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22 Iawoke to the noise of the boxcar doors as they opened. I heard the angry , shrill German voices outside the boxcar. “Out! Out! Fast! Fast!” the voices commanded. “Out! You stinking damned Jewish swine!” I tumbled out of the boxcar into the harsh daylight. We were at a railroad siding between two rows of tall barbed wire fences. Armed SS guards and Kapos were yelling and striking out with rubber truncheons. This was what I should have expected. Gone were the dreams of Sweden and rescue. The terror had not ended. The Kapos lined us up in front of the boxcars, and the SS counted us. They ordered us to drop everything to the ground except our soup bowls. I dropped my Red Cross box. The cigarettes and matches were still in my pocket. A gate in the fence swung open, someone shouted orders , and we marched into the camp. The camp looked small and was surrounded by double barbed wire fences and guard towers. Weeds grew waist high on the swampy ground, and the air was filled with dense gray smoke. Gaunt and sickly prisoners dressed in tattered uniforms sat or lay on the ground or leaned against the dingy barracks. Rotting corpses lay in heaps, and the stench of death was heavy in the air. A Kapo marched us to two unfinished buildings in the center of the camp and told us that these were our barracks. The buildings had rough brick walls and a tin roof. They had no windows and no door, just an opening that served as a doorway. Inside, the building was barren. It had no flooring, just the dirty ground. It had no bunks, tables, straw, or blankets. There was no need to claim a place in the barracks. The building was empty, dirty, and wet. I saw Julek Schipper sitting on the ground across the room. He did not look well. I went over and sat down next to him. “Julek, I am glad that we are together,” I said. “I am sorry that we were in different boxcars. How do you feel?” 208 “I do not feel well, Lucek.” His voice was filled with pain. “My stomach and chest hurt. I tried to eat some of the Red Cross food, but I vomited everything out. I do not think that I can last more than a few days.” I looked at him and knew that he was right. But I could not let him believe that. There was always hope. “No, Julek, do not think that way,” I said. “I know you for a long time, and I know how tough you are. You do not look that bad. No worse than the rest of us. Do not give up. You will feel better after you rest.” I said these things to my friend Julek, as I said them to myself. “Can I do something for you?” I asked. “I do not know if you can get it, but I would like some hot water to drink,” he said. “Let me try,” I answered and went out of the barracks. The conditions in this camp were primitive and worse than any camp that I had been in. Piles of dead bodies and prisoners on the verge of death were everywhere. I was weary of trying to fight death. My strength and my health were waning, and I felt that this camp would destroy me. The haunting reflection of me in the window returned with a brutal force, and I knew that I was a muselman. It was not hope that I was losing, for I had not enough hope left to hang on to, but the faith that struggle and hope made any difference. I knew how dangerous my despair could be and told myself that. For the moment I did not give up, but the doubts remained, like monsters waiting at the edge of a bad dream. Life in this camp had no order or purpose. No prisoners worked, no one gave commands, and no one cared about the ill and dying. Skeletal prisoners from many nations stood idly near the unfinished barracks. Others sat or lay on the muddy ground or wandered around aimlessly.A few prisoners built small fires from twigs and branches. Some prisoners were cooking something in their metal soup bowls and rusty cans. I asked some prisoners who were lying on the ground about this camp. They told me the camp was called W...
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