“I just need to stretch out,” I say to her.
“I’m counting on that, too; let’s find something.”
We went to the farther reaches of the depot. We looked about to left and right. Everywhere, crowds, gravestones, candles, bustle, and noise reverberating against the walls and the roof of the hall. Something like a wall in the same color as that space emerged into view; I made it out, I think, by its gloss or by some intensification of its shadow, because yes, the general murk was diffused. The ceilings were harder to make out.
We came upon a strange wing with a railroad track under which was a pit (as it’s called professionally) for repairing the undercarriage. At the end of the track was a shed. In the shed we found a long wide board.
“Ideal,” said Halina.
We grabbed our treasure. What luxury! And completely happy we carried it back to our family gravestone, which wasn’t so easy to find right away. We stretched out to sleep at once. It was great. For the time being we had nothing else on our mind. We also ate something Zocha gave us, and so on this unremitting All Souls’ Day, in a gigantic depot, the unfinished first day of the non-uprising came to its end for us.
In the morning it was completely different. Not at all like All Souls’ Day. The smell of tracks, of the depot; people. Bombs were not falling on our heads. For the time being no one was driving us out to work. Not even to a transport. We found out that the RGO was distributing soup, that there was a lot, that it was good, that it was made with tomatoes and potatoes. We ran over. The lines in front of the barrels of soup moved quickly. They poured out full bowls. Warm, fragrant, real tomato soup with potatoes. We devoured it. They announced seconds. Again we devoured it.
There was an awful lot of soup. Always good. Barrel wagons or tank trucks would drive up. I don’t know what they were exactly, and they would pour as much as you wanted. That’s how it was throughout our entire stay. Until I developed diarrhea and was running to the large, long latrine in which there was always a crowd.
From depot 5 they transferred us to another depot.
In addition to eating, running to the latrine, sleeping, and talking, there was also aimless moving around out of boredom. I saw on these occasions countless commotions with negotiations going on in small groups between the evacuees and the people from the RGO and the Polish Red Cross. There was endless traffic through the gate. Male and female nurses were carrying some people out on stretchers and walking others outside. I concluded that there was a lot of pretense in front of the Germans. I was angry at my own people that they were so rich but weren’t active. Because as it turned out— money was important. Until I was struck dumb with amazement. It became obvious to me suddenly on the second day, I think. We went to a small side annex. I didn’t know why so many people were going there and why we were. Until I noticed an opening in the brick wall, or a small window, in front of which Zocha, Halina, and Father were standing. I didn’t know what they were looking at. I noticed vertically, just as at a shooting gallery, a part of the corner house, the roadway, and the sidewalk. From behind the corner an elegantly dressed man in a hat walked out and turned the corner in the sunshine. He was simply going for a walk. So outside of Warsaw there was the normal course of life and business under the occupation…
At that moment a woman, one of “them,” walked up to the little window from the street side. She and Zocha and Halina said something to each other through the opening. They gave her something.
A moment later I saw in their hands a slab of butter.
“So money’s being used now?” I inquired of Halina.
“Naturally.”
“And it’s important?”
“Yes.” Father nodded.
Of course. Why should money have been unimportant outside of Warsaw? Here they hadn’t had to barter, to build a stove out of three bricks. Here there was no primitive cave community.
We were able to stay on in Pruszków. And the cleverest among us arranged things that way. After all, what was there to rush off to? Forced labor? But Halina infected Zocha and Stacha once again with the idea that “the sooner the better.” My father followed them. He felt a great deal of affection for Halina; he was really attached to her; and even knowing her weak side — that she’s an opportunist and doesn’t take any risks (which she herself confirms), and that she and Zocha were always carrying suitcases because they had to have several changes of underwear — still, he respected and even admired her.
We decided to report for selection already on Thursday, October 6, in the afternoon. Selections were taking place continually. Between those who were fit for work and those who were suited only for distribution among the villages of the Generalgouvernement. The Wi. family, with Jadzia, the aunt, the mother, and the two children, stood beside us in the line of people four abreast. They told each other: “You take the little girl, I’ll take him.” And that’s what they did; a sole guardian of a child also wasn’t fit for labor. The segregation went quick as could be. A number of Germans shouted, asked questions, selected, and supervised — two lines of these most important men. To the left, the Generalgouvernement; to the right, the Reich. Stacha held on tightly to Halina. A German wanted to send her to the Generalgouvernement as too old. Stacha grabbed Halina’s arm when she heard this.
“No-oo… together,” and she was already in our line, and already we were moving toward the gate, past the gate, and to the freight cars.
Red freight cars, so-called pigpens. There were sixty of us in ours. They locked us in. The train moved. We were packed in. Still, we banged against each other slowly. Suddenly a problem arose: the need to pee. And what joy: there was a huge golden bucket. It was already circulating. You had to pee in front of everyone. Which we were used to doing. What was worse, was that I couldn’t — and I really wanted to — get started because of the rocking of the car. I stood there and stood there with the bucket. I grew nervous. That I’d lose my turn if I gave it back with nothing, but finally I’d have to give it back because so many were waiting. A quarter of an hour later I succeeded. New happiness.
Then we lay down on our bundles and — as we were waking up— daylight was entering from high above, through a narrow window. People climbed up and peered out through the window to see where we were. Halina also peered out, wearing her coat with the ash-gray collar.
“Apparently we passed Łódź earlier.” That’s all that was known for now.
So for the time being no one saw anything. Gradually we figured out that they were taking us to Lower Silesia.
The train stopped at last. It was morning. A time of urgent needs. Those near the door drummed on it. Until the bolts grated and we hurled ourselves out. Everyone leaped from all the cars. I squatted down beside Halina. Along the entire length of the train — in four rows — people squatted to relieve themselves without blinking an eye. Then a leap back into the cars for our things and they ordered us to line up for a march.
At a station with several tracks, with wooden beams stacked on one side, we read the sign: “Lamsdorf.” Łambinowice today.
They led us out into the countryside. The first real landscape. Warm. Without explosions. Since the whole pre — August 1 epoch. After a while we were allowed to rest. Everyone collapsed, with bundles, suitcases, wherever they happened to drop, under the bushes, the trees, among the heather. It was in full bloom. People lay down, stretched, rejoiced, inhaled, sighed.
Finally they led us in through a gate and down a long, wide avenue to the camp, which was surrounded by barbed wire. In the camp grounds there were trees, grass, hillocks. It seemed peaceful here, and pleasant, exceptionally so for a camp. Along both sides of the avenue were earthworks, which were overgrown with greenery. A dozen or so years after the war those earthworks were opened accidentally. It turned out that there were corpses in them. That’s why there were earthworks there.