All but My Life: A Memoir (13 page)

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Authors: Gerda Weissmann Klein

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Historical, #Women, #History, #Holocaust

BOOK: All but My Life: A Memoir
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“Go, go, before it’s too late,” Ilse urged me.
“Leave me alone!” I barked at her. “I have an hour to think it over. Just leave me alone.”
The bunks between ours and the window were empty. Ilse moved up to the window and I saw her sitting there, her forehead
pressed against the bars, her arms folded, and above her the square window, the broiling hot gray-blue sky.
I sat alone, hugging my bundle. In my mind, Ilse’s words kept spinning over and over. “Owe,” I felt, was the one that held me back. I knew as I never had before that I did not love Abek. I could love his family, but what place would I have in their household? His mother had already called me her child, and she was making a tremendous sacrifice, spending possibly all their money for me. The whole family had taken it for granted that I loved Abek and that our happiness together was worth their sacrifice.
A frightening thought crossed my mind. If I accepted their offer, it was clear that I must marry Abek. I visualized how it all would happen. I would be in Sosnowitz with Abek’s family for a while, working in a shop, while Abek would paint day and night to secure a furlough. Then he would come home and get permission for me to go to Bielitz and work there in the camp kitchen. It might take weeks or months, but in the end Abek would get that permission. I imagined a hurried wedding in Sosnowitz before a rabbi, quickly before the Gestapo might knock, and everyone crying because my parents were not there. I imagined girls envying me for going to Bielitz, the camp where there would be no hard work and no hunger. I imagined the trip back with Abek. A guard would accompany us on our wedding journey. Perhaps he would be kind. Perhaps he would look away so we could exchange a kiss. At Bielitz we would get off at the station, across from the place where Mama was taken away from me … .
I had visions of standing in the hot camp kitchen, preparing meals, looking through the windows over blooming meadows toward the home of my childhood. I saw myself standing over steaming tubs, washing clothes drenched with sweat and sometimes blood.
So vivid were these pictures that I felt nauseated. I thought of Papa in Sucha, the miracle of Mama being in Wadowitz, and my chance of being with them. I remembered the girl to whom I had given the food yesterday–who might no longer
be alive. I remembered those breathing skeletons who had been shipped to Auschwitz to meet their death.
It occurred to me that if I refused to marry Abek, he would never demand it against my wishes. But I couldn’t accept his family’s sacrifice and reject him. The certainty remained that if I accepted freedom now I would have to marry Abek.
I was young, a child in emotions and dreams. If I should live, I wanted perfection in marriage. I wanted the kind of love that I could imagine, accompanied by flowers and laughter. With the vivid picture in mind of what the beginning of my married life with Abek would be, I ran to the office of the supervisor and told him that I would stay with my group. I watched him substitute another name on the shop permit.
“I want to ask you a favor,” I said, barely above a whisper. He looked at me. “Please don’t let the family know that it was my decision.”
“I won’t,” he replied, still looking at me and blotting the fresh ink.
Dazed, I went back to my bunk. Ilse was still at the window. “Ilse,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder, “I am staying with you.” I heard my voice telling Ilse of my decision, but when I heard myself saying, “I am going to camp,” the words became reality and I was panic-stricken. In a frenzy I rushed back to the supervisor and begged him to allow me to leave, dreams and reasons forgotten. I had only one wish now–to get out from behind that barbed wire. But I was too late: the girl who had been given my permit had already left.
When night fell I felt strong pains tearing my abdomen. I had always suffered during menstruation. How I wished for a little hot water. I looked at Ilse. She was sleeping soundly, the first sleep she had had in several days. The night was hot and sticky. The straw in my bunk made it worse. The bristles stuck to my flesh and the vermin gave me no rest. I tossed uneasily and in pain and desperation I called, “Papa! Mama!” But there was no comfort–only pain and loneliness.
Then suddenly, there was a slight breeze. It quickly grew
stronger and a few heavy raindrops fell to the baked earth. The rain came faster and faster. The stifling room became cooler. I felt myself slowly relax and breathe more easily. The pain ceased and the flow began, releasing with it some of my tension. Calmer now, I cried to the accompaniment of the falling rain.
ON JULY 2, 1942, WE WERE ROUSED FROM OUR SLEEP AND marched to the station to board the train that was to take us to camp. The streets were wet from the night’s rain, the first rays of sunlight were breaking through, and the day gave promise of being a warm and brilliant one. Our marching feet echoed on the cobbled pavement as our column of fifty girls neared the station.
While we waited under the canopied enclosure I managed to send a note to Abek’s family, telling them that I was sorry their plan had not worked and that I would be forever grateful to them for their efforts. I wrote on the only piece of paper I possessed, a crumpled sheet in my pocket, and I asked one of the Militz men who accompanied us to mail it for me.
I did not write to Abek. The gesture his family had made for me called for a different letter than I felt I could write. Although I was closer to Abek in this hour than ever before I did everything to separate myself from him.
We were about to board the train when I saw the Militz guard who had taken me to Abek’s apartment hastily entering the station platform. He came directly to me.
“The Commander is interested in your staying in Sosnowitz. He did not realize that you would be sent out of the Dulag so soon,” he said a bit breathlessly. “Here is a message from him.” He slipped a closed envelope into my hand. The girls in front of me were boarding the train. I was caught up in the shuffle and mounted the steps, Ilse close behind me. As we both stood at an open window the Militz man called up to me from the platform, “The Commander is a very influential man, you know.”
With an impulsive gesture I tore the Commander’s unopened envelope into shreds and let them drop out the
window. I enjoyed seeing the baffled expression on the Militz man’s face. I smiled in triumph. It was wonderful to feel so important.
As the train started up, Ilse and I sat next to each other, glad to leave Sosnowitz, even though we were uncertain about our future.
The day must have quickly grown warm, for people we saw from the train moved slowly and with effort along the roads. Cattle were lying lazily in their pastures. We did not feel the heat because our window was open, letting the wind blow in.
I almost enjoyed the journey. The two old SS men who accompanied us looked into our compartment every so often, but as the hours passed they no longer bothered to come, perhaps because they had fallen asleep in another compartment. Our group occupied a whole car. When we stopped at stations, our doors were locked. People stared at us curiously through the windows.
Ilse kept complaining of a headache. I noticed a tall, lovely girl in the corner of our compartment looking through all her pockets. She finally found what she was searching for and offered Ilse an aspirin tablet. After thanking her, Ilse introduced herself and then told her my name.
“I am Suse Kunz,” the girl replied with an accent that to me seemed Viennese.
When I asked her about it, she told us that she had been born and raised in Vienna, but that the last few years she had lived in Czechoslovakia with her grandmother. She had a wonderful matter-of-fact cheerfulness about her.
“I am not worried a bit,” she said. “Everything will be all right–much better than living in a ghetto, for sure. We are young and strong, and we can take a lot. What have we got to lose, except our lives?”
Suse was young and looked very strong. She had a healthy, tanned complexion, flaming chestnut hair, and sparkling eyes. As I looked at her shyly, I wished she would become my friend.
Ilse fell asleep, lulled by the motion of the train. Suse moved up to the window and leaned her elbows on the ledge beside me.
“You know, I feel pretty good, in spite of everything,” she confided.
I knew exactly what she meant. The thing we feared most was done. We each had only ourself to worry about. There would not be any more decisions to make.
We spoke easily and understood each other. She asked about my parents, and then she told me that she and her father had been separated in Cieszyn. Her mother had died when she was born. She was an only child.
The train puffed on. It became cooler as we approached the mountains. We talked away like old friends.
“Won’t it be fun when we make the journey back?” Suse said dreamily. “We will be free. Can you imagine how wonderful that will be?”
“Yes!” I was eager to agree.
“It may be longer than we imagine,” Suse said, her gaiety vanishing.
“No, no. It won’t be!” I spoke quickly.
“Let’s bet on it,” she challenged. “It will be longer than a year.”
“Shorter than six months.” I was confident. “Let’s bet a quart of strawberries and whipped cream, payable after the war.”
“I hope you win!” Suse shouted over the clatter of the wheels.
Somewhere in the mountains of Silesia we made a bet of strawberries and cream and solemnly shook hands. I lost that bet, but I never paid it, for gay, laughing Suse died on the very morning of liberation day … .
My new friend and I remained at the window, thinking of liberation. Away from the Dulag, I could believe that my parents were well, and that it would be only a matter of time before we were reunited. I wished the journey might never end. There was safety in motion.
We seemed to be traveling in a southwesterly direction through eastern Germany. Late in the afternoon, after having covered perhaps two hundred kilometers, the train stopped at a tiny, spotless station. The sign read “Bolkenhain.”
The two SS guards got off and lined us up on the platform. A woman of about forty briskly walked up to the SS men and in a barking voice identified herself as the
Lagerführerin,
or camp supervisor. Her first command to us,
“Achtung!”
thundered through the station. We snapped to attention and looked into the face of the woman who would be in charge of us. She appeared grim and forbidding, with the face and jaws of a bulldog. Her brown hair was tightly curled and she was dressed in mourning.
Looking at her uncommunicative face, I could feel fear creeping into me. Her harsh appearance turned out to conceal a kind heart, but we did not learn this until much later.
We were counted and marched out of the station and through the little town. It was hilly and reminded me of Bielitz. So this was the homeland of Nazism. People looked at us as though they had not expected us to be human. Children were called into houses. One young blond woman stood at an open window watering flowers in the window box as we passed. She interrupted her task and looked at us wide-eyed. The thought came to me that she had probably never seen a Jew in her life. Brought up under the Nazis, she expected us to be monsters. What a shock it must have been to find us looking very much like herself, some of us quite pretty.
One woman stood in front of her home, broom in hand, and glared at us with cold hatred. Perhaps, I thought, she had lost a son in the war. Their propaganda told them the Jews were responsible for the war–so she hated us. I saw an old man on a porch, smoking a long-stemmed pipe. We passed close by. There seemed to be pity in his eyes, and I noticed a slow, almost imperceptible shaking of his head.
As we approached the factory, we turned off the road where it widened, and marched into a paved yard before the long, modern, well-kept buildings. I read the firm’s name in large gold letters over the entrance: “Kramsta-Methner-Frahne,” and under it,
Weberei
–weaving mill. After we lined up, one of the SS men disappeared into the factory. He soon reappeared, bringing with him the man who had picked us in
the Dulag in Sosnowitz. I heard the
Lagerführerin
address him as “Herr Direktor.”
The director handed the
Lagerführerin
a roster and told her to read off our names. We were to reassemble in alphabetical order, he said. When he handed her the list he called her Frau Kügler. Frau Kügler read off our names. We were all present. Then the director signed a sheet of paper handed him by one of the SS men. The merchandise was delivered. The SS men clicked their heels, lifted right arms. “Heil Hitler,” they boomed. “Heil Hitler” echoed the director and Frau Kügler.
Without wasting a moment, Frau Kügler marched us alongside the factory. At the end of the long building we came to a stop. A high gate with barbed wire strung along the top stood open and we marched through into another courtyard which ran along the end of the factory. I was one of the last in the column and behind me the gate of our prison clanged shut. Frau Kügler locked and bolted it.
Locked up … I felt deprived and helpless.
Beyond our high wire fence stretched beautiful gardens, reaching far into the pine-wooded hills. There, against the slopes, stood the stately white villa of the director.
Presently, the director appeared in our enclosure. I watched him as he stood near me, a tall, handsome man in his early forties, with sleek dark hair and a small, carefully clipped mustache. He smiled a bit ironically as he let his eyes wander about our group.
“Let us pick the personnel,” he said to Frau Kügler. They conferred a while, scanning the roster for suggestions that must have been made in the Dulag.
“Malvine Berger,” Frau Kügler barked, and a tall red-haired woman, much older than the rest of us, stepped forward.
“Judenälteste!”
We knew that there always was a senior Jewess in charge of a group like ours, and that she would be directly responsible to the
Lagerführerin.
The cook was chosen, a slender woman of about thirty with light blond hair drawn back into a bun. Two girls for kitchen help were next, both wearing glasses, then the
Sanitäterin,
or nurse. There were two girls among us who had been nurses. Both
were told to step forward but only one was chosen. Although I did not catch her last name, I made out that her first was Litzi. I liked her; she had jet-black hair, smiling eyes, and dimples. Her appointment made me glad: apparently they cared about our health.
The director announced that we would be taught to weave. If we behaved and worked hard, all would be well; if not, we would be sent back to the Dulag.
“And I can get enough replacements from the Dulag,” he observed with a smile on his lips. “You are to obey your
Lagerführerin
and your
Judenälteste!”
With that he turned and summoned Mrs. Berger. He spoke to her for a moment and I saw Mrs. Berger nod assent. Then she stepped in front of us and said, “Girls, I hope you know what our position is here. How we feel is beside the point; we have to please the people here. Whoever breaks the rules will be punished by me personally, in addition to all other punishment, since one can do harm to all of us by her behavior. I will be stern.” Her speech was clipped, her German excellent. She made it clear where we stood. She dared to say, “How we feel is beside the point.” At that remark I saw how the director knit his brow. Thus, she made our captors understand that we were no fools. Nor was there any humble begging in her manner. Whatever else she might be like, I could tell that she possessed intelligence, integrity, and courage, and I liked her very much. In the months to come, when in the course of our trials I got to know her better, I was often annoyed by her pettiness and her desire to shine, yet the qualities I had first recognized in her never fell short of my estimate. She had daring and she often baffled people so that they could not refuse her requests. I am convinced that in part, at least, we have to thank Mrs. Berger for a relatively easy time at Kramsta. Bolkenhain soon gained a reputation as one of the best labor camps for women in Germany.
After Mrs. Berger had addressed us we were led to our quarters in a building joined to the factory by means of the fenced courtyard. I entered the low building with a prayer in my heart. I had expected another Dulag but was pleasantly
surprised to find that everything was fresh and clean. We were obviously the first occupants. Our room was large, perhaps forty by fifty feet. Near the entrance stood several long tables flanked by benches. The remainder of the room was mainly taken up by rows of three-tiered bunks, with clean gray blankets and a straw-filled pillow on each, as well as a coarse towel. The far right end of the room was divided into two parts. One of these was the kitchen, the other a washroom with a row of faucets over a long trough, three toilets, and three showers. Near the entrance to the kitchen was a separate small room for Frau Kügler. At the far left end of the main room was a tiny cubicle which was to be known as Mrs. Berger’s room, and next to it was another larger room where Litzi was to sleep with three bunks reserved for the ill.
We called our quarters the
Lager,
or camp, and I promptly named our bunks the “Catacombs.” Somehow the name stuck. Ilse and I had adjoining bunks two up from the floor. Beneath us were two girls from Bielitz and I noted with pleasure that Suse Kunz was assigned the bunk above me.
We were given warm soup in new bowls and hunks of well-baked bread. If only we could be certain that our parents were in a camp like ours …
After supper we were allowed to wash. The water was cold. We learned that it was heated only once a week. After that we were free to go to sleep, for which we all were grateful. However, few of us slept. After the lights were turned out I heard girls toss and turn and here and there weep quietly. The night was starry and beautiful. From my bunk I could see the hills through a window. Slowly the full moon rose. I spoke dreamily to her. I asked her if she saw Papa and Mama. It seemed as if she said yes. In the years to come the moon became my loyal friend, my only friend that was free. Each month I counted the days until she returned, and often when she hid behind clouds of thought that she was avoiding the horror on earth.

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