Night (Marion Wiesel 2006 Translation) by Elie Wiesel

Author:Elie Wiesel [Wiesel, Elie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature
ISBN: 9780374717261
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published: 1956-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

AN ICY WIND WAS BLOWING VIOLENTLY. But we marched without faltering.

The SS made us increase our pace. “Faster, you tramps, you flea-ridden dogs!” Why not? Moving fast made us a little warmer. The blood flowed more readily in our veins. We had the feeling of being alive …

“Faster, you filthy dogs!” We were no longer marching, we were running. Like automatons. The SS were running as well, weapons in hand. We looked as though we were running from them.

The night was pitch-black. From time to time, a shot exploded in the darkness. They had orders to shoot anyone who could not sustain the pace. Their fingers on the triggers, they did not deprive themselves of the pleasure. If one of us stopped for a second, a quick shot eliminated the filthy dog.

I was putting one foot in front of the other, like a machine. I was dragging this emaciated body that was still such a weight. If only I could have shed it! Though I tried to put it out of my mind, I couldn’t help thinking that there were two of us: my body and I. And I hated that body. I kept repeating to myself:

“Don’t think, don’t stop, run!”

Near me, men were collapsing into the dirty snow. Gunshots.

A young boy from Poland was marching beside me. His name was Zalman. He had worked in the electrical material depot in Buna. People mocked him because he was forever praying or meditating on some Talmudic question. For him, it was an escape from reality, from feeling the blows …

All of a sudden, he had terrible stomach cramps.

“My stomach aches,” he whispered to me. He couldn’t go on. He had to stop a moment. I begged him: “Wait a little, Zalman. Soon, we will all come to a halt. We cannot run like this to the end of the world.”

But, while running, he began to undo his buttons and yelled to me:

“I can’t go on. My stomach is bursting…”

“Make an effort, Zalman … Try…”

“I can’t go on,” he groaned.

He lowered his pants and fell to the ground.

That is the image I have of him.

I don’t believe that he was finished off by an SS, for nobody had noticed. He must have died, trampled under the feet of the thousands of men who followed us.

I soon forgot him. I began to think of myself again. Because of my numb foot, I shivered with every step. Just a few more meters and it will be over. I’ll fall. A small red flame … A shot … Death enveloped me, it suffocated me. It stuck to me like glue. I felt I could touch it. The idea of dying, of ceasing to be, began to fascinate me. To no longer exist. To no longer feel the excruciating pain of my foot. To no longer feel anything, neither fatigue, nor cold, nothing. To break rank, to let myself slide to the side of the road …

My father’s presence was the only thing that stopped me. He was running next to me, out of breath, out of strength, desperate.

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