The Sisters of Auschwitz

by Roxane van Iperen

  There is noise outside, shouting in German, the same heavy footsteps stomping back and forth as if they have never left Westerbork. Fumbling at the door, iron creaking and then: bright sunlight. They narrow their eyes and open their mouths. Fresh air streaming into the carriage in buckets and they suck it in, gulp down the oxygen as if it were water. It is cool for the time of year, 15 degrees or so, and they can feel their softened muscles and bones slowly toughen up in their bodies.

  The relief is only short-lived. Guards arrive, pushing people ahead of them; familiar faces from the camp. They hold still in front of their open carriage and shout orders – climb in. Confusion – not possible, no space, murmuring at the back, but they must. They shuffle backwards, a few inches, half a handbreadth, people pull themselves up on outstretched arms and as soon as they are in, their faces almost touching those of the front row, the door is shut behind them. What happened? The newcomers tell their story.

  There has been an attempted escape from one of the carriages at the back. Successful for some: a few prisoners have managed to jump out of the running train through a hole in the front of the carriage. Someone had smuggled a small bread saw and they had taken it in turns to scratch the blunt knife to and fro, until they had made a notch in the wooden wall, close to the coupling between their carriage and the next. Then another saw-cut, until there was a hatch large enough for a person to squeeze through.

  The first put his legs out, found his footing on the steel buffers between the carriages while the sleepers of the track flashed beneath him at dizzying speed. He did not hesitate, dived into the hole like a swimmer and disappeared under the running train. The next one, once outside, stood on the buffers, his legs shaking, until someone hissed he should jump and make way for the others. He jumped. No one could tell if he got caught by the wheels or not.

  Then a woman. She stuck her feet through the hole, slid outside on her buttocks until she sat on the cold, smooth buffers. The wind whipped against the carriages of the train shooting through the land and she just sat there, her eyes wide open. They had stopped believing she would, but then she just did it; she fell down on her back as the train moved on.

  And so, six or seven people in total had escaped from that cattle carriage – dead or alive, no one could tell – before the Germans noticed and made the train stop. The remaining passengers were beaten out of the carriage, now with a gaping hole in its front, which was uncoupled and they were divided over the rest of the train.

  As the wheels begin to move, one of the newcomers mentions that the escape and the stop must have been near Zwolle – someone who knows the area said so. Discussions about their destination flare up again. Were they not supposed to go east? Then why did they go to Zwolle? Janny listens and says nothing. She knows all trains from Westerbork first have to get on the Assen–Zwolle railway line, where the journey to Poland starts. Still, she does not believe they will go all the way to Auschwitz, or even Wolfenbüttel; surely the Red Army has almost reached Berlin? No, they will not travel very far.

  In the hours that follow, they all lean against each other in the overcrowded carriage rushing along the track. At first, everyone tries to be mindful of the people closest to them. If a neighbour needs to sit for a while, you stand up, and if a child wants to crawl between legs to his older sister, a few bodies away, you try to let them pass. If someone almost faints because they cannot breathe, you let them gasp for air underneath the steel slats, and if you accidentally kick or push another person, you say ‘sorry’. But civilization is merely a matter of circumstance and before long, pleasantries make way for self-preservation. Janny and Lien still cling to each other and as aggression in the close space increases, the sisters form their own protective shield.

  As the day progresses, some people can no longer stand on their feet and slump down, another person gets trapped and begins to shout. The ones who found a space on the ground or, better yet, on a bit of straw are stuck, get kicked or hit in the face with a knee. When one child is quiet, another begins to cry and gradually the mood turns grim. First, they were all in the same boat, but most feel so miserable that their only goal now is to survive this journey, by any means necessary.

  There is a wooden barrel the size of a bucket where they can relieve themselves, but in the first few hours only the children use it. When evening falls and the train shows no intention of slowing, the grown-ups give in to the pressure on their bladder, one by one. Wedged between strangers, they sit down on the bucket and cast their last bit of dignity aside. The barrel almost overflows and the air is heavy with a smell so pungent that they can taste it on their tongue.

  When night falls they lose their bearings completely as they dip into a black layer of oil. There is nothing they can do but surrender and, gradually, the carriage falls silent. Janny and Lien have found a way to doze. They are standing upright, back to back, balancing each other. The feeling of their bodies pressed tightly together reminds them of Amsterdam, home, their old bed. It is literally all they have to hold on to.

  4 September 1944

  A jolt, the wheels glide on, another jolt, the train comes to a halt. Bodies jerk along with the carriage but are unable to move by themselves. No more noise, no more crying, the past twenty-four hours have worn everyone out. The bolt lifts, the door opens. Morning sun. No one moves, they sit, lie, stand where they were, stare ahead of them, their eyes half-shut.

  ‘Out!’

  No response.

  ‘Dalli, dalli! Quick!’

  They begin to move; some twenty prisoners are allowed to walk to a platform, empty the barrels with urine and fill the water buckets. Back into the carriage, shut the door, slide the bolt. Everything is dark again, smells like it did yesterday, as if nothing happened. The train accelerates and soon they are listening to the steady sound of joints beneath their feet again.

  Janny has discovered that, apart from the slanting cracks near the ceiling of the carriage, there are two wire mesh grids in the wall that let in some air. Very slowly, she and Lien try to move closer to those grids; they manoeuvre themselves in that direction with their faces turned towards the ceiling, as if taking the fresh air in advance. The packed bodies move: there is oxygen near the grids, but also a draught. Lien makes an inch of space for Janny, Janny makes an inch of space for Lien, and so they move up.

  There is a third little hole close to the door bolt. With a bit of luck, you can peer outside through this gap. When Janny finally presses her cheek against the wood and sees the world, she exhales deeply and imprints each image, each colour, each outside sound on her mind. There is not a cloud in the sky and the bright blue stands out against the ochre yellow of the cornfields. Someone tries to push her aside, but she does not give way. Before her one eye everything is so sunny, colourful and peaceful that for a few seconds she forgets the desperate circumstances the rest of her body is in. Then she is shoved aside and her moment has passed.

  The sisters try counting the hours, but their minds just refuse to work any more. They are wedged between people in the middle of the carriage; every sense of time and space has drained away, along with the feeling from their limbs. They had a stale piece of bread, but they are so tired and the stench is so sickening that they could not eat if they wanted to. People around them are rambling, children are whimpering softly, the switches are groaning and the iron is screeching, until sound and surroundings blend into another endless night.

  5 September 1944

  They lie over and under each other like sandbags on a pile – a leg ends in a hand in a head in a foot. A chest slowly goes up and down, then stops moving. Each time they change track they all shake as one, hairs brushing the filthy floor like fans. They no longer use the barrel. They no longer peer through the door. From time to time the sisters look up at each other. Wolfenbüttel is not that far, surely they are not . . .

  In the third night, the train stops. Doors are unlocked, floodlights shine into the carriages from the dark sky high above. Dogs barking, orders
in German, screaming in the distance. Hands groping around in their carriage, searching for dead bodies. A tinny voice sounds, as if this were a stadium, louder than everything else.

  ‘Alle raus, schneller, schneller!’

  Everybody out, faster, faster!

  ‘Austreten, alle Koffer hinlegen!’

  Get out, leave all suitcases!

  The sisters can barely get up, they are blinded, their legs and eyelids feel heavy, so heavy. They trip over a body on the train, lose their balance when they are on the platform, but they are steadied by a strange pair of hands; a man in a striped uniform whispers: ‘Ihr seid gesund. Lauf. Nicht auf die Wagen gehen!’ You are healthy. Walk. Do not get on the cars! They do not understand, grab each other’s hand and walk on, trapped in thick beams of light, tiny particles of dust drifting down on them like snow.

  Lien looks back; the new blanket Mieke has sent them is still on the train. But as they pass the other carriages, they see bags torn from hands, thrown on the platform in large heaps. ‘Alles gepäck liegen lassen, nichts mitnehmen!’ Leave all luggage, take nothing with you. Next to the heaps of luggage, piles of bodies rise, tossed out of the carriages by guards as if it were a game. Alsatians are standing on their hind legs, the leads to keep them in check tightly wrapped around hands sticking out of uniforms with high leather boots underneath. Bare teeth come terrifyingly close. Quick, walk on, further down the platform.

  Lines are formed. Men on one side, women and children on the other. An SS officer is standing on a raised platform, his tall, dark figure defined against the bright light. His mouth opens and shuts, veins swell up in his neck. What is he saying? What do they have to do? Janny and Lien do not let go of each other’s hand.

  ‘Alte und Kinder auf den Lastkraftwagen!’

  Elderly people and children must go to the trucks. People of fifty years and older, struggling to keep on their feet after the exhausting journey, get picked out of the line and are pushed towards the vehicles, as are the children, staring vacantly into space. Mothers run after their offspring.

  The sisters scan the crowd for familiar faces. Lien raises a hand, thinking she saw Jaap in the distance, his arched eyebrows above a sea of dark crowns, but she is not quite sure and then the boy is gone. Janny thinks she sees a glimpse of Father and Mother near a truck, but then they are forced to move on.

  ‘Dalli, dalli! Schneller!’

  Together they stand in line, squeeze each other’s hand, try to forget the stench of the train, and then they smell it. They smell that scent they will never forget and they know.

  In the night of 5 to 6 September 1944, following Mad Tuesday, when the Dutch pull out their nation’s flags and banners because they expect to welcome the liberators any time, the Brilleslijper family arrives in Auschwitz.

  * * *

  The SS officer shouts above their heads. Their line is thinned out, but hundreds of people are still swarming across the platform.

  ‘Ruhe!’ Quiet!

  They look up, prick up their ears, but there is so much noise and chaos.

  ‘I am calling fifty names! Extra Schutzhaftbefehl!’

  Protective Custody Order. Suddenly, all is quiet. The man lowers his head and reads the names from his sheet of paper.

  ‘Brandes, Marianne . . . Rebling, Rebekka.’

  They are together; the result of the forged marriage certificate. The men who were called are taken away immediately – the women must go to a Scharführer (squad leader) with a clipboard, who checks their names again. Their group is only small. They wait and with each breath notice the smell of burning. The sky above the floodlights is still pitch-dark. Then they have to walk too.

  Watchtowers. Concrete poles rise high above them – a bend in their top making them seem to be greeting everyone. Rows of barbed wire between the poles are under high voltage. Janny and Lien look at each other and think the same. This is not a labour camp. Goosebumps, perhaps owing to tiredness. They had no idea one could be this exhausted without dying. Lien can barely lift her feet off the ground, it is as if she is walking on melted asphalt. Her knees collide and her ankles give way, tears are running down her cheeks. She is giving up. Quickly, Janny grabs her upper arm, props her sister up, keeps her in step. Lien wipes the snot from under her nose and lets herself be dragged along.

  The old woman in front of them is on the verge of collapsing as well and they support her by each taking one of her arms. She is light and fragile as porcelain, she must be at least seventy years old. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers. They try to keep her from fainting, ask for her name. ‘Luise Kautsky.’ It is barely audible, but Lien and Janny recognize it. ‘Karl Kautsky’s wife?’ A nod and a hint of a smile as she remembers. Her husband was a well-known Czech–Austrian politician and theoretician of social democracy. The sisters know he died in exile in Amsterdam shortly before the war; Bob and Eberhard often talked about his work. The strange moment of human contact and the memory of their past lives pulls them through the final final few feet. They are rushed into a low building, where they lose sight of Luise.

  A long stone hall, cold and grey. SS officers in uniform and prisoners in striped clothes everywhere. Long tables, as if they were here to register for a swimming competition.

  ‘Ausziehen, alle Kleider hinlegen!’

  Undress, leave all your clothes!

  The voice of the SS officer sounds tinny, his order echoes in the space. None of the women in the group takes off any clothes, they look at each other questioningly. There is no separate space, no curtain, there are people everywhere.

  ‘Dalli, dalli, schneller!’ the man shouts once more.

  ‘Ihr werdet desinfiziert!’ You will be disinfected! a prisoner in striped uniform calls.

  Janny and Lien look at each other anxiously, but other women begin to undress and they reluctantly follow their example. They do not have the energy to resist and they are surrounded by guards waiting for an excuse to lash out. They take off the clothes they so carefully selected in Westerbork, hoping to be well prepared. Westerbork. The name suddenly seems an echo from a distant past, like the street where you lived as a child. Shoes off, socks, vest. Hesitation.

  Bra.

  Underpants.

  They stand barefoot on the cold floor, hands crossed in front of their chest, their gaze towards the ground so they do not have to see themselves through the eyes of strangers.

  ‘Move!’

  Along the tables, faster, SS officers rushing them with whips and dogs. So much shouting, it scares them again each time, they pull their head between their shoulders and raise their hands up in the air in defence. Janny is further along and Lien speeds up, makes sure she stays close to her sister. Prisoners in camp clothes are waiting with razors, a blank expression on their face. They are spread. Wherever you end up, they shave you – no matter if it is done by a man or a woman. Arms up. Armpits. Legs apart. Pubic hair. Turn. Their hair is grabbed and cut short in one movement.

  Walk on, even more naked than before. More tables. Someone grabs their arm and puts a needle in. They feel no pain. The tip of the scratching needle slowly leaves a series of five numbers on their skin, on the top of their left forearm. As the man pierces her skin with his needle, injecting drops of ink, Janny looks aside at Lien, staring vacantly in the distance with one arm stretched out, straggly hair and her mouth sagging.

  88420.

  Janny only needs to see the number once; it is engraved in her mind for ever.

  A shower room. The tiny trickle is alternately piping hot and ice cold. They shiver, a draught is howling along the walls. Between the other women’s bodies, they try to catch some drops in their cupped hands, scrub their skin with moist fingers, but the dirt is everywhere. Arms and legs are shaking so violently that their movements seem like convulsions. Some women seem drunk, stagger through the room and are corrected by guards using their whip both to rush them and keep them at a distance.

  ‘Schneller!’

  Luise Kautsky, the old lady, fall
s on the ground and remains on the stones. Another woman manages to get her back on her feet. Everywhere are groups of women with cupped hands underneath at the showerheads in vain. Steam gathers around their heads and for the first time hides the guards from view. Janny and Lien look at each other, hold each other tight, together, briefly, like they used to.

  ‘We must get through this,’ says Janny.

  No sound, lip-reading. A decision. They both nod.

  2

  Do You Know the Mussel Man?

  A late summer evening in Amsterdam, dinner with Mother and Father. After taking the train from The Hague, Janny walks towards her parental home through the streets where she knows each stone in the pavement, every bump in the road. She waves at familiar faces. Shops are closing, her old friends are on their way to the pub and the Amstel water laps against the riverbank. The bustle on Waterlooplein is coming to an end and crowds make their way towards Carré Theatre. A ship horn, out of tune, sounds from an open basement window; behind a music stand a boy practises his brass instrument. Cyclists toil up the steep Magere Brug, some get off and walk up, amused by their own incapacity.

  Janny turns left onto the hidden corner of Nieuwe Achtergracht and enters at number 14/II. Lientje, already there, is being lectured by Father on her absurd dancing career and she rolls her eyes as her sister enters. They embrace. When Japie’s absentminded face appears behind the door, they greet him in unison. Mother is in the kitchen, pans steaming, an order. Janny helps her. Fietje asks Joseph to open a window. A sultry breeze blows in and the sounds of the city centre become a buzzing backing track.

  At the table. So many stories, plans and dreams to discuss. The trade, family, money worries. Jaap has almost finished his evening classes and is contemplating further education. Lien pushes some potatoes to the side of her plate. ‘I am too fat,’ she sulks. ‘You are not fat, we are small,’ Mother parries without looking up from her plate. Janny grumbles a bit about work; she does not know what she wants to do. These past few months she has worked as a nanny with a distinguished family in The Hague, some De Brauw aristocrat and his offspring, but doesn’t enjoy it at all. Her work at the International Red Aid, now that is useful. How can she babysit children when Fascists are seizing power all around them? The world is on fire! How can Father do business with the Germans when that horrible man is their leader?