UNFREE ASSOCIATIONS

21. My Sister Arrives

165 21 My Sister Arrives New transports were arriving from Theresienstadt, and I was worried about my sister. She had gone for safety to Holland, where she had married, and I knew that she had been in camp Westerbork and from there was taken to Theresienstadt. Her father-in-law, Dr. Benjamin, was a pediatrician in the Gypsy camp here. I had not known him before this time and cannot remember how we ever started to talk to each other over the fence. Somehow we discovered that the man my sister Hanna had married was his son, Carl. He was worried about Carl, who he thought would probably arrive in Auschwitz and he felt helpless at not being able to inform him of the dangers in showing any signs of being weak or sick. The expected transport arrived in the second week of October. It was to Jo, the Czech Jewish chief surgeon of the next hospital barracks, that I turned for help in looking for my sister. I knew that Jo had some secret way of visiting his wife, a veteran prisoner in a privileged position in the women’s camp. If Hanna were to pass the selection she would enter the camp. Of course it was nearly unbearable to think of the alternative. On October 15, my birthday, he once again succeeded in going on his dangerous expedition. When Jo returned a few hours later, he had a note from a woman who had responded to his calling of my sister’s name. I recognized her handwriting. The wrinkled little piece of paper, which he had hidden on himself, was a most significant birthday note. After wishing me a happy birthday, Hanna’s note asked for advice. She said she was pregnant and that she had succeeded in hiding her condition so far but could not do so much longer. Jo told me that pregnancy in the women’s camp meant death. There was no time to lose. He alerted his wife through their secret connection and the camp doctor performed an abortion. I “organized” an old sweater 166 Unfree Associations and slacks, collected some bread and waited for an opportunity to get to the sector next to her camp. The only way to do this was to go with the wagon, pushed by prisoners, used for transporting dirty linen and clothes to the laundry. This vehicle had been used before for intra-camp communication and the black market used it for exchange of goods. Most of the time the guards would not interfere, (they probably got their payment in liquor). When the day came, I changed my doctor’s coat for the regular striped uniform. I borrowed a good “hand-tailored” one from an orderly to be better dressed. While hardly of consequence by conventional standards such a status symbol was an indication of influence in the camp. The greatest danger in the scheme lay in being caught by the political department, the counterespionage branch of the SS, which was part of the Gestapo. I had heard people say, “In their hands you would wish for the merciful gas chamber.” It was still early in the morning when I heard the squeaking wooden wheels of the wagon long before it reached the hospital. I had heard this noise before but had never given it any importance. The old vehicle, which in its good days was drawn by horses and used to haul hay at harvest time, was now drawn by prisoners. Its horses had probably been first used in combat and then eaten when their strength gave out. While they loaded linen, Jo informed the leader of my mission. He looked suspiciously at me, I could endanger them all if I was not careful , but apparently he did not want to refuse Jo’s request. The journey started uneventfully. We passed the exit gate the guards hardly looked at us. We moved very slowly along the dusty unpaved road, the same road I had many times seen covered with long lines of the damned being pushed towards their unexpected end. Our load was heavy and we feared that the worn out wheels might break down at any moment. We made a slight detour to get me closer to the camp where my sister was supposed to be. From there, they told me to go on by myself and that they would pick me up in a short time on their way back. They did not want to...