Jerzy, the gentle giant who had sworn to Edek that he would do anything in his powers to help him and Mala with their escape, rose unsteadily to his feet. It was the very first toast of the evening, but he swayed slightly with emotion as though he was already drunk.
“May I please…” He made an effort to collect himself. In his great paw, an aluminum mug filled with vodka appeared no bigger than a thimble. “Just a minute of everyone’s attention.”
When the room quieted down, he wetted his lips.
“I know we’re celebrating today, but I consider it appropriate to raise this very first glass—”
“Mug!” someone interrupted him, causing the room to break into guffaws.
“Yes, a mug—” Jerzy grinned feebly, “to our comrades who aren’t with us any longer. There were seven hundred and twenty-eight of us on that train. And how many are left?” His eye roved the room, swimming with tears. “Thirty? Thirty-five? How many lives—”
“Shut it, Jerzy!” one of the Polish fitters shouted.
But Jerzy stared straight ahead, pale and trembling, as though he didn’t even hear him. “There was Djunio. Romek. Tadek—”
“Quit it with that roll call!” It was Edek this time, visibly unnerved. “If you start enumerating all the comrades we’ve lost, we’ll be sitting here for two days. We shall mourn them all later. Not now. Everyone’s guts are churning as it is with those poor Hungarian bastards and here you start as well. Let’s just be silent for a few moments.” He stood up and lifted his mug in the air, inviting everyone to stand with him. For a minute, not a sound could be heard. “Thank you. To our fallen comrades. Let them rest in eternal peace. And let us avenge them the first chance we get.”
Kolya, the Professor’s adjutant who had managed to get himself into the kitchen Kommando that was ordinarily only reserved for the German Green Triangles, marched in and raised two buckets in the air.
“Anyone place an order for goulash and potatoes?”
“Kolya, you Bolshevist profiteer! Wherever did you organize it from?” The inmates stared at the buckets in amazement.
“Two guesses.” Kolya barked out laughter, placing the buckets, full to the brim, next to the tables. All at once, the mouthwatering smell of fresh meat and potatoes enveloped the stuffy room, almost intoxicating and going straight to one’s head. With eyes full of infinite gratitude and wonder, men watched the Russian distribute the goods into the dishes with a generous hand and a broad smile on his face. “The SS will have to go on a diet for the next couple of days, but we shall eat our fill today.”
“Soon, we shall eat all we want,” Edek proclaimed, dipping his mug into a bucket of schnapps again.
Several men exchanged knowing glances.
“So, you too then?” the Professor asked, his spectacles gleaming in the dim light with unexpected conspiratorial joy. “When?”
“In a couple of weeks,” Edek replied, his eyes crinkling above the rim of his mug.
“Us, too.”
“Hey, not everyone at the same time, comrades!” Kolya held up his hand in mock protest. “We’re getting out as well, so let’s make a schedule or some such.”
“Let’s agree where we meet once we get outside as well,” Wiesław proposed, a wide grin splitting his face.
“I’m calling dibs on being in charge of the brigade!” Edek’s enthusiasm knew no restraint.
“Kolya will be in charge of the field kitchen,” someone suggested.
Outside, the chimneys continued to relentlessly belch smoke. Inside the storage depot, an island of life in the midst of death toasted its near-freedom.
“I hid your SS uniform and the holster in the potato bunker in Auschwitz,” Jurek reported in an undertone a few days after. The admissions block clerk seemed to be more fidgety than usual, his beady eyes shifting nervously behind his glasses. The Sonderkommando with Kostek as their leader had just brought more contraband into his always-empty barracks, making Jurek frantically search for more hiding places under its thatched roof and under the floorboards. He was already risking his neck for their cause and now Edek with his escape plans was making him run around the camp with an SS uniform hidden under his own clothes, his pained expression seemed to say. Though, the promise of freedom made even cowards commit heroic acts, and Jurek was no coward. A profiteer only, who knew where his bread was buttered, but essentially a man with a good enough heart, at least as far as Edek was concerned. “And I’ll pick up your fitter’s uniform right after you change and walk out of there,” Jurek said.
The processing block stood silent once again. Only a few papers scattered on the floor, bearing the footprints of the Kanada Kommando, were evidence of the people who had passed through its door mere hours ago.
“Thank you.” Edek grasped his hand and shook it with gratitude.
“Do you have anyone picking up your lady friend’s clothes after she changes into a fitter’s attire?”
“Yes. Jerzy will take care of it. He’ll be the one escorting her.”
“Do I know Jerzy?”
“He’s from my Kommando, also a fitter. A Pole; political; bald; over two meters tall; looks like a grizzly bear; can bend a crowbar with his bare hands,” Edek supplied only half in jest.
“Ah!” Recognition reflected instantly on Jurek’s face. “He’s the one who even camp Kapo Jupp steers clear of.”
“That would be Jerzy,” Edek confirmed with certain pride in his voice; pride for being able to call him a friend. The only thing he regretted was not befriending him earlier. But who knew that appearances could be so deceiving and that such a menacing façade could hide such a selfless, gentle soul?
“He doesn’t say much, does he?” Jurek asked.
“No. But he does a lot. For the cause.”
“Naturally, for the cause.” Jurek sighed, turning a gold nugget Edek had supplied him with as a payment in his pale fingers. After a few more moments of hesitation, he pushed it into Edek’s palm and only shrugged, appearing slightly embarrassed, in response to Edek’s questioning look. “For the cause. You’ll need it there, in the outside.”
“What about you?” Edek asked quietly, regarding the nugget in his hand in disbelief.
“Don’t worry about me.” Jurek waved him off. “The Sonderkommando fellows take good care of me for my troubles.”
Edek thanked him again, but this time pressed his hand with genuine emotion. His chest swelled with it, his eyes began to sting. Wiping them discreetly with the back of his hand, he took a deep breath to recollect himself and switch the subject that was growing much too emotional for both men’s liking: “As we have agreed, as soon as Mala, Wiesław and I get to Szymlak, the civilian tiler who works in the camp, we’ll leave the uniform and the pass with him. He’ll smuggle it back to you when he comes to work the following day. Then, Jerzy shall lead you out of the camp the same way I’ll lead out Mala and Wiesław. Due to our disguise, the SS won’t realize how we escaped. They’ll assume we took the Russians’ route, so you’ll be safe to repeat our performance with no trouble at all.”
Jurek nodded, his eyes shining in excitement. The plan was good, almost foolproof; even such a veteran as he knew it.
“Perhaps, we’ll meet outside someday,” Jurek said, seeing Edek off at the door.
“I’d like that.” Edek smiled warmly, grasping the admissions block clerk’s hand for the last time.
Edek was in excellent spirits that day. He had managed to worm himself into Kapo Jupp’s good graces by bribing him with alcohol nearly every day for the past two weeks. As a result, Jupp permitted Wiesław to also join the temporary ramp Kommando which would mean he’d be with ordinary inmates once again.
However, when Edek excitedly broke the news to his friend, Wiesław only sat, silent and subdued, running his nervous fingers through his long hair.
“Are you not happy?” Edek regarded him in wonder, feeling faintly hurt. “Everything’s settled with Jupp. Jurek from the admissions block shall get you a regular in
mate’s uniform tomorrow. On the appointed day, you’ll walk straight to the potato bunker, where I’ll be waiting for you, dressed as your SS escort. After Jerzy brings Mala to us, we’ll leave this place forever. What I don’t understand is why you aren’t covering my face with kisses as we speak?”
Wiesław made an effort to laugh, but then only looked at Edek wistfully.
“Edek, thank you for everything, truly…” Another tremendous breath, full of the unspoken. “But… I can’t… I won’t go.”
“Are you mad?” Edek asked very quietly and sternly. “We have a chance to be out of here, once and for all.”
“I know. It’s just…” A gentle smile warmed Wiesław’s features. “It’ll be much more difficult to get two inmates out. The plan was good only for one—one inmate escorted by one SS man—”
“I’m not listening to this nonsense,” Edek cut him off with a categorical shake of the head. “We’ll make it through, all three of us, and that’s that.”
“And when we’re outside? Two can still hide; three is a crowd. We’ll never be able to go unnoticed. And besides, a couple—a man and his wife or lady friend traveling alone—raise much less suspicion than two men and a girl. If I were a German patrolman, I’d think them to be partisans for sure.”
“Szymlak will supply us with civilian clothes,” Edek pressed, refusing to surrender. “Perhaps, we’ll beg a couple of farming tools out of him, in exchange for gold? Then we’ll pass for Polish farmers with ease. All three of us are Poles after all; we speak the language perfectly and know the land. German patrolmen won’t even have a reason to stop us for a paper check—”
“They won’t have a reason to stop a couple for a paper check,” Wiesław interrupted him. “A farmer and his wife look natural. Two farmers and a girl with them look like they have just stepped from their Nazi anti-partisan poster.”
“Rot,” Edek grumbled stubbornly and was about to argue further when it occurred to him that there was nothing he could possibly interject against Wiesław’s more than sound argument. The realization came like a punch in the gut, making him pained and breathless at the prospect of leaving his best friend behind. He tossed his head, disgusted with himself for even considering it. “Then I won’t go either.”
“Now you’re talking rubbish,” Wiesław admonished him with a sad grin. “What about Mala? Should she also stay and continue to suffer in this abattoir, solely because of your brotherly feelings for me?”
With an anguished moan at the seemingly impossible choice, Edek dropped his head on his arms folded atop the table. How was he supposed to decide who was more important: the woman he loved more than life or his friend who had saved his on several occasions?
Fortunately for him and his infinitely guilty conscience, Wiesław made the choice for him. “You go with Mala and I’ll follow you two with Jerzy or Jurek a few days later.” Edek nearly choked at the warmth of his comrade’s palm on his shoulder. “And then we’ll all meet in the forests and fight shoulder to shoulder, just like we planned. It’s the most sensible solution. You can argue till you’re blue in the face, but you know I’m right.”
A grim, lopsided grin appeared on Edek’s face when he lifted it off his arms to look at Wiesław. “I hate it when you get all logical.”
Wiesław snorted softly. “I know. I’ll help you and Mala with whatever I can though. I would never back out of that.”
“Thank you. I know you wouldn’t.” He looked at his best friend long and hard, as though memorizing Wiesław’s features for years—or days—to come. No one could tell when, or if, they would ever meet again. “There’s only one thing I need you to promise me.”
“Anything.” In a rush of emotion, Wiesław clasped his friend’s hand.
“Remember we spoke of you writing a book about our experiences here?”
“Yes?”
“If you’re the one who survives it, write it for both of us, will you?”
Wiesław looked at Edek for a long time before finally giving him his solemn oath, not because he hesitated giving it, but because he had a sudden premonition that he would be the only one alive to tell the tale.
The sun was scorching the earth and Edek was messing about with the lock on the guardhouse toilet. Even the wooden planks of the guardhouse radiated heat; the metal of the lock was outright burning to the touch. Rivulets of sweat pouring down his face and back, he cursed the blasted thing for the thousandth time. He’d been poking at it for over twenty minutes now and it still refused to budge.
Exasperated, he threw a glance over his shoulder. Wiesław, his lookout, signed to him to go on—the coast was clear. The camp lay deserted in the sweltering afternoon. The outside gangs and the Kapos guarding them were all outside the perimeter and the SS, including the ones in the guard towers, were busy napping after consuming a recently doubled ration of cold beer and schnapps. Sensing their SS Teutonic warriors’ shifting attitudes at the news of the allied victories, their commanders pacified them into submission by supplying them with almost unlimited quantities of alcohol, much like they did with the frontline troops.
To a drunk infantryman, even a roaring Soviet commissar with a hand grenade didn’t appear all that terrifying. To a drunk SS man, tens of thousands of Hungarians blurred into a faceless mass, making killing them much easier. Rumor had it, after the Hungarians were all dealt with, the rest of the Auschwitzers would share their fate, veterans or not. The clock was ticking, menacing and unrelenting, measuring what remained of their pitiful lives.
With renewed vigor, Edek threw himself at the task. He needed to break the lock so that Jerzy would have a reason to be here the next day. Edek had already concealed the blue overalls inside the facility, behind the water tank attached to one of the toilets—a perfectly safe place as not a single SS man would lower himself to poking behind such unsanitary items. Tomorrow, Mala would change into them and walk out of here accompanied by Jerzy, a porcelain washbasin on her head. She had already taken care of her hair the day before, cutting it off in front of Edek’s stunned eyes without even wincing at the sight of the long golden locks falling all around her onto the concrete floor.
“It’ll grow back,” she had shrugged, smiling and undisturbed, at the devastated look on his face. “It already has once before.”
At last, the lock gave way. Barely restraining himself from releasing a triumphant cry, Edek shoved his uniform inside, picked up his toolbox and began making his way along the sunlit road, his eyes half-closed with pleasure against the golden rays. For the first time in Auschwitz, he was overcome with an overpowering desire to break into whistling.
He was almost free.
He was almost free, with Mala.
Thirty-Two
June 24, 1944
Today was the day—the day that would either seal her fate or set her free, together with Edek. The plan was genius in its simplicity: she was supposed to walk into the guardhouse’s toilet, change into a fitter’s clothes, conceal her face and hair under the porcelain washbasin Jerzy had prepared beforehand, and walk out of there, accompanied by Jerzy as escort. From there, Edek, dressed as an SS man––he had assured her already that Jurek, the admissions block clerk, had successfully hidden the uniform in the potato bunker for him to change into––would escort her through the gates and… to freedom. It was both infinitely exciting and too terrifying to even contemplate it. It was unfortunate that Wiesław wouldn’t be joining them, but she had understood his reasoning all too well when Edek had explained it to her. Still, she felt infinitely guilty for upsetting the best friends’ initial arrangement.
“Because of me, he’ll be stuck here,” Mala had groaned, hiding her face in her palms, unable to face Edek just then.
“He won’t be stuck.” Gently, Edek had removed her hands from her face and kissed them both tenderly. “He’ll follow us right after. As soon as Szymlak passes the uniform back to him, he’ll go with Jerzy or Jurek, or maybe both at once.”
Nodding, Mala had tho
ught how wonderful it was that Edek could always comfort her whenever she needed it the most.
But now, Mala’s throat was entirely dry, as though someone had wiped it with sandpaper. She was heading in the direction of the guardhouse, praying to all the gods she didn’t believe in that no curious SS would be loitering around. Before setting off, she had glimpsed the guards’ schedule in the camp office. Much to her luck, only Blockführer Perschel was supposed to be on duty that day—the carefree youth who enjoyed riding his motorcycle much more than minding his immediate duties. If fortune was on her side, that’s precisely what he would be doing.
Just to appease one deity or the other, Mala quickly uttered a generic prayer, unsure if she had gotten it right and crossed her fingers on both hands. The sun was in her eyes; she could barely see where she was going. Above the main camp road, waves of heat rose. The air quivered and distorted reality, swimming like a mirage before her eyes.
Only, it wasn’t a dream. It was happening.
The main guardhouse came into view. Mala could already make out its sturdy gray walls, the fresh white paint on the window frames, almost blinding in the bright sunlight, and even the bright-pink potted geraniums in its windows. Her heartbeat turned frantic.
“Mala!”
She didn’t hear her name at once, her gaze concentrated solely on the guardhouse door.
“Mala! Do you have a minute?”
Only when a woman came running along the fence that separated the sickbay from the road, waving her frail arms to attract Mala’s attention, did she notice her. Noticed, and cursed under her breath. The woman, who looked vaguely familiar but not enough for Mala to recognize her, was flapping her arms like a windmill, attracting everyone’s attention. That was the last thing she needed.
“Are you coming to the sickbay later?”
Without slowing her steps, Mala shook her head. “No. Not today. Sorry.”
“Tomorrow?” The woman would not stop running. Her sunken eyes were searching Mala’s face in desperation. “I’m being discharged tomorrow. I know that sometimes you assign women to good details… Could you perhaps—”
The Girl Who Escaped from Auschwitz: A totally gripping and absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 page-turner, based on a true story Page 27