I Will Plant You a Lilac Tree (15 page)

A woman, seemingly in a trance, looked in
my direction, almost hypnotizing me. Then her arms went up in a helpless sort of way, and her bloodless lips seized air in whistling gasps. At first I didn't understand what was happening, but when the sounds stopped and the woman slumped over, I knew. Now the odor of death invaded the cattle car.

Suddenly dogs barked. Heavy footsteps fell alongside the train. Someone lifted the iron bar and the door opened. We knew without being told that this was not Brünnlitz, where Schindler had established his new factory. The usual orders to get out sounded harsher, more urgent. At a signal a group of men wearing striped pants and jackets with caps to match climbed aboard and began shoving us off the train. They looked grotesque in uniforms that didn't fit. They did nothing on their own, moving only at the command of their leader, who cried, “Faster, faster!”

“Where are we?” I asked one of the men.

“Auschwitz,” he whispered back.

Auschwitz! That place had been described to me as the worst hellhole on Earth. I shivered with fright, not knowing what awaited us. SS men dressed in heavy overcoats guarded us, but for us prisoners, standing in our thin dresses, there was no protection from the harsh November night and the howling winds. I remembered my warm winter coat, the one I wore when leaving Weimar. How I wished I had it now. I still remembered Mama's argument when I had wanted to take my good navy coat—the one I loved so much.

“Hannelore, be practical,” she'd said. “The loden coat is warmer; it will serve you better.”

My anxiety increased minute by minute. Where were we? Then I heard music. An orchestra of men in striped uniforms was playing a lively waltz that would normally have enchanted me, but here in this grim place the music sounded bizarre.

Our transport had not arrived alone. Along the way from Plaszow many cars had been added to the train. We had heard lots of
commotion but couldn't see anything. Cattle cars had no windows. Now, with people of all ages and in all conditions getting out, one car at a time, the SS men and women looked at us all with contempt. I shrank into nothingness, hoping not to be noticed lest the truncheons they held up in the air would come down on me.

Two cars away an SS man in a black uniform and white gloves was waving a whip left and right at the men and women who had just disembarked.

The line to the left soon swelled with elderly people and small children crying and wailing. A girl walking alongside me whispered what being in the left line meant: “They will die before this night is over.”

Where was Eva? Being so very frightened, I didn't realize that I had lost sight of her. I dared not look back for fear the SS woman walking alongside us would use her spiked club on me.

Would the SS men see that there had been a mistake? That we didn't belong in Auschwitz?
Would we three hundred women be loaded back on the train to go to our real destination?

When a girl from our group walking next to me saw my tears, she was emphatic. “Save your tears,” she said. “You are on Oskar Schindler's list. You have nothing to worry about. He will get us out of here!”

“I wish I could believe it,” I sobbed out. “How can he can get anyone out of
this
place?”

I looked for Eva, hoping she would assure me a mistake had been made in sending us here. Eva was nowhere in sight.

•   •   •

It was daybreak, but the sun wasn't visible and the few tufts of grass in sight were covered with silvery frost. There seemed to be no end to the marching. My thin legs buckled under me, and I didn't know how much longer I could go on walking. At last we arrived at a gate.

The women talked in hushed voices, assuring one another that Oskar Schindler would come to our rescue. But until then it would be difficult to
stay alive. This place held no promises.

Naively, I wanted to tell my captors about their mistake: We were needed for important work in Oskar Schindler's camp. If only I could tell them now before stepping through the gate. But afraid of being beaten for speaking up, I just walked through the portal, praying to God to help me.

Along the way a group of prisoners dressed in coarse, striped trousers held up by ropes were sweeping the road. Unshaven, gaunt, shrunken, they barely resembled human beings. One man had no cap. His closely shaven head gave him the appearance of an ape.

I started trembling and couldn't stop. The thought that there had been a time when these men were normal human beings, with families, completely unnerved me. One of the men pushed a wheelbarrow. He came closer. In a thin, lifeless voice he pleaded, “Give me your food.”

How I wished I had something to give! But I had nothing.

I trudged on, terrified. The sight of the prisoners, the high barbed-wire fences, the watchtowers . . . It all seemed hopeless. The wind shifted, and smoke coming from a chimney surrounded us.

“That is a lot of smoke,” I said.

“Burning flesh,” the girl walking alongside me explained. “Can't you smell it?” She felt compelled to give me details. “You'll see. They will order us to take a shower, but it's not a real shower. There are no drains in the floor. What comes through the showerheads is gas.”

I listened in disbelief.

“When everyone is dead, the bodies are put in a crematorium, like that one, to burn.”

“You are out of your mind,” I snapped. But I had to admit the odor did seem to be that of burned flesh. Could the girl be telling the truth?

When it was my turn to enter the shower chamber, I was convinced my end had come. Concealing a creased picture of my family in the palm of my hand (I wanted to look at their
faces before my life was snuffed out), I entered the shower room. Uniformed SS guards hurried us on, making vulgar remarks, pressing us against one another. As the door bolted from the outside we cried and whimpered. Some people prayed: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.” I would have liked to join in the prayer, but the words wouldn't come. I felt as if I had died already.

Minutes passed. Still nothing came through the showerheads, not even a fine mist. I wanted it to go faster.

“God, if I must die, make it fast,” I cried.

And then, as if my prayers had been answered, something started coming out of the showerheads, only it wasn't gas, it was . . .
water
! I hugged a complete stranger. Both of us laughed and cried at the same time.

It was then that I spotted Eva. Thank God she was alive. We hugged and kissed. Words were not necessary. Together we ran naked and wet through the cold night to the next barrack,
where the smell of chemicals was so strong, it made me dizzy and nauseous. A barber, a prisoner in a striped uniform, worked with great speed cutting my hair right down to my scalp. When the dull clippers grazed my skin again and again, I flinched. But he was stronger and rougher; there was no way to escape his grip. I was passed on to another barber who shaved off my pubic hair while I stood on a stool before him. The razor cut into my flesh, sending a stream of blood down my legs. Then I was sprayed with a burning, evil-smelling substance that reeked of carbolic acid.

Out in the cold again to the next barrack, where a striped dress, something that resembled underwear, a torn piece of fabric for my bald head, and wooden clogs were thrown at me. I pulled the dress over my head, put on the stained panties, and tied the kerchief around my head, fastening it under my chin.

Thousands of female prisoners milled around with nowhere to go. No one spoke.
Only SS men could be heard shouting orders.

I'd had nothing to eat but a piece of bread since leaving Plaszow, and the only drink had come from the showerheads. I thought of Papa and how much he must have suffered in Buchenwald. Papa had lasted only six weeks. I wondered how long it would take me to succumb in this evil place.

My hunger was so intense, I started to lose touch with reality. I dreamt of Dick and our happy stolen moments. Was he safe in Schindler's camp? Or had he, too, been betrayed and ended up elsewhere? The plans we'd made together, the planting of a lilac tree like the one at home . . . Those dreams were all that sustained me now.

We were herded into a windowless hut with a wet, muddy floor. I found a bunk near Hella, one of the Schindler women. Hella had been among the privileged prisoners in Plaszow. Her older brothers found ways to get extra food to her. Now she sat alone, sobbing.

“Hella, why are you crying? Didn't you tell me this morning that your Oskar Schindler will get us out of here?” I asked.

“That was before I knew we were in Birkenau. What good can he do us now? We'll all go up in smoke! If only they had let us stay in Auschwitz, we could have worked awhile. And who knows—by then the war might be over. But here in Birkenau there is no chance.”

Birkenau, I came to learn, was where the exterminations took place. It was a part of Auschwitz.

I found Eva in one of the last rows of bunks. She looked pale, and she was shivering in her thin dress. “This is the end,” she said, crying softly into her hands. “Do you think it was all a hoax from the beginning?”

“I don't know anything anymore,” I said, crying along with her.

While standing at attention at the place of assembly that night, I turned my head to the left, where I presumed the crematorium stood.
The sun had set directly behind the brick building, outlining it in silhouette. The trees were laden with ashes. It could have been a beautiful autumn scene, but I knew only too well what lay behind that beauty.

The camp lights cast their powerful beams everywhere; even the barbed-wire fence began to glow. Prisoners streamed out of the barracks, filling the giant square, where talk was not permitted. A fine drizzle soon saturated my thin dress and seeped into my clogs. There was nothing I could do but stand rooted to the ground till the assembly was dismissed. I envied the SS women their warm capes and gloves, their well-fed bodies untouched by cold and rain. I took care not to draw attention to myself. The leather thongs they carried had sharp iron tips.

At last the count began. Thousands of women lined the square, all resembling one another in a nameless, faceless way. I saw myself in them. The thought of ending my own
life crossed my mind.

It rained continually for the next week, and all I would have had to do was let myself sink into the mud. A
Kapo
would do the rest. He would thrash me with his club until there was no trace of life left. In my mind I took leave of all the people I had loved in life. Only when it came to saying good-bye to Dick did I hesitate. Had we not promised each other not to give up, no matter what happened?

And so I struggled on. Every night I prayed, asking God to give me the will to get through another day and not to succumb to despair. Staying alive in Birkenau would take an unbelievable effort.

I retreated into my dreamworld more and more often now, especially when there was trouble and the numbers at the place of assembly didn't add up. One of my most comforting dreams had to do with food. In my dream the street was flooded with glorious sunshine. Well-dressed men and women strolled
leisurely down the street. Now and then someone stopped to say “Good day,” but I never recognized anyone. I just kept on walking down a narrow street following the aroma of freshly baked bread.

Suddenly something quite wonderful happened. I found myself standing in front of a bakery. My eyes opened wide when I saw the display of crusty rolls and breads. Automatically, I pushed the brass handle on the framed glass door and entered.

“Good morning,” the woman behind the counter said. “We have fresh raisin rolls today. How many would you like?”

“I'll take three, please,” I answered, wondering how the salesperson knew raisin rolls were my favorite.

The shout of “Dismissed!” brought me back to reality, transforming me again into a prisoner at Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Snowflakes clung to my eyelids, eyebrows, even my lips. In some ways it was a blessing, for the snowflakes relieved my thirst and filled my stomach, just a little. But a constant chill extended up from my feet and gnawed at my insides. My dress and wooden clogs were always damp. They never had a chance to dry out.

Aside from food, uninterrupted sleep was what I longed for most. But the clattering of trains arriving in the middle of the night made that impossible. The new arrivals who assembled in the camp's square looked as bewildered as I had been on my first day. Some carried knapsacks, while others just stood there empty-handed.
What fine clothes they have on
, I marveled.
Before day's end they, too, will be in gray clothes; they, too, will have nothing else
. When asked how long I had been here, I could give only a vague answer. To me it seemed like months, but it might have been only a few weeks. Since I worked only occasionally, cleaning out barracks or sweeping the streets, time didn't go by very fast.

The windowless hut I lived in was nothing more than a bunch of boards hastily nailed together. The icy winds seeped through the cracks, making it as cold inside as it was outside. The thin, lice-infested blankets offered little warmth. And no matter how often I picked lice off my head and clothes, they always came back, sucking my blood, giving me no rest.

Then there was Hella, complaining through most of the night.

“Your feet are in my mouth, imbecile. You are taking up too much room on my part of the bunk.” Her complaints were never-ending.

During the day Hella set herself apart
from the others by walking alone, seldom talking to anyone, and acting as though she were too good, too noble, to associate with the women in the barrack.

I spent most of my time on Eva's bunk. My friend had withdrawn into her own world. She sat mumbling to herself, picking lice. Eva worried me.

The older women sat on their bunks talking of food and recipes. It helped pass the time till the cauldron with the noon soup arrived. Then everyone scrambled down from the bunks for fear of being left out.