“There’s some truth in it,” I replied evasively, “but not all.”
“I only told you what the cards showed, and my cards do not lie,” she retorted.
Fearing that I might have offended her, I said no more, but simply thanked her. I added, “Of course, you will keep this all a secret!”
“A fortune teller does not peddle other people’s secrets,” she said. At that, as if awakening from a dream, we both breathed easier.
I went away, and another girl took my place at the table. Several people tugged at my arm, saying, “She knows everything, doesn’t she?”
A guard entered the hall and announced that the next day, after breakfast, we would report to the medical commission, since the transport was probably leaving for Germany that day. After he left, the room was immediately filled with commotion and complaints.
The afternoon passed swiftly, and after supper we spent some time talking. Then I said my prayers just like most of the others did. This promised to be the last night spent in the camp. A long and frightening night.
At last the morning came. Quickly I got up from my cot and crossed over to a water basin. I freshened up a bit, straightened out the wrinkles in my dress—the two-piece green dress—and smoothed down my hair. It was not long before everyone was up and ready to go; they packed their belongings, complaining all the while.
During the last breakfast in camp, everyone seemed anxious to show as much friendliness and courtesy as possible. They passed the plates of food with smiles, sharing it equably. Everyone knew that after we passed the medical commission we would be separated and sent in different directions in Germany. Whether we would be able to choose our destinations, we did not know. Still, our appetites were good, and the bread vanished rapidly, along with the coffee. After breakfast, most of us remained where we sat on the benches, talking.
At last our chatter was broken by the appearance of a guard in the doorway. He was a tall, robust civilian in high boots. First in Polish, then in Ukrainian, he gave an order to take our suitcases and line up in double file. We did as he commanded. I picked up my suitcase, tied a kerchief around my head, and took my place in line.
8
From the Jaws of Death
WE FORMED A DOUBLE FILE. The girl at my side was sighing deeply, and from time to time a curse escaped her lips. “Devil take it,” she muttered. “Who knows where they will take me, or for how long. Who knows if I’ll ever even return home!” She set her valise down on the floor with an angry thump.
The sudden gesture drew my attention to her luggage. It was more like a cardboard box than a suitcase, and it was held together with leather straps. Comparing it with my own suitcase, which matched my green suit outfit and my kerchief and which still looked quite presentable, I realized for the first time what a mistake I had made. It was made of a fiber like leather and looked too prosperous—even luxurious—next to the girl’s battered box and the luggage that the other peasants had. I should have borrowed some old suitcase from the Krupkas when I left Brody. With this one, I looked as if I was going away on a vacation to a summer resort! It had to strike someone as being suspicious—but now it was too late to worry about it.
The line grew longer behind me, two by two. For the last time, I turned back to look at the main hall of the camp—and I saw that the line now stretched almost to the end of the enormous room. The hall looked even darker and more ominous, it seemed to me, than during our last few days there. Perhaps it was by contrast with the dazzlingly bright June morning outside. The rays of sunshine streamed through the open door, and I could see the courtyard bathed in golden light. In only a few moments we would be outdoors! I felt like a butterfly coming out of a damp, dark, and smelly cocoon into a new life of freedom.
Step by step we moved forward. Everyone breathed deeply, trying to fill his lungs with the clean, fresh air. From many lips came cries of joy at the sight of this bright, summery morning. As the line moved outdoors, I saw in front of the building in the courtyard that there was a sort of roofed porch where several men sat at a long table, on a bench—like judges. There was a stack of papers on the table—no doubt lists with our names.
As I came nearer, I recognized Dr. Jagoda among the men. Our glances met—and I could see that he also was surprised. I don’t think anyone could have noticed it, but I saw his facial expression change. He must have seen the astonishment in mine. And at that moment we must have had the same thought: God, help her get out of this place!
The first ones in line were already at the table of the commission. Dr. Jagoda began to examine them. Those that appeared healthy were passed. He said something and wrote down his remarks. After the inspection they received some papers from the commissioners and then were conducted to a room on the right. The girls entered by one door, the young men by another. I heard whispers: they were being sent to the shower rooms.
Ah, I thought with relief, at last I will be able to wash myself! How long since I had had a bath? Long enough. Since I left the Tarashkewitzes’ house two weeks had gone by, two weeks without washing, without even taking off my clothes. But in these times it did not matter too much. Nothing mattered, save one’s life . . .
The line was getting closer and closer. I kept watching Dr. Jagoda from a distance. What a noble soul, I thought. How happy he will be—what a happy moment for both of us—when he sees me leave with the transport. It was only thanks to his assistance that I had been able to survive all this. I would try to whisper “Thank you” while he was examining me . . .
My heart beating wildly, I felt again that I was under the protection of someone who cared. My throat choked up with unshed tears. Oh, how I would have wanted to cry aloud—this time with gratitude and joy!
Suddenly, unexpectedly, this moment of exalted confidence and hope was broken by the sound of heavy steps. I heard voices directly behind me, and as I looked back I saw that others in line were also looking in that direction. Three civilians in dark clothing, their trousers tucked into high boots, grasping large ominous-looking knouts, were looking closely at everyone in line. To me they seemed like demons sprouting out of hell. They all had guns: Ukrainian police.
Their sharp eyes scanned every face, coming closer to where I stood. One was short and stout, the other thinner and of medium height, and the third one tall. All of them evoked in my mind the vision of doom. I stood petrified with fear, feeling that my death sentence would soon sound in my ears. These were the same men, I was sure, who had dragged out the fear-maddened girl a few days before. Their knouts would soon descend upon my back—I knew those whips well from my ghetto days! There were only two people before me, waiting to be examined by the doctor. I cast one last glance at Dr. Jagoda. All color had drained from his face as his eyes met mine. It was as though he wanted to say, “Yes, it was from this that I tried to save you. Now I cannot do anything.”
I could read in his glance that if these policemen wanted me, it would be the end. He knew them and their tactics well. And they were coming closer . . . Seconds more, and they had stopped in front of me. And this lovely, sun-filled morning turned dark in my eyes. I felt as if I would faint—the whole courtyard seemed to be whirling around before my eyes. And then I heard a voice in broken German:
“You, you there, in green!” I opened my eyes and saw that it was the taller of the men who was addressing me. For a moment I was mute. That voice sounded in my ears like a bomb bursting in the sky. While I stood there in silence, the shorter one approached closer and pointed his finger straight at me. There was no doubt that it was me they wanted. I took a couple of hesitating steps forward, dark spots wavering in front of my eyes. He shouted at me again, in broken German: “Dein Rantz, dein Rantz!”—he wanted me to pick up my suitcase. But as I did not turn back immediately, he thought that I did not understand, and angrily he repeated the words, “Your suitcase!” Then I went back and took my valise. That gave me a chance to look up again at the doctor—in my thoughts, at least, I reached out to him for help
. He sat by the table, his head lowered, not seeing me.
I took my place between the three policemen. “Juden!” the taller man muttered under his breath, in German. “Dirty Jewess!”
I wanted to reply, but I seemed to have lost my voice. Yes, I was a Jewess—and I had no right to exist. These men and their leaders had the right to deprive me of my life. To whom could I turn for justice?
I walked slowly; I could hardly move my feet. The suitcase weighed heavier, so that I could scarcely hold it up. They pushed me angrily. “Hurry up, you! Where are your papers? Your Kennkarte?”
“In my suitcase,” I told them. They led me into one of the buildings in the corner of the courtyard. We passed through a long corridor, then they opened a door, and I found myself in an office in which a fourth plainclothes policeman sat at a desk. A big, burly man. He lifted his head as soon as they brought me in and eyed me coldly from head to toe.
The first thing they said was, “Jewess!” The word came as a shout from both of them, like an incontrovertible accusation. Then the one at the desk shouted, “Show me your papers!”
My fingers shook nervously, but somehow I managed to open my suitcase and take out the birth certificate—the one I had obtained from Hanka Buczek, and now my only proof of identity. They looked at the paper, then at each other, and the one at the desk said impatiently, “This is a forged document. Where did you get it?” He began to read aloud: “Hanka Buczek, born in Rudy, county of Rohatyn, Poland. That’s false! Where did you get this certificate? Where is your Kennkarte, if you are not a Jewess? Look at that birth date,” he said, turning his eyes back to the certificate he held in his hand. “It doesn’t jibe. She can’t be as old as it says here.”
“I left my Kennkarte at Brody,” I answered. “That is where I worked until recently, and I came to Lvov from there. All my papers remained in the city hall at Brody. If you want to, you can check with them.” This was the truth, after all.
“What were you doing in Brody?”
“I was working as a domestic.”
They exchanged amused glances. Apparently I did not look at all like a typical servant girl. Again, they began to insist that I tell them where I got the birth certificate. One of them suggested that they get in touch with the authorities in Rudy and find out about it. I tried to defend myself; I said that I had obtained the birth certificate from the parish priest just before I left for Brody. They had my work card here in the camp, I reminded them, the card that I had been issued at Brody.
Perhaps I should have been in a greater panic, but somehow fear left me when I saw the end approaching. A reckless courage took over and I was determined to die bravely. I began to defend myself, and in so doing I gained self-confidence. The louder they shouted at me, the greater my courage grew.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I retorted. “I don’t know the reason why you have brought me here.”
“Yeah—all of them have the same answer, all of them deny being Jewish,” they sneered. “We have caught many just like you and have sent them to the fires.”
The short one added, “But after a while under interrogation, every Jew or Jewess admits it—if not here, then at the Gestapo. There they don’t ask too many questions.” He held my birth certificate in one grubby paw, the document that until now I had considered to be my greatest treasure, my defense. With his free hand he opened my suitcase and started to throw the contents out, angrily, upon the floor. When he saw the silk nightgown and scented toilet soap, he became infuriated. “So, you’re not a Jewess?” he bellowed. “A maid with a silk nightgown?”
The taller policeman also helped throw my possessions around, and finally came upon the bag with my mother’s jewelry. He pulled the cord and spilled everything upon the table. He gritted his teeth and looked at me with wild eyes, piercingly, as though he would have liked to tear me apart in his rage.
Now I could say nothing. I knew that every subterfuge and every defense would be useless. It was better to admit to being a Jewess. I counted now not minutes but seconds before he would empty the bullets in the revolver at his belt into my brain.
At that moment I was indifferent to everything. Had there been only one of them, I might have tried to grab his revolver and shoot him and then myself. But I had no chance against these four. They stood before me, motionless, looking as though they had caught me in the act of stealing something.
At last the short one screamed, “A servant girl from a village!” He spat with disgust. Then they began to examine each piece of jewelry, to see if it was really of value, as though they feared being cheated. I could see that my jewelry impressed them. The big one who looked like a bandit began examining my birth certificate again.
“Born in Rudy, county of Rohatyn, residing in Brody for six months,” he recited in a monotone, as though to himself. “All this can be checked out. We will telephone the police at Rohatyn, they will get in touch with the village authorities in Rudy, and all will be explained.”
I kept silent, for I knew that all this could be done and very easily, too. In that way they would certainly find out that I was the false Hanka Buczek. The real Hanka, for her good deed, might pay dearly—for they would know that the real Hanka Buczek was still living in Rudy and was the housekeeper for the parish priest.
While he spoke, the other kept throwing my belongings around like wild animals. They found the cigarettes among my things. The short policeman came upon a beige duster that I had packed away. He liked the checkered pattern, and he exclaimed, “This will be just right for my wife!”
They began to divide my things among them. Observing them closely, I saw that they were puzzled and did not seem to know the right solution. At last the short one said, “There aren’t enough valuables here for us to set you free. Do you have more gold?” His statement anticipated what I had had in mind. I could hear, and yet I could hardly believe what I heard. Then there was a possibility of a future for me? He added, “Besides, there isn’t enough here for the four of us—we must divide everything.”
Then I felt that there must be some higher Power protecting me. It was a feeling of great relief that I could cast aside the burden of fear and lies and could now talk openly. Confidently, perhaps a bit naively, with tears in my eyes, I told them that I also had a gold watch, a very beautiful man’s watch that my father had owned, and I told them where I had left it. But I hastened to say, in defense of the Tarashkewitzes, that the people with whom I had left the watch were completely unaware of my true identity and were strangers. They didn’t know I was Jewish. I told the policemen not to say anything about me, but simply to demand the return of the watch. They wrote down the address.
The policemen stepped outside the room for a consultation behind closed doors. In a few minutes they returned and said, “Now we will allow you to go to Germany—to let the Gestapo find you and shoot you as a Jew . . .”
I could not believe that I truly heard these words from his lips. Were my ears deceiving me?
“To Germany—to the Gestapo,” I said and left the room, my head lowered, going directly back outside to the camp. A miracle of God! Couldn’t they have shot me? I had to believe—believe strongly—that only God’s will saved me. Not my words, nor their fears—for only one bullet and I’d be done for. No, it was the Lord of Hosts who had saved and protected me; it was my mother’s blessing and prayers that were with me every moment in every danger.
I entered the main hall and found a dozen or more people assembled inside. Shortly afterward they brought the dinner pails in, and after we had eaten we were told to report to the office. We started to move forward. A few words were spoken now and then, but everyone was busy thinking about himself. These people had arrived here only recently and had not had time to become acquainted. We left the building.
Impatiently, I yearned to stand before the commission again. We were nearing the same place where the shadow of death had fallen across my path before. When Dr. Jagoda saw me in the line, he must hav
e thought I was a ghost from another world. I knew that he could not believe his eyes. He looked closely at my face, probably thinking that it was someone who happened to resemble me. But when I stood in front of his table and said, “Hanka Buczek,” the name must have sounded incredible in his ears. Oh, how I wished I could tell him about everything! How I wanted to share my experience with him! But alas, I could only stand there in silence. Only just as I was turning to go, I managed to whisper “Thank you.”
Those were my last words, my last look at that man to whom I owed my life. Would I ever see him again? Would I ever be able to thank him properly?
We were handed our papers and told to go to the shower rooms—girls on one side, the men on the other. There were only a few girls in this group. A matron told us to undress quickly, put our clothes on a bench standing against the wall in a corner of the room, and pass through a door to the showers.
Without a murmur, we began to wash ourselves, and I saw the grime rolling off my body—the soapy foam was black, not white. I thought wryly that this was the first time in my life that I stood naked before strangers, or anyone. It gave me a shock. Never had I completely undressed even in the presence of my own mother or sister—yet here, at a given order, each one of us quickly threw off all her clothes and stood under the shower. Everything was done in a flash, without protest, without shame.
At last we lined up, dressed and clean, ready to leave. The sun greeted us in the courtyard and dried the last drops of moisture from our faces and hands and hair. The boys were already waiting outside. Each of us received a package of food and were told to march to the railroad station.
Now at last I had to believe that these were my last moments and my last steps in this transit camp on Janowska Street; the camp where, for two weeks, my life hung upon a thread—where I was in the maws of a lion that could swallow me at any time.
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