All but My Life: A Memoir (22 page)
Read All but My Life: A Memoir Online
Authors: Gerda Weissmann Klein
Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Historical, #Women, #History, #Holocaust
ONE MORNING WE WERE TOLD THAT WE WERE TO LEAVE HELMBRECHTS.
“No, no!” moaned Ilse.
“Are you crazy?” I asked her, full of hope again.
I wanted to be in the open, I feared enclosures. Outside, I believed we had a chance. I still had my ski boots and by now the clothes we had arrived in had come back to us, free of vermin. This we regarded as a big favor.
One girl whispered to me as she dressed: “You were right, Gerda, they are afraid of us. We have our clothes again.”
We assembled for our last roll call in Helmbrechts. No more than three hundred answered their names. The commandant made an announcement:
“You will rejoice to hear that the greatest enemy of the Führer is dead. Franklin Delano Roosevelt has died–as all the enemies of the Führer will die!”
Roosevelt dead … Perhaps it was only a bluff. Later we learned that the news was true. The day we first heard it was probably April 13, 1945.
We marched away from Helmbrechts in the rain.
Ilse found a margarine wrapper. We licked it dry, tasting the fat. Though we got no food that day, Ilse said it did not matter, we had had the nourishing margarine. We were comforted.
We slept outside that night. It was very cold, and the evidence could be seen in the morning in the many stiff bodies on the ground. That evening, after another day’s march, Use suddenly collapsed.
“Leave me here,” she whispered, “I can’t go on.”
I pulled her to her feet, held her arm around my neck, and dragged her on.
“Leave me,” she kept begging. “Leave me in the woods. Some peasant will be kind.”
“I will stay with you,” I said.
Her voice was strong again. “No, you must go on!”
“I will not go on without you,” I said. “You would not go without me, would you?”
She did not answer.
It was almost dark. Somehow we got to a barn for the night. As Ilse’s arm dropped from my neck, she fell in a heap. Tonelessly, as if to herself, she said, “I cannot walk.”
Horror gripped me. I took off her shoes and rubbed her frozen feet slowly and gently.
“It’s no use,” Ilse whimpered.
Carefully I put her shoes back on. Then I went to look for Hanka. I had met Hanka in Griinberg while working on the night shift, and from the start, we had taken to each other. Occasionally she was called to help in the kitchen and when she did, she always managed to scrounge extra bits of food for Ilse and me. Thus, Hanka had become an angel to me whose kindness I shall never forget. During the march, Hanka had remained relatively healthy and strong, and because of this, the SS commandant had ordered her to help with the ill. Now I ran to find her, foolishly hoping that she might have a magic solution for Ilse. I told her that Ilse would have to ride in the wagon. It sounded like Ilse’s death sentence. Since leaving Helmbrechts, we had had a horse-drawn wagon with us on which the sick and dead were transported until there were enough for a mass grave. Then the dead would be unloaded and the sick shot.
“I am going in the wagon too,” I decided.
Hanka tried to argue with me but she soon saw that it was useless. All that night I debated with myself: in the morning should Ilse and I remain in the barn under the straw and take our chances, or go in the wagon? I was afraid to stay behind, I was afraid to go on. It was a terrible decision to have to make.
In the morning I dragged Ilse over to the wagon and lifted her into it. She squeezed my hand and turned away from me.
At that moment I got in too. When Ilse saw me she cried, “No, nol You get off, you can walk.”
At that moment I got in too. When Ilse saw me she cried, “No, nol You get off, you can walk.”
But I knew that at least for that day we would be together.
Early in the afternoon we crossed the Czechoslovakian frontier. The good Czech people at the first village were waiting to greet us despite the shouting and cursing of the SS. They showered us with food! They threw it into the wagon, they brought sausages for the guards, bread and turnips for us. Could there be so much richness in that poor world!
We ate, and I stuffed away some bread in my coat. And wonder of wonders!–an egg appeared in the wagon. How many years since we had seen an egg! I grabbed it and held it to Ilse’s lips.
“You first,” she insisted.
I took a sip.
Ilse finished the egg.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” the others cried.
“But Ilse is sick” I pointed out.
“We are all sick,” was their answer.
I placed great confidence in the magic power of that egg. I was sure Ilse would walk again.
That night we stopped in an orchard. The trees needed just a day or so of sunshine to make the buds burst open. A deep longing for home started burning in me. I suppressed it quickly.
The other girls had arrived earlier. Hanka had food, and held it out to me.
“We got a lot,” I told her excitedly.
I helped Ilse to lie down. She was very tired. The night was chilly. My diarrhea made me weak. Before I ran to the other end of the orchard to relieve myself I placed my supply of bread beneath Ilse’s head.
“Watch the food!” I whispered.
“I will,” Ilse answered.
When I came back, Ilse was asleep, the bread gone. I scolded her when she waked. “You could have watched it!” I said in desperation.
“I am sorry, sorry, sorry,” she repeated.
“Stop being sorry!” I screamed.
I could not sleep, I was so angry. The security of that piece of bread meant so much. Now it was gone.
Use was sleeping again. If we could only escape, I thought. Here the people are kind, they would help us. But now we were in a fenced orchard. And now Ilse couldn’t walk. How could we escape? If I had known the night before how close we were to the Czech border we certainly would have stayed in that barn. But how could we have known?
In the morning we rode in the wagon again. Ilse slept most of the time. We got no food that day.
As evening approached we were led to another barn.
That night after most of the girls had gone to sleep, Rita Schanzer, my friend of Bielitz days, whispered to me that she was going to try to get away. She wanted me to join her. But Ilse could not walk at all without help, I could not carry her for any distance. It was ridiculous to think of escape.
Next morning was springlike. I scanned the column but failed to see Rita. Perhaps she had gotten safely away. I hoped so.
In the wagon, Ilse immediately fell asleep. The sunshine warmed our frozen, shriveled skins. It felt strangely bright to our eyes, so long accustomed to darkness.
The beauty of the day made me realize how terribly shabby we were. Filthy and stinking, we rode through the gentle Czech countryside. War seemed impossible here. As we passed beneath blooming trees, their branches brushed across the wagon. I tore off a small branch of blossoms and placed it on Ilse’s breast. She woke, smelled it, and smiled. Her eyes looked strange. Her teeth were very yellow. She fell asleep again.
The day wore on. We continued through hilly country. It grew much colder. Toward evening we stopped in a meadow. I was driven away from the wagon by a guard. Stronger girls were called to lift the sick and dead from the wagon. After we had stood roll call I looked for Ilse, but could not find her. Then I discovered one of the Hungarian girls dragging her coat from a pile where four bodies lay.
Fury possessed me, and I tore the coat out of her hand. “I will kill you!” I screamed.
Though she did not understand my words, she understood my tone, and she let go of, the coat.
Ilse was lying on the wet grass. She only smiled when I put the coat around her. The other three girls were dead. Hanka came and helped me carry Ilse away from the corpses. Setting her down in a quiet place, I covered her with both our coats and crawled under them next to her.
I held her in my arms. With effort she lifted her hand and stroked my hair.
“My poor sister,” she whispered. “You will be alone.”
I cradled her head to my breast to muffle her words. She fell into a light sleep.
Liesel brought two potatoes. I ate one and kept the other in my bosom for Ilse. When she woke, I gave it to her.
“I am not hungry,” she insisted. “Eat it. Please eat.”
I was so starved, I ate the potato. Before I finished, Ilse was sleeping again.
A fine drizzle fell, it was wet and cold. Several girls got up and moved around.
“Lie down!” yelled the SS.
“Water,” Ilse whispered.
I started for the brook nearby. An SS man shouted at me to stop.
“Water for my sister,” I begged.
“Get back, you swine!” He kicked at me with heavy boots.
As he followed me to where Ilse was lying, he stopped to slap a couple of girls who got up from the wet ground. When Ilse heard his heavy steps approach, she said feverishly:
“Hear! They are coming! Our saviors!”
“What do you want, you bitch?” demanded the SS guard.
“Water,” Ilse whispered.
He kicked her.
“Why?” Ilse cried faintly. “Why?”
“God, have you no mercy?” I sobbed. I flung myself across her body.
“Gerda,” Ilse whispered, “I don’t want to die. I am only
eighteen. I have something to tell you.” Her voice grew stronger. With new energy, she said, “If my parents survive, don’t tell them I died like this.
eighteen. I have something to tell you.” Her voice grew stronger. With new energy, she said, “If my parents survive, don’t tell them I died like this.
“Promise me one more thing,” she continued. “You must try to go on for one more week.”
I did not answer.
“One more week, promise met” she persisted.
“I promise.”
“I hope nobody is angry at me. I am angry at no one.”
“Ilse, please stop!” I begged tearfully.
“You will be very happy, I know it,” she went on. “Remember the cards in Bolkenhain. They told us that I am unlucky, but you–you are a
Sonnenkind.”
Sonnenkind.”
In Bolkenhain, long ago, someone had read our fortunes. Yes, I remembered.
“Thank you for everything!” she whispered, grabbing my hand.
It stopped raining. Before she fell asleep she licked the few drops of rain I had caught in my cupped hands. I dozed off too.
After a while, she whispered, “Hold my hand.”
I held her hand tightly, and we both fell asleep again. When I woke, it was getting light. Ilse’s hand was cold. Her eyes were half-open. She no longer breathed.
I ran over to Suse and Liesel, where they huddled together.
“Ilse is dead, Ilse is dead!” I told them frantically.
From somewhere a voice came: “Who is Ilse?” And another: “Why the fuss? We all will be dead soon.”
I moved away and sat by myself on the wet grass. The sun rose over the hills in a light golden strip–the beginning of the first day that Ilse would not see. Somewhere in the distance a dog was howling. I was alone, so terribly alone. Oh, why was I always alone?
Ilse was buried near some trees. I could not bear to watch. The girls who dug her grave told about it later.
As I climbed into the sick wagon, Hanka tried to dissuade me. “That is sure death. Ilse could not walk, but you can.”
“Just today,” I begged. “Tomorrow I will walk.”
Later, as the wagon rolled through the little town, a window opened above us and a piece of bread fell right into my lap. I clutched it. A dozen hands stretched toward me, begging. For a minute I wavered. Then I divided the bread carefully among the girls.
THAT WAS A DAY FULL OF TENSION. ALLIED PLANES WERE CONSTANTLY overhead, strafing the woods and our marching column. Obviously the pilots did not know who was marching, they saw only the green-gray uniforms of the guards.
In the evening when we got to a barn, I saw Liesel. She had been wounded in the leg.
“It’s nothing,” she said, “it does not even hurt.”
The barn doors were closed, but the boards did not fit tightly so that light from the outside streamed in. We had stopped marching earlier than usual, probably because the guards were afraid of the planes.
I tried to talk to Liesel and Suse, but somehow the tie between us was broken. Our group was not the same. With Ilse gone, it seemed that they felt that the three of us who remained couldn’t last long. Suse planned to ride in the wagon next day. She declared herself unable to walk any more. Liesel, whose legs were covered with pus-filled scabs, agreed to join her.
When morning came I started to follow Suse and Liesel into the wagon. Hanka pulled me back. “You can walk,” she said firmly. “Don’t ride again.”
Meekly I obeyed, though it seemed to make little difference to me. At first my legs hurt so that I thought I could not continue, but as I marched on they felt better. Again and again I found myself turning to my left for Ilse, to my right for Suse. Girls I did not know were marching on either side of me.
We spent another night in a barn. In the morning at least fifty more girls were dead.
When we filed by to get some soup I heard a group of guards
speaking excitedly.
speaking excitedly.
“Ist es möglich?”
one of them asked, and an SS woman answered hysterically:
“Ja, der Führer ist tot!”
one of them asked, and an SS woman answered hysterically:
“Ja, der Führer ist tot!”
I felt myself tremble with joy.
“Suse, Suse, did you hear?” I whispered.
“Yes,” she answered, “but I am sure that now they will kill us for revenge.”
I wanted to say no, but something prevented me. Perhaps, I thought, Suse was right.
We marched on, waiting for something to happen. With Hitler dead, things had to change.
“It is happening now,” I kept saying to myself. “This is the end. One or two more days, and it will be over.”
But somehow it did not matter so much any more. With Ilse gone I did not care, even though I had promised her that I would not give in.
The third evening after Ilse’s death we approached a little town in Czechoslovakia: Volary. It was a Friday, I learned later. My legs were hurting terribly; I felt that I could not go on. The SS woman now in charge told us to stand in a row in a meadow. Those who were no longer fit she ordered to stand apart. I was swaying.
“You cannot walk any more,” she barked, pointing at me.
“Take off her shoes,” she commanded Hanka, who stood beside me.
My shoes–the ski boots that Papa insisted that I wear. The order gave me new determination.
Hanka pushed me behind another girl. “Don’t let her see you,” she whispered.
In the fading light the SS woman ordered our group into a truck.
“Shall I help you up?” Hanka asked.
There were few seats; the rest of the girls would have to stand jammed together. Girls were begging to get on.
“Not yet, Hanka,” I said.
“Then you will have to go in the wagon,” she said. “It will be here shortly.”
“I am in no hurry now,” I replied.
The truck rushed away with one SS man and one SS woman
and perhaps thirty shoeless girls. The rest of us sat in the meadow, waiting for the wagon or for the truck to come back.
and perhaps thirty shoeless girls. The rest of us sat in the meadow, waiting for the wagon or for the truck to come back.
I looked at the sky. The first stars were out. Occasionally a plane or the sound of artillery broke the silence of the spring evening. An hour passed. Neither the wagon nor truck appeared.
I did not feel cold or hungry, only lonely and sad. I allowed myself the rare luxury of thinking of home–of Papa and Mama and Arthur strolling on a spring night in the garden under the darkening sky. I felt strangely consoled. It grew darker.
When the truck failed to return we were led across the meadow toward a large factory building. There were a hundred and twenty of us left. After we were marched in, the doors and windows were barricaded. Soon afterward, from the silence outside, we gathered that our guards had abandoned us.
Much later I learned from one of the girls who survived that an American plane had strafed the truck that did not return. The woman guard was killed. The SS man on the truck shot a number of the girls. The rest jumped off the truck and ran away.
In the silence of the huge hall we could hear a ticking. So the Germans were going to destroy us after all! We had waited so many years for the end of the war. How many times, years ago at home, in the ghetto, in Bolkenhain, in Marzdorf, in Landeshut and Grünberg, and while marching all those months, had I dreamed of this moment. And now we were not to survive … .
Then it began to rain. It was a spring rain accompanied by loud thunder. The planes stopped roaring, the artillery fire ceased. And still the bomb outside continued to tick.
Then some Czechs came and broke the door open. They urged us to run–the SS men were coming back to shoot us because their bomb had not gone off.
Later we heard many stories about that bomb, but we never learned why it failed to go off. We did not pause to look at it. Those who could, ran. Some of us headed toward the factory
and hid there. Two other girls and I crawled into a long, metal cylinder lying on the floor. There we waited.
and hid there. Two other girls and I crawled into a long, metal cylinder lying on the floor. There we waited.
A couple of hours passed. There was shooting in the distance, and then close by, and again the planes roared overhead; we did not dare to move.
Perhaps, I thought, perhaps we will survive, but what then? I will go home, of course … . And for the first time in all those years, the thought of going home did not ring right. No, I could not think of it. Not yet.
There was a loud commotion at the factory door, and we heard heavy boots pound along the concrete floor. A voice shouted in German, “Get out, out, you beasts, out!”
We did not stir.
Shots were fired in our direction. One bullet went through the cylinder, creasing my shoulder and one of the other girls’ legs. There was more commotion, and then the Germans departed.
We waited again. There was more firing in the distance.
Much later we heard shouting in Czech. A man and two women entered the factory calling: “If someone is inside, come out. The war is over!”
We crawled out of the cylinder, stiff and numb.
“Look!” said the man, pointing to a window. One of the women took my arm to steady me.
From the window, in the early-morning light, I saw a church on a hill. The white flag of peace waved gently from its steeple. My throat tightened with emotion, and my tears fell on the dusty window sill. I watched how they did not soak into the dust, but remained like round clear crystals, and that was all I could think of in that great hour of my life!
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