springs are too difficult for our fingers to press open and we have to use the ones with just slits in them. It is strange that after everything we went through to get inside work, here we should be, outside, with winter coming closer with each day.
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I worry that the burlap dresses we wear are not nearly warm enough for the temperatures we will have to bear. And we have no gloves to warm our hands, either. I think briefly back to last winter in Birkenau, while staring into space. I cannot believe we survived it.
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On the way back from the trockenplatz one night, the window to the SS kitchen opens and a friendly face asks, "Where are you from?"
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We slow our steps down. "Tylicz, Poland," I answer in a low voice.
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"All three of you?" He sounds glad that we're Polish.
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"Yes, Polish Jews." I want to turn and face the person I'm speaking with, but that is an impossibility. I shift my eyes sideways without moving my chin.
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"I'm an actor, from Warsaw. My name is Stasiu. Stop tomorrow in this same spot and I'll throw you a piece of sausage." I catch a glimpse of his face just before he moves from the kitchen window. He's old, at least for Auschwitzhe must be in his forties. We pick up our pace as if nothing has happened.
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The next day we stop outside the SS kitchen just as the window cracks open. Danka and Dina switch places as I busily rearrange the clothes, making a hole in the center. A package lands neatly in the basket and I cover it up. Our hearts pound as we pick up the laundry and continue our trek. Inside staff quarters, while Dina and Danka unload the laundry I disappear with the package, hiding it under our mattress, hoping and praying that nobody will catch me. We wait until dark; then, when everyone else is asleep, we divide the piece of sausage Stasiu sent us three ways and devour it.
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