A Murder in Auschwitz (10 page)

“I am not a religious man, Anton, but if there is a hell, then we are in it.”

After what seemed to Meyer like an hour, two SS Blockführers appeared with clipboards. They were immaculately dressed in field grey uniforms, peaked caps and shining black boots. Kapo Langer approached them and handed over some paperwork, but the two men barely acknowledged his presence and took their time smoking cigarettes until they started the roll call over again. Once again, the two names which had not had a reply were called out and once again at the end of the list of names, the Blockführers and Langer entered the hut.

“Why are they going through this again?” asked Meyer.

“It is the same every day. The Nazis are sticklers for paperwork and if they can repeat an administrative process to create even more paperwork then they will,” replied Geller.

The SS officers returned from the hut with Langer limping after them. There was some discussion between him and the officers, and then Langer went back into the hut. Once again, the roll call was made, this time with the two missing prisoners' names left out. This seemed to satisfy the Blockführers, and Braun was despatched with the clipboard to the registration office.

Before long, two inmates with a wheelbarrow appeared and also went into the hut. To Meyer, they looked like the same men he had seen the day before, who had been sent out to pick up the bodies of the two men who had died outside the gates of the camp.

The bodies that belonged to the two missing names were carried out one at a time and placed unceremoniously in the barrow. They had been stripped naked, and Klein had the uniforms hung over his arm and the clogs held against his chest. Klein and the two body removal men left together in the direction of the chimneys.

Langer had reappeared from the hut and, along with the Blockführers, started organising everyone into working parties. Using yet another list of names, he ordered the men to form up in groups.

Meyer hoped that he would be in the same working party as Geller.

“What group are you in?” he whispered.

“Forest group D. We are always the last to be called,” Geller replied.

It seemed that everyone from the previous day’s working parties were staying together. Langer called out the names of the groups, ‘Factory group A’ or ‘Road group B’ and had them move off one group at a time. An SS guard was given a list of the names of those in that group and yet another roll call was made. Only once everyone was accounted for on the list were any new names added. Considering the efforts made to account for everyone during the roll calls, this part of the process seemed a bit ad hoc to Meyer. Langer just called out a few names from a list he had of the new prisoners and they were added to the bottom of the list of the working party. This was repeated with each group until Langer called out, “Forest group D”.

Anton Geller made his way, with the last group, to the side of the hut, where the roll call for that group was taken by the guard. Only Meyer and three other men were left. Langer called out their names and indicated that they should join this last group. Meyer's name, along with those of the other new prisoners, was added in pencil to the bottom of the list, and they were ordered to follow the guard in ranks of two.

Meyer fell in beside Geller. He wasn’t sure what time they had been sent into the courtyard at, but it had taken around three hours before they had been able to march off after the SS guard. It was a relief to be moving again.

The guard took them to the registration office at the gate and heads were counted by another officer, who then checked his number count against the number of prisoners on the list.

“Where are the new prisoners?” he asked.

Meyer slowly put up his hand, turning to see that the other three men were also holding a hand up. The registration officer then counted the hands and checked that there were four new names in pencil at the bottom of his list. Then he announced, “You are in Forest group D. Your work will be the clearing of woodland. You are guarded at all times. You will be shot if you make any attempt to escape. In any case, there is nowhere for you to go.” Then, looking back at his list he waved them away as if swatting a fly.

They had now been joined by more armed SS guards and were led out of the camp towards that day’s work.

Meyer thought back over the last twenty-four hours. What had happened on his arrival, the separation from his family, and the truth of what this place actually was from Geller. The family had feared arrest in Berlin but only because they did not want to be relocated to the east; they did not want the danger of the family being split up and feared for the safety of the girls. But they had not known about the existence of death camps or gas chambers or massive crematoriums. Did anyone know the truth of this in Berlin? Did the people know about the lies?

He looked at the sign above the entrance gate as they trudged underneath.
‘Work makes you free’
. Another lie.

Berlin, 24th December 1929

ANNA and Greta had been fed and set down for the night, with Frau Fischer sitting in front of the fire with her knitting. Before they left, she had made a fuss of Klara, making sure she was warm enough.

The snow had stopped by the time they had left the apartment building. There was a crisp crust to the snow on the pavements, and Meyer had Klara hold his arm to steady her as they walked to the tram stop.

“I have heard that the Bierwurst is excellent in the restaurant next to Clärchens Ballhaus,” said Meyer as they stood hand-in-hand at the tram stop, waiting for the Number 7 to Auguststrasse.

“Ah, but will it be as garlicky as the Bierwurst at Eden’s dancehall?” replied Klara, with a giggle.

“It didn’t matter how garlicky it was when I kissed you, because you ate much more Bierwurst than I did!” teased Meyer.

“It was a particular favourite there. The whole dancehall must have smelled of garlic,” she replied, and they both laughed at how the doors of the hall would open at the end of the night, and the dancers and the garlic smell would spill on to the street.

Soon there was the sound of the tram bell and the rattling of the tracks as the Number 7 made its way through the snow-covered streets. Meyer helped Klara aboard, and they took a seat at the back, on the bottom floor.

“It is a pity Karl couldn’t make it to Berlin for Christmas,” said Klara, “I haven’t seen him since we left Leipzig.”

“I am sure he is very busy, either with the electric company or busy trying to save us all from ourselves,” joked Meyer. Klara smiled but then looked out of the tram window, her gaze miles away, in Leipzig.

It had been on a tram to work in Leipzig that Meyer had met Klara’s brother Karl in his working clothes for the first time. He had been an apprentice electrician and wore blue overalls with big leather boots. He carried a box for his lunch and a toolbox.

“Hello, Karl, what are you doing on this tram?” asked Meyer, as he sat down next to him.

“Good morning, Manfred,” replied Karl, “I am working on Konigstrasse this week with the company. Is that near your office?”

“Not too far. I can show you what stop to get off at.”

Karl thanked him and they sat for a few moments without talking.

“I never really got a chance to thank you properly for looking after Klara that night,” said Karl.

Meyer smiled. He had not seen much of Klara since the night Karl had come home late. It had been three weeks before Klara’s mother had let either of them out at night. Then Meyer had had legal exams to study for, and, although they missed each other dreadfully, Klara had insisted that he spent the time studying. It was only if he passed these exams that his future as a lawyer would be certain and they could start making plans to be married.

“I wasn’t sure what to make of you at first,” continued Karl, “with you being a lawyer, I mean.”

Meyer raised his eyebrows and was about to ask if Karl had something particular against lawyers, but he did not need to, as Karl continued his explanation.

“It’s a very bourgeois occupation. Your aspiration to join the bourgeoisie does not fit your background. Unless you are going to be defending the working man against the threats to his livelihood?”

Meyer stared at Karl Steinmann.

“I wasn’t aware that you were a communist, Karl,” he said.

Karl became very animated and leaned in closer to Meyer, as if he was about to tell him a great secret.

“It is the only way forward,” he said in a whisper. “The workers of Germany must unite and create a socialist state. You have seen the anarchy on the streets with the Freikorps. These are disillusioned workers being caught up in the flames of revolution.”

“And were you caught up in these flames the night I took Klara home?”

Karl turned and looked out of the tram window for a long time before answering, so long that Meyer was wondering if he had insulted him in some way and if the conversation was now over.

“You guessed that night that I hadn’t been an innocent bystander. But you must promise not to say anything to Klara, she will only worry.”

Meyer promised, and Karl began to tell him what had really happened that night.

“I am a member of the Communist Party of Leipzig. We were having a meeting in the beer cellar when those Brownshirt thugs from the National Socialist Party came in. I don’t think they knew we were going to be there, it was just coincidence. National Socialist Worker’s Party? Their name is a joke. There is not a decent socialist value in any of their policies. All they want to do is create chaos.

“Anyway, there were ten of us sitting in our usual corner. Not all are members; one of us, Uwe Schaefer, is a member of the DDP, or rather, was a member. He is now a paid-up member of the Communist Party. Anyway, if they weren’t members, they were sympathisers with socialism.

“As usual, we were debating the state that the Weimar was in and how democracy would flourish under a single party socialist state, rather than drift like a ship with a broken mast as it does at the moment.

“So the Brownshirts arrive and are swanning around the bar as if they own the place. Then, before we know it, they have managed to intimidate the customers from one end of the cellar to move while more of them arrive.”

Meyer interrupted Karl by holding up his finger, “Didn’t the bar owner do anything?”

“No, the beer was flowing. He would have made a fortune that night. And there you see the problem with capitalism, Manfred. It is a whore and it will get into bed with anyone.

“We were being pretty much ignored by the Brownshirts, so we stayed in our corner and resumed our political chatter. But I kept an eye on what was going on at the other end of the cellar, where all available chairs and tables were being lined up.

“Then, suddenly, there was a roar of cheering and applause and some men came down the steps into the cellar, all smiles. I didn’t recognise them, but at first I thought one of them was that little man with the limp, what’s his name?”

“Goebbels,” said Meyer.

“Yes, Goebbels. He has been elected to the Reichstag now. Can you believe it? He is such an anti-Semite, with a name like 'Goebbels' too? You are not telling me that his family does not have a rich Jewish history?”

Meyer laughed. He liked Karl Steinmann’s turn of phrase. Karl reminded him of his own brother, Nils, in the way he could take something serious like the war with France and Britain and manage to make a joke out of it. Perhaps if Nils had survived the war he might have become a politician, although, hopefully, not a communist.

“Anyway, it wasn’t Goebbels. The little man was taken to the very back of the cellar by a couple of guys who I assume were bodyguards. Then the political crap started to be spouted.

“We sat in the corner, watching and listening to a never-ending stream of clichés, bombast, and half-truths. Have you heard them, the Nazis?”

Meyer shook his head. He was interested in politics but was not a follower of any party. He managed to follow what was happening in the ongoing rounds of elections in the country through reading the newspaper and discussions with the other law students. He had not heard any of the leaders of the parties speak, except, of course, the president, Hindenburg.

“So the little man with the limp finishes his speech with some crap about the Jews profiteering during the war; you know the rubbish that the Freikorps are spouting.”

Meyer nodded in agreement. There had been growing anti-Semitism after the war. Not that it had affected Meyer directly, as he didn’t really consider himself Jewish but he had seen it, especially when the Freikorps were roaming the streets.

“Werner Beyer stands up and shouts that it was the Kaiser’s fault that the Armistice was signed, not the Jews', and especially not the Jews who were fighting in the trenches alongside the Protestants and the Catholics, the communists and the monarchists. And Werner is not even Jewish, or a communist, or a monarchist!

“But this is when all hell broke loose. The Brownshirts didn’t like being heckled like that, especially about the Jews. That was when the fight started. The Brownshirt cowards came for us, shouting and calling us Jew-lovers and communists, which to be fair, I certainly was,” continued Karl, laughing.