“Mom, come get some rest. I’m sure we’ll see things in a better light tomorrow,” he said with a smile.
We snuggled together, trying to keep our balance and not fall into the mud. Blaz fell asleep almost instantly. I listened to his slow, measured breaths and then noticed the final whimpers and complaints of the other prisoners with their children. We were in a rancid stable surrounded by strangers. My husband, Johann, had disappeared, and the future was so uncertain that the only thing I had strength to do was say a weak prayer for my family. I had not been to church in nearly seven years, but at that moment, speaking into the inexorable vacuum of that hangar seemed like the only way to grasp at a shred of hope. My thoughts were jumbled and confused. Hunger, fear, and anguish drowned my mind, as if living in that camp were like trying to breathe underwater. I thought again of my husband’s beautiful face. His eyes said it all. I would see him again. He would not leave me alone, not even in hell. Johann, like Orpheus who passed through the underworld to save his wife, would come to rescue me from the clutches of death itself; though that night I thought of how I would suffer the same fate as Eurydice, and my beloved would remain on the other side of the Styx. The night lasted forever. I hardly slept, broken by fear and uncertainty but determined not to give in. My children would be my strength until Johann came back for us.
FOUR
MAY 1943
AUSCHWITZ
Our arrival at Auschwitz could not have gone worse. I still had not understood that the only rule that governed the camp was to survive at any cost and not expect help from anyone. Mothers snatched up the tiniest morsels of bread to feed their emaciated children; men came to blows over better camp jobs with the hope of surviving one more day. The female guards and the SS took advantage of our vulnerable situation in the cruelest and most sadistic ways. The logic of Auschwitz could not be compared with what reigned on the other side of the electric barbed-wire fences.
They woke us when there were still two hours left before dawn. We had to rush to get dressed, tidy up the barrack, and take advantage of the few minutes we were allowed to go to the bathroom. It was not easy to get my five children ready with such little time, but Blaz helped with Adalia while I tended to the others. Our shoes splashed in the mud as we ran to the bathrooms. We had to wait outside in the rain until it was our turn. I sent the children in first to do their business, but we had taken in such little liquid and food that nothing came out. Then I decided to wash their faces and hands with the freezing water in the troughs that served as sinks.
“Don’t drink even a drop of this water,” I warned them. You did not have to be a nurse to recognize that that water was far from drinkable.
We had hardly managed to wipe ourselves off when the kapos pushed us out to make room for the next people.
When we went back out to the main road, our hands and faces still wet, the cold of the Polish morning sliced through us. I did not even want to think about what it would be like in autumn or winter, when the thermometers rarely registered anything over freezing temperatures.
As we returned to the barrack, I tried to pay more attention to the camp buildings and surroundings. All the barracks looked the same on the outside except the ones closest to the bathrooms. One was called “Sauna,” which was for disinfecting the prisoners, and another one stood nearby, but I could not tell what it was for. Barracks 24 to 30 seemed to be hospital pavilions for men and women. It comforted me slightly to think that the camp was concerned for our health, and I thought I might offer to volunteer there. Perhaps that would even improve our position in the camp. The remaining barracks were all for sleeping, though the ones at the front of the camp were also offices and sleeping quarters for the kapos, with more amenities than what the rest of the prisoners had.
They made us stand in line for a very long hour until the morning count to make sure no one was missing. Then we went back inside our barrack and got out the one bowl we had been given the night before. Two of the kitchen workers served a dark, foul-smelling liquid they called coffee. I went up to one and asked, “Is there any milk for the children?”
The woman stared at me, turned to her coworker, and snarled, “The duchess wants some milk for her little princes.” Turning back to me, she said, “I hate to tell you, but blue blood doesn’t get rank in here.”
The rest of the women in the barrack cackled hoarsely at me, so I took the coffee and went back to my children without saying a word.
They took small sips of the drink. At least it was something warm to take the edge off the morning cold and fool our stomachs for a bit. We still had another half hour free. I preferred to go back outside instead of staying cooped up in that foul place. We made our way toward the barracks at the entryway. We saw the offices, the kitchens, and the storerooms. Most of the people we saw working turned out to be common criminals, as I later learned, though some were Gypsies. I moved to speak to one of the women in the office, but no sooner had I taken a step than one of the guards blocked my way.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she said, raising her whip.
“I wanted to ask a question,” I answered, meeting her gaze. The children instinctively drew closer to me.
“This is no summer camp. Does your housing assignment not quite meet your expectations? Do you have a suggestion for the cook? Get back to your barrack, you slut,” she said as her fist cracked into my cheekbone.
Blood gushed out of my nose and soaked my clothes. The children cried with fear, but Blaz stepped forward to defend me.
“No, Blaz!” I said, dragging him back.
“Take your brats back to your barrack and don’t let me find you up here again, understood?”
I returned to our barrack in a mess of tears and blood. We holed up in our little corner and did not move until the food came. My mind was completely numb. I told myself over and over again that I had to react, had to get up, but my body refused to respond. I had to do it for my children. Though I was losing the will to fight, they had their whole lives ahead of them.
“Mom, later on I’ll go out and try to find some help. There’s got to be someone around here who’s willing to help us,” Blaz said.
I ran my fingers through his dirty hair and saw something that looked like lice. Within a short time, lice, fleas, and bedbugs would have their way with us. Blaz had always been a good boy, responsible and affectionate. He had eyes only for me. I knew he was capable of doing whatever he could for us, but I was afraid he would get hurt or even killed.
“Don’t do anything or go anywhere. This place is very dangerous. We’ll think of something. God never abandons his children,” I said.
“I think in a place like this we may have to give God a hand,” he answered seriously.
I dozed off, and none of the guards bothered me. For a few seconds I dreamed about Johann and our early years of marriage. We were so happy despite the rejection we often encountered. That was why we had moved to Berlin. In the city, nothing seemed to scandalize anyone, certainly not a mixed marriage between an Aryan woman and a Gypsy man. In those days, the mid-1930s, the capital was a hub for all of us trying to shake off the postwar poverty and economic crisis. In our town, after the unexpected return of economic hardships, no one had wanted a Gypsy to have a job that could have gone to a “good German.” Many Romani had fought in the Great War. Johann’s father had even received the Iron Cross for saving a wounded officer and carrying him from the front to a military hospital, but that did not matter when there was hardly enough work to go around.
Blaz had already been born, and only the good heart of a kind baker married to a Jamaican kept us from starving. She shared her bread with us, which gave me the strength to nurse Blaz and keep our family alive. The Weimar Republic’s dream of a more just society had once again devolved into a nightmare.
The memory of Johann bringing a few oranges home was crystal clear. It was Christmas, and all we had to eat that night were some boiled potatoes and two sausages. We sweetened the orang
e with a sprinkle of sugar. Johann slowly fed little Blaz one slice at a time, laughing as the baby sucked and smacked on the fruit as if it were the most exquisite delicacy on earth.
Constant hunger makes you dream constantly about food. The arrival of lunch brought me back to the reality of camp life. We crawled out of our koia for the meager midday ration, which was a very watery, off-putting soup. I gave it all to the children. I had not eaten for three days now, and my strength was starting to wane. I had to find some way to survive or within a few days I would no longer be able to take care of them. Without me, they would not make it even a week.
After the soup, we went out to walk around again. This time, after my encounter with the guard, we avoided the entryway. We walked along the barracks toward the bathrooms. When we passed by number 14, I heard German being spoken. It was the first time I had heard prisoners communicating fluently in our language. I approached cautiously. The children stayed close by me, except for Blaz, who had wanted to walk around on his own.
“Are you German?” I dared to ask two elderly women who were holding babies.
They looked at me with surprise. I was not sure if it was because of my Aryan looks, the cuts on my face, or the passel of children with me. The older one gestured for me to come closer. I leaned down in front of her, and she passed her hand over my face. I began to cry at her gentle touch. The simple show of affection within that inferno was the best gift she could have given me.
“Good God, what have they done to you?” she asked, nearly in a whisper.
“A guard hit me when I went up to the office,” I explained.
“Probably the sadist Maria Mandel or Irma Grese, a true beast. They are the worst savages here at Birkenau.”
“This place is called Birkenau?” I asked.
“Yes, we’re in Birkenau, though it’s also called Auschwitz II. But you’re not a Gypsy,” she said.
I shook my head and said with a heavy voice, “No, but my husband and children are. They wanted to bring them here without me, but I couldn’t leave them. I’m their mother.”
“And where is your husband?” the other woman asked.
“They separated us when we got here. I think they took him away with a work group,” I answered.
The older woman asked, “Was he sick, or very thin?”
Her question puzzled me. “No, strong and healthy as an ox.”
“You’re sure?” I did not understand her insistence at the time, not until later, when I learned what happened to children, the elderly, and the sick on the other side of the barbed wire.
“So you don’t have to worry about him. Those who work get a bit more food and can leave here for the factories,” the other woman said.
“Where did they put you with the children?” the older woman asked, her hand still resting on my face.
“In barrack number 4.”
“God, no, with the Russians! Those poor brutes have been so mistreated they have nothing human left in them. You’ve got to get out of there as soon as you can,” she replied, clearly startled.
“But how?” The desperation in my voice was clear.
“We’ll speak to our barrack supervisor. There are a lot of us here already, but because we’re Germans they haven’t crammed quite as many in here as in the other barracks. We can find room. She’ll make a request to the SS leader. Normally, they accept our requests with no fuss. You’ll have to go back to number 4 tonight, but hopefully by tomorrow they’ll move you to our barrack. Don’t talk to anyone or get into any trouble. Those women are dangerous,” she warned.
Her words both depressed and encouraged me. We had had the misfortune of being placed in the worst spot of the Gypsy camp, but it seemed like things might get a little less horrible.
One of the women handed me the baby she was holding, went into the barrack, and came back out with a strip of tape and a bandage. She cleaned my face off with alcohol and covered my wound with the bandage.
“One of our friends is a Polish nurse. She’s a Jew. There’s not much at the infirmary, but she snuck us a few bandages for the children,” she explained.
“I’m a nurse,” I volunteered.
“Well, praise heaven. They need all the help they can get at the hospital. There are so few workers and hardly any medicine,” she answered.
I stayed talking with the women awhile. It was the first time I had felt human contact since arriving. My crew started playing with some of the children in their barrack. We would have to spend one more night among the horrible company of barrack 4, but someone in Birkenau had finally offered us a shred of help.
When the supervisor from barrack 14 came, she took down my information and gave it to the secretary, who took it to the office. The fact that I was a nurse would grease the wheel for the transfer request. Besides, there was an unwritten rule in the camp that German prisoners received slightly less atrocious treatment than others, unless they were Jews, in which case the treatment was equal.
“We’re more fortunate than the poor Jews,” the older woman said.
Puzzled by her comment, I asked, “Why do you say that?” I had not yet noticed many luxuries for Gypsies in Auschwitz.
“They’re separated as soon as they arrive. The only family camp for Jews is the one for the Czechs. The rest are separated into men and women. Children, mothers, and the elderly disappear. We don’t know what they do with them. Maybe they take them to other camps,” she explained.
The other old woman frowned and whispered, “Some say they kill them and burn up the bodies.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” the older woman said, crossing herself. “You’ll bring us bad baxt.”
“When they come to shower in the sauna, that’s what some of the Sonderkommandos have told our men. I think there’s a Gypsy among them. They say they burn the bodies in ovens.”
“That’s just gossip. The Nazis aren’t capable of such cruelty. Even that monster Hitler had a mother and a father.” The older woman was angry now.
“That son of Beng, his only father is Satan,” the other woman spat out.
“I can’t imagine they’ve gone to that level,” I said. I had seen a lot over the past few years, but human cruelty has its limits—at least I thought so at the time.
We returned to the barrack right before supper, after being allowed a few rushed moments in the bathroom. In silence we ate the piece of black bread and beet compote, and then the younger children went to sleep. They were exhausted. There were too many emotions and not enough food for them to have energy in the late afternoon. When it got completely dark, Blaz told me what all he had discovered, and I told him about my talk with the older women.
“I learned that the camp to the right of us is the hospital for the whole place,” Blaz said. “On the other side is a camp for Jewish men. They leave early every morning to work in the Nazi factories.”
“I hope that we’ll be transferred to the new barrack tomorrow. I don’t think it’ll be much better than this one, but at least the people seem nicer.” I could not think of any more to say.
Blaz went on with his account. “I’ve met some kids and I found a little shed near the offices.”
I broke in nervously. “Please, no, I told you not to go near there.” After the experience from this morning, I knew that being anywhere near the guards or the SS was very dangerous.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t get close. Just close enough to see the barrack that the SS have behind the storehouse. That’s where they go to smoke and drink, and I saw some girls from the camp going in there.”
“I don’t want you to go back there. It’s too dangerous,” I warned him.
We fell asleep amidst the groans, complaints, and tossing and turning of the prisoners.
It was again very cold the next morning. The sky was clear, and there was a stiff frost on the ground. The barrack roof hardly offered resistance to the freezing air outside. We got ready quickly, and I hoped desperately that we would be transferred to the German barrac
k that day. After getting ready and having coffee, we stayed inside. The children were shivering uncontrollably with the cold. Though we tried to warm each other, we hardly had enough calories in our bodies to fight the low temperatures.
One of the more aggressive Russians came up and, pulling out a sort of awl, said, “I need your coats, duchess. My children are cold.”
Dubiously, I stood up. I did not want to cause a scene that might jeopardize my chance to leave that barrack, but I could not allow her to have my children’s coats.
I held her gaze and spoke calmly. “I wish I could help you, but my children are also cold. Ask for some new ones at the camp office.”
Two of the woman’s friends came up beside me. Fighting against three women, one of whom was armed, was not a wise move.
Blaz jumped up, slipped between the women, and hurried out of the barrack. They could not stop him, and no one dared go out of the barrack at that hour.
“Where does your snotty-nosed brat think he’s going? They’ll bring him back here soon enough black and blue, but that’s what your kind deserve—you think bad things never happen to people like you, that it’s people like us that deserve all the trouble in this world.”
“I don’t want any trouble. We’re all here unjustly. If we help each other, we can make it through, but if we act like animals, the Nazis will do away with us in the blink of an eye,” I tried to explain.
The woman raised the awl and started moving it back and forth. I followed her movements with my eyes then took off my coat and rolled it around my right arm. Johann had showed me what Gypsies did in a knife fight. The Russian woman looked at me with surprise, as if having second thoughts, but she kept threatening us. It was three on one, and they knew I would not last long.
Auschwitz Lullaby Page 4