You know what?” Wierka came running from the next room after breakfast. “I will tell you something wonderful. You will see. You will faint from excitement.”
At that time we were sipping the hot dishwater, which burned our empty stomachs, and we paid no attention to her words. Wierka was a young, happy Ukrainian girl, a known prankster; she liked to tease us, to frighten and confuse us with unusual news.
“You don’t want to hear?” she asked further. “I swear to God that I am not teasing. From now on they will have to give us the food packages sent for us by the Red Cross.”
I stopped sipping for a minute. “I suppose someone gave you some secret information about it,” I said.
“Really, I found out about it from a good source. Believe me. After all, you will find out for yourself.”
She ran out of our room in order to carry the news to the others.
Klara said, “She knows what she’s talking about.”
The end of April 1945 was approaching. It was warm and sunny. We saw that the war would soon be ending. We believed that we would wait for the end of the war in Rostock. We hoped that the hunger and the lice would not finish us off. Our attending SS men did not pay the least attention to us any more. Even the blokowe did not care about us. We wandered around the camp dreaming and fantasizing about that day we were all talking about when the Red Cross packages would arrive. I did not know whether Wierka spread the news widely or whether the other women found out about the packages from another source. The next minute we would not believe the news, and we would dismiss Wierka’s stupid talk with a disdainful wave of the hand.
We were really surprised when, after lunch, the blokowe told us to line up by twos and to march to the warehouse for packages. We marched accompanied by the functionaries. Wierka ran from one prisoner to another, saying, “Didn’t I tell you? And you laughed at me.” What kind of packages? And where did they come from? It was long after the war had ended that I found out that these packages were sent to the camps by way of the neutral countries and that the SS men in the concentration camps did not distribute them to the prisoners. They said that they were putting the contents into the cauldrons. Maybe they really did pour the contents into the cauldrons but into the cauldrons in which they cooked their own food. Now they had a large stockpile, and apparently they did not want the Allies to find unopened food packages in the camp while the inmates were dying of starvation. Each pair of prisoners approaching the table received a package, which they were supposed to divide between themselves. Klara and I received one package. We had no trouble dividing it because we ate together anyway. There were many quarrels, and even fights, when it came to dividing the packages.
In the packages there were crackers, sardines, ham, bacon, salami, sugar, cookies, and candy. The women threw themselves on the food. It was hard to control one’s self and not eat. After so many months, and even years, without proper food, the stomach was no longer equipped to digest fats and sugar, so our digestive tracts rebelled immediately. It was devilish of the SS to give us all that food at once, knowing we would not be able to digest it. Many of the women became very ill.
The next day, 30 April, we did not receive the black dishwater when we went outside. The warehouses were open, and anyone who was able dragged out sugar, flour, and groats. There were no SS men. We thought that they had run away and left us alone. Not long after that, the camp commander appeared accompanied by SS men carrying carbines. The signal was given to evacuate the camp. We wondered where they were chasing us to now, and why they were evacuating us. We had to leave the barracks since there was no place to hide. But I decided that I would take the first opportunity to stay behind. I believed that there would be many such opportunities.
At first we took the side road that led out of the camp. Later, we reached the main road and stood there as though glued to the spot. The entire road was filled with fleeing Germans. Women and children, old people, on foot, on bicycles, in carriages drawn by horses. Mixed in with the people were cows, pigs, sheep, chickens in cages. Everyone was moving ahead as fast as he or she could. They had packages slung on their backs and valises hanging from hands and shoulders. Their faces were blackened with deathly fear and fatigue. I knew such roads, and I knew the blackened faces. September 1959 and April 1941 shimmered before my eyes, a living remembrance.
We stood on the side road while the female commandant and the SS men conferred on what to do with us. They were trying to figure out some way to work us into the crowd. Finally, it was decided we had to melt into the crowd in pairs, not knowing where we were going. Now I began to realize how difficult it was going to be to separate from the convoy. Along one side of the road, in a valley, stretched a green field fragrant with the aroma of spring. A short distance from the road stood large stacks of last year’s hay. If it were possible for one to get to the stacks, one could hide there.
On the grass near the road, two men in camp suits were cooking potatoes in a big pot. They had built a fireplace with four bricks. Under the pot the fire was crackling merrily. The men were crouched around the pot. They were not worried.
“What are you doing?” I asked like a fool.
“What do you mean?” one of them answered. “We are cooking potatoes.”
“Why are you standing there?” the other said. “Take a few steps down and crouch next to us. Nobody will notice you. We did that yesterday, and as you see, we didn’t even bother to change our striped uniforms. The only thing they are interested in right now is in getting rid of you and saving their own skins.”
I dragged Klara with me, and a moment later we were kneeling next to the pot of cooking potatoes. My heart was beating rapidly. I was terribly frightened. Slowly the column went by.
One of them said to us, “Now go to the hay stacks and hide in a hole. Just be careful not to trample anybody.”
I did not understand what they had in mind, but we went to the stacks. You really had to be careful not to step on someone, because the whole stack was full of people, like an Easter dough full of raisins. Transports of prisoners had passed this way before us. These were workers who had been sent to forced labor and who had managed to separate themselves from their bosses. A hole was found for us also. I lay down on my back, my whole body pulsating with fear. The vision of the scene of horror I had witnessed on the road continued to pass before my mind’s eye. I had to keep repeating aloud, “Look, the Germans are fleeing,” in order to keep believing what I had seen. “Vengeance is a joy of the Gods.” I had never experienced such happiness before. Finally, they have been touched by defeat, and they were running the way we had earlier. Then I remembered that we had been bombed by German planes and that they had strafed us with machine-gun fire; every few minutes we had had to run from the road into the fields. But no one was bothering these Germans in their panicked flight.
Klara interrupted my train of thought. “Look,” she said, “there is a barracks in the back. The workers probably lived there. Maybe we’ll find something to eat there.”
We went to the barracks. There was no food, but the stove was still hot and on top of the stove stood a pot of hot water. We also found a large bowl, some soap, and a towel. We undressed and washed with hot water for the first time in many months. I could savor the taste of freedom. I stuck my face into the hot water and I wanted to scream with joy. I lifted my head and was struck speechless with fright. “Klara, look!” I screamed. I spotted an SS man walking in our direction.
He was so covered with soot that he was black from head to toe. You could not distinguish a face under that pile of dirt. Only his eyes shone with unusual luster. He had a pistol and grenades in his belt.
“The end,” said Klara.
He went into the kitchen as if he had not seen us.
“So what?” he asked. “They let you out?”
He recognized that we were from the camps, even though we were without our striped uniforms.
“They let us out,” I answered.
He gazed around with a crazed look.
“Give me bread,” he said quietly.
“We were looking for bread ourselves, because we are also hungry. But there’s no bread here.”
“No bread?” he said.
He left.
“Oof,” said Klara, “we’ve been spared.”
We abandoned the barracks and hid in the hay stack.