The darkness that envelops Lale on the cattle train at the beginning of The Tattooist of Auschwitz gives the reader some of their first visual impressions of the novel. Lale’s worried contemplation of this darkness also functions as foreshadowing, as it hints at the suffering that awaits him once he reaches his destination:
The train stops again. It is pitch-black; clouds block out the moon and stars completely. Does the dark portend their future?
The description of the “pitch-black” carriage where "clouds block out the moon and stars completely" creates a total visual void for the reader. It’s the imagery of no imagery; Lale is surrounded by nothingness. The details of his world are utterly erased. This absence of light brings on feelings of fear for the reader, because danger often lurks unseen in darkness. Lale knows he’s in danger in the carriage and is heading into more of it, but he has no way to protect himself. The darkness also deepens the readers’ sense of how isolated Lale is, as visual barriers cut him off from everything surrounding him. He already doesn’t know where he’s being taken. He now cannot see where he is. He also cannot see what is happening to the other men around him. This inability to see amplifies his anxiety about the unknown future that he knows lies ahead.
Lale’s direct question, "Does the dark portend their future?" then transforms the imagery of darkness into a moment of foreshadowing. Here, Lale links the oppressive, all-encompassing blackness to what lies ahead for him and the other prisoners. He knows whatever is coming won’t be good, but he has no way of anticipating the specifics because he’s been given no information. Worrying that the blinding dark “portends” his future also points to the loss and grief that will later define his experiences in the Nazi concentration camps. The darkness of the train carriage does more than give the reader a clear picture of Lale’s uncertain environment. It also signals the bleakness he's imagining in his destination, whatever it may be.
Upon his arrival at Auschwitz, Lale’s arm is grabbed and a permanent tattoo of his prisoner number is stabbed into it with a dirty needle. The author uses foreshadowing and hyperbole to emphasize the shock Lale experiences at this violation:
The tattooing has taken only seconds, but Lale’s shock makes time stand still. He grasps his arm, staring at the number. How can someone do this to another human being? He wonders if for the rest of his life, be it short or long, he will be defined by this moment, this irregular number: 32407.
Lale’s immediate fixation on the tattoo hints strongly that the number will continue to shape his experiences. The fact that his thoughts skip immediately to being "defined by this moment, this irregular number" suggests that the tattoo's significance will stretch far beyond the brief act of tattooing itself. Morris also implies the tattoo will have consequences that Lale cannot yet grasp fully, and that the “rest of his life” might be “defined” by this brief atrocity.
Morris’s use of hyperbole also intensifies the depiction of Lale’s shock. She writes that "Lale’s shock makes time stand still." Time, of course, does not literally pause, but the phrase conveys how overwhelming the moment feels to Lale. This exaggeration suggests that the act of being forcibly tattooed has a disorienting effect. It profoundly alters his sense of reality as it happens. Lale’s panicked thought that he might forever be defined solely by "this irregular number" also contains hyperbolic language. Although the tattoo will indeed represent his identity for his Nazi captors, the suggestion that his entire existence can be reduced to this moment is a symptom of his horror and despair. The hyperbole Morris uses here helps readers grasp the depth of how dehumanizing having one’s name replaced by an impersonal number feels.
The brief conversation where Pepan encourages Lale to become a tattooist uses foreshadowing to hint at Lale’s future path. Pepan offers Lale the job, but Lale protests against hurting and scarring his fellow prisoners:
“You want me to tattoo other men?”
“Someone has to do it.”
“I don’t think I could do that. Scar someone, hurt someone—it does hurt, you know.”
Pepan pulls back his sleeve to reveal his own number. “It hurts like hell. If you don’t take the job, someone will who has less soul than you do, and he will hurt these people more.”
When Pepan tells Lale that he should become a tattooist because someone “has to do it,” Morris is strongly implying that Lale will indeed become “the tattooist of Auschwitz.” Even though he doesn’t want to, Lale agrees to take on the role because he knows he will tattoo people with compassion and care. It might be worse, Pepan reasons, to leave the job in the hands of someone who doesn't feel compassion for other people. Even though he knows it makes him complicit in the Nazi project, Lale agrees to learn to tattoo to prevent even greater cruelty.
When Pepan warns Lale that if he doesn’t take the work on, someone with “less soul” might do it, he also foreshadows the many moral and ethical burdens Lale will have to carry in The Tattooist of Auschwitz. Lale does many difficult things because he believes someone has to. This phrase suggests that tattooing, just like surviving in Auschwitz without losing his humanity, will require not just Lale’s skills but also his strong moral compass. It also implies that even at this early stage, Pepan sees in Lale a capacity for empathy that makes him stand out from the other prisoners.
Gita and Ivana notice, to their alarm, that Cilka’s head has not been forcibly shaven like those of the other prisoners. They are instantly worried about what this difference could foreshadow for her:
Cilka turns back and smiles at the three of them. Then, with one hand, she removes the scarf from her head and waves it to them, revealing long dark hair cascading down her back. She moves with the grace of a swan, a young woman unaware of her own beauty and seemingly untouched by the horror around her. “You must ask her how she has kept her hair,” Ivana says, scratching absently at her own headscarf.
Several elements in this passage foreshadow the potential danger that awaits Cilka. Foreshadowing provides hints about future developments, and the unusualness of Cilka’s "long dark hair cascading down her back" is an immediate warning sign that something bad is coming. Prisoners in Auschwitz (regardless of gender) typically had their heads shaved. This practice was meant to dehumanize them and enforce uniformity. The fact that Cilka has kept her hair is unusual enough to be alarming. It marks her as different. Her striking beauty and graceful demeanor, which Morris describes as "seemingly untouched by the horror," further single her out.
While these attributes might be wonderful assets in a normal context, in Auschwitz they signal that Cilka has been set aside for sexual exploitation. Ivana’s comment suggests that her ability to retain her hair has almost certainly come at a hidden cost. The description Morris uses, that "[s]he moves with the grace of a swan," further points to how striking (and dangerous) Cilka’s beauty is. This comparison suggests that Cilka possesses an unusual poise and elegance that makes her stand out against the grinding greyness of Auschwitz. In a place where prisoners were systematically stripped of their individuality and subjected to brutal conditions, Cilka's swan-like grace makes her distinctly different.
Lale uses a metaphor to describe Auschwitz as “hell” in combination with some hopeful foreshadowing to try and comfort Gita as they lie in each others’ arms. This exchange occurs as Gita despairs over their chances of survival:
“But we have no future.”
Lale holds her firmly around her waist, forces her to meet his gaze. “Yes, we do. There will be a tomorrow for us. On the night I arrived here, I made a vow to myself that I would survive this hell. We will survive and make a life where we are free to kiss when we want to, make love when we want to.”
Lale’s sweeping description of Auschwitz as “this hell” is a metaphor. This figure of speech directly compares life in the concentration camp to hell. In the same way most religions describe hell, Auschwitz was a place designed to be inescapable and to enforce suffering and hopelessness. By using this word, Lale conveys the intense and almost unimaginable nature of the cruelties he and Gita have to endure. However, despite the “hell” they are stuck in, Lale is determined to think of better days to come. His declaration about what happened “on the night that [he] arrived here” strongly suggests to the reader that he's determined to endure the horrors of the camp no matter what happens. Further to this, he has a specific vision of a time when he and Gita will “survive and make a life where we are free to kiss when we want to, [and] make love when we want to.” His speech foreshadows more than mere survival. He’s drawing a picture for Gita of a world where peace and dignity are tangible and attainable for them as a couple. This expression of hope and determination is a direct contradiction of Gita’s statement that the pair have “no future.”