Together, they emerged from Wiesław’s room and, followed by rows of unblinking eyes, made their way to Kolya’s bunk. Hostility no longer marring his broad features, the Russian took the cold compress away from his swollen eye and regarded the two men with interest.
Silently, Wiesław held a bottle in front of him, his hand betraying him with a tremor. The Russian surprised them both greatly by bursting into laughter and patting the spot on his bunk, inviting his guests to share it.
“You—fool, me—fool,” he explained amiably in his bad Polish, opening the bottle and handing it to Wiesław first, a gesture that Edek understood sealed their friendship. “Nazis—bad. You—comrade. I fight Nazis, not comrades.”
“Yes,” Wiesław agreed readily and grasped the bottle by the neck, pumping the Russian’s hand with a feeling of kinship that only two men who had just been slaughtering each other could share. “No more fighting among friends.”
Twenty-Three
“Transferred?”
Mala didn’t conceal her alarm at the news Edek had broken. It wasn’t Sunday, their agreed-upon “date day”; he’d simply headed to the new ramp under construction masked by the cover of night as he’d done once before. Highlighted by the pale-yellow glare of the overhead lamps, the tracks were cutting further and further between the men’s and women’s camps—an ugly black scar on the pristine white surface of freshly fallen snow. He’d caught Mala just in time—after delivering written orders to the Kapo, she was about to head back to carry out the rest of the night shift along with two other runners.
“What are you going to do about it?” she asked, searching Edek’s face with concern. “You can’t smuggle a block clerk out of the camp. Wiesław has to belong to an actual Kommando.”
“There’s still time till summer,” Edek said, injecting a note of nonchalance into his voice that he didn’t truly feel. “More than enough time for the camp authorities to realize that he makes a lousy clerk and dismiss him back to an ordinary work gang.”
Mala smiled weakly at him and gave his hand an encouraging pressure.
“Are my eyes playing tricks on me or do the tracks indeed seem to creep closer and closer to the—” Edek stopped himself abruptly, mentally tracing the ominous direction the railway was leading toward.
The crematorium chimneys loomed ahead of them, slumbering deceivingly against the bright arch of temporary overhead lights. The route that took them a good forty minutes just a few weeks ago had turned into a short trek of scarcely fifteen. The banging of the heavy instruments hammering the tracks into the frozen ground echoed eerily around the camp like a ghastly clock measuring time till something mortifying and inevitable. The workers were building the new ramp in double shifts, with deadly efficiency.
“No. Your eyes aren’t deceiving you. The new ramp shall be constructed right here.” Mala pointed at the still-empty plot of land that separated the men’s and women’s camp. She paused before speaking in a voice that sent a tremor down Edek’s spine, “I’ve seen the plans in the camp office. I deliver the orders, too.”
Edek felt his ears ringing. The stillness had suddenly turned into a shrill cry of sheer terror. Something was being readied, new ultimate extermination procedures were being laid in place, concealed under the guise of darkness. The skull of the moon grinned down at him with its bare jaws from the indifferent sky. He could swear, if Mala didn’t hold his hand just then, he would fall over from that dreadful realization. In his already troubled mind, the words of the Auschwitz historian who used to share his barrack with Edek, materialized: “They’ll slaughter us all; mark my words. No one wants us to walk out of here and start telling our stories.”
“It’s not for us.” As though sensing his horrible dread, Mala pressed her hand over his in a reassuring gesture. “Not yet, at any rate. What do we need the ramp for? The ramp is for the new arrivals. We’re already here. It’s for the Hungarian Jews. The Hungarians thought it to be good business to switch sides in the war but miscalculated. Now Hitler will take his revenge in his favorite manner—obliterating their entire Jewish population. As for us, the Nazis still need us. Who else shall aid them with that mass murder, if not us?”
In the darkness, her pained smile was the only beacon of light that gave him hope. It suddenly occurred to Edek that he couldn’t bear parting with her, not just yet.
How will you say goodbye when the time comes? Another thought crept into the corner of his mind, coiling there silently like a snake ready to strike at the moment of vulnerability. Edek let it rest there—for now.
Sunday couldn’t come fast enough. Edek counted days and suffered through the sleepless nights, but when it finally arrived, he had suddenly discovered that he wasn’t the only guest in Mala’s private quarters that evening.
“Forgive me for not warning you in advance,” Mala said, pecking him swiftly on his lips. “There was no time. It’s an emergency meeting.”
Mala’s small room appeared even more crowded and thick with cigarette smoke that hung in the air in hazy, gray ringlets. Edek recognized Zippy, who presently sat on Mala’s bed; exchanged handshakes with several people he’d never met before. Their faces were grave; their voices subdued. At first glance, it was obvious they belonged to the camp elite. The man sitting on the floor with his legs crossed was clearly from the Sonderkommando. The stench of burnt flesh clung to his well-tailored clothes despite the rest of his appearance being well-groomed and neat. Mala introduced him as Konstantinos.
“Kostek.”
The hulky man hesitated before offering Edek his hand. Not because it went against his principles to shake hands with a maintenance worker but because so many inmates were disgusted at the prospect of having to shake the gas chamber attendant’s palm.
Edek grasped it firmly and offered his name.
A physician from the camp hospital sat on Mala’s bed next to Zippy, her off-white gown sporting fresh blood on its sleeve. Mala introduced her as Stasia. He grinned—the inmate doctor was Polish as well.
Two other men sitting by the radiator belonged to the carpenters’ crew, judging by their distinctive uniforms. One of them looked familiar. Only when Edek looked closer did he recognize Pavol, the Slovak who had put him in contact with Mala.
Mala herself sat on the only chair like a president of the small assembly. She offered Edek to sit on the bed as well, but he preferred to remain standing by the door, not wanting to crowd the women on Mala’s much-too-small cot.
The second carpenter regarded Edek with suspicion at first, but Mala eased his concern with a simple sweep of the hand. “He’s one of us. He can be trusted.”
Her words appeared to be good enough for everyone present, as the tension on their faces eased.
“Something is brewing with the Family Camp,” Mala filled Edek in without any unnecessary preamble.
“The Theresienstadt Jews?” Edek blinked.
Since they had been first brought from the Czechoslovakian Theresienstadt ghetto to Birkenau last September, the Family Camp inmates were considered a curiosity of sorts. Unlike the rest of the new arrivals, they weren’t chased through the Reception Block with blows and shouts and abuse; weren’t shorn like sheep before being tattooed and hounded through the Sauna’s disinfection facility before being herded outside completely naked, shivering with terror and cold. On the contrary, they were escorted inside their new barracks almost cordially by the suddenly soft-spoken SS, treated like welcome guests, allowed to keep their civilian clothes and even suitcases—something unheard of in Auschwitz-Birkenau. Ever since, they lived just as they had arrived, all the families together, while the rest of the camp population, torn from their loved ones, stared at them from behind the barbed wire and scratched their heads uncomprehendingly at such unexpected favoritism.
Only later did the local resistance learn that it was all a sham. That the only reason why the SS tiptoed around their poster Jews was propaganda they kept feeding to the international press, claiming that the Jews were we
ll cared for and provided with everything they needed. The most unfortunate part was that the Red Cross, which sometimes visited German camps with their inspections, swallowed the Nazis’ stories without suspecting any malice on their part and ended each visit with offers to provide more humanitarian help to the Jews. The camp administration agreed with great enthusiasm and rubbed their hands in glee behind the Red Cross inspectors’ backs, imagining the feast they would organize for themselves with Swiss-supplied goods.
“I said from the very beginning that something was not right with that camp.” Zippy was the first one to break the silence. “It was far too good to be true. All those angelic-looking children with their toys, all those women in stockings and high heels, all those former war veterans strolling about as though on parade, with all their regalia in full display. Not in Auschwitz. No,” she finished with a categorical shake of her head. “It didn’t come to me as a surprise when their local underground confirmed my suspicions that it was all a show for the Swiss.”
“The SS made them write postcards to their families and postdate them by one month.” Mala’s eyes stared at the opposite wall as she spoke. A sharp crease sat between her eyebrows. “Zippy and I were sorting them in the camp office. When I asked Mandl if there was a mistake of some sort with all those incorrect dates, she became very vague and claimed it had something to do with the delay at the censorship office in Berlin.”
“Horseshit,” Kostek commented at once.
Edek snorted softly at such endearing bluntness. He began to like the Sonderkommando fellow more and more.
“They’re planning the extermination Aktion,” Kostek continued. “You can take it from me. I’ve seen plenty of similar business before. Censorship office, my foot,” he scoffed, shaking his head in disgust.
“That’s precisely what Zippy and I thought.” Mala looked at Kostek. “Hence the meeting. We ought to tell them.”
“Suppose we do tell them,” Pavol spoke, rolling a cigarette after stubbing out the one he’d just finished in an empty sardine can. “And then what? I’ve been there countless times. They’re the most insufferable, stuck-up herd I’ve ever seen. They think that Auschwitz rules don’t apply to them. Only very few of them suspect that something is cooking. The rest prefer to remain blissfully ignorant and rely on the SS’s good graces.” He rolled his eyes emphatically.
“But there are underground members among them,” Mala insisted.
“Yes, thirty-three out of five thousand,” Stasia commented, obviously not impressed by such numbers. “How do you plan to create an uprising out of those measly thirty-plus people?”
“They can act as leaders,” Mala persisted, but the physician only waved her off.
“If people don’t believe that they’re about to be killed, no leader will move them to a revolt,” Kostek’s tone turned unexpectedly wistful. “Back in 1942, when those monstrosities next to the Kanada hadn’t been built yet, I was driving a truck full of freshly gassed people back to the old crematorium in Auschwitz. The road we were supposed to take went along the ramp, so we had to go very slowly in order for the bodies not to fall off as we were always overloaded and the road was bumpy. At any rate, as we were crawling forward, I witnessed the following scene: a well-dressed woman, not from a ghetto but some well to-do Jewess from wherever they’d picked her up, was marching toward an SS man on the ramp, her little son in tow. So, she walks up to him and points at one of the Kanada men who was taking care of the luggage on the ramp. The poor sod must have tried to warn her that she should let go of her child if she wanted to live… Whatever the case was, she didn’t believe him and stormed toward the SS guard instead, almost screaming her accusations about the poor Kanada lad. ‘Herr Offizier, that vile criminal has just told me that if I don’t let go of my child, we shall both be killed!’ The officer looked at her almost apologetically—he knew the deal, no panic on the ramp under any circumstances—and smiled at her in the most benevolent manner. ‘Madam, he’s criminally insane. His kind, they invent all sorts of wild fantasies. Do you truly think German people are barbarians who kill women and children?’ And what do you know? The crowd believed the SS man and not the criminally insane inmate.”
Kostek patted himself for a packet of cigarettes and lit one absentmindedly. “When she turned to face the Kanada lad in triumph, he wasn’t there any longer. She couldn’t see it from where she was, but I could. Two guards had already dispatched him behind the stocked luggage, so he wouldn’t wag his tongue next time. They motioned for me to stop and told me to wait so I could pick up one more body after everyone was gone from the ramp.”
Edek watched Mala’s reaction as Kostek recounted his story and saw that there was not a trace of surprise in her gaze, only dark melancholy of someone who’d seen it all before.
“They shall see that we were right,” the second carpenter said. “Only, it’ll be too late.”
“Still, it’s our duty to try.” Mala refused to surrender. She turned to Kostek. “Do you have enough supplies to support the uprising, if they decide to go through with it?”
He pulled on his cigarette, calculating things in his mind. “We have some makeshift bombs and a few guns. The idea is to overpower at least a couple of SS manning the machine guns; then we’re in business, ladies and gentlemen.”
From his position on the floor, Pavol’s fellow carpenter with a Red Triangle on his chest was shaking his head vehemently. “You’ll only get us all killed. The plan was start an uprising when the Soviets are nearby so we can run toward them once we break away. Where are you planning to run now? Back into the Nazis’ hands? We ought to wait.”
“You commies have always had trouble acting on your own initiative.” Kostek shook his head in disgust.
“Us commies prefer to think with our heads before we act,” the carpenter bared his teeth in a snarl. “If it weren’t for us commies,” he continued mockingly, “you would have been chased through the chimney instead of stocking it. Forgot who put you in your kosher spot already? The blasted Red Triangles!”
“Enough!” Mala’s shout quickly put an end to the discussion. “We ought to work together instead of bickering among each other. I understand that the general population of the Family Camp have trouble believing us. But what if we give them actual proof? Perhaps then they shall act.”
“What sort of proof? A signed paper from the camp office?” Zippy chuckled grimly. “Fat chance Mandl will permit us to take that home.”
“No.” Mala turned to Kostek. “You said your SS supervisors always tell you exactly how many people you should stoke the furnaces for, so you don’t waste any… whatever you call that special coal you’re using for the ovens?” She snapped her fingers, groping for the needed word that kept escaping her.
“Coke,” Kostek supplied, suddenly all attention.
“Well, if the SS tell you to stock the ovens for five thousand people, won’t it be proof enough?”
For a long time, Kostek remained silent. At last, he sighed. “Perhaps.” His half-shrug didn’t deceive anyone. He had not an ounce of faith in such an idea.
After all of them left—one by one, through the same back door leading to the cellar that Edek always used—Edek crouched at Mala’s feet and held her hands in his. “Is there anything I can do, Mally?”
For a few moments, it seemed as though she didn’t hear him. But then her fingers curled around his and some wild force appeared in her eyes.
“Yes. Yes, you can. Get out of here with as much proof as you have and warn anyone who shall listen of what’s going on in Auschwitz, so they don’t come here in the first place. So that they get a chance to fight on their own territory. So that, even if they die, they at least take a couple of Nazis with them.”
She was fierce, full of hate, and even slightly terrifying as she spoke those words. And it suddenly dawned on Edek that he had never loved anyone as much as he loved her, this new underground leader who had taken up the position no one else wanted to even contemplate o
ut of fear of repercussions, this Amazonian warrior with fire in her blood and ice in her gaze.
Twenty-Four
March 1944
After the last snowstorm that had left the camp shrouded in white, the spring crept up and washed off the muddy roads, leaving the barracks roofs dripping with moisture and smelling faintly of wet wood. By the time Edek had reached his former work detail, his heart was pounding against his ribcage with force that rivaled Kapo Vasek’s expert blows. His former Kommandoführer Lubusch was his only hope. But what if that hope decided that his own skin was more important than Edek’s freedom? What if he laughed at Edek’s naiveté and pretended that their conversation never happened? What if he’d gone on leave to his wife and now, after his return, he refused to leave her a widow?
In front of the door leading to Lubusch’s office, he took a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm his nerves. He’d worked himself up into such a state that his hand was trembling as he was raising it to rap on the familiar door. He was swaying on his feet, woozy, ashen, damp with sweat under his blue overalls; and he winced imperceptibly at the familiar soft voice issuing permission to come in. Much too soon, he hadn’t recollected himself yet—but his hand was already pushing the door open of its own accord. His legs carried him inside; Edek had a vague, out-of-body sensation of clicking his heels and pulling his striped cap off in the practiced gesture. The camp was a ruthless teacher. It had trained them to obey any SS man’s order—even half-alive, even shivering with dread, they did what they were ordered to.
“Galiński!” Lubusch rose from his chair, visibly pleased to see his former worker. “You’re still alive, old dog?”
Ordinarily, both the SS and the Kapos followed up such a rhetorical question with “it’s all right, we’ll fix that quickly enough” before setting off to work on the unexpectedly resilient inmate with their whips and batons. Yet there was genuine joy in Lubusch’s tone. Edek’s lips quivered with the oddest mixture of emotions.
The Girl Who Escaped from Auschwitz: A totally gripping and absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 page-turner, based on a true story Page 20