Page 69 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

‘A wise man once told me that I should smile more and try to find the humour, even here. I thought he was mad. But I have come to realise that he was right. It is the only thing they can’t take away from us – the part of us that makes us completely ourselves, completely unique.’

‘When we danced,’ Anna said, ‘that’s when I felt myself again. As if the music and the movement brought me out once more. I have a friend, Nina, and she loves to dance. I haven’t told her yet that I danced in Sturmbannführer Becher’s dining room, but when I do, I can’t wait to see the surprise and delight in her eyes.’ Anna paused, looking thoughtful, and then she nodded towards the hiding place.

‘Will you read me some more?’ she asked.

Isaac thought of the last time he had read – the bodies in the vats of water.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said.

‘Please. It will fill our minds with something else.’

Before he could protest, Anna went to the loose floorboard and lifted it, pulling out the pages.

‘Here.’ She handed it to him.

He was glad that he had kept the watch in his pocket, ready to give it to her, but now she sat there, he wanted to wait, wanted it to be a special moment, like the dancing, something that would bring them both joy. He looked at the pages in his hands. He wasn’t sure that J. A. L.’s writings would achieve that goal.

The last entry he had read alone, he discarded.

‘All right, let’s see,’ he said, and began.

Chapter 24

J. A. L.

September 1944

My love, I have not written you for some time. It is not that I did not want to, rather my words were not of love, not of beautiful things or drawings that I think will amuse and delight you.

Today though, my mind is clearer. Autumn has set in, and as I raked leaves today, I marvelled at the colours before me. The yellows, golds, reds and browns, all mingled together, all different and yet the same.

I picked up a leaf, deep red, its skeleton coming through a sparkling gold. I have it here with me and have placed it within the pages to show you. Can you see the way its edges are frayed, not by man, but by design? Little tiny nicks along the sides. It made me think that I am like this leaf, as are you. We are frayed, tattered, of course, by what has been done to us, and yet it will become a part of us, so much so that we will seem as though we are frayed by design and not by circumstance.

One day I will be able to see you, all of you. I will wake early every morning, not to wake you but just to see you. Will you do the same for me?

Liesl Becher is getting fat. I noticed it today. She left the house for the first time in months and snipped back the last few flowers that were holding on, the tops of her arms straining underneath the sleeves of her dress, her cleavage spilling out. I envied her. That is odd to say, but I do. I envy the weight she carries and imagine the food she eats to get that way. I can hear you now, telling me you should never call a woman fat, and I do agree – but what does it matter? She is so surly, so mean, that I can’t apologise. I actually laughed to myself as I wrote it – a slight against her, one she will never hear, but still it is my small revenge.

I try to remember the last good meal I ate. I think it was in that basement of my father’s friend, on the day Father died – a last meal with the family all together – chicken and potatoes; hardly a feast, but something I wish for now.

He had held on, trying to fight against the fever that rose with each hour. We tried to calm him in those deluded moments, and it was Szymon’s idea to tell him that we were already in England – we were safe.

As soon as I told him, he let out a long sigh and a smile touched his lips. He was gone.

Mother screamed and tore at her dress, her hair, and now it was her we had to calm. Katharina knocked on the hatch that led to the basement and waited. Soon, my father’s friend, Max, descended the stairs.

He did not know where to look, I think. There was my mother on the floor in a ball, me trying to get her to be quiet, my father still on the bed, Szymon wide-eyed and quiet in the corner, and Katharina behind him, as if she did not want to return into the room.

‘Is he…?’ Max asked.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But Mother, she won’t calm down, I don’t know what to do.’

Max left, his short legs stomping up the basement stairs then clattering above us. He returned quickly, a glass vial in his hands, a pipette already half full of potent liquid.

I had to hold my mother’s head whilst Max placed the drops on her tongue, then I held her to me as she sobbed, soon growing quiet.

Between us we moved her to the other bed and let her sleep.

‘What’s going to happen to Papa?’ Katharina asked quietly.