The End of Days (23 page)

Read The End of Days Online

Authors: Helen Sendyk

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Historical, #History, #Holocaust, #test

BOOK: The End of Days
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the hell of forced labor, starvation, bitter cold, disease, loneliness, and longing. The meager food supplies they brought with them from home were soon gone, and mail was as rare as a second helping of watery soup. Nachcia did get a letter from Mama telling her about Sholek's disability and return from the labor camp. Nachcia's delicate health and terrible homesickness made her determined to find a way to return home.
Word of mouth had it that the Germans needed and used only healthy, productive workers; it was rumored that others would be sent home, as the Germans did not intend to feed lazy Jewish parasites. Nachcia, then, deliberately presented herself as weak and unable to conform to the hard labor and difficult schedule. She voiced complaints about not being able to see well enough to perform her duties. The Germans at first turned a deaf ear to her pleas, but one dreary morning, Nachcia and two other girls were suddenly called into the Gestapo office. They were instructed to return within half an hour with their few possessions in bundles. No explanations whatsoever accompanied the order. Nachcia's heart pounded with fear. There was excitement, too, promoted by the envious chatter of the inmates: ''You are so lucky to be going home." "Give regards to my family, tell them I am all right."
"Who knows where they are really sending me?" Nachcia responded suspiciously. "How I hope you are right! If I get back to our town, I will visit every single family and tell them all about you here. I will tell them not to worry, that you are well and will survive."
Tense and apprehensive, the three girls were marched under SS escort to the railroad station. Hours of exhausting waiting followed, which the girls spent speculating about their fate. Eventually they were loaded into the train, guarded as though they were dangerous prisoners. They could not sleep that night as the cold-blooded German guard, relishing their fear, told them their destination was the dreaded Auschwitz.
Nachcia's thoughts were morbid and remorseful. Why did I complain? she asked herself. Here at least I was together with
 
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friendly girls from my hometown. Who knows what awaits us in Auschwitz?
Auschwitz was the former town of Oswiecim, where Greataunt Channa's daughter had lived. It was not all that far from Chrzanow, but that did not make the camp any less threatening and foreboding now.
"Who knows what the conditions in Auschwitz are like? The rumors from there are horrible. And to be among strangers gives me the creeps," Nachcia whispered to her companions.
"What if the Germans are not even taking us to Auschwitz, but intend to kill us here and now?" rasped her friend in panic.
Nachcia felt a choking in her throat as she thought of Mama and Papa getting the usual message that their daughter perished after contracting a contagious disease. She ached for her parents' grief more than she feared her own death.
They strained their eyes to recognize their surroundings. Before dawn the sadistic German assured them they were nearing Auschwitz. With the first blast of the train's whistle, they recognized the station. They were in Chrzanow.
They were free, they were home. Stunned and overwhelmed, the girls stood at the railroad station of their hometown. Like a runner on the home stretch, Nachcia ran all the way to our new address, not stopping to talk to anyone. She thought only of embracing Mama and Papa, feeling them near, pouring out to them all the accumulated suffering and longing of her months of incarceration. She yearned for her mother's comfort like a girl half her age.
She quickly tiptoed up the steps and knocked on the door. Blimcia had gone to work, leaving me in charge of Aiziu and the household. I was down on my hands and knees scrubbing the wooden floor. While I cleaned and cared for the baby, my first attempt at baking a loaf of bread was in the oven. It was a miserable loaf made of inadequate, illegal ingredients. I was therefore startled and frightened by the knock on the door. The baby burst out crying, and I knocked the bucket over when I ran to open the door. Shocked out of my wits, I saw Nachcia standing in the doorway. I knew Nachcia had been in a concentration camp, so I thought it impossible that she was here.
 
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I stood there speechless while the ghost of Nachcia grabbed me and called, "Mama, Mama, I'm home!"
When no answer came, she pulled away and looked sternly into my eyes. "Where is Mama?" she almost screamed. She shook me by the shoulders and demanded, "Where is Mama?"
I broke into tears, my whole body shaking. After a while I broke the news to her, as we sat on the floor, the way Jews mourn the destruction of the holy Temple. We cuddled Aiziu between us, lamenting the loss of our parents. Sprawled on the floor, we cried our hearts out over our bitter fate. When Blimcia returned home our emotional outburst was repeated.
For days Nachcia walked around in a daze, unable to accept the reality that she was not likely to see her mama and papa again. With her head bowed low, she would murmur, "What good is it being home now that there is no home." Nachcia was oblivious to all but her grief. I had to push her to take on her old household duties.
Winter was approaching quickly. There was not enough coal to keep a fire going. Just when I finally learned to knead bread, there was no more illegal flour to make it with. Other food supplies were scarce at best. Our family was so much smaller now, but there was still not enough food to go around. Jacob tried his best to use his connections to the Gentile population, but contacts were increasingly difficult. The rations were meager and unsatisfying. The work was exhausting, and the German decrees, ordinances, and raids were unending. Uncertainty and fear were our only constants.
The two rooms we occupied on Zielona Street offered no protection in a raid. We spent many hours with our Jewish neighbors trying to find a place to hide. The only possibility was the attic of the building, which was merely a shallow cavity between the roof and the ceiling. The access was a trapdoor in the second-floor hallway between our door and the door of one of our Gentile neighbors. In the attic, there was barely room enough to crawl, even in the middle of the house, where the roof came to its apex. The fellows brought a ladder up the hallway and checked the place out. It was full of cob-
 
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webs and bugs. The hallway was small, and there was no way to hide from the Gentile Madeia family when climbing up there. We knew the Gentiles could not be trusted, and we didn't expect any help from them. We could only hope they had enough decency to keep silent during a crisis. On one occasion I heard Jacob and Vrumek whisper that they hoped we would never have to resort to the attic bunker, for they could not imagine how the women would be able to climb up there. The ladder was shaky, and the space under the roof suffocatingly tight. The chances of survival in that place, even if we managed to get up there, seemed slim.
By this time the winter was in full swing and the snow piled up and got stomped down to a crusty, icy sheet. The days were short and the long evenings of curfew unbearable. There was no place to move around in the apartment, and everyone was restless. Came February and I remembered our preparations for Pesach. How fond I was of those times when I would sit and watch Mama prepare the big jugs of Passover wine that she made from raisins. The borscht would ferment for months until the holiday, and the accumulated chicken fat would be set aside for holiday use. Right now nobody thought about the holiday; there was only the present. Where would our next meal come from? What would the next knock on the door bring?
It was February 18. Vrumek reported to duty early in the morning but came back after a short while. We knew there was trouble.
"I did not like what I saw at the headquarters of the Jewish community council," he stated briefly. "There was a lot of commotion. I was sent to call other militiamen to duty. It gave me an opportunity to come home. Something is brewing. I do not know what, but it looks like a major action. I must go back."
Vrumek's face looked grim. We knew what we must do. Quietly we knocked on the doors of our two Jewish neighbors. Mrs. Lieblich commented how lucky we all were to have Vrumek right there at the Jewish community council, where he could smell trouble.
 
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Meanwhile, agile Sholek climbed up and opened the trapdoor to the attic. With Jacob helping him, he pulled down the hidden ladder. Hastily yet gingerly, everybody scrambled to the second floor. The men helped the women climb the shaky ladder. We were afraid to utter a word lest the neighboring Madeia family hear us. We hoped they were still sleeping. Sholek, who had helped everybody, did not climb up.
"Why aren't you coming?" Blimcia asked when he pushed the ladder back up.
"No, Blimcia, I am not coming up there. I cannot be confined like that. I will run."
Blimcia looked at him sadly. We knew exactly what Blimcia was thinking, but no one dared even to say good-bye. We all knew how unsafe this hole was, but we also knew there was no alternative. Where could we hide? How could we run? And Blimcia with a baby in her arms.
"Go, Sholek," she whispered, "and may God protect you."
We were all praying for Sholek, hoping he could find a place to hide. Then we saw Sholek was not alone. Little Iziek Lieblich stubbornly declared that he was going with Sholek. Iziek was hardly fifteen, a smart, stocky but agile little boy who had always looked up to Sholek. Sholek closed the trapdoor securely and vanished.
In the dirt and cobwebs of the attic, we sat bent over or crouched. We became numb with pain, for there was no room to straighten our legs as the hours ticked away. Tiny, frightened baby Aiziu whimpered from time to time but knew enough not to talk or cough or make any noise. The dust choked our lungs, and it was hard to breathe. Time seemed to stand still, as if we had been there for an eternity. Suddenly, we heard voices from downstairs.
"Neighbors, open up. Don't be afraid. It is me, Palkowa."
Our Polish neighbor had discovered us. Full of fear and distrust, we waited in silence, hoping she would go away.
"Don't be afraid. I only want to help. I brought you some water. You cannot stay up there so long without water."
Reluctantly, Jacob pulled the trapdoor open. Mrs. Palkowa handed him a jug and a cup. "Don't be afraid," she repeated.
 
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"Is there anything else I can do for you? Maybe some food?"
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Palkowa," Jacob answered. "It is very kind of you to think about us."
"Oh, what are neighbors for? I will make sure the trapdoor is closed properly," she responded in a concerned voice.
Jacob distributed the water, which we thirstily drank. We blessed Mrs. Palkowa, who proved that some of our Polish neighbors still had some human decency.
We lay there mute and motionless for a while when suddenly we heard them coming. First came the loud German voices, then the stomping of their boots on the steps. Next came the violent rapping on the doors downstairs. We lay still, fear piercing to the marrow of our bones. Even baby Aiziu seemed to hold his breath. We heard them kick the door open downstairs, yelling and ranting; then we heard them come upstairs, our beating hearts echoing each footstep. There was no knocking on the door upstairsthey came directly to our trapdoor. Aghast we saw the trapdoor burst open, beaten in with rifle butts, and the yelling deafened our ears.
"You damn Jew bastards! Get down out of there, you Jew swine!"
With shaking hands Jacob lowered the ladder and, one by one, helped us all down. The enraged, impatient Germans were shoving us off the ladder to the constant shrieking of "
Schnell, schnell! Raus, raus!
"
When Nachcia tried to help baby-laden Blimcia down the ladder, a German slapped her to the ground and flung her down the stairs. Scrambling down the narrow stairs, we were chased out into the street. The icy wind made our eyes tear. We joined the Jews from the neighboring building, who were already there stamping their frozen feet. From these people we learned that it was Mrs. Palkowa who pointed out to the Germans exactly where we were hiding.
Now we understood why our neighbor had been so kind with the water: she wanted to confirm her information, for if she misled the Germans, she would get into trouble herself. That was why the Germans did not even knock on the upstairs door, but went directly to our concealed trapdoor. They might

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