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For a few seconds it seemed even the locomotives had stopped, so quiet had the station become. Wife and daughter looked on in horror, unable even to scream. No-one dared breathe. Then, even as I watched, the Iron Guard lieutenant slowly tightened his finger on the trigger.
It was too much and I somehow managed to avert my eyes. A shot echoed around the station and blood splattered across the ground, almost to my feet. When I looked up the defiant Gheorghe was slumped face down on the ground, blood-imbrued clothes confirming the deed.
The lieutenant was still in position, the pistol in his outstretched hand, staring down and the man whose life he had just taken, his face ashen.
From the crowd, even from the man’s wife and daughter, there was only stunned silence. No-one dared move. Slowly I raised my eyes to the Nazi officer, whose own pistol was still pressed to the head of the Iron Guard lieutenant.
“You see, it was easy,” the Nazi told him. “As easy as this.”
Without warning he pulled the trigger and the Iron Guard lieutenant fell where he stood, his body slumping next to the man whose life he had just taken. The second shot jolted us back to reality. No-one moved forward to intervene, but I knew I was not alone in falling to my knees, my legs unable to take my weight, fighting back the convulsions in my stomach. Forcing myself to look up I saw the Gestapo officer turn to us, his face, his voice, devoid of emotion.
“Now, you will relinquish your trunks as directed. Then you will await further instructions. In total silence. Is that clear? One more foolish outburst and I will kill that child.”
At random he pointed his gun to a young girl nearby. The child screamed and her mother threw herself around her daughter, sobbing quietly, not daring to release her emotions more fully. Then the Nazi spun on his heels and walked away, barking orders in German, returning the station to a state of furious activity.
I wanted to go to the bereaved woman and her daughter, to offer comfort, but fear prevented my limbs from moving. I just knelt as I had fallen and watched, not even able to cry, as the two bodies were dragged away. No-one dared speak. No-one dared look the other in the eye. It were as if every emotion at once were fighting for release, but fear and shock dominated, suppressing all others and I found myself staring blankly at the blood soaking into the dust of the station floor. Mama refused to turn round, hugging Nicolae beneath her coat, trying desperately to comfort him and dissuade his interest.
I longed for something to distract my attention from the blood on the floor and in this at least, found reward, for amidst shouted orders in German I saw the doors of the far building open and from there emerged, in single file, the Jews. I scanned the queue desperately for sign of the family that had so recently befriended us and at length saw Golda and little Elone, looking tired and fearful, emerge from the building. At this point I realized there were only women and children present. Of Chaim, of all the Jewish men, there was no sign.
Behind us the noise of locomotive activity drew our attention and I saw an enormous engine drawing what appeared to be cattle trucks into the station, in a procession at least twenty wagons long and behind which another engine of similar size pulled a similar cargo. At first I was mystified, for some of the truck doors were open, demonstrating they were empty, yet there was no evidence of cattle at the station awaiting transportation.
The mystery was quickly to be resolved however, for barely had the train stopped than the lines of Jews received new instructions and began filing across, boarding these same wagons.
Those that had difficulty mounting the vehicle were forcefully pushed or thrown on by Gestapo officers and when the truck appeared quite full to capacity still more Jews were pushed on, until the doors had literally to be forced shut, every last inch of space occupied.
As one truck filled the next was opened. When young children or the infirm or elderly stumbled or met difficulty mounting the wagon, Gestapo officers pistol-whipped them or set about them with their rifle butts, knocking them to the ground, then forcing them to get up and continue the embarkation.
I watched with mounting horror as this scene unfolded, struck equally by the brutality of the Nazis and by the fearful unwillingness of any civilian to intervene.
As I focused upon Golda’s and Elone’s plight I felt ashamed at my own inaction, but even though my mind considered possible means of assistance, my body simply refused to respond, ridden by fear, so soon after seeing three men killed before my eyes. If their bodies had been dragged away, their blood still stained the ground, a congealing memorial to their untimely demise.
By now Golda and Elone were at the side of a wagon, waiting to climb aboard. I watched, mortified, as Golda lifted her little daughter onto the train and threw my hands to my face in horror as the little girl lost her grip on the cold steel and fell to the floor, screaming in pain. As Golda bent to pick her up a Gestapo officer swung at the mother with his rifle, knocking her to the ground. I started forward instinctively, but an unknown hand on my shoulder restrained me and I took control of my anger.
Now, unbelievably, the Nazi began to set about poor Elone as she lay crying on the floor, screaming abuse at her in German, each sentence accompanied by a vicious kick from his jackboots. So horrified was I by this scene that my eyes seemed to view the events in slow motion, each kick witnessed in obscene detail, my eyes following the action but my other senses dulled, my body somehow unable to respond.
Elone’s mother screamed at the Nazi as she tried to rescue the child from this brutal assault, but he simply kicked her away and then began again to viciously set about the child, shouting incoherently in German as he did so, each sentence matched by another callous attack with the heel of his jackboot.
“Nicolae!”
The name screeched from behind me, the shout breaking the spell and I turned to see my mother screaming hysterically, being restrained with difficulty by several men, fearful for her safety.
Utterly confused I turned again to the scene across the square and felt my heart all but stop as the subject of Mama’s hysteria became apparent. For there, racing across the concourse towards Elone, my little brother Nicolae was in full pelt, about to launch the might of his six year old frame against the Nazi officer assaulting his friend.