Because Of Romek

                                                                                   

CHAPTER 15

The wheels scraped against the rails as the train moved ahead through the open gate below that huge sign and stopped.

I heard footsteps on the gravel, and shouts in German. Guards must be surrounding the train, but I was too short to see them.

A heavy voice shouted.

"Open the door!"

The door slid open a few inches, then all the way as hands pushed against it. Soldiers climbed into the wagon carrying long wooden bats.

"Get out, you schweinen! Get out of here!"

They moved away from the door, swinging the bats. Those who could get to their feet tried to dodge the blows. Guards swung the bats and pieces of heavy cable that hurt even more. I thought we'd step onto a platform. Instead there was a drop of about four feet. People stepped onto nothing and fell, screamed as they piled on top of each other.

When I got to the door, I jumped as far as I could. One foot hit the pile of bodies and I sprawled on the ground. Knees bruised and hands scraped, I scrambled to my feet.

When the living were out of the train, the guards jumped from it and beat those who lay jumbled together. Some never got up.

Huge floodlights lit the area. Our wagon was almost the last one in the long train reaching beyond the station platform. That was why people had fallen. I looked the other way toward the engine. Thousands of people were on the platform or moving toward it. Some stumbled and lay where they fell. Others tried to dodge the soldiers'  rifle butts. Dogs snarled and lunged at prisoners along the edges of the crowd.

Suddenly I grunted and stumbled as something hit me hard on the ribs.

"Run! Kleine Schweinhund! You dirty little dog!"

The soldier pointed toward the front of the train. I ran, and climbed up the platform steps.

An SS officer paced up and down at the far end. When we were in rows of five, he stepped onto a box and shouted, "Ich bein Haupstanfuhrer Schwartz. Do what I tell you, or you'll wish you had!"

We waited. Just like Szebnia, the dogs bit us, tore clothes and flesh. There was no way to escape them. If anyone moved, a soldier beat him back into line.

Soon, big trucks roared up and parked along the platform. Each one had a big round tank on the side, like a boiler.

Another SS officer walked along the rows, tapping a piece of cable against his left palm. He'd shout, "You go to the left!" or "You go to the right!" and swing the cable hard against the person. Those he sent to the left were forced into the trucks. Thousands were hauled away until only a few hundred of us stood under the floodlights.

Finally, the colonel ordered us to march straight ahead, down the steps at the end of the platform. We walked for what seemed almost an hour. My side ached, and I was so weak I could barely lift my feet.

We stopped in front of a huge barrack. Guards ordered the first rows to go inside, and a few minutes later, the screams began. We whispered to one another, afraid of some new punishment.

My row was ordered inside. A fat guard stood close to the door. "Take off your clothes!" he yelled.

I stripped, and a taller guard grabbed my arm. With the other hand he ran a hand clipper back and forth over my head until I was bald. It was wintertime--January, 1941--and very cold. I stood in the long line, naked and shivering.

It was almost morning when I reached the front of the line. A guard took hold of my arm and jerked me toward him. I winced and made a face as he jabbed a pen into my wrist.

The man grinned. "You don't like it?" he asked.

He slapped my face with his open hand, knocking out two front teeth. Blood spurted from my nose and mouth.

"You think this hurts? Just wait! You know where you are?"

"No, sir."

"You're in Auschwitz. What did you think you came for, a vacation? This is where we get rid of you, you bastard!"

He stabbed the pen deep into my flesh, yanked it out and stuck it back, again and again. Every time he pulled it out, I prayed it was the end. My arm hurt so much I forgot about my other pains.

He shoved me away and reached for the next person. 

I wasn't a person anymore. Just a number- 161051. I felt more lost than ever. My body shook as I tried not to let them see me sob.

Why did I jump under the couch? I thought. Why? 

A man standing behind me put his hand on my shoulder.

"Boy," he whispered, "don't cry. There's nothing you can do. Just try to survive."

A guard stood by a pile of clothing with black and white stripes. He threw a jacket and pants at me, shoes with wooden soles, a  strip of cloth with my number on it, a needle and cotton thread. I put on the pants and shoes, both much too big for me.

Nobody told me what to do with the strip of cloth, but I looked at those who'd been in front of me and saw it sewn on the front of their jackets. I did the same.

I went outside and stood with the others. Trucks came and the guards yelled at us to get in. As I tried to pull myself up, one of them, young, with a blond moustache, pounded my back with a bat. Finally, two men reached down, took hold of my arms and pulled me up. 

My back hurt terribly. When I tried to stand straight, it felt like a knife was stuck inside me. Some ribs must have been broken.

The trucks took us to a part of Auschwitz called Berkinau. Huge wooden barracks as far as I could see, forty or fifty. Inside each one was a single room almost filled with bunks three tiers high. Straw-filled sacks lay on them. In the center, the whole length of the building, was something like a long chimney, a kind of heater.

I wanted the top row where it would be hard for the guards to hit me. Grunting with pain, I stood on the bottom row, pulled myself past the second level and onto the third. I collapsed, barely able to breathe, my back and chest hurt so badly.

The bunks weren't separate. Each level was one long bed where hundreds of men lay close to one another, one rough grey blanket for every five or six. 

A barracks leader, a kapo, stamped in and stood just inside the door.

"Listen!" he shouted. "My name is Potok, and I'll make you wish you'd never come here. You'll wish you'd never met me."

I wondered if he could be worse than the guards at Zebnia.

He walked along the bunks, grabbed the foot of a man on the middle row right under me and yanked him onto the floor. No one spoke as the man lay sprawled on his stomach.

The kapo bent over, his face close to the prisoner's.

"You look like you hid something," he said. "I'll bet you've got a fortune in your body. Give it to me!"

The man rolled onto his back, his hands held out palms up.

"No, sir."  I could scarcely hear him. "I don't have anything, sir."

"You don't?"

The man spoke louder. "No, sir! Nothing!"

Potok smiled. "I'll find out."

He took a long thin knife from a scabbard on his belt. "Give it to me, or I'll cut you open."

"Please don't!" The man tried to get up but the Potok pushed him down with his foot. 

"Turn over!" he yelled and kicked the man in the head.

Crying, the prisoner turned to lie face down on the floor. Potok cut open the man's pants, then jabbed the knife into his anus and cut away pieces of flesh.

Screams rang through my head and I covered my ears.

The screams stopped and the kapo laughed. "You know," he said, "he didn't have anything."

He pulled other people from the bunks, made them lie on their backs and crushed their windpipes with his heavy boot. Then he'd turn them over and butcher them the way he had the first man. 

Excerpt from

Because of Romek 

by David Faber with James D. Kitchen

 Chapter 15