the villages, many Germans watched us, showing no surprise. No doubt they had seen quite a few of these processions…
On the way, we saw some young German girls. The guards began to tease them. The girls giggled. They allowed themselves to be kissed and tickled, bursting with laughter. They all were laughing, joking, and passing love notes to one another. At least, during all that time, we endured neither shouting nor blows.
After four hours, we arrived at the new camp: Buna. The iron gate closed behind us.
THE CAMP looked as though it had been through an epidemic: empty and dead. Only a few “well-dressed” inmates were wandering between the blocks.
Of course, we first had to pass through the showers. The head of the camp joined us there. He was a stocky man with big shoulders, the neck of a bull, thick lips, and curly hair. He gave an impression of kindness. From time to time, a smile would linger in his gray-blue eyes. Our convoy included a few ten- and twelve- year-olds. The officer took an interest in them and gave orders to bring them food.
We were given new clothing and settled in two tents. We were to wait there until we could be incorporated into work Komman- dos. Then we would be assigned to a block.
In the evening, the Kommandos returned from the work yards. Roll call. We began looking for people we knew, asking the “veterans” which work Kommandos were the best and which block one should try to enter. All the inmates agreed:
"Buna is a very good camp. One can hold one's own here. The most important thing is not to be assigned to the construction Kommando…“
As if we had a choice…
Our tent leader was a German. An assassin's face, fleshy lips, hands resembling a wolf's paws. The camp's food had agreed with him; he could hardly move, he was so fat. Like the head of the camp, he liked children. Immediately after our arrival, he had bread brought for them, some soup and margarine. (In fact, this affection was not entirely altruistic; there existed here a veri- table traffic of children among homosexuals, I learned later.) He told us:
”You will stay with me for three days in quarantine. Afterward, you will go to work. Tomorrow: medical checkup.“
One of his aides—a tough-looking boy with shifty eyes—came over to me:
”Would you like to get into a good Kommando?“
”Of course. But on one condition: I want to stay with my father.“
”All right,“ he said. ”I can arrange it. For a pittance: your shoes. I'll give you another pair.“
I refused to give him my shoes. They were all I had left.
”I'll also give you a ration of bread with some margarine…“
He liked my shoes; I would not let him have them. Later, they were taken from me anyway. In exchange for nothing, that time.
The medical checkup took place outside, early in the morn- ing, before three doctors seated on a bench.
The first hardly examined me. He just asked:
”Are you in good health?"
Who would have dared to admit the opposite?
On the other hand, the dentist seemed more conscientious: he asked me to open my mouth wide. In fact, he was not looking for decay but for gold teeth. Those who had gold in their mouths were listed by their number. I did have a gold crown.
The first three days went by quickly. On the fourth day, as we stood in front of our tent, the Kapos appeared. Each one began to choose the men he liked:
“You…you…you…” They pointed their fingers, the way one might choose cattle, or merchandise.
We followed our Kapo, a young man. He made us halt at the door of the first block, near the entrance to the camp. This was the orchestra's block. He motioned us inside. We were surprised; what had we to do with music?
The orchestra was playing a military march, always the same. Dozens of Kommandos were marching off, in step, to the work yards. The Kapos were beating the time:
“Left, right, left, right.”
SS officers, pen in hand, recorded the number of men leaving. The
On the way, we saw some young German girls. The guards began to tease them. The girls giggled. They allowed themselves to be kissed and tickled, bursting with laughter. They all were laughing, joking, and passing love notes to one another. At least, during all that time, we endured neither shouting nor blows.
After four hours, we arrived at the new camp: Buna. The iron gate closed behind us.
THE CAMP looked as though it had been through an epidemic: empty and dead. Only a few “well-dressed” inmates were wandering between the blocks.
Of course, we first had to pass through the showers. The head of the camp joined us there. He was a stocky man with big shoulders, the neck of a bull, thick lips, and curly hair. He gave an impression of kindness. From time to time, a smile would linger in his gray-blue eyes. Our convoy included a few ten- and twelve- year-olds. The officer took an interest in them and gave orders to bring them food.
We were given new clothing and settled in two tents. We were to wait there until we could be incorporated into work Komman- dos. Then we would be assigned to a block.
In the evening, the Kommandos returned from the work yards. Roll call. We began looking for people we knew, asking the “veterans” which work Kommandos were the best and which block one should try to enter. All the inmates agreed:
"Buna is a very good camp. One can hold one's own here. The most important thing is not to be assigned to the construction Kommando…“
As if we had a choice…
Our tent leader was a German. An assassin's face, fleshy lips, hands resembling a wolf's paws. The camp's food had agreed with him; he could hardly move, he was so fat. Like the head of the camp, he liked children. Immediately after our arrival, he had bread brought for them, some soup and margarine. (In fact, this affection was not entirely altruistic; there existed here a veri- table traffic of children among homosexuals, I learned later.) He told us:
”You will stay with me for three days in quarantine. Afterward, you will go to work. Tomorrow: medical checkup.“
One of his aides—a tough-looking boy with shifty eyes—came over to me:
”Would you like to get into a good Kommando?“
”Of course. But on one condition: I want to stay with my father.“
”All right,“ he said. ”I can arrange it. For a pittance: your shoes. I'll give you another pair.“
I refused to give him my shoes. They were all I had left.
”I'll also give you a ration of bread with some margarine…“
He liked my shoes; I would not let him have them. Later, they were taken from me anyway. In exchange for nothing, that time.
The medical checkup took place outside, early in the morn- ing, before three doctors seated on a bench.
The first hardly examined me. He just asked:
”Are you in good health?"
Who would have dared to admit the opposite?
On the other hand, the dentist seemed more conscientious: he asked me to open my mouth wide. In fact, he was not looking for decay but for gold teeth. Those who had gold in their mouths were listed by their number. I did have a gold crown.
The first three days went by quickly. On the fourth day, as we stood in front of our tent, the Kapos appeared. Each one began to choose the men he liked:
“You…you…you…” They pointed their fingers, the way one might choose cattle, or merchandise.
We followed our Kapo, a young man. He made us halt at the door of the first block, near the entrance to the camp. This was the orchestra's block. He motioned us inside. We were surprised; what had we to do with music?
The orchestra was playing a military march, always the same. Dozens of Kommandos were marching off, in step, to the work yards. The Kapos were beating the time:
“Left, right, left, right.”
SS officers, pen in hand, recorded the number of men leaving. The
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