Page 76 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

Bewildered, Isaac looked at the car parts. The engines would work – they would be fine, possibly by tomorrow. Yet he was to spend a night in the shed, just as J. A. L. had done.

He was suddenly filled with despair. Not at the thought of being away from the bunkhouse, but what it would mean when the cars were ready. The family were clearly leaving for a long journey – Isaac was not stupid; he could see the fear in Becher, he had heard about the Americans coming. Then he thought of the bodies piled around the camp grounds, and imagined that his would soon be added to the twisted heap of arms and legs, no longer Isaac, instead a collection of jumbled parts, another victim of their hate.

He hated the thought of lying in death in one of the pits that they threw the bodies into – with everyone, but with no one at the same time.

A chill caught on the back of his neck as if someone were in the room with him. He looked about but nothing was there – no ghosts to speak of.

Then he saw the flash of a shadow outside the window – was Anna back?

The door creaked open ever so slightly, then another inch and another, and Isaac felt as though Death himself were here to collect him. Instead, it was Friedrich.

‘It’s really late,’ Friedrich whispered, even though his voice could not carry to the house. ‘I saw the lamp burning and Anna leaving, and I wondered if you were still here.’

‘As you can see, I am. You should not be here though, Friedrich, you will get in trouble, as will I – your parents are home.’

‘They are, but they really aren’t,’ he said, almost philosophically. ‘Mother is asleep, and the dead could not wake her. I saw Father in the living room, an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor – he will not wake either and, even if he did, he would not come looking for me.’

Despite the danger, Isaac wanted the company and did not insist that Friedrich leave as he should.

A rumble in the sky made both Isaac and Friedrich look to the ceiling of the shed.

‘Planes,’ Friedrich announced.

Isaac turned off the gas lamp, pitching them into darkness. They listened as the planes flew low, the engines whirring, Isaac’s ears ringing with the vibrations.

Soon, the rumble became a distant hum and Isaac waited, counted the seconds and minutes, and when no crash of bombs came, he turned the light back on, keeping it low.

‘Will they come back, do you think?’ Friedrich’s voice was barely a whisper.

‘I don’t know,’ Isaac said.

‘Do they know about the prison?’

‘Yes. I think they know about the camp.’

‘Will they take Father away for what he has done?’

Isaac was unsure whether Friedrich’s voice betrayed worry for his father or an eagerness to rid himself of his parent. ‘I really don’t know, Friedrich. I can’t tell you what will happen.’

‘Tell me what the camp is like.’

Isaac shook his head. ‘There is no good that can come of you knowing. You are too young.’

‘But there are children in there – I saw them – they know what it is like,’ his childish logic concluded.

‘Quite. But they will have to carry that knowledge with them the rest of their lives, and it will not be easy for them.’

Friedrich was not to be dissuaded. ‘I can tell people, Isaac. I can tell people what it was like. Otto, I bet he doesn’t know that children have to be sent away, and if he doesn’t know, he will grow up and maybe he won’t believe them. But if I tell the story, if I tell it, maybe he will.’

The boy was wearing on him. It was late, and he was hungry and sick, the fever chilling his skin rather than heating it. ‘I don’t think I can, Friedrich. I’m sorry. But one day, perhaps I will.’

Chapter 28

Friedrich

Last spring Friedrich had foraged in the woods with Otto. They had found a bird’s nest, high up in one of the trees they had been looking at, hoping that it would prove a suitable spot for a treehouse.

The eggs were tiny, a pale blue with mottled brown spots. Otto had wanted to touch them, his podgy hand reaching out as he steadied himself on the branch.