“Yes, it does.” He examined it with a smile. “Thank you. I shall never take it off.”
Dahler did arrange everything as he promised. That night, I slept on my new mattress covered with bedsheets and rested my head on a pillow stuffed with down. It was bliss, pure bliss that made one forget and that’s all that mattered for me at that moment. I could almost forget that all of this came from a murdered people. I could almost forget that we survived only because the others were dying in their thousands.
But really, what choice did we have? Starve ourselves to death and wear rags and go filthy out of solidarity? That would only turn us into the dreaded Muselmänner, and the SS would have more of us to kill off. No, we were firmly set on surviving this hell. We were firmly set on making it out of here at some point, if only to tell the world of its horrors. If that meant to trade murdered people’s belongings, so be it. If I perished one day, I would be perfectly satisfied with someone trading my “riches” for a piece of bread and prolonging their life by one more day. It wouldn’t hurt me at all, some other Jew surviving off what’s left of me. It would hurt me much more if some Party-badge-wearing Aryan benefited from it instead. That was KZ life for you. We only did what we had to, to survive.
Chapter 11
Helena
The wind blew from the fields these past two days, bringing with it the suffocating stench of death and putrefaction. We, the Kanada Kommando, suffered worse than other inmates from it, as our barracks and work detail were within walking distance of the ravines. Even our SS supervisors began grumbling their discontent for they also had to breathe the same putrid air daily.
“They really ought to do something about those stiffs.” Wolff spat on the ground, squinting in the direction of the two bunkers behind which mass graves lay. “It gets worse by the day.”
Rottenführer Dahler preferred to mask the stench with cigarettes. Just as he had finished the old one, he lit a new one and inhaled deeply, regarding his comrade a trifle mockingly. “Will you be the hero who bravely brings it to Moll’s attention?”
Wolff didn’t reply anything but his expression said it all. Not even they wished to have anything to do with the dreaded Hauptscharführer, who reigned over the Sonderkommando and was officially in charge of most extermination operations taking place in the two bunkers. Unlike the sweet-talking, sleek-mannered Obersturmführer Hössler, whom the Sonderkommando rightfully called “Moshe Liar” for his ability to pacify even the most anxious crowds of new arrivals, Moll was a sadistic murderer who drew perverse pleasure from others’ sufferings. We, the Kanada Kommando, only heard about him in passing but couldn’t stop wondering how wicked a man must be, if his actions didn’t sit well even with our SS supervisors who didn’t shy away from violence, by any means.
It was the beginning of September but an uncharacteristically warm, even sultry one. The roof of the warehouse, in which we currently worked, was finished but the doors stood open on both sides to allow the air to circulate inside. While the new accountant, Rottenführer Gröning, was busy counting foreign currency in his office, Wolff and Dahler preferred to loiter in the warehouse with us, either bored or in the hope of pocketing some valuables to send home later. We regarded the new SS man with suspicion at first – all changes in the camp signified danger for us – but soon realized that Gröning didn’t differ much from his unassuming predecessor, Weber. Just like Weber, he was blond and very young. His bespectacled blue eyes were alert with intelligence; he didn’t speak much and preferred desk work to loitering around the warehouse with his fellow SS men. In fact, we hardly saw his tall frame at all, only when he came and went at different hours with a suitcase full of foreign currency and when one of us had to deliver the box filled with valuables into his office. Even then, he was invariably polite and indifferent – a typical bureaucrat with no interest in anything besides numbers and the camp’s sports club; at least that was the rumor.
Wolff stifled a yawn. He was growing bored with our monotonous sorting. Just his misfortune, nothing valuable or curious seemed to be found that day. The latest arrivals were from a ghetto from what we had learned. Their valuables had long been traded for food within its walls. They had nothing to offer to our Kanada.
“Time to check the perimeter,” he announced, after consulting his pocket watch, with the air of an aristocrat about him.
It was golden, with a beautiful face and a long golden chain, thick as one’s finger. To be sure, he hadn’t a waistcoat to attach it to, so he kept it in his pocket, thoroughly ignoring the idea that such a bourgeois accessory went against their very neo-Germanic ideals. Just like Rottenführer Dahler’s new wristwatch, it came from the Kanada riches. His own watch Wolff had long thrown into the wristwatch box without even bothering to conceal this fact from our eyes. Those would later head to Sachsenhausen for repair and from there be sent to the front for the troops to use.
Wolff made towards the exit. Dahler paused a moment before making a reluctant step after him. For the past few weeks that was all he did, lingered somewhere near my station, made only very short remarks in passing and mostly concerning work matters – there were far too many people around to have any semblance of an actual conversation – and risked dropping a golden ring, a dollar, or a biscuit into my pocket from time to time.
Recently, he was growing imaginative with his presents and soon, the oddest items began finding their ways into the pockets of my black slacks. At first, I puzzled over a small, round, mother-of-pearl powder case with a mirror inside that he gave me. It wasn’t expensive and had no real value on the local black market. However, he must have come across it and remembered that women liked their mirrors, in a normal world. I thanked him warmly, in a hushed whisper, the next time I saw him. It was a very dear present, indeed.
A few days ago, he managed to smuggle a corn poppy into the warehouse and hid it under the suit he told me to check, as it looked expensive. There must be some valuables hidden inside. There was undoubtedly a precious thing hidden, not inside but under it. Twirling the flower – a flower! – which I hadn’t seen in months, in my fingers, I broke into the broadest smile before quickly hiding its red velvet luxury in my pocket to press and save it later, right under my pillow. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dahler quickly hiding a smile too, looking most satisfied with the effect his little gesture produced.
Today, with Wolff around, he couldn’t find any excuse to approach me and so, he only threw a last glance, full of longing, in my direction before setting off after his comrade. It was then that I realized that I had pulled something familiar from a suitcase that had just been delivered by the Sonderkommando men. The SS men’s steps still echoed on the concrete as I turned a small child’s shirt this way and that, hoping to find proof that I was mistaken. But there couldn’t be any mistake. I embroidered a smiling bear’s face into its front with my own hands before gifting it to my sister Róžínka for her newborn son.
“This will be my present to him for his very first birthday,” I told her, rocking the beautiful, fussing wrap in my arms as she looked on, smiling, the proud mother.
That was in August 1941. My nephew was exactly one year old and it was his shirt that I was holding. It was neatly packed, along with other baby clothes, his and his big sister’s, in the suitcase that bore Róžínka’s married name. Next to the baby clothes, her favorite dress lay, pressed and also neatly folded.
A cold wave of terror washed over me. My sister was inside the camp. My sister was among the people heading to the gas chambers. My hand, with the baby’s shirt still clutched in it, was wet with sweat. Before I knew it, I was running toward the exit, gasping for air and feeling as though my nerves would snap any moment now.
“Just where do you think you’re going?!” Maria’s shout didn’t stop me; neither did Irma’s hand that reached out to grab my arm as I charged past her to the outside. Narrowly escaping her grip, I set off along the narrow passage framed with barbed-wire in the direction of the two bunkers.
/> Róžínka, my dear, sweet sister! Don’t listen to Moshe Liar, don’t take your clothes off, don’t go inside the “showers,” I repeated like a prayer in my head that was pounding with fear.
Soon, I caught up with them. Desperately searching for Róžínka in the column, I could hear Moshe Liar’s – Obersturmführer Hössler’s – regular speech.
“This is not a holiday resort but a labor camp,” he spoke in measured tones as he walked along the column, in his sweet, cultured voice that never failed to instill security in the new arrivals. “Just as our soldiers risk their lives at the front, you will have to work here for the welfare of a new Europe. The chance is there for every one of you. We shall look after your health and we shall also offer you well-paid work…”
Frantically, I twisted my head from one end of the women’s column to the other, craning my neck to locate my sister who was listening to all of Hössler’s sickening lies and marching straight to her death, lulled by the SS officer’s reassurances.
“After the war, we shall assess everyone according to his merits and treat him accordingly,” Moshe Liar continued spinning his tales, as part of the women’s column was obediently walking inside the gassing facility. “There’s a changing room in the showers. All of your clothes must be disinfected. This is for your safety; we don’t want any epidemics and needless deaths. Would you please all get undressed and undress your children also? While you’re taking a shower, they will all be cleaned and returned to you after you’re finished. When you’ve had your bath, there will be a bowl of soup and coffee or tea for all. Oh, and before I forget, would diabetics, who are not allowed sugar, please report to staff on duty after the bath.”
I shuddered at how convincing he sounded. Even I began doubting the fate of the columns that were currently being swallowed into the dark gaping mouths of the two bunkers. They even separated them today by genders. And I still couldn’t locate my sister!
She must have been already inside, undressing her children and pacifying them with soup and warm tea, promised by the kind Herr Offizier. Just as I turned on my heel, ready to run inside the bunker – I didn’t quite think what exactly I would do once inside and how I would be able to save Róžínka and her children from a horrible death – a hand gripped me tightly by the scruff of my neck, pulling me out of the line.
“Just what are you doing here?!” a voice hissed above my ear.
It was Rottenführer Dahler, not Maria or Irma and he looked both mad with fury and genuinely terrified.
“My sister is inside,” I whispered back, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Herr Rottenführer, please let me go to her…”
“Out of the question,” he hissed through his teeth in a most categorical manner. “You go inside, you’ll die along with her. Go back to your work detail before anyone sees you.”
His concerns were justified. Obersturmführer Hössler already regarded us with interest, no doubt wondering what was going on. Dahler was pulling me away from the column. My entire body shaking with sobs, I clung to his tunic and dug my heels into the ground, positively refusing to take another step.
“Herr Rottenführer, I beg of you, help her,” I implored him. I didn’t see anyone around any longer, just his face, which was as unyielding as a wall. He wasn’t looking at me but in the opposite direction, his scowl growing deeper.
“Hössler is coming,” he muttered, more to himself. I felt his hand, in which the collar of my shirt was still balled, faltering. His gaze darted toward the bunker, then back to Hössler, then back to my face.
“Franz, please!” For the first time, I called him by his first name, hoping that at least this would touch him in some way, make him change his mind. “Save my sister! I will do anything you want… Anything, without any questions; whatever you say, I shall do from now on. Any wish of yours, any desire I will attend to without any reservations. You won’t hear a word of protest from me ever again. I shall forever be your most faithful servant. Just please, I beg you, help her!”
He hesitated for an interminably long moment, gazing helplessly somewhere above my head. “I’ll try,” he finally conceded. “Tell me her name, quickly.”
“Róžínka Feldman. She has two small children with her—”
“Children, that’s an entirely different matter. Children can’t live here. Scheiße! Moll has seen us!” He looked at me in desperation, almost tragically. “Forgive me, please, Helena. That bastard will never buy simple words—”
He didn’t finish his sentence, only hurled me to the ground. Cowering at his feet, I glimpsed both Hössler and Moll heading towards us from both directions.
“Stupid fucking Jew!” Dahler’s tone changed as though by magic. It wasn’t a desperate whisper anymore but an enraged shout; neither was the first blow of his whip a pretense by any means. “How difficult is it to understand my orders?!” Another blow landed parallel to the first, stinging through the cloth. “I ought to knock all of your teeth out, you stupid fucking bitch!” Pain radiated from each spot where his horsewhip had landed. I’d never been whipped, really whipped, before and just now understood why the horsewhip and cane were considered to be the most feared punishments among the inmates. Each blow felt as though it lacerated the skin to the bone, yet, I took the beating silently, only dug my fingers deeper into the ground and stared at the entrance of the bunker, by which the women paused, no doubt horrified by the unraveling spectacle.
“Rottenführer!” Hauptscharführer Moll was the first to reach us. It was him who seized Dahler by his wrist. “Just what the fuck are you, numbskull, doing?!” These words Moll hissed through gritted teeth, pulling the whip out of Dahler’s hand. For one instant, I thought he was going to hit him with it. “Have you completely gone off your head?! Do you want all of these two thousand people to start panicking and running about? Who’s going to stop them if they begin to trample us all? There are only fifteen of us, SS men, supervising the Aktion, and a miserable number of Sonderkommando men. Have you considered this, you verdammtes Arschloch?!”
“My sincerest apologies, Herr Hauptscharführer. She’s one of my workers. I sent her here to fetch part of the belongings but she decided to go inside to see her boyfriend from the Sonderkommando instead, when I spotted her. I warned her about her whoring ways before but these Jew-bitches only understand the whip from what it seems.”
“Of course, that’s all they understand! But be so kind, next time take this tramp someplace else to administer the punishment instead of doing so in front of these people. They’re like a herd of sheep. If one starts running, the rest will follow and it’ll take us all day to restore the peace and catch them all. And then you try and put them into that damned bunker after what they’ve seen.”
I still lay curled on the ground that was trampled by many feet. Three pairs of boots surrounded me now. Hössler was next to us, also. Moll quickly assured him that everything was taken care of.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please, proceed to the showers!” Hössler began speaking again, a broad smile on his face. “There’s nothing to see here. This woman stole something and our SS always take it a bit too close to their hearts when someone steals from the Reich. She’s going back to her working place now to think about what she’s done. Go into the showers, please! The soup is getting cold.”
“Herr Hauptscharführer, another worker from my Kommando is in there too, I think,” Dahler cast a probing glance at Moll. “Allow me to go fetch her? She’s a very good worker…”
“Be quick about it. And give them both the cane, not this childish business.” He thrust the whip back into Dahler’s hand. “They have all grown immune to it. Now, the cane, that ought to teach them how to obey. Next time I see your bitches running about here, I’ll send them both to the gas, good workers or not. Understood?”
“Jawohl, Herr Hauptscharführer.”
“Dismissed.”
Leaden with fear, I waited where Dahler had left me. Only when he reappeared with my sister in tow did I force mys
elf back onto my feet, weeping with relief and happiness. As he marched us both toward the warehouse, I couldn’t stop whispering my most ardent thanks to him, the savior, the protector, the kindest soul on earth. It was madness to think about him in this regard; I understood it and yet I was suddenly overcome with such powerful emotion for him, such incomprehensible gratitude that it utterly trumped all common sense that was left in me. All I knew was that he brought my sister back to me. He saved her, for me. At that very moment, I felt no pain from his blows. Suddenly, I nearly worshiped him.
He brought Róžínka to my station and quickly explained to her what to do.
“Your Kapo,” he motioned Maria over, “will put your name on the list and will take you to the showers later and process you as needed. I have to take your sister to the medical block.” He cast another concerned glance at my gray shirt, which was stuck to the wounds from which the blood was slowly seeping in places where his whip broke the skin.
“What about my children?” Róžínka held her breath, awaiting his answer.
Dahler had just opened his mouth to tell her not to worry about her children anymore but I caught his hand and pressed his fingers in an imploring, fleeting gesture. Take pity on her! She’s new to the camp, she won’t survive the truth, not just yet…
He was silent for a moment but then heaved a sigh and even forced a smile onto his face. “Did you see the Red Cross trucks parked in front of the showers?” Those were the trucks that delivered the gas to the bunkers but she didn’t know that yet. “Your children will be taken by nurses to a special children’s Lager that we have here. They will be taken care of.”
“When will I be able to visit them?”
“Soon, my good woman. The sooner you fill your quota, the sooner you’ll be able to see them.”
She smiled at him brightly and took to her task with commendable, heart-breaking eagerness.
Auschwitz Syndrome: a Holocaust novel based on a true story (Women and the Holocaust Book 3) Page 10
