The Librarian of Auschwitz(92)
The drumming of boots around him and the movement of boards next to his hideout signal the end. He feels such anguish that he just wants them to remove the top of his little cubicle, peer inside, and bring all this to a conclusion as quickly as possible. He’d rather the guards shot them right here. He hopes their fury will save the two of them the humiliation and pain of being hanged in public. A moment ago, Rudi was aiming for freedom; now, all he wants is to die quickly. His heart is beating so strongly that he starts to shake.
Boots thud, planks are moved with a scraping sound like that of a gravestone. Rudi has already started to give in, and relaxes his frozen position; there’s nothing to do now. During the days preceding their escape, he thought obsessively about the distress he’d feel when they caught him, when he realized with absolute certainty that he was going to die. But he now knows that’s not the case, that the anguish happens before. When the Nazi points his Luger at you and tells you to raise your arms, what hits you is a cold calmness, a letting yourself go, because there’s nothing more you can do and nothing worse to fear. He listens to the sound of the wood being moved and instinctively starts to lift his arms. He even closes his eyes to avoid the explosion of light after days of darkness.
But the burst of light doesn’t come. It seems to him that the thud of the boots is somewhat more muffled and the scrape of the wood is less loud. He’s not dreaming.… When he pricks up his ears, he realizes that the conversations and the noises are moving away. And with each passing second—each as long as an hour—the sniffer dogs are also heading away. Eventually, silence returns, with only the occasional sound of a distant truck or whistle. Other than those noises, the only sound to be heard is an out-of-control thudding, and Rudi doesn’t know if it’s his heart, or Fred’s, or their two hearts together.
They’re safe … for now.
To celebrate, Rudi allows himself the luxury of a huge sigh and a slight shift in position. Then it’s Fred who stretches out his sweaty hand in search of Rudi, and Rudi who takes it. They shiver together.
When several minutes have gone by and the danger is over, Rudi whispers in Fred’s ear, “We’re leaving tonight, Fred—we’re leaving forever.”
And that fact brooks no argument: They’re leaving forever. When they pull aside the board that serves as a ceiling and crawl to the forest protected by the dark, no matter what happens, they’ll never again be prisoners in Auschwitz. They’ll either be free men or they’ll die.
24.
While Birkenau camp spends a restless night sleeping inside its electrified fence, a wooden cover slides open on the other side of the barbed wire. It slides open slowly like the top on a box of chess pieces. From below, four hands move it until the cold night air floods into the tiny cubicle. Two heads peer out cautiously. Rudi and Fred gobble up the fresh air. It’s like a banquet.
Rudi looks around carefully. He sees there are no guards nearby and that they are protected by the darkness. The closest tower is no more than forty or fifty meters away, but the guard is watching the inside of the camp and doesn’t notice that outside the perimeter, among the planks piled up in preparation for the new huts to extend the Lager, two figures are crawling toward the forest.
Reaching the trees and filling their lungs with the forest’s damp smell is such a new sensation for the two men that they feel reborn. But the euphoria produced by their first taste of freedom is short-lived. The forest, which from a distance is so beautiful and welcoming, is an inhospitable place for humans at night. They soon realize that blindly walking cross-country is not an easy task. The ground is full of traps: shrubs that scratch them, branches that whack them, foliage that drenches them. They try as best they can to walk in a straight line and put as much distance as possible between themselves and the Lager.
Their plan is to reach the Slovakian border in the Beskidy Mountains, 120 kilometers away, walking by night and hiding during the day. And praying. They know they can’t hope for help from the Polish civilian population because the Germans shoot any locals who provide refuge to fugitives.
They walk in the dark, tripping, falling, getting up, and walking on again. After a few hours of slow walking, uncertain if they’re heading in the right direction, the two men notice that the forest thins out, the trees start to disappear, and they find themselves in scrubland. They even make out the light of a house a few hundred meters away. They finally emerge onto a dirt road. It’s riskier, but as the road isn’t paved, they figure it will be little used. They decide to continue along it, keeping as close to the ditch as they can, alert to any sound. Owl hoots add an eerie note to the darkness, and the breeze is so cold it leaves them breathless. Whenever they come close to a house, they head back into the forest and skirt round it at a safe distance. On one occasion, dogs bark nervously, trying to betray their presence; the runaways quicken their step.
When the sky begins to lighten, they decide in whispers to make their way into the densest part of the forest and find a tall tree to climb so they can spend the day hidden. They can now see the outline of their surroundings better and make headway more easily. Thirty minutes later, there is enough light for them to see clearly. They stare at each other for a moment. They are unrecognizable. They’ve spent three days in the pitch-dark, and their beards are longer than usual. There’s a different expression on their faces—a mixture of unease and delight at being outside the camp. They actually don’t recognize each other because they are different now—they are free men. They smile.