Beyond the Shadow of Night(69)

The more Asher stared, the weaker his body became. He was relieved when the body was thrown onto the heap, where he could no longer see it.



The next few days were ones of relentless drudgery—hour after hour of body-breaking physical work combined with sights and sounds that lodged like sharp splinters in Asher’s mind.

But he had to ignore his feelings. That was the program. Use the body as a tool, don’t think beyond the physical. Never think. Never try to remember. Just do. Get with the program or die.

The throb of that big bad engine, the smell of charred flesh.

Do.

Ignore.

Repeat.

Just like the rest.





Chapter 22

Treblinka, Poland, 1943

In his first few days at Treblinka, Asher had kept in the back of his mind the hope that somehow, possibly, some of his family were still alive.

That thought had long since perished, along with his humanity. Now he spent his time dealing with meat—ignoring the faces contorted in pain and the limbs twisted at unnatural angles, dragging them to the pyre, throwing them on the heap, splashing gasoline on the mass of flesh, watching the skin pop and the flesh cook. All of this was merely his job, and these bodies were never people with their own loves, interests, opinions, and beliefs. Self-preservation was all that mattered, and any thoughts that threatened that were banished.

Self-sacrifice was for others, and it happened regularly. Waking up to a body swinging from the rafters no longer startled Asher. A fellow prisoner in a deranged fit charging at a guard and being gunned down was no longer worth watching.

Do.

Ignore.

Repeat.

By the summer of 1943 a few shards of hope appeared for those men who had managed to blank out the horror and keep their bodies—if not their minds—alive.

In his first few hours at the camp Asher had been frightened to move or speak unless ordered to. Like the rest, he’d been petrified of the consequences of doing otherwise.

But now the camp was starting to wind down. Fewer trains arrived, and those that did were half full and often contained more Roma gypsies than Jews. The Totenjuden were given more freedom to move around the camp and to talk.

The talk was of another camp about a mile away—not an extermination camp like here, but a forced labor settlement for Jews. The workers from there occasionally visited and exchanged information in secret. The news was encouraging: not only had the German war machine lost the crucial battle for Stalingrad, but there had also been major German losses in North Africa.

That meant the Nazi powers and their collaborators were not invincible after all. They were human and could be beaten. This idea—which had seemed unlikely for so long—galvanized the prisoners. But for a long time it was merely rumor with no substance, until late one night in July, when Asher was shaken awake and by the light of a candle saw the face of Stefan, a fellow Totenjude.

“Shh!” he whispered. “Get out of your bunk. Go to the far end.”

In the dimness, Asher saw a few men carrying their wrecked bodies over there, and Stefan moving on to wake up the others. When they had all gathered, Stefan started speaking in hushed tones.

“This meeting is also happening in other cabins. There is an escape plan. And we know the risks. Do we all know what happens when an escape fails?”

“Not really,” one man said.

“Perhaps you aren’t aware,” Stefan said. “There have been escape attempts before—two men going through the fence, a few tunneling under it. For every prisoner who tried to escape, ten were executed in reprisal. And that is why this is different. We are planning a total revolt against the camp authorities. I would ask anyone who doesn’t want to be a party to this to go back to bed now.”

He waited. Nobody moved.

“Good. I expected nothing less, but it’s good. I’ve had meetings with the committee members. As you are aware, there has been a strong and steady supply of Jews coming here from Polish towns and cities, with a few Roma from elsewhere in Europe. And we all know why we are here: our job is to, shall we say, process them. But there are now very few Jews left in Poland. We have to ask ourselves what will happen to us, the Totenjuden, when that supply has run completely dry.”

“We’ll be shot,” someone said.

“Of that,” Stefan replied, “we can be absolutely certain. But it would also be reasonable to assume that the authorities have guessed we have worked this out and will act accordingly. And because of that, the escape must happen soon.”

“I agree,” another Totenjude said. “If we wait much longer there won’t be enough of us left to revolt.”

“Exactly,” Stefan said. “To that end, a date has been set.”

“Which is?”

They held their breath, but Stefan shook his head slowly. “I can’t tell you,” he said.

“What?”

Asher heard groans and saw faces of confusion in the dim light.

“Shh!” Stefan hissed. “Please listen. This is crucial. Remember that we’ll get only one chance at this. If it fails, then realistically we’ll all be shot. This has been planned at a higher level, and that’s why I don’t even know the date myself. Everyone will be told on the day or the night before. I would ask you to remember that secrecy is our main weapon. The more people know the date, the greater the chance that the authorities will find out. And I repeat, if we fail, each and every one of us dies.”