Page 3 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

‘Where are we going?’ Isaac whispered, the warmth of his breath causing a puff of white smoke to hang in front of him.

‘Who knows? I started out near Cologne, but this lot, from what I can gather, are from Czechoslovakia, a few French too. Your head is bleeding, did you know?’

Isaac felt the back of his skull where a lump had grown, and a small cut had left dried blood down his neck. He drew his hand away and saw a smear of crimson.

‘It was bad when you got on – they threw you on and we all thought you were dead. Me, I was jealous of you. I thought to myself, I’d like to be like that now – you know, dead.’

Isaac’s hand shook a little and he flexed his fingers to alleviate the stiffness in his joints. ‘I can’t really remember what happened. There were headlights – I remember that. I was near home and then – nothing.’

‘Better that way,’ Elijah said, his body pressing into Isaac’s as the train rounded a bend, the click-clack of the wheels speeding up once more as it hit a straight. ‘I was awake the whole time. Marched to a school and told to bring a bag of belongings. They told us we were going to be repatriated somewhere else.’

‘We’re not…’ Isaac said.

‘No. We’re not. They think we are stupid, you know? They think we don’t know about the camps. I know where I’m going. Like I said before, I would rather have died than go through this.’

The train suddenly began to slow, the brakes lurching the cattle carts as steam billowed from underneath the chassis. Isaac held on to Elijah’s coat, and he did the same as around him the bundles of people began to sit up straighter, rubbing at tired, scared eyes.

Once the train had shuddered to a stop, people began to stand, clutching on to children, on to bags and empty hands that needed some comfort.

‘We’ve stopped,’ Isaac said stupidly.

A child pushed forward and pressed his face against the slatted door, trying to see through the thin gaps.

‘You see anything?’ a voice called from the back.

‘Think it’s a platform. I don’t know. There’s feet. I can see feet!’ the boy shouted back excitedly.

‘Bare feet?’ another child asked.

‘No. In black boots. They’re walking, I think.’

‘Come. Come, sit back down!’ the child’s mother admonished.

‘You have no belongings,’ Elijah said, looking at Isaac’s empty trembling hands.

Isaac looked at the others who clutched their small carpet bags and leather suitcases, then placed his hands in his coat pockets, finding them bare save for the cold iron key that opened his front door at home.

‘Don’t worry,’ Elijah said. ‘What does one bring on a trip like this, anyway? Books? Clothes? Food? I was given such a small amount of time to pack, I placed the most random things in my bag – a magazine, of all things, a magazine about woodwork! I doubt I’ve ever read it in my life, yet that’s what I grabbed – can you imagine that?’

Isaac felt comforted by the stream of chatter that came from Elijah. He could imagine nothing was really happening as long as Elijah continued to talk.

‘I thought of taking my sheet music, but then I thought to myself, I doubt I’ll get another piano where I’m going, so I left it. But now I’m thinking maybe I should have brought it – it was my mother’s, so maybe it would have been nice to have it now.’

Isaac thought of his own belongings; his green dressing gown that hung off the back of the rocking chair in his bedroom, the silver brush and comb set that had belonged to his wife, which still sat on the dresser along with small perfume bottles he would sometimes smell, just to get a scent of her once more.

He wondered who would take care of his home now – would someone live in it, side by side with his clothes and books?

Suddenly the carriage door began to slide open, and Isaac craned his neck to see what was outside.

One by one they were ushered out onto a stone and dirt track that sprouted weeds and grass in between cracks, as if life were still trying to show its face. Grey slush that had frozen overnight lay in mounds and the sky overhead matched it in colour, thick and heavy with the promise of new snow.

Within seconds the tracks were full of scores of people, with guards standing in front of them, pushing and shoving them into smaller groups, then dividing them by male and female.

‘Put your belongings over here!’ A man stood in front of Isaac, wearing a brown woollen coat, the Star of David stitched onto his breast and an armband on his left sleeve, his cheeks rosy from the cold. ‘You deaf? I said, put your belongings over here! Now! On the cart!’

Elijah stepped forward and placed his small tan suitcase onto the cart that was quickly becoming a heap of luggage.

‘Don’t worry, don’t worry,’ the man repeated. ‘You’ll get it back. You – I asked you to place your belongings on the cart.’ He turned once more to Isaac.