Auschwitz Lullaby

by Mario Escobar

  My children ran to me when they saw me come in. Blaz gave me a detailed report of the day, as he was charged with taking care of his younger siblings. That day, Otis had gotten into a fight with another child, but Blaz had separated them. And the twins had stolen the crutches of an elderly gentleman, Klaus, but it was just a marvelous joke to them all. Finally, Adalia had behaved herself very well, as usual. She had hardly left Anna’s side all day, and Anna treated her like her own granddaughter.

  I handed out the food I had been able to sneak that day. In my position as a nurse, it was somewhat easier to come upon a bit of bread, potatoes, and cans of sardines. It was not much, but every day I delivered it to a different family in the barrack. Then I sat for a while to talk with Anna.

  She asked, “You okay? You look particularly down in the dumps.”

  “It’s been a very difficult day,” I said. I didn’t want to elaborate.

  “Aren’t they all? Every day here is an uphill climb.”

  “True.” I nodded absently.

  “We know already,” she added in a softer tone, trying to avoid being overheard. The camp was like a small town. News spread like wildfire.

  “I couldn’t do anything for them.” I shook my head in despair.

  “But you were able to for us. Sooner or later, they’d kill them anyhow. Sick people don’t last long here. And we don’t always accomplish what we set out to do in life. I was raised in Frankfurt. As far back as we can remember, my family has been boilermakers. We made a good living, but every so often we’d get kicked out of a town because somebody lost something, or there were some robberies. In a little town outside of Frankfurt I met a teacher named Maria. She was an angel. With her big heart, one day she went up and asked my father to let her teach me how to read and write. My father said he needed me to work in the factory but that if she could teach me in the evenings and on Sundays, he didn’t mind. I learned how to read and write within a month. I was already thirteen years old, but I had a quick mind and boundless curiosity. But then a family brought us their son and arranged a marriage.”

  “At thirteen?” I asked, incredulous. For quite a while now marriage before sixteen had been illegal.

  “Yes, well, they waited until I turned fourteen, but my mother didn’t let me go to school after that. I had to learn how to cook, sew, and do other things more suitable for women.”

  “How sad,” I said.

  She shrugged. “It’s okay. I suffered a great deal with my husband, but I had five wonderful children. I made sure they all went to school, including the girls, but it hasn’t amounted to much. The Nazis have destroyed so much.”

  “Well, thanks to what you learned, you were able to give your children an education. You’ve managed to keep the German Gypsies united in this camp, and you saved my family. I admire you, Anna. I haven’t known many women as brave as you.”

  The old woman’s eyes grew misty for a moment. We all tried to stay calm for the sake of the children, but sometimes it was impossible to control our feelings.

  Anna was a very wise woman. She led the German Gypsies in peaceful living, making sure everyone took care of everyone else like in a big family. I rested my head against her shoulder for a moment. I felt like I had stood up to evil and won that day. Dr. Mengele was the perfect combination of indifference and efficiency. He knew that it was not a good idea to go against everyone in the Gypsy camp, but he wanted his superiors to approve of his work. That was his weak spot. Unlike the rest of the members of the SS, he was capable of giving in, if he thought that by doing so he could improve his esteem in the eyes of his superiors or gain the assistance of his subordinates in carrying out his vision.

  When dinner arrived, I went to my children. They were better off than they had been a couple weeks before, but they were still dirtier and skinnier by the day. If they got sick, I knew there was little I could do to save them. And they were the only hope keeping me alive. I hugged them tight. Feeling their slender bodies next to mine, I yearned with all my strength for them to enter my womb again, to be part of a deeper oneness with them in the perfect symbiosis between mother and child. That night I had saved their lives once again. Perhaps I had been unknowingly selfish. One day more in Auschwitz meant drawing out the agony of death, keeping the soul captive behind the cruel bars of our executioners’ indifference.

  The smiles of my children made me forget for a moment the torment of the recent weeks. I did not want to think about what would happen tomorrow. Over a thousand people would lose their lives at the whim of one doctor. But for him—for all of them—we were nothing more than animals to be sacrificed for a higher ideal. Curse the ideals that make humans vile! Mothers have no ideologies. Our children are our only cause, our fatherland. For men, killing and dying for ideas may come naturally. For us bearers of life, to murder for ideals is the worst aberration created by humankind. Mothers capable of generating life could never become accomplices to so much death.

  SIX

  MAY 1943

  AUSCHWITZ

  The next morning, none of us were allowed out of the barracks to go to the bathroom. Doctors and nurses, though, were required to be outside. The SS knew they needed us to help the poor wretches who were going to be eliminated that day think that they really were being transferred to a hospital to treat their typhus. Mengele showed up in a black convertible as if he were on his way to a picnic on this mild sunny day instead of to an indiscriminate slaughter. A few minutes later, half a dozen dark-green trucks with SS guards came down the central avenue for the rapid loading of all the prisoners from barracks 9 through 13. They looked like carrion vultures scavenging for their daily ration of meat.

  The soldiers, faces covered by antiseptic masks, stood in front of the first two barracks and asked the Gypsies to file out in order. They tried to be as amenable as possible to decrease resistance. We stayed in line beside Dr. Mengele, who hummed ceaselessly while the army of desperate souls passed us by. First came the strongest, the men and elderly who were perhaps not yet infected but had the misfortune of living in the wrong barrack. Then came the invalids. Some prisoners brought the weakest of their group out on makeshift cots, and these were piled into the trucks like logs, tumbled one on top of the other with no thought to the extreme care needed by the sick.

  I could not watch the disgraceful spectacle. I knew I had managed to save a few hundred people, but I felt like an accomplice to the murder of the others. One mother came out holding her children by the hands. The three little ones stared at us with eyes bulging from hunger and fever. One lurched toward us, but the guards—covered in masks and gloves—put him back in line.

  There were more scenes of panic in the last barrack. By then the rumor had surely reached them that they were being sent to certain death. Several attempted unsuccessful escapes or threw themselves at Dr. Mengele’s feet to plead for their lives. He, meanwhile, just kept humming until all the prisoners had been loaded onto the trucks going who knows where, yet wherever it was held imminent death.

  “Now it’s your turn. You all get to the hospital and pick out everyone infected with typhus. We can’t leave a single focal point of the disease in the camp.” Mengele smiled at us as he spoke.

  A chill ran up my spine. The doctors would do the selecting, but we nurses would have to be present and take the invalids to the exit and hand them over to the soldiers. First we went through the men’s hospital barrack. Some twenty were chosen, among whom was a child Otis’s age. The young thing had barely started his walk of life and within a few minutes would be snuffed out forever. The women’s hospital barrack held even more dramatic scenes, as several of the women had their babies with them.

  One of the women, a dark young Gypsy with huge green eyes, tugged on my uniform and whispered, “The child isn’t sick. Please, take care of her.”

  I looked at Mengele, who was caught up discussing with Dr. Senkteller the case of two elderly women who may or may not have had typhus. I took the child wrapped in her clean wh
ite blanket—something rarely seen in the camp—and carried her to the back of the room. I put her in one of the empty cribs. It might cost me my job or even my life, but I was a mother. I knew what that young girl felt as she pleaded for her baby.

  The disinfection routine was repeated until the last barrack was empty and the last typhus patient had been loaded onto the SS trucks. When the Nazis drove away, camp life went back to business as usual, but a shadow of terror covered everything a bit more darkly than usual. Who would be next? Human life meant nothing in this infernal place.

  I was free the rest of the morning, as I had asked for permission to be with my children. I needed to embrace them and get through that horrible experience in their presence. The purge of the invalids had left me speechlessly depressed.

  By the afternoon I had to return to the hospital. Dr. Mengele showed up unexpectedly and called everyone in to another meeting. It was odd for him to be there at that hour, as recently he had been assigned to make selections of new arrivals on the train platform. We knew that whatever he was going to share could not be good, but at least we were allowed to know what to expect, whereas the rest of the prisoners were completely at his mercy, ignorant of what the next day might hold.

  I walked down the main avenue beside Ludwika. She seemed as depressed as I was as we approached the medical barracks.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I thought I’d get used to it, but since Dr. Mengele showed up, it’s just gotten worse,” she said, on the verge of tears.

  “You think so? He may be more dramatic than his predecessor, but at least we know what he’s after. If we could convince him that improvements to the camp would further his career, I think things would get a lot better.” I was trying to cheer her up.

  “You think personal ambition is any easier to manage than fanaticism? I think Mengele is the marriage of the two.”

  “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said as we climbed the steps.

  A dozen people were inside the barrack, two of whom I had never seen before.

  “My dear colleagues, allow me to introduce you to a new acquisition for the team, Dr. Zosia Ulewicz. She’ll be my personal assistant in the laboratory I’m going to open behind the sauna. And Berthold Epstein is a renowned pediatrician who will help us treat the children. You’re already aware that we receive the inestimable support of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute of Berlin, especially from its director, von Verschuer. We have to do our jobs very well to continue receiving his help. I hope you are all willing to work hard. Don’t forget you are among the privileged here in Birkenau,” Mengele said with all seriousness. His intimidating voice produced a long silence.

  The doctor took a piece of paper from his desk and waved it in our faces.

  “You did not do your jobs well this morning. I had been assured that there were no cases of typhus in barrack 8, but this very afternoon I myself have diagnosed two cases. Do you know what this means? I am forced to empty another barrack. If you had done your jobs well, things like this would not have to happen.”

  His words petrified us. We had thought the worst of the purge was over, but in Auschwitz, things never happened logically. Every day was completely unpredictable.

  “Tomorrow we will eliminate barrack 8, and I hope I don’t have to do away with the entire Gypsy camp because of you lot. Can you imagine how it would displease Dr. Robert Ritter if his Gypsy colony were exterminated? You know how the professor loves his theories of Aryan origin, especially about the Gypsies, who have remained purebreds since their arrival from India,” he droned on, his rage only building.

  We were shell-shocked. The camp was completely terrified, and many of us felt we were the cause of their misfortune. Mengele was astute in passing the blame on to those around him. While his drastic measures made him stand out in the eyes of Dr. Wirths, we were the ones who had to choose who would live and who would die among the hospital’s inmates.

  Mengele dismissed us all with a thoughtless wave. He cared nothing for how we felt. He was only interested in our efficiency in getting the job done. I was walking out the door when his soft voice paralyzed me.

  “Nurse Hannemann, please stay for a moment.”

  Ludwika threw me a worried glance. It was not a good sign that the doctor would want to talk to me alone. I started trembling as I took baby steps toward him. I worried that the decision to spare barrack 8 would now come back to haunt me, but I was ready to face the consequences. My only concern was for my children, though I knew Anna would take care of them if something happened to me.

  “I imagine this whole situation will have put you on edge. I’ve looked into your case. I needed to clear up a few matters. Your racial purity is enviable; your parents are active in their community, though to their disgrace they are not registered members of the party. You must think I’m a monster, but, I can assure you, that is far from the truth. I have only tried to act in a logical, efficient manner. You have realized by now that resources are very limited in Auschwitz and illnesses abound. I imagine you do not approve of my method of containing the plague of typhus, but I am only letting nature make her choice: the weakest must die and the strongest survive.” He driveled on with his pseudoscientific speech.

  I stayed silent, my head lowered. I knew he did not like direct eye contact, especially from prisoners. Unexpectedly, I felt his fingers touch my chin and push my face upward.

  “I admire your courage,” he went on. “I do not understand why you would sacrifice yourself for mixed-blood children or why you married a Gypsy, but facing all of this of your own free will . . . With your attitude, you have demonstrated admirable poise, which is why I think you are the ideal candidate. Many of the Gypsy prisoners respect and admire you. Your superiors tell me you have organizational gifts and know how to maintain discipline. This is why I want you to be the director of the nursery and school I’m going to open in Auschwitz-Birkenau. I don’t want the twins and the Gypsy children to suffer so many hardships.”

  At first I had no idea what he was talking about. I could not fathom that it would occur to anyone to open a nursery or school in Auschwitz. In the little time I had been at the concentration camp, I had observed only desolation and death. Why would Dr. Mengele want to do this? I suspected the altruism of his motivations. He did not strike me as generous or sentimental. His practical character allowed little compassion for anyone who was not Aryan.

  “You want me to run a children’s school here?” I asked, trying to comprehend his words. It sounded like a macabre joke. How could we take care of children in these conditions? What could we offer them?

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking. I’ll bring you all the supplies you need, food, new clothes, milk, children’s films. At least they won’t have to suffer like the rest of the internees.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, unsure how to respond.

  “I’ll await your answer by tomorrow noon,” he said, smiling. He knew I had no way of refusing his request.

  I was walking through a mental fog as I made my way back to my barrack. I might be able to do something actually helpful for the camp’s children and save my own brood at the same time. I had no idea what was behind Mengele’s sudden change of heart, but I could not refuse. The children came first.

  When I got to barrack 14 and saw them all running around on stick-thin legs covered by filthy clothes, I started daydreaming about the children’s school. I would make sure it was the best thing to ever happen in a concentration camp. Finally, I started to understand why fate had brought me to Auschwitz. I could see the pieces fitting together: being separated from my husband, those most wretched first few days—perhaps it would not all have been for naught. Now I could bring a bit of hope to the Gypsy camp at Birkenau. I could keep as many children alive as possible until the horrible war was over.

  Johann had told me once that he had heard Himmler say on the radio that, after the war, all the Gypsies would be relocated to a reservation where th
ey could live according to their ancestral customs without interference. It all sounded like castles in the air, but that day I could at least start dreaming. I had now been given the sacred mission of saving the Gypsy children at Birkenau, which would start by reviving their will to live in the midst of all that death.

  SEVEN

  MAY 1943

  AUSCHWITZ

  The first person I went to for advice was Anna. Besides being a wise old woman and having a big heart, she was also sharp as a tack and impossible to manipulate. In Auschwitz, it was hard to think clearly. Our feelings were under constant anesthesia, yet the atmosphere was simultaneously asphyxiating and kept us from seeing things with any degree of perspective.

  I approached her in the brief, peaceful moments of the afternoon when she typically sat at the barrack doorway. She turned her endlessly loving smile on me. Her deep, glassy eyes set off by ravines of wrinkles seemed to intuit what I needed.

  “What’s on your mind?” she asked before I said a word.

  “The past couple days have been particularly difficult for me. Besides the elimination of the barracks, the SS have required us to select the prisoners infected with typhus so they can be removed from the camp. No one has told us what will happen to them, but we all know they aren’t being transferred to the camp hospital. They disappear on trucks and none of them come back alive from wherever they’re taken.” I let it all spill out quickly.

  Anna’s answer was soft. “Many have died, and many more will die. The Nazis didn’t bring us here to take care of us. The only thing they want is to control us, and if we bother them, they’ll kill us. I don’t want you to harbor any illusions, even though you, being German, have a slightly less abysmal probability of surviving. To those racists, we’re nothing but brute animals; yet they see you as an Aryan who’s lost her mind by coming to this camp with her Gypsy children.”