Auschwitz: True Tales from a Grotesque Land

I lay on the lowest bunk of a three-decker bed, wrapped in a blanket. I was not cold. I was not hungry. I had drunk enough cold water to quench my thirst. I had gotten rid of the lice. You might say that I felt happy. Around me people were asleep. A ray of hope crept into my heart. Maybe here, in Stutthof,^*. I would manage to last through the war. After three nights and three days of a terrible trip in a stifling, closed freight car, without food or water, we had stopped suddenly in a pine forest. A cold snow mixed with rain was falling, but the trees were green, and the leaves made a rustling noise. It had been two years since I last saw a tree. There were no trees in the ghetto and none in the Bialystok^†. prison, and maybe because of that their aroma and rustling struck me as being unusual.

On the very first evening I drank water -- simple, cold water -- from the sink. But I had been dreaming about one drop for three days and nights of travel in the closed freight car, during which time my tongue had dried out like a piece of leather. I kept hearing a terrible hum in my temples, and one thought kept going through my mind, that I might die before having had a drink of water. Right after our arrival, a Polish kapo from Poznan took us to the toilet, where there were sinks with running water. I could not tear myself away. It had a taste of heaven, and to this very day I can still feel that taste in my mouth. We were the first Jewish transport to arrive in Stutthof, a motley crew who shared nothing in common but the tragedy of having been born Jewish. No wonder we met with little sympathy from the other prisoners. Nobody

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