![]() ![]() After a few weeks, the SS come for us one morning with striped dresses to replace our grey ones. I lose track of the time we are in motion. The Nazis have decided to evacuate Auschwitz, bit by bit. As we stand there, waiting to climb a narrow ramp into a cattle car, the Russians are approaching Poland from one side, the Americans from the other. Now they are herding 100 of us towards the platform. In the few seconds that I hold his complete attention, Magda has run across the yard into my line. I expect a bullet at any second but I can't stop myself.Ī guard raises his gun. And then I'm suddenly doing cartwheels, hands to earth, feet to sky. Nothing matters except that I stay with my sister even if she's in the death line, I want to die with her. It's impossible to tell which one leads to death. One day, an officer separates us all into two lines. The day a woman goes into labour and they tie her legs together. ![]() ![]() The day SS officers tie a boy to a tree and use his limbs for target practice. We give each other cooking lessons we salivate over our imaginary dishes we fight over how much paprika you put in Hungarian chicken paprikash, or how to make the best seven-layer chocolate cake. In our heads, though, it's a different story: we spend most of our time cooking.Īt 4am roll-call in the freezing dark, we can smell the rich aroma of meat we have just roasted. But the fear never goes away - that he'll find me again, that he'll finish what he started, that he'll select me for death.Īs the months go by, we starve and lose strength. The next thing I know, I'm sitting beside Magda as we devour the daily ladle of weak broth, with little pieces of potato skin bobbing up like scabs. I hear him pick up the phone in the next room, his voice neutral and curt. "Don't move," he orders as he opens the door. Just as I'm close enough for him to touch me, a phone rings in another room. He trawls the barracks in the evenings in search of talented inmates to entertain him. Dr Mengele, it turns out, is not only a killer but also a lover of the arts. On the threshold is the uniformed officer from the selection line. An inmate quickly explains that the camp has an orchestra. Then I hear the sound of woodwind and strings and think I must be imagining it. With our bunkmates, Magda and I try lying on the top tier. Night is falling when we are marched to gloomy, primitive barracks where we will sleep on tiered shelves, six to a board. It will take all my concentration to survive the next minute, the next breath. I can't picture my mother being consumed by flames. Just remember, no one can take away from you what you've put in your mind." ![]()
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