“You stupid dog . . .” and he belted a blow to my back with a cane. “You are sabotaging the work . . . You spilled the sand so that you could take a rest . . . A second blow hit my arm, which fell down, as if lame.
“Bend down!”
Immediately, I bent down and stretched out my buttocks. From my experience in the camp, I knew that the rear end was the most resistant part of the body.
The pain which I felt from the first blow was incredible. My muscles were still swollen from the first twenty-five blows; they were extremely hard and sensitive. The blows which were now hitting me resulted in pain beyond all description. It was as if a scalding, a burning stabbing, ran through my entire body, and that caused me to be so hot that it could not be held back. Immediately, I was steaming with sweat.
“Get up!” I heard it ordered. I had “only” received fifteen strokes. From the back it ran down my legs.
“You smell, you stupid pig,” Reinhold remarked. He added, “I give you ten minutes so that you can clean up.”
I clicked my heels, and in the next moment I was already in the latrine. The cleaning up took only five minutes. The other five minutes I sat in the grass and massaged my overexerted behind.
Before lunch break, Reinhold had “finished off” yet a second Jew. In our group there were now only four left.
The work tempo, however, was now obviously slowing down. We now drove by ourselves because our work foreman (Vorarbeiter) participated in the hunt for Jews which was organized at the chain of guards. This was a popular pastime of Edelhardt, the commando leader (Kommandoführer) of the SK.
This game was as follows: The working area was surrounded by a chain of guards which consisted of SS men. The guards were instructed to shoot any prisoner who attempted to trespass the chain of guards. Kommandoführer Edelhardt chose daily several prisoners, especially Jews, whom he entrusted to the special care of the Vorarbeiter, who were of Reinhold’s kind. They beat up the “chosen” ones with canes until they ran in despair into the chain of guards. The guards were, of course, initiated into the “program of the game.” They waited until the runners were a few meters away from them, and then they shot down the “fugitives” like rabbits. After that, the guard was given three days of special leave because he had prevented the “escape” of a prisoner. And the family of the prisoner received the news that their loved one had been killed while trying to escape. On days when new transports of Jews arrived, the number of those “killed while escaping” increased to fifty.
Thus, the first day in the Punishment Company (SK) passed. After a blow of the whistle, all groups formed a column. The survivors and the dead were counted. The prisoners of the last row took the corpses on their shoulders, and Kapo Johny, who placed himself at the head of the line, gave the order:
“March in step! . . . Sing!”
The wooden clogs crashed on the bricks and the song, “The blue dragons they are riding . . .” penetrated into heaven.
The evening roll call was exceptionally brief; it lasted only an hour; thereafter we went into our barrack-rooms. Our daily rations consisted of hot, brown-colored water, a portion of bread which had been significantly shortened to the advantage of the Kapos and Vorarbeiter and did not exceed the weight of 200 grams, a microscopic portion of margarine with which one could, with some skill, smear a half slice of bread. At lunchtime, we received about three quarters of a liter soup; that is, water in which some beats or slices of stems and leaves were swimming; only the lucky ones also found a potato in it once in a while.
Since the beginning of my camp existence, I was used to rationing the bread for the morning and evening. But on this day, I devoured everything all at once. Then I reclined carefully into my bed. My neighbor was Ali Kwasigroch from Danzig. During work, Reinhold had turned a head even more on him than on me.
It was not until now that I became fully aware of the experiences of the day. The hard bed, which I was used to, now seemed to be laid out with bricks. My body hurt with the slightest movement; my heart pounded fast; the fever began to rise . . . I fully realized that I could survive the next day if I were able to rise early and, furthermore, that I would be able to work the entire day.
I realized that my muscles, which had been smashed to beefsteak with Reinhold’s club, were as hard as stone. Therefore, it would be out of the question that I would be able to work . . .
Carefully, I began to massage. Ali did the same.
In the silence of the night, while it was entirely dark in the hall, we kneaded our smashed bodies meticulously for a long time.
Suddenly, I heard the one from Danzig whisper:
“Listen . . .”
“Yes. What?”
“It would be good if at the end, we were to apply compresses . . .”
“The room is locked. We can’t get into the washroom . . .”
“Hm . . .”
There was silence again. After a while, I heard steps and soon thereafter a typical noise near the bucket.
“Ali!”
“Yes, what?”
“Do you hear it?”
“What?”
“Someone is pouring into the bucket. We have water . . .”
“Are you crazy?” . . . However, he seemed to think it over, and after a while he added, “Perhaps you are right, after all!”
I waited a few minutes until the prisoner in question had finished his business. Then I glided carefully down from the bed, with a towel in hand.
I was extraordinarily lucky because until now only those who were concerned with “small matters” had gone to the bucket.
I soaked Ali’s and my towels, wrung them out, and returned to my bed,
The cool, acidic compress had a wonderful effect on the inflamed muscles. It smelled a bit, but it helped marvelously. . .
During the night I changed the compresses several times.
3
The command of the Stubendienst woke me up.
“Get up!”
As fast as I could, I slipped out of bed and went into the overcrowded washroom. It was a small room with twelve faucets. Over one hundred prisoners pushed around them and waited while the “VIPs”—Kapos and Vorarbeiter—took their time finishing their morning toilet. They were, however, not in a hurry. Slowly and carefully, they lathered themselves with good toilet soap, savored the pleasure of the lathering for a long time, soaped once more and again rinsed it off. A “Pipel”—a young male servant and prostitute for the Kapos—who was already waiting nearby with a terry towel, rubbed the refreshed dignitary dry. Only after that was the faucet turned over to the “rabble.” Then the fight for the water faucet began. Every prisoner tried hard to at least give the impression that he had ducked his trunk into the water because the Stubendienst stood at the doors of the barrack rooms and checked those who entered. Anyone who was not wet enough was zapped on the spot twenty-five times . . .
Miraculously, I succeeded in getting to the faucet and was able to hold my neck and chest under the refreshing jets of water. Happy and wet, I paraded in front of Komarnicki, who did not even notice me. I received my coffee and was about to drink it when the gong which signaled the lineup for the work detachment (Arbeitskommando) resounded. Our Stubendienst seemed as if struck by lightning.
“Move, everybody out!”
With one jump, he reached the nearest prisoners. The screams of those he maltreated mixed with the muffled blows of the club.