Here There is No Why by Roth Rachel

Author:Roth, Rachel [Roth, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

MAJDANEK

E

arly the next morning, I hear the sound of a train growing clearer and clearer as it rolls over the iron rails. A locomotive whistle rips through the air. The train stops with an ill-boding rattling. It stands on the tracks, awaiting its cargo. Armed SS men come storming in through the doors that have been thrown wide open. The deafening shouting starts: “Alle raus! Schneller! Weitermachen! Raus! Raus! Verfluchte schweine.” Bellowing inhumanly, swinging their sticks to frighten us, they hit mercilessly. With their rifle butts, they urge on the children who have just been roused from sleep.

Panic takes over. A frightened human wave pushes us through the door to the hall down the stairs into a square area. I hold onto Grandpa’s hand tightly, while Hela grabs my other hand, afraid that in the confusion we will be separated. Pushed brutally, kicked and pummeled, we stand at attention in rows. With our hands up, we move in the direction of the waiting wagons. The long winding file moves forward quickly. The threatening eyes of rifles glare at us persistently, while the cattle cars devour their human cargo. Now I am only a few steps away from the train. The pushing eases a bit. The file moves more slowly.

The Nazis forcefully push some isolated drifters into the completely filled wagons, making sure there is not a single inch of unoccupied space. They load the cars to the brim. I can hear an order. “Halt!” The moving column stops. The Ukrainians slam shut the doors of the wagons, sealing them with iron bars. I hear a screeching as the doors are locked. The locomotive whistles as it lumbers into motion, bearing its living cargo. The pale exhausted faces of the condemned look out from the barred windows of the cars.

Those of us remaining on the ramp are chased back into the building, which is already filling with new victims. We spend another day here, sustaining ourselves with the dry farfel Grandpa prudently stuffed into his coat pockets when we left the bunker.

We spend another night filled with fear, sadness and misery on the dirty floor. The next day, when the train arrives, they chase us back onto the ramp.

Grandpa sees a rabbi he knows in the crowd. He takes a handful of farfel out of his coat and pushes it into the rabbi’s mouth. The poor man is emaciated and stooped over with exhaustion; he can barely stay on his feet. We line up in a row, and Grandpa pulls the rabbi in front of himself in an attempt to shield him. The file moves quickly under the close watch of SS men on both sides of the column, accompanied by ferocious howling dogs. The open mouths of the wagons swallow the hopeless masses voraciously. “Halt! Stop!” The human chain comes to a quick stop. A tall German signals chivalrously with his hand for the rabbi to step out of the line. He obediently steps to the side, leaving the line.

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