Page 5 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

‘And clocks, you say? What about grandfather clocks – can you make them work if they are quiet?’

‘They take time, they are tricky, but yes, I can.’

The moustached man seemed interested and placed the tiny screwdriver back in its pouch. ‘What else?’

Isaac tried to think about all the things he had mended through the years. ‘Locks, sometimes, but not always… radios, but mostly watches and clocks.’

The moustached man lost interest and pocketed Isaac’s pouch of tools. ‘Get in line,’ he said, and nodded towards the shorter line of men that Elijah stood in, away from the others who were now marching towards the black gates and watchtowers of guards and guns.

‘Wait in that line until someone tells you to move.’ The Kapo pushed Isaac towards the men who stood shivering with cold, their hands in their pockets, their eyes focused on the camp ahead where smoke billowed out in thick blasts from the buildings within.

Chapter 2

Friedrich

By the time the car crunched over the gravelled driveway, the snow had turned to grey sleet that sludged down the car windows. Friedrich wiped his palm across the condensation that covered the inside of the glass and peered through at the distorted image of a three-storey red-brick house, its bay windows overlooking the driveway. He looked to a window to see if anyone had noticed his arrival, but all he could see was the dim orange glow of lamplight from inside.

‘We’re here.’ The driver turned to Friedrich. ‘Wait here and I’ll get the umbrella.’

Friedrich ignored the driver and immediately opened the door, the iced rain dripping into his collar and tracking its way down his spine, making him shiver. He ran to the black lacquered front door and heaved the brass knocker up and down.

‘Friedrich!’ His mother smiled at him as she opened the door.

Friedrich went to embrace his mother, but instead she simply placed her hand on his head as if in benediction. ‘You’re wet,’ she said, and wiped her hand on her cream skirt.

‘Where’s Father?’ he asked.

‘You brought all your things?’ She looked over his head as the driver brought in three brown leather suitcases. ‘Your books? You’ll need them.’

‘I did. Where’s Father?’

‘At work.’ She directed the driver to the second floor: ‘Second room on the left.’ Then, she turned her attention to him. ‘What are you doing?’

Friedrich wasn’t sure. He stood dripping on the lacquered wooden floor next to a silent grandfather clock. He held on to the hem of his school blazer, and looked around him as if the answer could be found in the hallway.

‘You’re making the floor wet.’ She looked at his feet. ‘Go and get changed. Dinner is at seven, you’ll hear the dinner bell.’ She moved towards a door that led to the room with the large bay windows, stopping at the threshold and looking back at him. ‘It’s so good to see you, Friedrich. I am glad you are home.’

When she had closed the door behind her, Friedrich let out a long sigh as if he had been holding his breath for the entire time. She hadn’t smiled when she had said she was glad he was home. She wasn’t glad, he knew. He had hoped that maybe, just once, she had wanted him with her.

He climbed the staircase to the second floor and found his room – a single bed facing a narrow window that looked out onto the gravelled driveway, a thick green rug on the floor with matching green curtains, and a small framed photograph of his parents on his desk. He had had more at school – pictures on his walls, books, toys. He looked at the cases on the floor. He had brought as much as he could pack in the time he had been given, but it had been so rushed that he had left most of his things behind. His dressing gown, he knew, was still hanging on the back of his door in his dormitory, next to Otto’s, who had been called home too.

‘What do you think is happening?’ Otto had asked him as they packed quickly, their faces flushed with effort.

‘Nothing. Maybe because we missed the Christmas holidays with them, now we will go home and there will be a tree and presents?’ Friedrich had said hopefully, though he didn’t really believe it.

‘Doubt it. Half the school are going, you know. I think it was those bombs last week – scared our parents silly.’

‘Not mine.’ Friedrich had sat back and drawn his legs to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. ‘They don’t care. I bet they’d be happy if a bomb landed right on the school.’

‘Don’t be like that.’ Otto’s pudgy hand play-punched him on the arm. ‘They’re busy. I mean, your father is like the Führer’s right hand! He has to travel and do all those jobs. And your mother, well, she has to go with him, right? She has to set up a nice home for him wherever they go. My mother says that’s the most important thing for a wife to do, to look after her husband. I want one like that someday.’

‘What about her son?’

‘Come on, Fried. It’s really not that bad. You’ll go see them, and then we’ll be back here in no time.’

‘And if we’re not?’

Otto shrugged. ‘Then we’ll write to each other and see each other in the summer. Let me know what your new house is like, and maybe I can come and stay for the summer with you?’