The End of Days (33 page)

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Authors: Helen Sendyk

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

BOOK: The End of Days
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Page 213
All of Nachcia's appeals to my mind did not meet with my stomach's approval. Disobedient and trembling with fear, I followed Big Bronka to the fence. Through the new opening in the barbed wire we exited into the fabled potato fields. We ran hunched over into the nearby woods, afraid to stand up straight. In total disbelief we whispered to each other, "Are we walking alone? Isn't somebody ordering us? How can we march without following orders?"
Our feet felt like lead. The singular silence, the lack of the usual vulgar marching orders in screeched German accompanied by lashes from whips and blows from rifle butts made us oddly lame, unable to move. Slowly, suspiciously we proceeded, crouching every so often to listen. We trekked through the woods until we reached the unfamiliar streets of the town. We carefully advanced along the deserted streets, occasionally spotting other prisoners going in and out of abandoned buildings. Encouraged by the sight of fellow prisoners, we ducked into the back yard of a house. We found a small hand-drawn wagon and made off with it like scared thieves.
We came across a bakery with the doors ajar. The aroma of fresh-baked bread made us dizzy with hungerwe wanted to sink our teeth into those fresh-baked loaves and swallow enough down to fill our bellies to bursting. But there was no time even to taste a crumb. The bakery was filled with prisoners tumbling over each other, grabbing, pulling the hot loaves from the shelves. Big Bronka and I feverishly loaded loaves of bread onto our wagon, not stopping until the wagon was full. Tired but as excited as gangsters with bars of gold, we ran, pulling our wagon through the streets of Langenbielau, bequeathing a trail of fallen bread loaves for lucky prisoners to find.
In one of the streets we encountered two girls from our camp dragging a large side of pork behind them, holding on to the leg. The two had obviously found the local slaughterhouse. We greeted each other excitedly and raced together back to the camp, where we could share our lifesaving bounty.
Suddenly we heard the rumble of oncoming vehicles. Stow-
 
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ing away our goods, we ran for cover behind some roadside trees and lay there motionless in the underbrush.
"German tanks, and they are coming this way!" Big Bronka whispered.
Why didn't I obey Nachcia just once more? I asked myself. Why was I so stupid, so adventurous at such a dangerous time? We have survived so much together, why did I have to abandon my protective sister now? I whispered to Bronka, "I can hear the soldiers' voices. It is all over for us. They will find us here and shoot us in the ditch. The girls will find us later. My poor sister, my Nachcia."
Bronka, whose father was a Jew and her mother a Gentile, was brought up as a Catholic. The big strong peasant girl quickly crossed herself and covered her head with her hands, ready to receive the bullet that would end her life.
"Pray!" she ordered in a commanding mutter.
I remembered the seven martyred Jews in my hometown of Chrzanow, and their final utterance of
Shema Yisrael!
Hear O Israel! when they were hanged by their necks. I silently repeated this holiest Jewish prayer as the tanks thundered closer. The muted voices that wafted by were growing more distinct, and we suddenly realized that the language was Russian. Instantly alive with new vigor, we jumped to our feet, running towards the road. We waved and shouted "
Zdrastvicie!
" Hello! The helmeted soldiers in the tank turrets waved back and smiled broadly. The tanks kept churning away until they vanished in the distance.
Exuberant but still shaken by the experience, we pulled our booty into the camp and took it directly into our barracks. We then divided the spoils between us and each had a small mountain of bread on our cots. I caressed the pile of bread with my eyes, finally feeling free of the demon hunger. I did not care at all about the Russian invasion of Germany, only of Helcia's defense of Breadloaf Mountain. I sat at the edge of my cot with my back blocking the bread from hungry eyes. I luxuriously spread my hands across my crusty treasure, feeling an unfamiliar tranquillity and sense of control. Nachcia,
 
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too, looked contentedly at her baby sister who had provided them all with a lifegiving treasure.
But not everyone was engrossed in gastronomical gains. Inmates were milling around the yard near the main gate. A red carpet strewn with flowers was spread in front of the wide-open gate. Girls were holding bouquets and awaiting the arrival of our liberators, and one dark-haired beauty had somehow put on a red blouse. The lookouts soon ran into camp yelling, "They're coming, they're coming!"
Presently, soldiers wearing
rubashkas
, tunics buttoned along the side from the neck down, and round red-banded caps disembarked from their trucks and marched through the gate. The girls went berserk with excitement. Some threw flowers at the soldiers, others hung on to their arms, hugging and kissing them. The girl with the red blouse flung herself onto a soldier's neck and kissed him on the mouth. She let go of him and went through a line of others. The soldiers were exuberant, laughing and loudly greeting everyone with triumphant cries of "
Zdrastvicie!
" Welcome! Hello! Some girls pulled at their sleeves, tugging and dragging them into the barracks. Some soldiers were carried in on the girls' shoulders. More and more soldiers were now pouring into camp; they were brought into almost every barracks. The girls tried to communicate in Polish or broken Russian.
Soon the soldiers pulled out their bottles of vodka and began celebrating their victory the only way they knew how. They wanted to share the vodka with the girls, but few of the undernourished inmates ventured a try. Some girls were more interested in feasting on third-rate Russian army rations; others were too intoxicated with their newfound freedom to care for food or drink.
Vodka flowed freely, and the soldiers drank themselves into a stupor. They climbed onto our cots, only to plummet down with a crash of broken boards. The dramatic day was coming to a close. The brilliant May sun hid behind the wooden barracks as the pale dusk descended on the tired camp. The girls were exhausted, spent; the laughter had all died down. The drunk soldiers were sprawled all over the barracks. Awaken-
 
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ing from their stupor, they now sought to satisfy their other needs and desires. They wanted women. Enticed by the warm welcome they had received just hours ago, they now eagerly pursued the girls, trying to lure or push them into bed. Unwilling to accept the girls' refusals, our Soviet heroes became aggressive, angry, and insulted.
"We are your liberators. We freed you from your bondage. You just shouted that to us. You tore wildly at us to come to you, to free you from this prison, and already you are so ungrateful as to refuse us."
The girls tried in vain to explain how tired they were, how malnourished and ill. The older women begged them to leave the girls alone. They tried to explain that they were truly grateful but were emaciated prisoners; they desperately needed rest and nourishment to recover their health. But all was in vain. The Russians became brutal and forceful, preferring to be conquerors than liberators. The girls became hysterical, running from their barracks, afraid to return. The older women cried and pleaded. They searched among the troops to find Jewish soldiers to appeal to their conscience. They begged them to take their Gentile associates away peacefully. But even those soldiers who claimed to be Jews only wanted to use it as a privilege.
"I am a Jew," they would say, "so come to bed with me. Surely you are not going to refuse a Jew."
It was long past dusk and the soldiers in our barracks were still there, loudly claiming their right. With the girls pleading with them to leave in peace and with one high-ranking officer on our side, the soldiers one by one capitulated. Some of those who left came back later. It was almost dawn when the girls finally managed to get rid of the last one. We quickly dragged over several cots to barricade the door. Impatiently waiting for daybreak, we speculated about where we could go. We could not stay here in camp another night: we were too easy a mark for the rapists who had saved us from the murderers.
Nachcia worried about us, as other little groups formed and left together. Some had a father or a brother or a husband from the men's camp in Sportschule. Those with male escorts were
 
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out in the early morning. Some searched for a place to stay; others took advantage of the chaos to gather some clothes for themselves from abandoned stores and apartments. The older people and wiser ones knew enough to go for the good stuff: money, jewelry, watches, and other tangibles that could be bartered for food and other goods.
The Russian soldiers were prowling the streets in pursuit of much the same. One could see the more inebriated Ruskies walking the streets of the town, wearing long lacy nightgowns over their uniforms. Some wore ladies' dresses and elegant hats adorned with feathers. But watches were particularly desired by the Russians. Soldiers wore wristwatches from their wrists up to their shoulders, in all sizes, shapes, and styles. They even wore alarm clocks hanging from their coat buttons. As far as we were concerned, our liberators had far too much time on their hands.
Nachcia and I were too distraught to enjoy our liberation. There was no place to go, and our barracks were unsafe from skirt-scavenging Soviets. Help came from our friends in aisle number one. Hadassah had her boyfriend Mendek, with his cousin and a close friend. Of course, Hadassah was not alone. She was part of the "Holy Four," as her clique was called, consisting of Hadassah, Sabina, Rachelka, and Bronia. When Mendek came to pick the girls up early in the morning, Hadassah turned to Nachcia.
"I know you have nobody," she said, "but you can come with us. We are going to look for a place, and whatever we find, we will have room for the two of you as well."
Nachcia embraced Hadassah with grateful tears in her eyes.
"Don't worry, Nachcia," Hadassah reassured her, "I'll always remember what you did for all of us here in camp. You always shared with us. Now whatever we will have we will share with you."
It was exasperating to leave most of the bread I had stashed away in my cot, but we had to hurry and follow the boys. I grabbed two loaves, reluctant to leave my aromatic hoard of bread, which smelled of security and survival.
The boys found an abandoned house and immediately took
 
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possession. It was a two-story, one-family house with enough bedrooms for everyone. We girls settled in the upstairs bedrooms, and the fellows slept downstairs for protection. The Russians visited every night, banging loudly on the door.
"Open up!" they would shout. "Where are the women?" they demanded. They were mostly drunk and looking for wicked fun. As soon as the banging started, we frightened girls would scramble into hiding places under beds, in the closets, in the hamper, or wherever we might avoid detection. The fellows would open the door and claim that they lived there alone, just the three of them, but sometimes the soldiers wouldn't leave. They would linger around the kitchen table, inviting the boys to go drink with them. They were rowdy and loud, and so the girls upstairs dreaded to even think about what would happen if the soldiers discovered them.
Even during the day, we girls were afraid to go out much. The fellows supplied the food and the girls kept house. The fellows brought home whatever news they heard. One day they instructed us to come out. We were surprised. They gave us the distressing news that we had to head back to camp to attend a funeral. We found out that we had to bury a friend of ours, a camp inmate who had been shot to death by Russian soldiers when she could not follow their orders to carry heavy suitcases loaded with loot for them. Such were our saviours.
The Russians were plundering and raping, going wild in the streets of the town. It was too dangerous for the girls to be outside. When we ventured out, it was on the arm of one of the guys, who, if stopped, would claim the girl to be his wife. Being somebody's wife was the only protection from being attacked by a soldier.
We had some male protection now, and we did not lack food and beds, but the girls all wanted to go home. Nachcia and I wanted to go home to Mama and Papa, to see Blimcia and Jacob, to squeeze little Aiziu to our hearts. We wanted to hug Heshek and Vrumek and Sholek, and we wanted to know what had happened to poor Goldzia. We yearned for Mama to hold us close in her warm lap, to sit and listen to Papa recount all that had happened to them. We wanted to pour out our bitter

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