By Chance Alone Page 12

  In the afternoon of the third day, we came to a large abandoned farm where the Nazis told us we would spend the night, our first rest stop since leaving Auschwitz. It had many stables and storage barns, and it was wonderful to rest at last. The straw on the floor of the barn gave my body a cushion that helped me survive another day. I buried myself in a pile of this heavenly smelling straw and went into a deep slumber. The following morning, I awoke to the guards shouting, “Raus! Raus! Line up!” For a moment, I considered hiding in a pile of straw, but I was concerned that I would be shot on the spot if discovered. As it turned out, my concern was well placed. As we lined up in formation, the SS guards combed the stables, shooting indiscriminately into the piles of straw. Any who were hiding there were killed.

  We had already marched for three nights without any food, and now we were onto the fourth day. I was light-headed from hunger, and my body was not cooperating. I tried to keep my mind from deteriorating and focused on positive thoughts. The day was milder, and I could see that we were headed toward a sizeable town. By the afternoon, we were crammed into a soccer field. I lay down on my back, rested my feet against a fence, and looked up at a beautiful blue sky. I was almost able to imagine that I was catching my breath after a soccer game with my friends. An hour or two later, the SS ordered us to get back into formation and we were on the move again, this time to a railway station in a town named Loslau.

  When we got to Loslau, we found a long line of forty to fifty open flat cars waiting. We were ordered to climb inside and were packed tightly together. Between the flatcars, there were several cabooses where the SS guards positioned themselves. They watched over us and shot anyone who tried to escape. The walls of the flatcars were metal and extremely cold. Everyone tried to get into the middle of the group for warmth. We started up, and as the locomotive built up speed, the wind it generated against our heads and bodies made the cold penetrate even deeper. I felt like I was in an icebox. I was in this flatcar for approximately four days, standing up, chilled to the bone, without food or toilet facilities. Many people died along the way.

  At one point, I thought about a book I had read about the Orient Express, and I tried to imagine how wonderful it would be to experience that level of luxury right then. But this thought was not able to distract me for long. How many more days would this journey last? Where were we going? We travelled only during daylight hours because at night the smoke and the cinders of the locomotive would have been a giveaway for low-flying Allied fighter pilots, who bombed anything that moved on rails. Overnight, we stood at railway stations or sidings, and the SS units aggressively patrolled our transport so that no one could escape.

  Standing in the cars was even worse than marching because we were in such cramped quarters. The tougher among us waited for the weaker ones to expire so that we could get some relief. We stripped these poor souls of their meagre clothing to protect our freezing heads and limbs. Because the SS did not permit us to dispose of the dead, the cadavers were left in the cars and we were forced to endure the indignity of standing on the bodies. In the mornings, before the train took off again, the SS guards and their officers were served breakfast from the kitchen car. I could smell food being cooked, and it was a terrible tease. They were fed while we were dying from starvation.

  On the seventh night, the train came to a stop at a large station that was in total darkness. We heard the eerie sound of sirens as searchlights combed the skies for airplanes, and then there was a racket of anti-aircraft guns. We were right in the middle of a bombing raid, and shrapnel hit the metal sides of our flatcar. I thought that after all I had been through, I could not be killed by Allied bombers! When the raid was over, silence prevailed.

  As the skies became lighter in the morning, wet snow came down, and I could make out the name Pilsen on the railway station. This told me that I was back in occupied Czechoslovakia. I began to feel more hopeful when I heard a commotion several cars behind us. I saw that there was a bridge extending over the railway tracks just down the line, and on that bridge were several people throwing chunks of bread into the flatcars below. The SS guards yelled out, “Do not throw bread! These are Jews!” but the people ignored them. Finally, the guards sprayed the bridge with their submachine guns and the people ran away. Although I was too far away to receive any bread, the actions of these people nurtured me nonetheless. Knowing that there were still kind and caring people in the world boosted my spirits and gave me new life.

  We left the Pilsen station. It was January 25, 1945, and I had not had any food since we’d departed Auschwitz on January 18—seven days earlier. I was catching snowflakes on my tongue to hydrate myself. Half the people in our flatcar were now dead, and we’d pushed their bodies to one corner to give us extra space. But I couldn’t ignore the frozen cadavers—they were a constant reminder of where I would wind up if the journey continued much longer. I was in need of exercise and nourishment, and the constant standing was torture on my body.

  I was barely hanging on. Heavy snow was coming down on us, and all the dead bodies were blanketed in it, while we living zombies were wet to the bone. The train came through a station with a German name plaque. I wasn’t sure if we were in Austria or Germany, but both felt like the lion’s den. In the distance, I could see a railway bridge spanning a wide river, and someone said that this must be the Danube. The train came to a stop, and we were ordered out of the flatcars. I could see large chunks of ice floating down the river, and my first thought was that the guards were going to shoot us and dump us into the water. Why didn’t the train proceed across the bridge? I had my answer as soon as I got closer and saw the twisted metalwork and missing railway ties. The bridge had been badly damaged by Allied bombings, and we were forced to make the hazardous crossing by foot. I had to pace myself while jumping over missing railway ties—it required a delicate strategy because others tried to grab at you, and that would hinder your balance. Many people fell through the missing spaces into the icy waters below and were gone. There was no margin for error. Those who got across were made to line up in formation by the SS guards, and we marched forward. Ahead of us, I could see a town. We were told to tighten up our lines as we came closer to it. A roadside sign told us we were in Mauthausen.

  My first impression was of beautiful homes and storefronts with sparkling clean windows and delicate lace curtains. The structures were about three storeys high and had beautiful wooden ornamentation on the outside. For me, it was unbelievable to think that people were living in such comfort while we were in such misery, filth, and danger. I longed for a hot bath in one of these homes. I could die happily if I could just have a bath, I thought. While we marched through the town in the centre of the road, we passed three young women, each pulling a child in a sleigh. The children were all bundled up in knitted wear, toques, and scarves, and they had rosy cheeks and bright eyes. But they looked at us in horror. We were black from frostbite, dirty, and in rags, and a foul odour followed us like a stray dog. The children stared at us, but the three women refused to look our way. They totally rejected the sight of us, as if to say that they did not acknowledge the reality of what was happening right in front of them. I thought of the people in Pilsen throwing bread to us and noted the stark contrast.

  We continued marching through Mauthausen, passing the vertical rise of a granite cliff. I saw inmates in striped garments hammering with chisels at the stone. This sent shivers of fear through me because I knew that I could not endure this kind of gruelling work. When we arrived at the top of the road, I saw the fortress-like entrance to KL Mauthausen concentration camp. This entrance had a large gate with tall guard towers on each side. It was a foreboding sight.

  Inside the camp, we were directed to a barracks with showers. Mauthausen was overflowing with inmates who, like us, had been brought from other camps in occupied Poland. We stood outside in the freezing floodlit square for hours until several Kapos took charge of the crowd, ordering us to undress but to keep our shoes. We waited naked i
n the cold while groups of one hundred men at a time were sent through the showers. When it was finally my turn, it was a small pleasure to feel the warm water wash away the dirt and stench from my body. But it was over too quickly, and I was pushed naked back out into the freezing cold. It was clear this shower was not for our benefit, but to avoid transmitting disease to the SS guards.

  The steam from the heat of the shower rose from our bodies, and I knew that we would soon have hypothermia. I felt the chill creeping deep inside me, and I began vigorously flailing my arms, hitting my upper body to keep my circulation going. I did this through the night without stopping. Many of the inmates around me dropped to the ground and froze to death. Finally, the next morning, those of us who were still alive were directed to a barracks. Inside, I saw several rows of people sitting on the floor with their legs spread apart. Each new person was directed to sit between someone else’s outstretched legs, and then the next person would sit between his outstretched legs and so on. To feel bodies in front of and behind you was both frightening and demeaning. The entire floor was filled with this sea of humanity, and I estimated that there were at least a thousand people in this room.

  I was furious—of all the hardships I had endured, this latest abomination was the most insulting. We were packed like sardines in a can. It’s true that we weren’t freezing cold anymore, but everyone was dead tired. If a prisoner fell asleep, his head would drop on the person in front of him and he could expect a jab in his ribs, jarring him awake. Urine and diarrhea seeped onto the floor under our buttocks, and the stench was unbearable. We weren’t allowed to stand and we couldn’t go outside to relieve ourselves. Just hours before, we had been given a shower to wash off the dirt that had accumulated on our bodies, and now I was sitting in urine and feces. I tried to disengage my mind and go to a place where I could ignore what was happening around me. I lost track of time. I lost control of my bodily functions. I believe that I sat in this way for two days, and then suddenly the Kapos shouted at us to get up and out of the barracks. We disentangled ourselves as quickly as possible and were again outside in the bitter cold, naked and smeared practically from head to toe in feces.

  We had to form up in a single line to receive our garments: striped pants, a top, and a cap. I could tell from the odour on the garments that they had recently been disinfected with Zyklon B, the same chemical used to gas Jews in Auschwitz-Birkenau. We were told that we were going to another camp. I was happy to leave this hellhole and hoped I’d never see it again. It had been ten days since we left Auschwitz and I’d still had nothing to eat or drink. I realized that getting food and water would be the final factor in my survival.

  We were marched out the gates of Mauthausen, across the treacherous bridge, and down to the railway station, where we were crammed back into boxcars. The locomotive started up and we were on the move again. A few hours later, the train slowed and eventually came to a stop. The guards opened the doors of the cattle cars and shouted “Raus! Raus!” A sign told me that I was in a railway station in a town called Melk, right beside the Danube River.

  CHAPTER 20

  Melk, Ebensee, and Liberation

  Our transport arrived at Melk on the afternoon of February 1 or 2, 1945. The railway lines and the highway were both parallel to the Danube River, which was full of ice, just as it had been at Mauthausen. The highway was busy with routine military and civilian traffic. Our transport consisted of approximately one thousand slave labourers. The guards took up position on either side of us and forced us to march uphill, through the town, and into a camp called Melk KL. This was an old First World War cavalry barracks on a hilltop offering a view of the rooftops of the town. Another hill, opposite the camp, had a long and very impressive building that I later learned was the largest Franciscan monastery in Europe.

  After lengthy discussions between the SS guards and the Kapos, they divided us into groups and assigned us to various barracks. I was directed to a barracks that was already home to a number of Russian prisoners of war. I managed to communicate with them using a mix of Russian, Slovak, and German. They wanted to know which camp I came from and where I was born. They also asked me if I knew how the war was progressing. The only news I could give them was that when we left Auschwitz I on January 18, I’d heard the sound of heavy artillery coming from the Eastern Front and assumed that the Red Army was not far away. These Russian prisoners were trained military men with large physiques, but they looked quite haggard. However, they knew how to protect themselves and each other, and they were a close-knit unit. I noticed that the Kapos dared not abuse them the way they abused us.

  I thought to myself, Here I am in another camp, all alone again. I wondered how difficult it would be to adjust to the new conditions. What kind of work would I have to do, and would I be exposed to the elements? I told myself that if I could just survive the months of February and March, spring would arrive and the Red Army would emerge from the east to end this ordeal. But there were so many things to worry about, and I needed to be ready to face all challenges.

  My mattress was full of powder and so filthy that I chose to sleep directly on the wooden bed planks instead. I had a dirty blanket to cover me. While it might sound strange to miss a place like Auschwitz I, I was consumed by memories of the upstairs ward in barrack 21, where I had a clean bunk, a clean blanket, and my busy daily routines. In the hospital, I felt I was part of a group of professionals who were helping our fellow prisoners, and I also had privileges that allowed me to survive. Melk, in contrast, was going to be a very dangerous and demeaning experience.

  That evening, I received my first sustenance after ten days without any food—a piece of bread and a cup of ersatz coffee. This ration tasted very good to me, but it did not fill my stomach. I was beginning to wonder how I’d managed to survive for this length of time.

  The next morning we were woken up at 5 a.m. and given a cup of tea in our barracks. Inmates were organized into three equal eight-hour shifts. I was in the morning shift with fifteen hundred fellow prisoners. We lined up in the square and then were marched down to the railway station and put into boxcars with the doors locked. We travelled for about an hour and then disembarked. I found myself in a large fenced-in area with many sheds that stored machinery. I could see six large bomb-proof railway tunnels that were built into a mountainside, and a locomotive pushing fifteen to twenty boxcars into one of them. This place was a hive of activity. I learned that four of these tunnels were already in full production making aircraft parts; the other two tunnels were still being built.

  The SS divided us into groups, and a man in a black cap and black overalls led my group to an area where the stone was being drilled for the last tunnel. I was handed a large air drill that I could hardly lift, and the man directed me to start drilling by pushing the handle. The vibrations of the drill shook my body, and the sound of it hitting the rock was deafening. We were drilling a stairway to the top of the tunnel in order to shape the contours of the ceiling. I felt that I had no strength to drill the rock above my head. As the rocks above were loosened, we were at constant risk of being crushed.

  I later learned that the man in the black cap and overalls was from a civilian organization that was building this infrastructure for the Luftwaffe. The inmates worked here in three eight-hour shifts; when one shift was finished, the next was marched into the tunnel. After two days of this work, I told our foreman that I could no longer lift the drill and asked him to place me on another job. He told me to retrieve all the broken drills that had accumulated in the tunnel and take them to the blacksmith’s workshop for welding. This new job once again saved my life. It was cozy and warm inside the blacksmith’s shop, and there was a red-hot fire burning in the forge. The blacksmith was a Russian prisoner of war named Misha.

  It was approximately half a kilometre from the tunnel to the blacksmith’s shop, and a conveyor belt carrying loose stone ran the full distance. I learned to jump on the conveyor belt, and that made my journey easier. Th
e only trick was jumping off before the belt continued into a crusher, which would have meant my demise. Once I got to know Misha better, I asked him if he could make me a rig to carry a number of drills so I didn’t have to hold them in my arms. He obliged by making a holder that allowed me to carry six drills at a time. Even though it was heavy, it made my job easier. I also figured out how to pace myself so there were always enough replacements for broken drills. That allowed me to spend more time in the warm blacksmith’s shop. Misha also helped me when he gave me a pot and told me to fill it with clean snow, which he melted on the fire for the two of us to drink. This daily work routine continued until the end of March.

  There was one building with showers and a laundry facility in Melk KL. Like Auschwitz, Melk also had a crematorium, but no gas chambers. I always gave the crematorium a wide berth because it reminded me of Birkenau. In the middle of the camp, there was a small hill where we walked on Sundays, when we did not work. In mid-March, when the weather got warmer, we all gathered on the hill, removed our jackets, and searched for lice. I was disgusted to discover thousands of tiny eggs embedded in the fabric of my jacket, which explained why I was constantly scratching myself. We spent many hours crushing the eggs between our thumbnails, like monkeys grooming themselves. Unfortunately, my efforts didn’t make a dent in my lice infestation, which became worse as the warmer days made me sweat more. I hadn’t been allowed to shower since my arrival in Melk, but when the camp administration became aware of the infestation, they took action to prevent a spread to their own personnel.