The Tattooist of Auschwitz

by Heather Morris

Gita can’t take her eyes off the ring, the sun bouncing off the stone. ‘Where did you get this?’ ‘Girls working in one of the Canada buildings find jewels and money for me. That’s what I use to buy the food and medicine I’ve been giving you and the others. Here, take it.’ Gita puts her hand out as though to try on the ring, but then pulls back. ‘No, you keep it. Put it to good use.’ ‘OK.’ Lale goes to put it back in his bag. ‘Stop. Let me look at it one more time.’ He holds it between two fingers, turning it this way and that. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Now put it away.’ ‘It’s the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ says Lale, looking at Gita. She blushes and turns her face away.

Somewhere my family will be looking at the same stars now and wondering where I am. I hope they can get more comfort from them than I can.

Lale attempts to reach into the jewellery tin, which is promptly slammed shut. ‘Have you struck a rate with them already?’ he asks. ‘I’ll leave that to you to figure out. Just get the best deal you can. Understand?’ ‘Sure, you’d like prime beef for the price of sausage.’ Lale knows the right thing to say.