Counterfeiter by Moritz Nachtstern & RAGNAR ARNTZEN

Author:Moritz Nachtstern & RAGNAR ARNTZEN
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780762776481
Publisher: Lyons Press
Published: 2016-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

The sun-baked roof and walls meant that the print shop was as hot as a steam bath.

Weber came out from the guardroom. He walked around and studied the newcomers. Suddenly I saw him tiptoe to the table where Springer sat. The feeble old man had not managed to stay awake in the heavy warm air. He did not notice anything until Weber fired a shot from his revolver directly behind him.

“It’s because of the terrible heat,” he stuttered, dazed.

“Hot? So you think it’s hot,” said Weber, putting his revolver back into its holster. “Just wait, and you will have reason to think so.” He signaled to Kurzweil and whispered something to him. Kurzweil went into the guardroom. When he came back he carried two soldiers’ capes, a steel helmet, and a gas mask. He put it all on Springer’s table.

“Put it on,” ordered Weber. “Everything.”

For a moment it looked as if Springer would refuse, but then he began to get dressed.

“Help him with the finery, Kurzweil,” said Weber impatiently. “Button up the capes, and put the helmet and the gas mask properly on the old man. Yes, like this. So, my dear Springer, now you can continue with your work. But watch out you don’t fall asleep again. Get my accordion, Kurzweil.”

The old man had to sit and work for two hours in his torture outfit. It was a miracle that he did not faint.

Weber walked around fussing with the “Internationale” on his huge accordion. It had been “given” to him by a Jew, or so he said. Outside in the exercise yard Marok raced back and forth on a motorcycle, raising hell. The noise was earsplitting, and the pebbles popped and banged against the wall of the block. The motorbike was another “gift” from an admiring Jew, and the two cronies used it on their chivalrous trips to Berlin.

Springer was more dead than alive when we helped him take off the two capes, the steel helmet, and the gas mask. We supported him as we walked into the dayroom.

The mood among the new prisoners was worse than depressed. The punishment drill and all they had heard and seen in the course of the day was enough to fill them with hopelessness and despair. After all, they had been in ghettos and not in such terrible camps as Monowitz and Auschwitz. The only one among them who accepted the situation with composure was the little cripple, Italiener. He talked and joked and actually managed to cheer up the others in the group of newcomers. Moreover, the same Leib Italiener turned out to be an expert engraver.

It was a restless night. The newcomers moaned and cried out in their sleep.

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