The goal of our overzealous guards was to make us disappear, albeit cleanly. Hence they dedicated themselves to showering us, depersonalizing us, shaving us, and disinfecting us, on average once a month.
They also wanted to know exactly what they were doing and therefore counted us often. This they did with imagination and care. It all depended on their mood. A sudden yearning for precision, and there we were, outside, in rows of five, at any moment of the day or night.
Four of them took turns counting us, and they checked each other’s work. They took as long as necessary to make their numbers tally. Neither sun, nor rain, nor ice put them off. They were pernickety in fulfilling their duty and performed it with an iron discipline. If they thought they were missing someone, to make things easier, they could just erase hundreds of numbers. The unfortunate absentee was often found already dead. We stood there waiting.
Amid the bustle of dogs, whips, and guards, we waited, tired of being so important. It was with powerless rage that we observed the addition and subtraction of thousands of these muddled numbers.
We often found ourselves being awakened in the middle of the night with yells accompanied by cracks of the whip. The whips had big personalities. They made themselves heard both vigorously and rigorously. Their handlers stamped their image on them. There was no point in trying to understand these outbursts. It was simply a pressing need to express their strength, their virility, and their importance.
That morning, once more, the warmthless sun rose. We exchanged a look of hope with those of our sisters who were still standing. A pale sky, a round cloud, a drop of water caught on the tip of our tongue, and we were still alive.