Page 81 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

‘“Not yet.” The guard grinned. “Give us an hour or so, and he will be.”

‘He walked away from me and I think I stood there in that garden for an hour or more, staring at the bloodstains on the grass, the paving stones, and spattered on the floor of the shed. Eventually I found my breath and my mind came back to me once more. Inside I filled a bucket with hot, soapy water and scrubbed at the blood, washing the violence away.’

Greta finished, sipping at her coffee, then turned to Anna. ‘I wish it had rained that day, I wish my coffee and its bubbles had been wrong. I keep thinking that if it had rained, maybe Becher and his guards would have waited, given him a few more hours, none of them wanting to get soaked in the downpour. It’s stupid, I know. They wouldn’t have cared about the weather; they would have done what they did regardless.’

Greta stopped talking. Anna could hear the squawks of crows in the trees then the flap of wings. She imagined J. A. L. here, in this very garden, the blows raining down on him, the fear he must have felt.

She shivered. ‘What was his name?’ Anna asked, her voice thin and tired.

‘He never said. He wasn’t like you and Isaac – he kept to himself, his head down. That was why I was so surprised when they came for him. He hadn’t broken a single rule. Here, take Isaac a cup before we get back to work. If she comes looking, I’ll tell her you’re doing laundry – I doubt she’ll want to come searching for you.’

Anna made Isaac a cup of coffee, taking with her a piece of bread that Greta had left on the side for her hands to find.

As she walked towards the shed, she heard Greta call out, ‘I think it may have been Adam – his name. I’m sure I heard someone say that to him. Adam.’

Adam, Anna thought. His middle name, perhaps? She looked at the ground in a different way now, imagining that the blood which had spilled from his body was somehow still there.

Opening the door, she found Isaac asleep, his head hanging down to his chest, his breathing heavy. As she placed the mug on his desk, she reached over and rested her hand on his forehead, feeling his skin raging now with fever.

‘Isaac,’ she said gently.

He opened his eyes and tipped his head back, immediately rubbing at the back of his neck.

‘You were asleep,’ she said.

‘I was? Where am I?’

‘In the shed.’

He looked about him, taking in Anna, then the floor of the shed, then back to Anna; finally he realised. ‘Of course I am. Yes. Herr Becher wants me here to check the cars. I must go and check the cars.’

He made to heave himself up out of the chair, and Anna placed her hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him back down, so he sat once more. ‘Herr Becher isn’t here. So you don’t need to check the cars just yet. Drink this, and eat this.’ She handed him the bread.

He ate slowly, and when he drank from the mug, his hands shook so much that he spilled the coffee, staining the whiskers on his chin. Anna felt a lump rise in her throat. She wanted to wipe his chin as she would a child, she wanted to cool his head from the heat, but she was unsure whether he would let her take care of him.

‘You should go to the infirmary when you return tonight,’ she told him.

‘I’ve been sleeping here,’ Isaac said. ‘Herr Becher wants me here. I don’t know why.’

Anna suddenly thought of J. A. L., of the way he had been dragged out of the shed. She had an image of the same fate befalling Isaac – his old body dragged across the paving stones whilst brutal kicks and thumps battered him.

‘Perhaps it’s a good thing,’ Anna tried. ‘Maybe you will get rescued quicker – maybe when they leave, they will just let you go?’

‘Maybe,’ Isaac said, his voice indifferent.

She tried again. ‘Anyway, the infirmary in our camp has run out of medicine. No one is being fed there. So maybe it’s better that you are here – it would do no good to show them how sick you are.’

‘What day is it, Anna?’ he asked.

‘It’s Friday.’

He nodded. ‘Friday,’ he repeated. ‘I have lost track of the days. They are all disappearing from me.’

Anna could not bear to see him this way. The Isaac she knew was slowly being replaced by a sick old man, whose mind was starting to slip away.

‘I think I know what happened to our mutual friend,’ Anna ventured.

This time, Isaac’s eyes opened more. ‘Who? J. A. L.?’