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77 10 Arrival at Auschwitz I must have passed out in a kind of sleep. I was suddenly awakened by the shaking of the train. Then it stopped. The doors were pushed open to a wide vista. I was only half-awake, my limbs were stiff and any movement was a major task. My eye caught a small building, the train station, and its name in large letters—AUSCHWITZ. I do not remember whether the Polish name was also there. My recollection of this period is strange. Traces of some hours seem lost, others are vague; then there are very clear pictures in my mind, like my very first recognition of this infamous place. I immediately thought of the smuggled letter we had seen in Prague giving us our first information about this camp. I clearly recall wondering whether they would give us something to drink before they killed us. This was certainly my only wish at that moment. Nothing was as tormenting as that thirst. The idea of being dead became an attractive fantasy. If only it were quick. Nearby I saw inmates carrying bricks to a construction site. They had blood running down their backs. They were urged on by other prisoners in better looking striped uniforms with “KAPO” (Kameradschaffspolizei, inmate police) written on their sleeves and canes that they used to beat the workers on the back when they either did not run fast enough or dropped a brick. These KAPOs had a strange way of using these sticks. The handle was used to catch the neck of the worker, whom they dragged closer, then hit on the back. That was my first look at Auschwitz. Our poor belongings were thrown onto trucks as we dragged ourselves along, urged to move forward , pushed by guards, some of whom were inmates in uniform. The inmates started to talk to us. They tried to get anything of ours that would be useful. They were interested in good shoes or boots, explain- 78 Unfree Associations ing that we would have to give up everything anyway. They wanted the leather jackets that some people had saved to bring on the journey. They sounded bitter and sarcastic. When we asked about the fate of earlier transports, they pointed to the sky. “Up in smoke.” Among those apparently privileged and experienced younger men, we found a few who spoke Czech. They were from Slovakia, the eastern part of Czechoslovakia, and had come here early in the history of this camp. They told us that only a few of their group were still alive. They mentioned how surprised they had been when they had heard that our full transport of five thousand people, including whole families, were entering what was now called the Czech family camp in the part of Auschwitz called Birkenau (meadow of birches). They tried to explain to us how lucky we were that we all were allowed to enter. Usually only the young and those fit for labor were accepted. They said that they were bewildered by this new development even though one hardly saw any signs of any emotion on their faces. They implied that in many past transports all arrivals had been killed. We did not believe them. Some of us thought that these were horror stories told to make us more compliant. I had heard terrible rumors before, but at that moment of marginal existence, we were compelled to keep any ray of hope alive. Our distortions of an all too obvious reality became as important as morphine becomes for the patient suffering physical agony. We indulged in them and embellished them, thus finding a way to escape for a short time from the actual situation. The former village was gone except for a few small buildings. On a slight elevation, interrupting the monotony of the scenery, were a few birch trees, revealing the origin of its name. We entered an empty part of that enormous camp subdivided by electric fences. We were told that it would be our choice to touch the power system and commit suicide. On both sides of the camp were the barracks, called blocks. They were prefabricated long wooden cabins reminding one of stables, set in two parallel lines separated by an open space that was the camp road. One side of the road was designated for women; the other for men and one barracks was for women with young children. That did not mean there was any difference in equipment; all...

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