All the other prisoners in the kommando knew this already, like Jakob did. They would not join me in an uprising. They knew how pointless it was, and they wanted to live. To my infinite shame, I had to admit I wanted to live, too.
Someone was tugging on my sleeve. I turned and saw it was Jakob. His face was tight with anxiety, but at the sight of my welling eyes, his expression softened. He knew I understood. He knew I would not cause trouble. He gave me a nod, telling me without words that he understood my pain, and that he shared it.
The wailing of infants, the shouting of family members desperate not to lose each other in the teeming mass of humanity now crowding the platform, the howling pleas for water that went unanswered, the barking of dogs, and the yelling of SS guards—all combined into a palpable cloud of painful cacophony. It was pandemonium, with people still coming out of the cattle cars, while others jumped back in to bring out more of their luggage. They did not know their luggage was of no further use to them.
Our Kapo ordered us forward. Jakob brought his mouth close to my ear. “Don’t warn them. Just tell them to leave the luggage on the platform, and help us bring the rest of it out.’’
On the platform, the SS guards were trying to instill order, yelling at everyone to be quiet, to put their luggage aside and start forming lines. Following Jakob among the new arrivals, I was bombarded by their fear. Some of them looked at me in horror or disgust, and why shouldn’t they? I was incredibly thin, dressed in filthy striped clothes—what sort of creature could I be? Was this what lay in store for them?
Words in Hungarian swirled all around me. Mothers promising their children that everything would soon be all right; people telling each other to watch it when they stepped on or jostled one another; someone beseeching God for mercy or salvation. I wanted to shut my eyes and plug my ears, to see and hear nothing. But these people deserved better. If I could not help them, I could at least bear witness. So I ran my eyes around, trying to imprint my mind with as many faces as I could.
An old bearded man with a black yarmulke asked Jakob in German where we were, and Jakob answered that we were in Auschwitz, in Poland, and that the old man should leave his suitcase where he stood. Then he simply carried on walking.
Cutting through the crowd in Jakob’s wake, I spotted two redheaded teenage boys, clearly brothers and both white with fright, and an ember of defiance glowed hot in my belly. I paused and asked them how old they were. Fourteen and thirteen, the older one said.
"Tell them you’re seventeen and sixteen. You understand? Seventeen and sixteen.”
They gulped and nodded. I turned away without another word and hurried after Jakob. I could not save all these Jews, but maybe I had just saved these two boys. And maybe one day, I’d be able to convince myself that I had done enough.
A German voice blared over a loudspeaker, ordering the people to divide into two groups: men on one side, women and small children on the other. "You’ll be reunited soon,” the voice promised. "Leave your luggage on the platform. You’ll get it back later. There’s coffee and water and food waiting for you."
The people looked at each other. They did not know what to think. They could sense the wrongness of this place. But the voice had promised food. Had offered hope. And most chose to cling to it.
Still, there were some who resisted parting with their loved ones. The guards acted swiftly and without mercy. Kicks, punches, and shoves were their method of persuasion. A few prisoners of the Kanada Kommando helped in the process, though they used nothing but words. Then came the voice over the loudspeaker again. "Please follow orders. You’ll be with your family again soon. After a brief medical examination, you’ll be able to eat and rest.”
Slowly, the Jews on the platform formed two columns. Men shouted exhortations to their wives to take care of themselves and their children, words of love, and promises that soon they’ll be together again. I followed Jakob into one of the cattle cars.
The car stank of feces and urine, and something else too. Death. Two bodies were stacked against one wall. A third lay near the center of the car. Old people— two men and one woman. They had died of suffocation, or maybe heart attack or stroke, caused by the severe conditions on their journey from Hungary. Judging by the smell, at least one of them had been dead for more than a day. The woman was the one who lay in the center of the car. She had likely died without any of the other passengers noticing until they’d arrived here. Otherwise, she would have been placed aside with the other two corpses. Her eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. One of her arms was stretched out horizontally, and I noticed that her fingers were crooked and broken. They had probably been stepped on when the people scrambled to get out of the stifling car. A large purse was hooked over her arm. Jakob pulled it off her and tossed it out of the open door. Then he went deeper into the car, where three suitcases and a few bundles of linen lay. “Come," he simply said, and I did, but not before I knelt down and closed the dead woman’s eyes.
We removed the remaining luggage. Then it was time for the bodies. We carried the woman to the lip of the car, and Jakob made to throw her out. "Don’t,” I said, and set down her feet, which I’d been holding, jumped down, and began to drag her out. Jakob gave me an inscrutable look, but he did not laugh or complain. Wordlessly, he followed me down and together we took the woman out of the car and laid her on the platform.
When we climbed back into the car, I turned and stared at the two columns of Jews. Those at the front were at this moment being examined by SS doctors who would determine their fate. Some Jews were sent to the left, others to the right. One side signified death, the other a miserable life in the camp. At the tip of the men’s column, I spotted two fiery-red spots. The two boys. I watched with bated breath as they stepped forward together to talk to the SS doctor. Remember, I pleaded with them in my mind, you're seventeen and sixteen. Seventeen and sixteen.
The SS doctor was talking to them, then listening. Naturally, I could not hear what they were saying. It seemed that the SS doctor was peering at the two boys, and I imagined that he was suspicious of their purported ages. Time stood still as I waited for his verdict. Then, with a snap of the wrist, he motioned them to go left, toward life. I exhaled, then grinned, for a second forgetting about all those other poor people, most of whom would die today.
But the two boys would live, at least for now, and that was wonderful.
"What did you say to them?" a voice asked from behind.
It was Jakob. He was staring intently at me with his watery eyes.
"Who?" I asked, acting dumb.
"You know who. Those two boys."
With a tilt of my chin, I answered, "To tell the Germans they were seventeen and sixteen years old.”
For a moment, Jakob just looked at me, his morose expression unchanging. Then he gave me a nod. “You did good. Now let’s get back to work."
16
We cleared cattle cars until noon, heaping up luggage and bodies on the platform, emptying buckets of excrement. Gradually, the columns of arriving Jews dwindled to nothing as they went through selection. The majority were sentenced to immediate death. I watched them—men, women, and children—shamble toward the gas chambers.
Invalids and those too weak or old to walk were loaded onto trucks that took them to their death. Other trucks waited for the plunder.
It lay scattered all over the platform. Mounds of property. Linen and clothes, suitcases and kitchenware. Here a metal pot. There a briefcase with tarnished clasps. Here a pair of spectacles, their lenses broken. There a discarded coat with a yellow star stitched over the breast pocket. An incredible quantity and variety of small items caught in this final sieve of thievery.