To our relief, Russians were now reappearing in waves every two or three days, camping for a night or two then moving on. Half of them were on horseback. They always set up a bivouac with a kitchen unit, about twenty or thirty men at a time.
The four of us were very nervous and we discussed what to do. We felt we ought to find out if there were still men alive in the main Auschwitz camp. Perhaps it would be safer if we could unite with them.
It seemed that the Germans had definitely retreated so we agreed that Yvette and I would walk to the main Auschwitz camp next day to investigate what was left there.
We wrapped up warmly, me in my quilt over my jacket, breeches and boots, and Yvette wearing a padded Russian jacket that a soldier had given her.
We set out at around eleven when the weather was best, walking side by side along the snow-covered road, following the ridges of lorry wheels. We met no one. Gusts of wind blew snow flurries into our faces as we trudged through crisp snow. The air held no noise other than the crunch of our boots. We spoke little to each other, needing all our breath and effort to walk in the bitter cold. Besides, we were both afraid of what we might encounter.
At last, after two hours or so, we saw two-storey buildings rising in the distance. These indicated the beginning of the outskirts of Auschwitz. There were now several Russian lorries parked along the road. Burly fur-clad, fur-capped Russians were around them busily repairing engines or cleaning guns. As we approached, the men turned to watch as we walked towards them but no one said anything and no one stopped us.
By the time we found ourselves nearing the main Auschwitz camp there was an air of activity, organization and permanence about the Russian presence. Ironically, above the gates a wrought-iron message spelt out Arbeit macht Frei (‘Work brings freedom’). The thought that I was free was so overwhelming that I could hardly take it in.
Russians had set up their headquarters and field kitchens and the military appeared to be in complete control. It was what we had longed for; the signs of life. We almost ran the last hundred metres, we were so excited and delighted to see men who could protect us.
As we drew nearer, other men in striped prison uniforms and berets walked slowly towards us. They were emaciated and unsteady. I searched their faces, longing to recognize Pappy or Heinz.
We made for the first brick barracks that we saw and climbed up the stairs into a long room. Inside were rows of single bunks, three high, filled with male prisoners. Some were lying down, some sat on the lower bunks. When they saw us many got up and shuffled over to question us eagerly. We confirmed that we had walked from Birkenau and with that news they were completely overwhelmed. It was as if an electric switch had been turned on. Everyone started speaking or calling out to us at the same time. Who were we? Were there other women alive? Had we known so and so? Were many left alive in Birkenau?
Voices came at us from all sides in German, French, Yiddish, Polish, Hungarian, Dutch. We stood in bewilderment not knowing what to say. We were the first women they had seen since liberation and they were anxious to know if their dear ones had survived. We could not help them because we realized that in all probability they had not.
I searched the faces for Pappy or Heinz. They were not there but I saw one face that looked vaguely familiar. He was middle-aged with hardly any face left at all, just a skeleton’s skull out of which stared pale brown enquiring eyes.
‘I know you,’ I said in Dutch, almost sure in the back of my mind that I had seen him before. He stood up slowly and painfully, tall and dignified still and bowed slightly to me.
‘I am Otto Frank,’ he said smiling weakly. ‘And you are Eva Geiringer, aren’t you? The little friend of Anne.’ And with that he took me in his arms and hugged me.
‘Is Anne with you? Have you seen her or Margot? he asked eagerly, but I had to tell him I had not seen any of my friends from Merwedeplein in the camp.
He couldn’t give me information about Pappy or Heinz either but said all able-bodied prisoners had been marched away. I sat on his bunk for a while and told him all the news that I could and he thought it was a good idea that we move into Auschwitz where the Russians had permanent headquarters and were going to look after the prisoners. I promised to come back and see him.
The Russians filled Yvette and me with hot soup, after which I said we should get back to Mutti and Olga. Yvette was so excited to be in the company of men once more that she didn’t see any point in going back and refused to accompany me. So I had to face the return walk alone.
I started along the road to Birkenau at about four in the afternoon when twilight was already falling. I was nervous at the thought of walking by myself but there was no help for it. I trudged on for a good hour by which time it was quite dark. There was no moon but the sky was clear with a myriad of stars.
Suddenly, tracer bullets cracked and whizzed past my head, glowing greenish-blue in the dark. I threw myself into the snow to avoid the crossfire. All became quiet again. In the distance I heard a lorry coming but I didn’t know whether it was German or Russian so I scrambled and hid behind a bush until it had passed. Just as I was about to trudge on again, several more lorries rumbled passed me so I remained hidden.
By this time it was extremely dark and bitterly cold. I knew if I lost my way I would not survive the night. What if I freeze to death here and never see Mutti again? I thought. What will Mutti do if I don’t get back tonight?
So, calling up all my courage and energy, I came out from the bushes and tramped onwards. I whistled softly to myself for company. After a while, when I became tired of whistling, I put the corner of my eiderdown into my mouth and sucked it for comfort. I knew that corpses lay along the route. As I passed them I could truly feel their spirits helping me on and all of a sudden I wasn’t afraid any more. I marched steadily on until I saw the dim outline of our shelter.
Only a few weeks before I would have had fearful feelings about a house where SS officers had lived, but now as I knocked loudly on the door, I knew I had come home to Mutti.
The next morning we would leave to join the men in Auschwitz and begin to look forward to a future once more. So few women had been able to walk freely out of Birkenau but I realized with an immense rush of gratitude and humility that I was one of them.