The End of Days (32 page)

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Authors: Helen Sendyk

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

BOOK: The End of Days
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Page 205
gambled their lives for. There was no fuel for our old potbellied stove, so the girls who worked in the coal detail had to smuggle bits of coal back to camp. The precarious cooking venture had hardly started that Sunday when the password,
zex
, was sounded. This meant that Germans were on the way in. The precious fire had to be extinguished, the hot potatoes hidden, and the barrack quickly aired out. The brief inspection passed without incident and soon the clandestine cooks were at it again. Plenty of nerves were stretched to gain us each one half of a potato.
The next Sunday, however, everything went wrong. Sabina and Bronia had each taken three potatoes with them to roll call, afraid to leave them behind in their straw mattresses. We stood numbly in the cold, stamping our aching feet as the barracks inspection went on, taking an unusually long time. We were worried. The sun shone without warmth on our frostbitten faces. Fanny, the
Judenälteste
, was excitedly running in and out of the barracks with the Germans. We nervously murmured among ourselves. The barracks inspection finally ended, and the Germans began searching the prisonerssomething not normally done on a Sunday.
Nachcia, as usual, stood in front of me. Sabina and Bronia were hidden behind Hadassah's and Rachelka's backs. Our hearts pounded when the Germans went to the back line. The girls in the front row were not allowed to turn their heads and see what was happening. Bronia's hood was suddenly ripped off her head, and her potatoes thudded to the ground. Sabina's face flushed; the German's hand was on her head. Her headgear was ripped off too. A strong slap to Sabina's face shot through the stillness.
My heart sank with pain for my friends. The Germans then barked for all of us to kneel. We knelt for several hours while Sabina and Bronia cried. No one consoled them, not knowing the extent of our punishment. Our limbs were frozen, our bodies tormented in the kneeling position. Finally, several Germans marched towards us and ordered Sabina and Bronia to the middle of the yard. While facing the entire inmate population, their heads were ceremoniously shaved down to
 
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their bleeding scalps. The spectacle was over and we were marched back to our barracks.
Bronia was devastated, and Sabina felt defiled. They somberly sat on their cots, not capable of responding to our attempts to comfort them. We completed our chores in a brokenhearted and grave state of mind and brought our pain to sleep. The spirits of our two intrepid friends seemed permanently broken. Nachcia chose them more often to have the bowl of soup she distributed, and they were grateful. The friendship between the potato smugglers and the two of us became stronger.
My clothes were in miserable shape by now, my clogs a source of great agony. My feet were full of blisters from marching in the snow, which would stick to my clogs. At times the snow was knee deep. Learning from others, I took courage and stole leftover spools of yarn from our machines. Trading my soup, I procured knitting needles made from the barbed wire fence. The factory yarn had to be disguised, and Hania had access to dye. On a Sunday when the stove was lit, we were able to heat some water and dye the yarn. With instructions from the girls I knitted a pair of heavy stockings. The work could only be done on Sunday nights. The unfinished product had to be hidden for weeks before it was ready to be worn. It was stashed deep in the straw of my mattress, and prayers were offered daily for the project not to be discovered.
Fräulein Knauer became
Lagerführerin
of the women's camp. Advanced from her post as factory worker and supervisor of the factory toilets, she plunged with delight and vigor into her new position of authority. She relished punishing us and thought of different ways to make our lives miserable. New edicts would be announced daily, and new punishments invented. Searches became more frequent and beatings more recurrent and severe. It was now about January, 1945, not that we prisoners knew the date or what hour of the day it was. All we knew was scrambling out of our bunks the moment we heard the whistle. In a mad rush we ran to the toilets and the icy water faucets.
In no time the whistle sounded again to announce that it
 
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was time to line up for roll call. In the morning the inspection and countdown were fast, and we were marched out of the gate five abreast, the different columns of women for the different labor assignments. Young and old, tall and short, we were all emaciated, the rags hanging on our bodies. We all limped in our ill-fitting wooden-clogs, dragging ourselves along to the constant accompaniment of jabs from rifle butts, kicks, and lashes.
Then came the grueling day at the machines, my four giants devouring the spools that I constantly kept pushing down their throats. The three highlights of the day, the soup for lunch and the two times we got permission to go to the toilet, marked the passing of conscious time. Another lineup, another countdown, another march, another search, another punishment, another curfew, and another day passedanother day had been survived. And for what? Were we another day closer? Closer to what? There was no light at the end of our endless tunnel. There was only nonstop struggle for every minute, every hour, every day. There was no time to think, there was only the instinct to fight on, only the fear of failing, of stumbling, of being the one who does not make it, of being picked out of the lineup, of being shipped away in a boxcar to oblivion.
Fräulein Knauer's punishments were as ingeniously barbaric as the culture that had nurtured her. On Sunday, our day off, she made us haul our straw sacks outside to be searched. Her ferocity boiled over if she found anything that displeased her. She would make the entire camp kneel till evening, running in and out of her office to check on the guards and the prisoners. Any slouching or supporting oneself on one's hands, any murmur or sigh was met by a savage beating from her.
One Monday morning, in the fierce January wind, Fräulein Knauer appeared in sunglasses, but they could not conceal the black blotches on her face. That day in the factory Puckel Knauer hopped over to Chanale's machines.
"Did you see my sister?" he asked. "I can no longer stand the atrocities she is committing. She might be your
Lagerführ
-
 
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erin
, but she is just my rotten sister. She argued with me, called me a Jew-lover. I am a Communist, you know; to me all humans are equal. And, besides, I love you. All my bitterness I took out on her. I promised next time to cripple her, ruin her perfect posture. She should feel what it is like to be a cripple. Being crippled all my life, I can feel for the unfortunate. But she? She is so healthy and beautiful and upright that she can only be cold and cruel. Did you see her black eye? Maybe now she will understand. If she does not stop beating you, she will get it again, until she comprehends."
But Fräulein Knauer did not stopon the contrary. She became even more ferocious. Chanale had to beg Puckel Knauer to stop his counterproductive lessons in mercy.
Tragic news from the men's camp in Sportschule reached us through the trickle of men who still came here to the women's camp to work. One girl's father was sick, another one's brother was ill, and still another one's husband had died. There was a typhoid epidemic decimating the men's camp. Sanitary conditions were dreadful, hospital care or medicine nonexistent. Whoever could drag himself to work would do so, terrified to remain in camp and be exposed to the infection. The men were dying by the hundreds. The women were in a frenzy. The little food we had we would give to the men in the work parties to smuggle through to the men's camp. Our only living link to fellow Jews, to family members in some cases, was being wiped out. We wondered when the plague would reach our camp.
The cruel winter cold was another enemy we were unarmed to fight. It was March now. My cherished stockings were in shreds, and my clogs were falling apart.
On Saturday we cleaned the machines in the afternoon. It was a gigantic job, but it meant that tomorrow was Sunday. There would be no marching to the factory, a brief reprieve for my tormented feet. Unfortunately, this Sunday turned out to be more ghastly than any march. Once again at roll call fifty women were picked out, and Nachcia was among them. Shivering, she stood there among the selected prisoners, contemplating her grim fate and her slim chances of surviving alone.
 
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I was mad with fear of losing her. Frantically, I ran again to Fanny. I knew I had no chance this time. The same trick would not work twice. But what choice did I have? I had to fight to rescue NachciaI had to succeed.
For hours the fifty women stood at attention while Fanny ran around ranting and shrieking orders. Fräulein Knauer was busy with the higher-ranking Germans who had come to pick up their prey. The prisoners were lined up in front of the kitchen. Nachcia looked around. She remembered my telling her how Papa had run away from the marching column when they took him, how Mama had pushed Grandma Chaya into the yard behind the gate. Papa had not managed to escape, but Grandma had. What did she have to lose? She was as good as dead anyway. Nachcia crept back, then bolted into the kitchen, crouching behind a big barrel. A moment later the women were marched away.
Not having seen her escape, I was lamenting bitterly at my cot when Nachcia came into the barracks. We embraced and wept together. We had cheated death again.
 
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Chapter 18
One morning, we had cleared the miles of slush and were again marching down the streets of Reichenbach when our angel Karl appeared. He was the first to bring the news. The Germans were losing the war. But even daring Karl was now more cautious and apprehensive; it had become even more dangerous to have any contact with the Jews. The Germans were nervous, their wrath more in evidence. They did not hesitate now to shoot people on the spot. Rumors were rampant. "The Germans are going to evacuate the prisoners," went one version. Another bit of information that leaked in to us was that the entire perimeter of the camp was being mined. We were scared.
It was May 7, 1945. Something very unusual happened:
 
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there was no morning whistle to awaken the prisoners. Since we were not summoned to come out, we stayed in the barracks. We huddled together, nervously looking out of the window, eager to spot any movement. All was quiet. Restlessly, we speculated, hoping for the best yet fearing the worst. No one dared set foot outside the barracks door.
By midday the girls watching at the window noticed the German guards entering their quarters. Fräulein Knauer was among them. They were dragging along hand-drawn wagons. The girls watched attentively from the corner of the window so as not to be noticed. The Germans were scrambling up and down the several steps in front of their house, their arms laden with packages, cartons, garments. Ali were loaded into the wagons. Stupefied, the prisoners watched the Germans harness themselves to the loaded wagons and rapidly pull them away. Glued now to the window, we waited to see what was going to happen next. Before long, the Germans returned to reload and left again in a hurry. Until dusk we could see them coming and going.
The camp gates were locked, as they had been the night before. Nothing moved inside the camp, neither was the usual guard patrol in sight. We were frightened. We lay on our cots, too apprehensive to sleep. We murmured about being blown up soon by the explosives around the camp. The Third Reich would wipe out all traces of us, we feared. Nachcia prayed for me, that my young life should not be Shuffed out so brutally.
When would the end come? Before dawn, we peeked through the window again. All was still. We waited, pinned to our cots with indecision and fear. No one wanted to be the first to suggest opening the door. It was almost midday when we suddenly heard the noise of bicycles going by. Soon we heard voices coming from the woods behind the camp. We strained our ears to hear. The strange voices did not sound German, but somehow familiar. Perplexed and excited, we pushed against the window to listen. Astonished, we saw three men get off their bicycles right in front of the window.
"Hadassah!" We yelled. "Hadassah, look! Come quick."
 
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Bewildered, Hadassah pushed through the crowd. When she reached the window, she stood there unable to utter a word.
''Hadassah!" called a man who was feverishly cutting the barbed wire. It was Mendek, Hadassah's boyfriend. The girls shouted, laughed, and cried. Hadassah wept uncontrollably.
Mendek and the two boys who were with him furiously ripped open the barbed wire fence. "Come out!" they shouted to the girls. "Come out! Don't be afraid anymore. Come out."
No one moved. We were paralyzed with fear. Only when the boys came into the barracks, when we saw Mendek embrace Hadassah and we could touch these unguarded, free Jewish men did our terror begin to subside.
"Don't just stand around," the boys urged. "We need white cloth to make a flag of surrender, to avoid being bombarded." Someone quickly pulled out a nightgown. Another girl ripped the stick out of the broom. They fiercely tore open the nightgown and tied it to the broomstick. The boys climbed up onto the roof, with a few brave girls trailing behind them. They succeeded in tying up the flag, raising it as high as they could. More prisoners became aware of what was happening and they slowly started coming out of the barracks. They encircled the three boys, wanting to know exactly what was going on and what had happened to the Germans. The girls wanted to get to the men's camp or send messages to their fathers, brothers, husbands, or fiancés.
The news spread like water overflowing, as prisoners spilled out from their barracks onto the camp grounds. They restlessly moved about, listening, speculating. The majority of the prisoners went back to their barracks, afraid to be outside, afraid to be killed now in this wartime commotion by Nazi land mines, the incoming bombardment, or just spiteful shooting from the defeated German home guard. But some others could not wait any longer. They were free; they wanted to eat. They did not want to die of starvation now that their imprisonment was over. I, too, wanted to go out. My older and wiser sister would not hear of it.
"It is too dangerous outside. We must wait and see what happens."

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