barracks—young Hungarian women forced to work on German farms. They arrived healthy and well fed, and stood in shock at the sight of us: ghosts and skeletons moving slowly in filth and stench.
Those of us who could still feel anything felt sorry for them, for they were doomed to die from dysentery and dehydration within days. We had slid into this hell gradually, acquiring immunity and coping tricks on the way; but they had suddenly crashed from a great height. Few could cope with that. Frieda tried to help them by answering their many questions. They spoke in Hungarian and huddled in a corner away from the sub-humans.
One night I found one of them lying on the slippery edge of the latrine and screaming in pain. I got Frieda and others to help drag her inside. Soon she delivered a five- or six-month-old dead foetus. To cut the umbilical cord, we cracked a small side window and used the sharp pieces of glass. But there was no way to stem her profuse bleeding. Goldie raised the woman’s legs, but shook her head in despair. Frieda spoke to the woman softly and cradled her head in her lap. I wrapped the baby and pieces of glass in rags, keeping one for some unforeseen need, took the parcel to the latrine and pushed it well down with a wooden paling. Frieda stayed with the woman till she died of blood loss. A few days later the baby’s body could be seen floating on the surface of the excreta. (I see it occasionally in my nightmares.) We feared repercussions, but none came.
The months of the year announced themselves, approximately, through the seasonal weather. It was winter now, late November or early December, we thought. The random beatings and punishments became more frequent and more brutal. We hoped this meant that Germany was losing the war and the guards were venting their frustration on us. Our female overseers used a variety of gadgets: rubber hoses, pleated wires, sharpened sticks, long leather whips with a metal ball at the end. They swapped them for the fun of using a new one. We used the trick of shifting slightly so that not all blows fell on the same spot, but it was difficult to dodge these sudden, frenzied attacks. On several occasions, I was asked my age and received a corresponding number of lashes. My mother said I was beaten more often than others because I glared and bristled with hatred and disgust towards the Germans. She asked me what I hoped to achieve by it. I did not think I was exceptional in this, and certainly did not set out to provoke beatings.
The camp commandant visited more often too. He lived in a cottage outside the camp at the edge of the forest, and we could see him playing with a toddler and a puppy dog outside his house. We saw a tender and affectionate man, but once inside our camp he became a monster and his attacks, unlike the others, were always predictable. His method was to deliver a karate-like chop to the area between the ear and the chin, which never failed to cause a loss of balance, and one always fell backwards. He would then sink the heel of his heavy army boots into various parts of the victim’s body. We learned not to turn over to protect the face and abdomen because he then kicked harder to turn the victim up again. Frieda called him a Jekyll-and-Hyde type—another puzzle to me, until she related Stevenson’s story of good and evil.
Mr Hyde used his routine on me one day, and it got me a fracture of the skull (the ethmoid, as I learned later) and a broken nose, several broken ribs and two days in a coma. I was still unconscious the next day, and absent from the rollcall. I was dumped on the pile of bodies outside the barrack, but Mother and Frieda dragged me back before the cart arrived. Somehow they propped me up for rollcall on the following day. For some days afterwards I was badly bruised, and all movement, even breathing, was painful. At rollcall Frieda, who stood behind me, was caught propping me up again, and got several lashes for doing so.
The
Those of us who could still feel anything felt sorry for them, for they were doomed to die from dysentery and dehydration within days. We had slid into this hell gradually, acquiring immunity and coping tricks on the way; but they had suddenly crashed from a great height. Few could cope with that. Frieda tried to help them by answering their many questions. They spoke in Hungarian and huddled in a corner away from the sub-humans.
One night I found one of them lying on the slippery edge of the latrine and screaming in pain. I got Frieda and others to help drag her inside. Soon she delivered a five- or six-month-old dead foetus. To cut the umbilical cord, we cracked a small side window and used the sharp pieces of glass. But there was no way to stem her profuse bleeding. Goldie raised the woman’s legs, but shook her head in despair. Frieda spoke to the woman softly and cradled her head in her lap. I wrapped the baby and pieces of glass in rags, keeping one for some unforeseen need, took the parcel to the latrine and pushed it well down with a wooden paling. Frieda stayed with the woman till she died of blood loss. A few days later the baby’s body could be seen floating on the surface of the excreta. (I see it occasionally in my nightmares.) We feared repercussions, but none came.
The months of the year announced themselves, approximately, through the seasonal weather. It was winter now, late November or early December, we thought. The random beatings and punishments became more frequent and more brutal. We hoped this meant that Germany was losing the war and the guards were venting their frustration on us. Our female overseers used a variety of gadgets: rubber hoses, pleated wires, sharpened sticks, long leather whips with a metal ball at the end. They swapped them for the fun of using a new one. We used the trick of shifting slightly so that not all blows fell on the same spot, but it was difficult to dodge these sudden, frenzied attacks. On several occasions, I was asked my age and received a corresponding number of lashes. My mother said I was beaten more often than others because I glared and bristled with hatred and disgust towards the Germans. She asked me what I hoped to achieve by it. I did not think I was exceptional in this, and certainly did not set out to provoke beatings.
The camp commandant visited more often too. He lived in a cottage outside the camp at the edge of the forest, and we could see him playing with a toddler and a puppy dog outside his house. We saw a tender and affectionate man, but once inside our camp he became a monster and his attacks, unlike the others, were always predictable. His method was to deliver a karate-like chop to the area between the ear and the chin, which never failed to cause a loss of balance, and one always fell backwards. He would then sink the heel of his heavy army boots into various parts of the victim’s body. We learned not to turn over to protect the face and abdomen because he then kicked harder to turn the victim up again. Frieda called him a Jekyll-and-Hyde type—another puzzle to me, until she related Stevenson’s story of good and evil.
Mr Hyde used his routine on me one day, and it got me a fracture of the skull (the ethmoid, as I learned later) and a broken nose, several broken ribs and two days in a coma. I was still unconscious the next day, and absent from the rollcall. I was dumped on the pile of bodies outside the barrack, but Mother and Frieda dragged me back before the cart arrived. Somehow they propped me up for rollcall on the following day. For some days afterwards I was badly bruised, and all movement, even breathing, was painful. At rollcall Frieda, who stood behind me, was caught propping me up again, and got several lashes for doing so.
The
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