42

Spangler and the other new arrivals stood in a single line along the north end of the roll-call field, in Compound II-D. Behind them were the stone kitchen buildings. Ahead lay a double row of brown wooden buildings, sixteen on each side. No SS guards were to be seen, only Kapos wearing the green triangles of convicted criminals. Kapos ordered them to stand to attention, and so they stood rigid in the cold and watching as the sun rose to its zenith and descended into dusk. No food was offered them. No relief given from the rigid posture. Strings of light bulbs along the interior perimeter fences glowed on. Darkness brought the smell of food. Darkness brought even sharper winds.

Chanting and the tramping of feet became audible. Spangler glanced out of the corner of his eye. He could see the adjoining compounds filling with the dark forms of prisoners.

The chanting and tramping continued interminably. He heard shouts directly to his rear.

Column after column of prisoners began trudging into the roll-call area, facing the line of new arrivals. Kapos’ shouts and truncheon blows accompanied every movement. Soon more than five thousand weary, haggard prisoners stood marking time in place and chanting.

Orders were shouted. Marching stopped. Prisoners froze to attention. An SS officer and two SS guards walked briskly down the corridor separating the new arrivals from the mass of returning laborers. The officer raised a clipboard. Rolls were called. Work Kommando Kapos stepped smartly forward and shouted out the number of the newly dead. Corpses were dragged out and laid before the first line of prisoners. The officer strolled casually past the row of bodies. The order was given to remove them.

A second ritual began. The work Kommando Kapos reported the sick and injured. Prisoners struggled out of the ranks and formed a sagging line. The officer studied them from a distance. His finger began pointing. Some moved out and formed a column that quickly marched off. The majority dejectedly returned to their former positions and stood to attention again.

Spangler heard a movement to his right. All that could be seen there was the vague outline of large men huddled in the shadows.

The officer turned abruptly and faced the line of new arrivals.

“I am SS Hauptsturmfuehrer Klempf,” barked the captain. “It is my duty to welcome you here—and so I do. It is your honor to be allowed here—and so you are. It is your honor to serve us—and so you shall. Here you will serve. Here you will work. Work cures all ills. Past and future no longer exist. The present is work. You exist only to work.”

Captain Klempf spoke in German. No interpreters had been provided for the new arrivals. Very few could understand. It had not been expected that they would.

Klempf took to pacing back and forth. “Yes,” he finally said, “here you will quickly learn that work and strength are the only virtues. Work and strength are progress. The Reich respects achievement. The Reich respects work and strength. It is rewarded. Yes, here and now, before you, we will demonstrate how well it is rewarded.”

Klempf spun on his heel. “Read the list!”

An SS corporal raised his clipboard. Ten numbers were shouted. Spangler and the other nine untattooed, unshorn new arrivals were moved out between the two contingents of facing prisoners.

“At Birkenau there is no better position than that of cook. Yes, a cook leads a good life. A cook is of great importance.” Klempf grinned at Spangler and his companions. “You few have been given a rare opportunity. These are the present cooks,” he said, moving aside. “If you want their jobs, take them!”

Six massive prisoners led by a red-faced giant of a man charged out of the ranks to the left and started for Spangler and the other nine. Tolan and five more cooks approached them from the right.

Spangler was the first to be hit. He rolled with the blow, feinted and drove his fist into the neck of the leader. The giant let out a screech, clutched his throat and dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. The attackers stopped in disbelief and watched their comrade pitch face forward and writhe on the frozen earth.

At a shout from Tolan the cooks resumed their attack. One by one the new arrivals were bludgeoned into submission. Soon only Spangler and two others remained fighting.

Spangler knew that he must not win, that he must not be the last to fall, that he should submit now. Something kept him from it.

The cooks split into two groups and began to stalk. Suddenly they stopped. The wounded cook had risen unsteadily to his feet, clutching his neck. He pointed at Spangler. All the cooks started after him. He sidestepped, and two flew past. He caught the third full in the face with his knee.

Spangler decided to take his beating. When Tolan and three more cooks swarmed on him from behind he let them take him.

All eyes were on Spangler as he was dragged forward by Tolan and another cook to the felled giant, who lifted his club and brought it unsteadily down. Spangler knew he shouldn’t move, but he couldn’t resist. He tugged to his right, pulling Tolan under the plummeting wood. It caught him on the bridge of the nose. Spangler ducked, shot up an arm, knocked away the giant’s hand and drove another fist into the swollen neck.

Four cooks held Spangler in position. Three more tried to raise the giant. When they couldn’t, Tolan was lifted to his feet. Spangler was pulled forward. Tolan gripped the club and raised his arm. When it came down Spangler made sure he was underneath it.

Twelve motionless men lay sprawled on the blood-splattered ground. Klempf strolled casually through them and faced the ranks of stunned new arrivals.

“A Czech Jew once wrote a story,” he said, with a faint smile. “In this story a man awakes one morning to find that he has been changed into a large bug. The story goes on to prove that if you put the mind of a man into the body of a bug, it will soon become the mind of a bug. The Czech Jew only had a theory; we have the means! Birkenau will soon turn you into bugs. But not individual bugs—you will be communal bugs! There is no more individuality; your ten fallen comrades are the last attempt at that. Now, you are part of a community. If one of you commits a crime, all will suffer. If one is good, all will be rewarded. And that is how it shall be—from this moment forward.”

Spangler felt the tugging. He tried to open his eyes and couldn’t. He knew vaguely that he was being dragged over the frozen mud. He was certain time was lapsing. He had the sensation of being lifted and carried. He felt a distant jolt as he was dropped on a hard surface and rolled over and over. Again he drifted. Sensations returned intermittently. He felt a chill. A stench was evident. So was a noise. He fought to open his eyes. Finally he did. Dimly he realized that he was on an upper shelf of a tiered bunk. Two other men were asleep beside him. Both were snoring. Both stank. The barracks was not heated. One thin blanket covered him and his bedfellows. Spangler tried to raise up. His effort stirred the man next to him. A somnambulistic arm engulfed him. He sank back with a far-off vision of tier after tier of bunks jammed with sleeping refuse. Cold and noise grew faint. Spangler fell back into unconsciousness.