Auschwitz, 24th July 1943
MEYER made his way back to Hut 72 with the others in the evening sunshine. Langer was nowhere to be seen.
As they walked, Meyer tried to take in more of his surroundings. Behind them was the ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’ gate and the buildings used for the processing of the new prisoners, where only a few hours ago he had given up the last of his personal possessions for his striped uniform. Beyond were trees and blue sky.
Across the compound, to the east, Meyer could see the tops of large brick chimneys from some industrial complex which looked to be based within the camp. White smoke bellowed from them, blowing north, creating new clouds in the blue sky. Perhaps this was one of the places where the working parties were sent to each day.
Around him were a mix of wooden huts and brick barracks. The huts wore faded paint like the faded jackets of the inmates, and rust-red numbers identified each building. The long brick buildings had slate roofs, and small windows peppered the walls. Some were attached by adjoining walls, restricting his view and creating courtyards and dead ends. Both types of buildings were drab and gloom-laden, even in the sunshine.
There were very few SS guards to be seen. Most of them were at the processing centre or patrolling the giant perimeter fence, although Meyer saw a group of four entering one of the brick buildings adjacent to Hut 72.
He pulled open the wooden door to his new home and felt the smothering heat of the day and the stench of human life crammed into such a space overwhelm him. Meyer pushed through the heat and stepped back into the hut, walking down to the far end, followed by the rest of the group, who took seats on the empty bunks of the still empty hut.
He turned and surveyed the interior of the building once again. If he was going to be here for any length of time he wanted to pick a spot which would be as safe and as comfortable as possible. If he was still here in the cold of the Polish winter then he needed to stay away from the walls and not be directly under a window. At the same time, the idea of being in the centre of the hut, especially if it was to become, and stay, as crowded as Langer had suggested, made him feel slightly claustrophobic and even more trapped than he already felt. The black mould on the ceiling was emanating from the easterly corner, and the two patches of white where the salts from the wood had been deposited gave Meyer a map of accumulated and sudden water leaks. He checked the bunks under these stains. They looked slightly darker than the rest of the beds. Meyer found a bunk which got light from the window but would not get a direct draught, relatively far away from the darker-coloured bunks and not at the end of the row, and sat down on it.
It wasn’t long before the door opened again and thin, weary men began to pour into the hut. There was very little talking from them as they passed up the rows of bunks to their regular resting places. The new inmates stood to one side as these colourless men passed by them without even a glance. Meyer kept his seat.
One of the first men through the door made his way towards Meyer, sat down two bunks away, removed one of his clogs, which Meyer noticed had a cloth sock inserted into it, and rubbed his toes.
As the hum of voices began to build, the man turned to Meyer and said, “You can’t sleep in that bunk. The man who sleeps there is a friend of Kapo Langer. Langer will have you killed if you start any trouble with his friends.” He then pointed to a dark-coloured broken bunk not too far away.
“That one is empty and probably the only empty bed today. The man who slept in that bunk last night did not wake up this morning.”
The hut was now rapidly filling with men. With the exception of Meyer, the new inmates were now all standing against the wall. He wondered how long it would be before they realised that there were not enough beds to go around. Meyer nodded to the man, who was still rubbing his toes and thanked him for the advice before moving down a few spaces to the broken bunk.
The wood on the bed was soft but dry, although a large crack ran the length of the bunk. This would do for the time being; at least he knew he had somewhere to sleep tonight and he could always see if there was a better bed over the next few days.
A few moments later, a man sat down on the bunk next to Meyer. As all the beds were connected together, Meyer felt his arrival as his bed dropped to one side, opening the split down the middle slightly.
At first, Meyer thought that his neighbour was almost indistinguishable from any of the other inmates; he was thin and wore the striped colourless uniform, identical to everyone else's, except for the less faded ones of the newcomers. He was doing what almost every other man was doing, removing his clogs and rubbing his feet.
He turned and stared at Meyer, looking him up and down as he separated every toe and rubbed his fingers over them.
“It is a long walk back from the forest. An even longer walk in wooden clogs,” he explained.
Meyer smiled as he realised that his own feet were sitting uncomfortably in wooden clogs. He had an urge to remove his own clogs and rub his feet as well, but he thought that this would have looked ridiculous.
“What work do you do in the forest?” he asked instead.
There was a long pause while the man returned his feet to his clogs before he replied.
“At the moment, we are digging long drainage ditches. I don’t know what for, but some think it is for a factory they are going to build. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Meyer agreed that it didn’t matter by nodding. He wanted to start getting as much information about this place as he could, so he could try and find his family. The best way to do that was to make friends with an inmate who had been here for a while.
“Would it be a factory like the one whose chimneys I can see?” he asked, pointing roughly in the chimney's direction. The man’s face fell, and his eyes dropped to the floor.
“Has no one told you yet?” he asked, “I thought Kapo Langer would have told you all. He relishes spreading terror.”
Meyer had a feeling of foreboding. He shook his head and explained that nothing had been said to them except that they would be working every day and that life would be very hard.
The man held out his hand. “Anton Geller. I was a butcher in Salzburg.”
Meyer took the man’s hand, noticing the skin was like leather, and replied, “Manfred Meyer. Lawyer in Berlin.”
“You need to understand what kind of place this is, Herr Meyer,” started Geller.
Meyer interrupted him, “Please. Call me Manfred.”
Geller smiled, revealing missing teeth from one side of his mouth. As with most of the prisoners, in their dirty, unshaven, colourless guise, it was difficult to determine how old Anton Geller was, but he looked like he was in his late forties, perhaps even in his fifties. He took a deep breath before continuing.
“Okay, Manfred. I think first of all I should explain that the chimneys you see within the camp are not part of a factory, although, as a lawyer I am sure you could argue that they are part of a factory - a factory of death.”
Meyer’s brow furrowed. What did he mean by ‘a factory of death’? What was that place if not a work camp? Geller continued his explanation.
“They are the chimneys of crematoria.”
“Crematoria? But there are four of them!” exclaimed Meyer.
“Yes,” agreed Geller, “and they work every day.”
“Every day? But how is that possible?”
Geller stared at the floor of the hut.
“It is possible,” he whispered.
“What are they burning? Is it bodies from the Eastern Front?” asked Meyer.
“No. You were brought here by train?” Geller phrased it as a question, but he already knew the answer. Everyone arrived by train. Meyer nodded.
“And then they split you up, men from women, old from young.”
Again, Meyer nodded.
“They split me up from my wife and children,” he said.
Geller rubbed his face with his hands.
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“Manfred, how old are your children?”
Meyer felt his skin go cold. What was Geller going to tell him? His stomach ached and he thought he was about to vomit back up the thin gruel from earlier.
“They are thirteen. Twin girls,” he replied.
Geller could see the fear in Meyer’s eyes and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Were they well? I mean, were they fit? And your wife?”
Meyer felt a bead of cold sweat run down the length of his spine.
“Yes, all of them were very well. They are rarely ill. Anton, please tell me. What is this place?” he pleaded.
“Manfred,” replied Geller, pausing to prepare himself for telling Meyer the truth about where he was, what his fate and the fate of his family was. Meyer’s eyes pleaded Geller for an answer to his question.
“This is a death camp.”
A Murder in Auschwitz (Sampler) Page 8