Escape From Auschwitz by Andrey Pogozhev

Author:Andrey Pogozhev
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781783460106
Publisher: Pen and Sword
Published: 2013-05-29T18:30:00+00:00

In the hospital block the main common hall occupied one-half of the partitioned first floor. This space was divided into five segments, each one known as a ‘pentka’ – the Polish word for ‘one-fifth’ [more correctly ‘pia̧ty’ – trans.]. Based on the composition of its patients my pentka could be described as ‘international’ in character. An engineer from a Prague broadcasting station, Kazemir Stahl, lay next to me on the second tier of bunks. A Pole – a former newspaper editor – lay across the aisle. Above him, on the third tier, was a major general in the Polish Army, who’d been aide-de-camp to the Governor-General of the Amur Province [in pre-Revolutionary Russia, when Poland was part of the Tsarist Empire – trans.]. This man had once been responsible for exterminating tigers in the Ussury area of eastern Russia, and on his right arm was a tattoo – executed with great skill – depicting the head of an enraged tiger with open maw. But as well as this artistic memento, he also bore a different kind of souvenir from his encounter with the big cats: an obvious limp. Nevertheless, he was a sturdy, big-boned old man, who climbed the upper bunk without assistance, despite his declining years.

In front of us, on the lower bunk, was a Jew from Amsterdam, his jaw broken by a blow from an SS-Mann. Other companions included two Frenchmen – one of them was called de Chevalier – plus a Czech soldier and a young Portuguese officer. The latter was a very handsome man, the son of a colonial official and an Indian woman from Borneo. He arrived the day after me, with no obvious signs of sickness, and in the following disgraceful manner. When Gurecki walked the Portuguese to his bunk he suddenly broke into a fit of swearing. Howling indignantly and flinging every oath, the mongrel created a shameful scene. Kazemir Stahl, who was proficient in several European languages, including English, interpreted. It turned out that this scumbag didn’t want to lie next to ‘filthy Frenchmen’ as he expressed it. Above this insolent fellow were a Jew and a Pole. The latter was called Skiba or Skaba – a mighty athlete and former member of the Polish national squad. Two other Poles were above him. One was a cavalryman, who, as I was later told in secret, used to occupy a senior position in the regular Polish Army and was an active anti-Fascist. He was absolutely fit and was hiding in the hospital under an assumed name.

In that huge hall, containing hundreds of patients, I was the first Russian from the Soviet Union. Thus, most were seeing a Soviet citizen for the first time. Naturally, many wanted to view me up close, being eager to discover what sort of people the Soviets were, who’d been fighting a bloody war on their native soil not just for their own freedom, but for the freedom of all.

On the very first day pan Olek put me under the care of the Polish Major General, but forbade any long and tiring conversations.

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