by Malka Adler
I felt my temples explode.
Wanted to scream, help him, nu, press the trigger, but I murmured we aren’t interfering, understand? Dov understood. I looked at the two SSmen standing five steps from the wounded prisoner. They were leaning against a tree trunk, smoking a cigarette and talking to each other, didn’t even bother to look. The prisoner wept soundlessly. Scratched his chest wildly, kicked his legs, stopped. And then he leaned on his elbows, stretched out his chest, slowly sat up, dragging his body forwards. He threw his head on the SSman’s boots. Kissed the boots, and begged, kill me, please kill, I’m burning. The SSman didn’t move. He took another cigarette out of a metal box, lit the cigarette and sucked on it. The prisoner raised his head. He had mud on his face, his neck, his chin was jumping up and down, I could hear his teeth chattering. The wounded prisoner looked down, dragged himself away on his elbows. The intestines trailed on the grass, leaving a pool of blood. He made a snorting sound like an animal being choked, chchchrrr. chchchrrr. And then he stretched out his neck, screaming at the SSman in German, kill already, bastard, press the trigger, dirty German, your mother’s a whore, filth, garbage, son of a bitch, may you rot in hell with your family, kill.
Aaah. I almost fainted. Couldn’t believe that a Jewish prisoner could curse an SSman standing beside him. Couldn’t believe that a Jewish prisoner with his intestines hanging out had a voice as strong as a loudspeaker.
The SSman’s cigarette fell.
Maybe he’d died on his feet? No, no, his eyelids moved, and he was breathing. Yes breathing, his chest was rising and falling, I saw it. Only then did I understand. The SSman wanted to see how slowly, slowly this death advanced. Yes. The SSman wanted to enjoy the picture. I bit my fingers to stop a scream leaving my mouth, press the trigger, dirty German, press. I looked at Dov. I signaled shshshsh with my finger, whispered, dangerous situation, don’t move. Dov didn’t answer me. I was afraid the SSman would wake up and let go at us with a burst of firing, to see several images of approaching death. I glanced back. The smiling prisoner looked dead standing up. His brother gestured to me, don’t worry, we won’t interfere. The cursing prisoner dropped his head into the mud. He wept to Sheindele . Where are you, Sheindele, ah, Sheindele, my Sheindele.
I wanted to die.
It started in the belly. Like a ball of fire rising from the belly, burning the chest, choking the throat, and blowing out the cheeks. I pressed hard on my mouth, but a painful weeping came out. My body jumped, shoulders shook, I immediately turned my back on my brother, held onto the branch of a tree, pressing my face into it. I wept for the wounded prisoner, wept for myself and Dov, for father and mother, for my siblings. I wept for my home, I wept for my large cat who loved to sharpen its nails on the bed sheet. I wept for a kettle full of boiling water that always stood on the stove in winter. I wept for dry socks in my drawer at home, a warm sweater.
The wounded prisoner continued with his Sheindele, and I wanted to finish my life together with the wretched prisoner, and kill him already, dirty German, son of a bitch, kill us too, yah stinking pedant, piece of shit, du Arschloch – you asshole. Kill. Kill.
I felt Dov’s hand on my shoulder. He held my shoulder and pressed, didn’t let go. I wanted to turn around and tell him, Dov, what will be with us, what will be, I looked at him, no words came out, only weeping, a lot of weeping. Dov hugged me and whispered, we’re together, we’re together.
If they’d shot me at that moment I’d have been happy. I wanted a bullet in my head, in my heart. If they’d killed me in the forest I’d have said, thank you very much, sir, thank you very much. To this day, in the wind or rain, I hear the screams of that poor man. To this day I see his intestines jumbled together with the grass and SSman standing upright over him. Slowly smoking his cigarette, aaach.
Chapter 24
Dov
The dying of the prisoner ripped out my soul.
We stood in the pouring rain for hours, my brother and I, and the brothers I’d known in Buchenwald, Bloc 56. We’d known one another before one of them lost an eye and the other forgot how to talk. Standing with us were about two hundred other prisoners. We saw the prisoner quivering, his intestines hanging out, like a fish taken out of the water. At first a lot, in the end, less, and then the ants came and dug into his forehead. I wanted to go to the SSman, say to him, what’s the problem, you hold your cigarette and I’ll hold the rifle, finish this, and be done with it! But then I saw my brother Yitzhak weeping and weeping and that weeping in the rain could finish him, so I said to him, look. Here, look, a rabbit, there, there, between the trees, and here’s a wolf, do you see the wolf, he didn’t see. I looked for something else, saw the Germans’ packages, a lot of food, whispered to my brother, Yitzhak, look over there, what do you see? He didn’t answer me. There are boxes of meat there, you and I can steal together, want to? And stop crying or I’ll go mad, I can’t bear it, and then we heard SSmen shouting from the direction of the village: Wer Brot will, wird kommen – whoever wants bread, come. Wer Brot will, wird kommen. They summoned us from the forest with bread, like dogs.
We came out of the forest and received a quarter loaf of bread. Again I swallowed my bread in one bite. I remained hungry and weak. I couldn’t straighten my knees. In the meantime, the rain stopped. I looked up.
I heard the cheeping of birds, lots of birds. They were hiding in a huge tree, and I wanted to climb the tree, don’t remember why. I thought, you’ll never be able to climb, you’re lost.
The SSmen shouted, everyone run, run to the village. We couldn’t run, it was muddy and slippery. The soles of my shoes sank into the mud, I felt myself sliding and oops, down I went. My brother caught my trousers, pulled hard, stood me upright like a muddy doll, and didn’t let go. There were some who fell flat in the mud and stayed down. Someone, not far from me, stood on all fours. He didn’t have the strength to get up. He grabbed the legs of a passing prisoner, he fell too, dragging several others with him. I heard shouts, and weeping like the cheeping of a bird, and again the blows of rifles, trach. Trach. Trach. Other prisoners trampled them where they lay.
We entered the village.
A German village like our own. Small houses with a chimney, a yard with a wooden fence, a muddy path, and awnings over bales of hay. Villagers peered from the windows. The Germans saw them looking at us. They gave the order to halt. We halted next to a huge barn. The SSmen called through a loudspeaker, stand in line. We stood in line. And then they gave the order, now get into the barn. It’s a German barn. You have to keep it clean. We entered the barn and the Germans remained outside.
I fell like a sack onto the hay.
I looked at myself and at my brother. The wet pajamas were coming apart at the seams. There were holes, and there was mud, and the terrible itching of lice. Hardest of all was the hunger. I felt as if a fat worm with sharp teeth was eating the flesh on my body. Prisoners in the barn coughed, spat blood on the hay. There were some who barely moved and left a brown stain that smelled bad. I said to Yitzhak, that’s it, we’re done. I’m not moving from here. My brother was silent. I saw the two brothers from Buchenwald sitting not far from us. The brother who had forgotten how to talk held his chest and smiled, his nose was running. The other removed the scab from a big wound on his hand and licked the skin. I couldn’t look at prisoners anymore. I heard three arguing quietly. One said, the war is over, I’m telling you, another two or three days and that’s it. One said, agree, pulling out his hair. One scratched his belly and said, what’ll we eat in this shitty barn. The first said, we’ll eat hay if we have to but the Russians will come, I’m telling you. I decided, the Russians will come when they come, and I don’t care if it’s in a year or two days, I’m not moving from this barn.
It was dry in the barn.
We dried off in our clothes, and then we saw there was a loft in the barn. My brother Yitzhak said, let’s climb up there. I called the brothers from Buchenwald to come with us. I climbed up first, my brother pushing me from
below. After us came the brothers. In the loft was a large pile of hay. We dug into the hay. Deep underneath we found wheat seeds. We ate the seeds with their shells and I was still hungry when night came and we covered ourselves with hay. The hay had a clean smell like home, we fell asleep at once.
In the morning we climbed down to relieve ourselves.
I looked at the prisoners in the barn, I was shocked. During that night many prisoners had died. They lay in piles and I couldn’t understand how it had happened. I hadn’t heard shots, no one had shouted, or cried, or groaned, they died speechless, maybe from cold, and Yitzhak said, they no longer wanted to live.
The Germans were outside. The villagers watched from a distance. They didn’t dare approach. The Germans sat under a tree near the barn, enthusiastically singing a German marching song. I listened to the words. It went like this, the birds in the forest sing so beautifully, in the homeland, in the homeland, we will see each other again, stamping their feet on the ground, they clapped to the tune, as if they were preparing for a festive march in some stadium filled with people. I thought, let those Germans go to parades. Let them go on marches, I don’t care, I’m staying in the barn. I wanted to run back to the loft but we stayed with the dead. We walked from one side to the other, to release the muscles in our legs. I heard the Germans laughing loudly outside, and then they began to sing sad love songs about missing a woman. I was surprised to hear them singing sadly. I didn’t know German soldiers knew how to sing tenderly. I said to my brother, I had a harmonica in my pocket, where is it.
Yitzhak looked at me questioningly, said, the harmonica’s with me, don’t worry, I’m looking after it for you.
Later on, we climbed up to the loft and stayed up there almost until evening. We didn’t have the strength to go down. I lay on the hay and chewed seeds. We had no water. I peeped down. Judging by the piles I realized that more had died. Suddenly, shouts from below. SSman shouted through a loudspeaker from outside the barn: Whoever wants bread, come outside.
We peeped from the top. Prisoners with the strength to stand up went outside. The weak remained on the hay. The dead didn’t move from their places.
The Germans put the prisoners on a platform with a tractor. We heard the tractor going off to the forest. A few minutes, and then, ra-ta-ta-ta-tat. And silence. And again, ra.ta.ta-tat. And silence. The Germans wiped out the strong ones with a machine gun.
We stayed in the loft, two pairs of brothers and ants and worms that came only to me. I looked at my brother. I saw he couldn’t see. Lay on his back holding his belly. I wanted to tell him, I’ve got ants, ants are eating my brain. I was silent. Didn’t have the strength to speak. I looked at the brothers. They slept next to each other. Looked like a single disgusting body with two heads.
A few hours went by and again there were shouts. Whoever wants bread, come out. I understood they were calling me to come for bread. Finally my turn had come. I got up. Barely got up. I had to hold onto the wall to straighten up. I bent down to the ladder and put out a leg.
My brother Yitzhak jumped up from the hay, said, what are you doing?
I said, they’re calling us for bread.
My brother grabbed my hand, pressing hard. Shouted quietly, we aren’t moving from here.
I said, No. No. No. They’re calling us to come, I’m going down to them.
My brother pulled me to him, I’m not letting you go down there, it’s a trap, don’t you understand? They aren’t giving out bread, they’re killing in the forest, you heard it yourself.
I shouted, don’t want to give up, going down and that’s that.
I took strength from the great hunger, pushed my brother and jumped onto the ladder. In the meantime the loudspeaker was calling, whoever wants bread, come out. I raised my hands, shouted, wait, wait, I’m coming down. My brother jumped on me and pushed me onto the hay. I got up. Stood opposite him. Screamed, let me go! And then he raised his hand and, trach, slapped my face. Aaah. It was like a large piece of wood in the face. I flew onto the hay. Holding my cheek I looked at him. My cheek burned as if I’d gone into a fire. It was the most painful blow I’d received in the war. I couldn’t believe that my brother Yitzhak had slapped my face. I looked at him. My shirt was wet. The tears fell and fell, taking with them the ants and the worms from my forehead, nose, and mouth. The brothers sat trembling next to each other in the corner, they were holding hands. My brother looked at me, didn’t say a word. Just bit his lips.
I curled up in a corner. Suddenly a strange silence fell on the barn. And then shouts, and crying, my brother peeped down, called, they’re taking prisoners out of the barn by force. That’s it, they’re killing everyone. We heard Germans talking under the loft ladder. My brother shouted, dig, quickly, we’re hiding. We dug in the hay like madmen. Lay in the pit. We threw the pile on top of us and waited motionless. My brother grabbed my arm under the hay and pinched hard, didn’t let go. It hurt and I didn’t say a word.
The Germans climbed into the loft.
I heard them talking above us. I stopped breathing and heard a strong blow, and a whistle. Another blow on the hay, whistles, it sounded as if they were loading hay on a wagon. I understood, they’re sticking a pitchfork into the hay. They want to skewer us like rats. I heard them going from one side to another. I shrank to the size of a dot. My body shivered. Every stalk of hay was like a needle in my skin. I felt the pricking of a thousand needles. My heart was beating fast and I could hardly breathe. I made sure the hay didn’t move above me. Counted the blows. Trach. Retrieve. Trach. Retrieve. Trach. I prayed to God not to let them stick a pitchfork in my ass, back, my head and then they actually stopped sticking the pitchfork into the hay. Maybe because of the shouts down below. We heard the Germans arguing above us then hurried steps going down the ladder, and quiet. I didn’t understand the situation. Like being in a pit of the dead.
We didn’t dare go out.
For hours we lay there hungry and thirsty and didn’t move. We didn’t hear Germans calling to come and get bread. We didn’t hear shots or the crying of prisoners. Cautiously I made a tiny hole above me. I saw the darkness of night. I peed in my trousers, and checked, maybe the brothers were dead? I knew my brother Yitzhak was all right. His hand touched me. I couldn’t sleep. My cheek burned where I’d been slapped, and then I remembered the story about my brother Yitzhak.
One night my father called my brother to the storeroom in the yard. He wanted help slaughtering a calf. The Hungarians forbade us to slaughter calves. We’d slaughter in secret. My brother Yitzhak would hold the candle, the rabbi slaughtered, father would remove the skin. I refused to enter the storeroom. Couldn’t bear the suffering of an animal. That night, a few minutes before the slaughter, Hungarian police broke into the storeroom. Someone had informed on us. They screamed at father, you slaughter, huh? Ah? Father was silent. They took the rabbi and my brother for interrogation. Yitzhak was twelve years old. The soldiers said to my brother, what did you do with the calf in the storeroom. My brother didn’t answer. The soldiers shouted at the rabbi, what did you do with the calf in the storeroom, the rabbi refused to talk. The soldiers stood my brother and the rabbi in front of each other and told my brother, slap the rabbi’s face. My brother didn’t want to. A Hungarian soldier slapped Yitzhak’s face. Slap the rabbi’s face. He didn’t. A soldier hit my brother over the head.
Another soldier stood in front of the rabbi.
He ordered him, slap the boy’s face. He refused, trach, the soldier slapped the rabbi. Slap the boy’s face. He refused, trach, the other side. And then the rabbi said, Icho, we’ll do as they say, d’you hear me? The rabbi slapped Yitzhak’s face. Yitzhak slapped him back. The rabbi slapped, Yitzhak slapped. Like passing a ball to each other. The soldiers looked at the two and burst out laughing. A few minutes later, they ordered, that’s enough now. They said, did you slaughter a calf in the storeroom? The rabbi and Yitzhak made no reply. The soldiers had enough. They sent the rabbi away, leaving Yitzhak.
; It was winter. An iron stove burned in the room.
The oven was red hot. Opposite the oven stood a concrete cast at sitting height. The Hungarian officer, tall as an electricity pole, gave the order to seat my brother on the boiling concrete. Yitzhak sat. His buttocks burned. He danced like an acrobat on the concrete. The soldiers laughed. He danced and danced, didn’t say a word.
Finally, they let him go. He returned home with burned buttocks and red cheeks. It was the laughter of the soldiers that hurt him most. I told him, that’s how it is with the Hungarian police. For the slightest thing they make Jews slap each other.
I knew it was from them Yitzhak learned to slap and he saved me. I fell asleep under the hay.
Early in the morning, we heard a heavy sound outside the barn. Like the noise of a tractor.
We emerged from the hay. Peeped out from the loft. A huge tank stood opposite the barn. On the tank was a drawing of stars. We didn’t know if the tank belonged to the Germans, the Russians or the Americans. From below came screams of joy. Prisoners shouted, American soldiers, American soldiers, they’ve saved us, the Germans have run away. My brother and I and the two brothers began to caper like foals on the hay. We shouted, the war is over, the war is over. We hugged, cried. One of the two brothers held his chest. The one who’d forgotten how to speak fell, and didn’t move. We tried to wake him, failed. He had a heart attack and died on the spot. Died of excitement. He had a smile from ear to ear.
Yitzhak and I and the poor orphaned brother came down. Prisoners were jumping with joy next to a wagon tied to the tractor. My brother Yitzhak pointed at them and said, look, we saved the prisoners in the barn. The Germans wanted to fill up a wagon and we held them up, they came up to the loft to look for us and didn’t have time to shoot those waiting in the wagon. I didn’t answer him. I felt a lump in my throat.
