Page 52 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

His eyes were red, watery already from the alcohol. ‘She will, will she?’

‘I should go. Should I ask Schmidt to take me?’

‘Ah, Schmidt.’ He poured another measure of whiskey into his glass and drank it back in one go, then repeated the exercise once more. ‘Schmidt. Schmidt is asleep, Anna. Fast asleep on the couch in my study. The work I asked him to do, not completed. My wife, she’s asleep. My son – asleep? Who knows?’

Anna was unsure of what she should say or do. Her eyes moved about the room, settling on the portrait of Liesl that hung above the fireplace.

‘She was a beauty, wasn’t she?’ He nodded towards the oil painting of his wife.

‘She is very beautiful.’

‘Not so much anymore,’ he whispered, then laughed. ‘Sit down, Anna.’ He patted the sofa cushion next to him.

She pulled at a ragged nail and looked at the sofa. He patted it again. She willed her legs to move but they would not.

‘Anna?’ He patted the sofa with more force, causing a dancing of dust motes to spiral into the air under the lamplight.

She stepped forward, her legs shaking, then sat and placed her hands on her lap as if she were at school, afraid to do the wrong thing.

‘Do you like the music, Anna?’

‘It’s very nice.’

‘It’s Chopin. Do you know Chopin, Anna?’

She shook her head.

He leaned back on the sofa and conducted an imaginary orchestra with his hand, sloshing the whiskey in the glass. ‘It’s old. So very old.’ Then he suddenly sat upright and faced Anna, who looked at him even though she didn’t want to.

‘Isn’t it funny how the past catches up with you, Anna? Isn’t it funny that no matter what, it will come back to you, whether you want it to or not?’

‘I – I’m not sure what you mean, Herr Becher,’ she said.

‘Of course you don’t understand,’ he sighed. ‘You couldn’t.’

‘I think I should probably go.’

‘Yes. Yes, you’re probably right. I’ll ask one of the guards at the gate to take you to the camp.’

Anna stood, then felt something on her leg. She looked down and saw Becher’s hand stroking her knee, creeping up below the hem of her dress.

‘It’s a nice dress on you, Anna. Very nice.’ He smiled at her, showing his teeth which were moist from his drink.

Anna nodded and walked away, feeling goose-pimples on her skin from where he had touched her. As she closed the door, she saw he was conducting his orchestra once more, his smile gone, his face set like stone.

‘Nina,’ Anna whispered. ‘Nina, are you awake?’ Anna stood with her feet on her bottom bunk, her face close to Nina’s, who was deep in sleep, her eyelids flickering with dreams.

‘Nina,’ she tried again.

Nina’s eyes opened. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Shhh.’ Anna climbed into the bunk and curled in next to Nina.

‘What’s wrong?’ Nina asked again.

‘Tonight. I don’t know. Something strange happened.’

‘What was it?’