All But My Life Read online

  “My poor child,” she said finally, “we are not going to let you go anywhere. You are going to stay here with us.”

  The guard broke in immediately, pointing out that my permit expired within two hours. Abek’s mother did not answer him. She just went on stroking my hair.

  “Come, child,” she said after a while, “you must eat something and get some rest.”

  “I am responsible for her and must be with her all the time,” the Militz man insisted.

  “Let her wash,” Paula said firmly. Her voice had a melodious quality. “I will stay with you as hostage, if necessary.”

  Abek’s mother led me into a bedroom and hovered over me while I took off my jacket and proceeded to wash and brush my hair. When Lola came into the bedroom carrying warm food, I suddenly realized that I had not eaten since the morning before, when Mama had fixed me the precious cocoa that she had saved since before the war.

  Yesterday … Was it only yesterday that I was with Mama? It seemed so far away. Everything that had happened since yesterday was like a monstrous dream.

  While I ate, Abek’s mother asked about him. She had not seen him for many months and was of course anxious to hear and know all about him. Although I had seen him only two days before, there seemed to be little that I could remember to tell her. She seemed to sense it, for she soon excused herself and left me alone. I felt very tired now. All I wanted was to sleep for a long, long time.

  I rested my head on my arms on the table and closed my eyes. After a bit I heard soft steps approaching. I opened my eyes and saw Abek’s picture before me. It was a warm gesture to make me feel welcome and at home. I looked at him. He seemed strange and aloof and again I had the sensation that he was someone I had known a long time ago and half forgotten. Abek’s mother was watching me. Ashamed, I lowered my eyes.

  Abek, it turned out, had telephoned to the Kultusgemeinde in Sosnowitz and sent a message about me to his parents. I had no doubt that to make the call he must have bribed a guard, for Jews were not allowed to use telephones. An uneasy feeling came over me that Abek had not merely asked, but ordered his family to help me. It was this thought that kept crossing my mind while Abek’s mother talked of her plan to get me out of the transport. The important thing, she said, would be to secure a working card for me. That meant that I would need a certificate of employment. Paula and Lola had come up with an idea, however. They were sewing underwear for a German shop at home. A quota had to be met, of course, and twice a week they delivered the required number of garments to the factory. They hoped that in exchange for one of their machines they would be able to obtain a working card for me. They would then take turns on the remaining machine and fill their quota by working day and night.

  I was taken aback by their generosity and stammered a protest at their proposed sacrifice. “Abek’s happiness is at stake,” his mother said simply, tears streaming down her cheeks. I took her hand and kissed it. She leaned over, embraced me, and touched my forehead with gentle lips.

  There was a knock at the door and the guard entered. My time was up. Despite the sisters’ pleading he remained adamant; I would have to leave before Abek’s father returned from work.

  “Until tonight then,” Abek’s mother said as the guard hurried me down the stairs. “We may have good news for you by then.”

  When we got close to the Militz headquarters I saw that all the girls from Bielitz were assembled outside. In the last row I spied Ilse, frightened and on the verge of tears. When I had made my way to her she whispered, “I thought that you wouldn’t come back any more.” I noted that she was the only one who stood alone. We clasped hands silently.

  We were marched through the streets of Sosnowitz, the sun beating down unmercifully and the asphalt feeling soft underfoot. After an hour we came to a large, unfinished red brick building, obviously meant to be a school. Work apparently had been stopped when the Germans had invaded Poland. We were led to the rear of the building, to a large yard that had been fenced in by barbed wire. Signs of construction were still in evidence: mounds of sand, gravel, and cement were scattered about the yard as they had been left by the construction workers. Two SS men guarded the entrance and counted us as we entered. Once inside we stood at attention. My temples throbbed after the hard march.

  We were in a so-called Dulag, an abbreviation for Durchgangslager, or transit camp, which in this case served as a labor pool. We were to be chosen for work in the German war industry and would be trained by the people who had requisitioned us from the SS. We learned later that industrialists paid the SS three and a half Reichsmark (approximately $1.00) for each worker, plus a small fraction of what constituted normal going wages, according to the services performed by their slaves.

  Finally we were herded into the building and assigned to a large room upstairs. In neat rows throughout the room were crude four-tier bunks, some of which were already occupied. Ilse and I managed to find two vacant neighboring bunks on the fourth tier, just under the ceiling. The heat was most oppressive, despite the fact that we were near a barred window. There was a bit of straw scattered over the bunks and we soon discovered that vermin nested in it. It was unbearably hot just under the ceiling–even the wood felt hot to our touch. Still, I wore the woolen suit and ski boots that Papa had insisted on. Because I felt nauseated by the vermin and the heat we climbed down from our bunks.

  As I started to tell Ilse about my visit to Abek’s family, we were ordered to assemble downstairs in the yard again, together with a group of girls from Cieszyn, Czechoslovakia. When we got downstairs we found that more groups like ours were lined up, altogether perhaps a hundred girls. After what seemed like half an hour’s Appell, or roll call, a sleek limousine drove through the gate. Two giant SS men and one elegantly clad civilian got out. “Achtung!” thundered one SS man, and we snapped to rigid attention.

  The three men stood near us, talking. I could hear fragments of their conversation. One SS man said “Bielitz,” and pointed to our group; then I heard the word Weberei (weaving mill). After a while the civilian was handed a cane. Walking up and down the rows, he pointed to the girls who were to step out of line and walk over to the other side of the yard. He pointed to me. After I crossed the yard, I looked back with longing to Ilse. To my great relief she soon joined me, and so did all the other girls from Bielitz. Altogether fifty of us were picked for the same camp: the girls from Bielitz, the ones from Cieszyn and vicinity, and a few others whom we saw for the first time in the yard. We were told to go back to the room.

  As we passed through the downstairs hall we heard feeble voices calling from behind a closed door. A few of us tried the door and went in. What we saw was sickening. Several living skeletons, clad in rags that crawled with vermin, stretched out begging hands. Some had only one leg, or were maimed in other ways. Their faces were drawn, their eyepits burned feverishly. They told us that they had come from camps where they had become ill or had been injured in accidents. Most of those who had lost limbs had been working in a quarry. They knew they were now going to Auschwitz to be gassed and cremated. They were useful no longer to the glorious Third Reich. They had given their strength, their youth, their health, and now they had to give their lives. They were hungry, they said. On impulse we ran upstairs to our bunks and gave them all the bread we had.

  Late that afternoon we were again called to stand Appell. We formed in separate groups just as we had been picked. Some of the sick crouched near the fence.

  A steaming kettle of food was brought and one by one we marched by. Each of us was handed a rusty, battered bowl filled with ill-smelling potato scraps and an unwashed greenish vegetable. Ilse, who was ahead of me, stopped to talk to someone from Bielitz. I took my food to the end of the line near the fence, where one of the sick girls sat on the ground, scraping her empty bowl with a dirty aluminum spoon.

  “Do you want mine?” I asked, offering her the bowl.

  She looked at me stupefied, her eyes burning. Slowly she set her bowl on the
ground, rose, and with both her hands gripped my empty hand and was about to lift it to her lips. Then she stopped, seeing my bewilderment. Her head was closely cropped. High on her cheeks were two red spots. Her body was pitifully emaciated, her neck overly long. We looked at each other. For a fleeting moment I thought, She must be my age. I did not know her name or where she came from. I only knew that she was going to meet her death. She stood there against the wire fence with the light of the setting sun on her face. She looked at me, perhaps wondering about the past, and I looked at her wondering about the future, the bowl of unsavory food between us. I closed my eyes.

  “God bless you, may you never know what hunger is,” she said to me. When I opened my eyes she handed me her empty bowl. I looked at her, not understanding.

  “Turn it in,” she said. “If they find me with two bowls I might be beaten because they will think I stole it.”

  I still think of her, that nameless one, standing against the barbed wire fence, of her blessing and her wish.

  Evening came, followed by a restless night. Ilse and I could not sleep. We talked and talked. We had heard rumors about the camp we were going to. It was said to be a textile mill, a good place to work, and we would be the first Jewish girls there. We were wakened early and stood Appell in the yard. We had no idea when we would leave and I had no way of knowing what Abek’s family had accomplished in the meantime.

  Around noon most of the ill were put on a truck and driven off, some crying, others in pitiful resignation. I ran up to my bunk and wished desperately that I could cry.

  In the afternoon I was called before the supervisor of the Dulag, a Jew, in charge under the supervision of the SS. A Militz man in his office handed me a suitcase, telling me that Abek’s family had sent it. I hurried to Ilse to open it with her. We found clothes from Lola and Paula and at the bottom, bread. The sight of the bread made me realize how hungry I was, for I had not eaten since I had been in Abek’s apartment more than twenty-four hours before. I broke off two pieces of bread and handed one to Ilse. She started to devour her piece and then stopped abruptly. Taking the bread out of her mouth, she swiftly unrolled a piece of thin cardboard. Written on it was a message that I should be set free soon. My heart skipped a beat. Ilse embraced me.

  “I am so happy for you,” she said, and I knew that she meant it. She possessed the rare quality of never being envious. Late in the afternoon I was summoned to the supervisor’s office again. He beckoned me toward his desk. His hands were well groomed and his dark hair was very neat. He must have been about Papa’s age, but looked much, much younger.

  “You are lucky,” he said. “You are free to leave. A working card has been secured for you.”

  “But I was picked for camp,” I said, nothing else coming to my mind.

  “You were chosen in number only. The rosters are not yet made up. We can easily substitute someone else. This is a new camp, you know. The new ones are usually better and some other girl will be glad to go in your place. In about an hour a guard is going to town and you can leave with him.”

  “I don’t know, I just don’t know,” I was saying, half to myself.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” the supervisor asked in disbelief. “You mean you don’t want to get out?” He looked at me penetratingly … “Well, you have the hour to think it over.”

  I don’t know why I hesitated. Perhaps it was intuition. All of a sudden I didn’t want any special privileges. I wanted to be with the others. But I knew, too, that there was another reason. Slowly I climbed the stairs, returned to my bunk, and sat down next to Ilse. She had already bundled up the clothes I had received from Abek’s family and was ready to say good-by.

  “Ilse,” I said, “I don’t think I am going.”

  She looked at me in bewilderment.

  “Are you out of your mind? You have to go! You owe it to Abek!”

  In all my confused thoughts, the word “owe” hammered on in my brain.

  “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.

  Chapter 3

  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.”