow. A nice short month, and then we’ll be into spring.’

‘February?’

‘You have lost track of time, haven’t you? That’s what happens here. You’ve been here a week or more.’

Isaac looked at the typewriter in front of him that he had been asked to fix, three others on the floor near his feet. First the train engine, the grandfather clock, the bags of watches that belonged to others, the telephone. A week. A week or more. ‘It feels longer, and yet at the same time, it feels as though it has been only a day or so.’ Isaac shook his head.

‘Like I said, you’ve lost track of time. You will. It’s normal. Ah, here!’ Levi held up the shears and stood. ‘What do you think they would do if I escaped, a pair of shears in my hand, ready to attack?’

‘You’d get shot,’ Isaac said ruefully.

‘Really? I think I’d have a fighting chance. I’ve thought about it, you know, escaping. Especially from here – we’ve got the chance to, they forget we are here.’

‘Apart from the guards at the gate, and then the guards further down the track, and the fact that you are so tired and weak you wouldn’t get far.’

Levi grinned. ‘You’re right. I’ll think of a different way. Shame we are not here overnight. That’s when we could make a break for it!’

‘You talk as if you are a child. As if this is some sort of adventure,’ he scolded, yet he could feel the tug of a smile on his lips.

‘I talk as if I am a man who is trying to survive; you talk like a man who has given up.’

‘I am surviving,’ Isaac responded, then looked at his hands which were dry and chapped, the spidery blue of his veins pulsing against his pale skin.

‘At least we have work to do – good work. You know, when they ask me to come here, I am so happy. Otherwise I do nothing all day.’ Levi set about sharpening the dull blades of the shears whilst Isaac watched.

‘Nothing? I see the others going to work each day.’ Isaac thought of poorly Elijah having to dig a new road near the camp, which led through a clump of trees out into the middle of nowhere.

‘Nothing. There was work to begin with – so much. They worked us day and night. But you’ve heard what’s happening? The Americans are coming, and the guards know it. All they’ll do now is work the sickest until they drop dead doing something mundane. Like I said, I’m glad I have this job.’

Elijah’s pale face accosted Isaac – his friend would be worked to death.

‘You all right?’ Levi was looking at Isaac, his brows creased together as they did whenever he was being serious.

Isaac nodded.

‘All right. Well, I’ve branches to prune.’ Levi doffed his cap as was his custom. ‘You have yourself a nice day. And, Isaac? Smile and think of good things.’

He left Isaac alone with just the faint tune of him whistling as he worked in the garden. Isaac fiddled with the tool in his hand, trying to do as Levi told him, imagining the Americans arriving, taking him home, where he would sit in his armchair by the fireplace and sink into dreamless sleeps.

‘I hope I’m not interrupting you?’ Becher’s voice came from outside the shed. Isaac quickly stood and opened the door. Becher smiled and waved him outside. ‘Come and enjoy some sun for a moment.’

Isaac did as he was told, and stood with Becher as he watched Anna hang some sheets on the laundry line. Isaac noticed that her stripy camp uniform was gone, and in its place she wore a plain brown dress, the cornflower-blue cap still on her head.

‘It’s a beautiful day, is it not?’ Becher said, his eyes not straying from Anna.

‘It is.’

‘It is a shame,’ Becher turned to face Isaac, ‘that God would give certain women attributes that would be better on others. Take Anna, for example; a beautiful face, a body that is light and yet womanly. But she is stuck here, and throughout the city there are plump, ugly German women, gems around their necks, who would do better to have this beauty so that it would benefit the Reich.’