kilos
Eiderdown feathers:
130 wagons, equivalent to 270,000 kilos
Women’s hair:
1 wagon, equivalent to 3,000 kilos
Old material:
5 wagons …
___________________
Total
2,973,000 kilos
536 wagons
___________________
Total wagons
570 wagons
In exchange for a small bribe of cigarettes, the new, more venal kapo cautiously handed Daniel a jar of ointment that would—Daniel hoped—heal his hands. Freund had collected the cigarettes with relative ease from the chauffeurs at the vehicle repair shop, and the luthier had saved them, one by one, until he had enough. On the long day of the Commander and Rascher’s visit, exactly two weeks before, all the prisoners had been given a medical examination, perhaps a consequence of orders sent from higher up, by the cold-eyed doctor himself. The various Führers in charge of the camp—Freund always referred to them as Pigs—had baptized the medical routine with the name Spring Cleaning, perhaps because winter had taken its toll on the weak, had killed so many of them, thus sparing officials some of their work.
Daniel lay in his bunk that night, spreading a thick layer of ointment on his hands, thinking himself fortunate to have passed the checkup. This time it hadn’t been just the usual rapid once-over that was mandatory before a prisoner was whipped. The camp was small; it had been possible to examine all of the prisoners on the same day. Like the others, Daniel had stood naked as a skinned rabbit; he had been weighed, groped, obliged to bend over, his chest sounded. Finally, he had been considered fit for work rather than the slaughterhouse, the black-smoke Death Camp.
The “healthy” ones were shut in the barracks earlier than usual that night. Daniel lay awake until late—his fellow inmates asleep or pretending to sleep so they wouldn’t have to discuss the horrors of the selection. He thought he heard the sound of trucks returning, but it was too early! They must not have taken the others to another lager; they hadn’t had enough time to go to Auschwitz-Birkenau and back. The frail, sick prisoners must already be dead and buried—stripped of clothing, no shrouds, no farewells, lying in a clearing in the forest close to the Three Rivers Camp. The desperate shouts that had punctured the night, piercing the flimsy wooden walls, were proof that few had believed the story that they would be transferred to a hospital, not even when they were ordered to put their clothes on again. Daniel wanted to recite the prayer for the dead, but he couldn’t: the world had turned to ice when he witnessed the children selected to die. He shook Freund, who appeared to be sleeping.
“Do you hear the sound of engines? It’s the trucks, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Freund confirmed in a wide-awake voice. “They were in a hurry! You didn’t wake me, I couldn’t sleep. The murdering bastards didn’t shoot them. I started to suspect what they’d do when they brought us two Saurer trucks to be repaired—faulty brakes. Damn them all, me too; I was forced to help with the repair.” His voice broke as he stifled a sob.
Daniel didn’t require more explanation, nor did words exist to console his friend. The two of them lay in silence. The rumor circulating through camp about the death trucks was true; no one knew how it started, but it had spread like an epidemic. So that was why the trucks broke down so often. They left the main highway and traveled over rough, muddy roads, never stopping because to do so might provoke a rebellion or escape attempts. Crushed together inside the truck, the prisoners were caught in a deadly mousetrap, their illnesses quickly cured when the driver—whose services were paid for with a double ration of alcohol—pulled the lever and they breathed the fumes from the diesel engine. The children too were released from the insidious snares of their childhood. Daniel would have smashed his hands in rage, but he couldn’t allow himself even that
Eiderdown feathers:
130 wagons, equivalent to 270,000 kilos
Women’s hair:
1 wagon, equivalent to 3,000 kilos
Old material:
5 wagons …
___________________
Total
2,973,000 kilos
536 wagons
___________________
Total wagons
570 wagons
In exchange for a small bribe of cigarettes, the new, more venal kapo cautiously handed Daniel a jar of ointment that would—Daniel hoped—heal his hands. Freund had collected the cigarettes with relative ease from the chauffeurs at the vehicle repair shop, and the luthier had saved them, one by one, until he had enough. On the long day of the Commander and Rascher’s visit, exactly two weeks before, all the prisoners had been given a medical examination, perhaps a consequence of orders sent from higher up, by the cold-eyed doctor himself. The various Führers in charge of the camp—Freund always referred to them as Pigs—had baptized the medical routine with the name Spring Cleaning, perhaps because winter had taken its toll on the weak, had killed so many of them, thus sparing officials some of their work.
Daniel lay in his bunk that night, spreading a thick layer of ointment on his hands, thinking himself fortunate to have passed the checkup. This time it hadn’t been just the usual rapid once-over that was mandatory before a prisoner was whipped. The camp was small; it had been possible to examine all of the prisoners on the same day. Like the others, Daniel had stood naked as a skinned rabbit; he had been weighed, groped, obliged to bend over, his chest sounded. Finally, he had been considered fit for work rather than the slaughterhouse, the black-smoke Death Camp.
The “healthy” ones were shut in the barracks earlier than usual that night. Daniel lay awake until late—his fellow inmates asleep or pretending to sleep so they wouldn’t have to discuss the horrors of the selection. He thought he heard the sound of trucks returning, but it was too early! They must not have taken the others to another lager; they hadn’t had enough time to go to Auschwitz-Birkenau and back. The frail, sick prisoners must already be dead and buried—stripped of clothing, no shrouds, no farewells, lying in a clearing in the forest close to the Three Rivers Camp. The desperate shouts that had punctured the night, piercing the flimsy wooden walls, were proof that few had believed the story that they would be transferred to a hospital, not even when they were ordered to put their clothes on again. Daniel wanted to recite the prayer for the dead, but he couldn’t: the world had turned to ice when he witnessed the children selected to die. He shook Freund, who appeared to be sleeping.
“Do you hear the sound of engines? It’s the trucks, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Freund confirmed in a wide-awake voice. “They were in a hurry! You didn’t wake me, I couldn’t sleep. The murdering bastards didn’t shoot them. I started to suspect what they’d do when they brought us two Saurer trucks to be repaired—faulty brakes. Damn them all, me too; I was forced to help with the repair.” His voice broke as he stifled a sob.
Daniel didn’t require more explanation, nor did words exist to console his friend. The two of them lay in silence. The rumor circulating through camp about the death trucks was true; no one knew how it started, but it had spread like an epidemic. So that was why the trucks broke down so often. They left the main highway and traveled over rough, muddy roads, never stopping because to do so might provoke a rebellion or escape attempts. Crushed together inside the truck, the prisoners were caught in a deadly mousetrap, their illnesses quickly cured when the driver—whose services were paid for with a double ration of alcohol—pulled the lever and they breathed the fumes from the diesel engine. The children too were released from the insidious snares of their childhood. Daniel would have smashed his hands in rage, but he couldn’t allow himself even that
Similar Books
