Page 63 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

He looked at the key in his palm and could not believe his luck. Finally, he could see the place where Isaac was taken back to each night – finally, he could see what his parents had been trying to hide from him.

He did not waste time and hurried to the first door, which would not yield. The lock in the second, however, gave way to his key and he pushed open the door, revealing a bare room, the long windows grimy with dust and dirt.

He spat on the sleeve of his jumper, then pulled it over his hand and wiped a pane clear, smearing the grey muck as he did.

At first, he saw Isaac’s shed. The light wasn’t burning in the window; instead the door was open, and he could see Isaac just inside, sitting on a stool cleaning something in his hands.

His eyes focused next on the row of trees behind the shed. Then beyond, where wire fences could be seen. He ran back into his bedroom and found the binoculars his father had given him for Christmas two years ago. At the window he held them up to his eyes and corrected the focus, so he could see what lay inside the wire.

There were people moving slowly, all wearing the same striped uniform as Isaac and Anna. He could see the guards’ watchtower and saw that they held guns.

He scanned left, then right, where he could see children sitting playing in the dirt, all of them thin, skeletal, their faces indistinguishable from each other.

Friedrich lowered the binoculars.

He ran from the room, down the stairs and out into the back garden. He passed Isaac, who looked at him with surprise as he ran to the trees at the edge of the garden and tried to find his way through. He didn’t think about what he would do when he got there – all he knew was that he had to see it up close, had to see what was really there.

But the undergrowth was too thick, and his jumper snagged on a branch. He tried to pull himself free while scratching himself all over, his tears hot and thick running down his cheeks.

Suddenly there were hands on him, hands that tugged him free and drew him into an embrace.

He sobbed into Isaac’s chest. Isaac did not speak, did not ask what he was doing. He just let him cry until the sobs became fewer, shorter, and he found his breath again through sorrowful hiccups.

Isaac wrapped his arm around Friedrich’s shoulder and led him away from the trees back to the garden, towards the shed, then sat him down in his chair and placed a blanket on his lap.

Friedrich did not know what to say. There were questions swirling in his brain as he tried to piece it all together, but again, Isaac did not prompt him – did not ask what was wrong – he simply waited.

‘I saw,’ Friedrich finally said, gazing upwards at Isaac.

‘I know.’

‘There are children. Like me.’

‘I know.’

‘Father – he put them there. He said they were evil – that you were all evil – that you were dangerous.’

Isaac smiled at the boy. ‘But you see we are not.’

Friedrich nodded then wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘My parents are wrong. I need to tell them they are wrong.’ Friedrich stood, but then felt Isaac’s hands on his shoulders pushing him back into the seat.

‘You cannot. It would not matter, not one bit. It’s not just your parents, Friedrich, it’s so many people. If you tell them, and you tell them that we are friends, then that will be dangerous for me.’

‘We are friends?’ Friedrich asked.

‘Of course we are!’

Friedrich smiled then. ‘I only had one friend, Otto. But now I have two.’

‘You do. You have two friends.’

From the house, a murmur of music lifted out and carried towards them. ‘Father keeps playing music,’ Friedrich said. ‘All the time. He locks himself away and plays music. Greta leaves bottles of whiskey for him outside the door, and when I go back a few minutes later, they are gone.’

‘Things are changing,’ Isaac said.

‘What does that mean?’

‘I don’t really know. Perhaps it means I can go home soon. Perhaps it means that your father will need to find a new job.’