I Will Plant You a Lilac Tree (9 page)

Budzyn looked like an army compound at first, but the barbed wire and searchlights overhead told another story.

Quite unexpectedly, my eyes focused on a man standing only a few feet away. He was dressed in a Polish army uniform, complete with a three-cornered hat that could barely contain the chestnut-colored hair sticking out from under it. His uniform identified him as a prisoner of war. A patch sewn to his uniform showed he was a Jew.

Our eyes met only for a second, long enough for me to notice how beautiful—and sad—his were. The moment was interrupted by the shrill voice of an SS woman.

“You there,” she said, pointing at me. “Go to the shower, you filthy slut.”

The shower was big enough for a hundred people, but I was the only one there now.

“So, where did they find you?” The attendant tried being humorous. He turned the shower on. I felt relieved to wash away the foul odor of Captain Schlesinger even though the water was cold and made me shiver.

I dressed quickly under the watchful eye of the attendant, who handed me a bundle of clothes. My own had already been taken away. Luckily, I had hidden the photos of my family under a loose plank in the bench. Without the attendant noticing it, I slipped the photos in my shoe.

Wondering what to do next, I walked back to the camp's entrance. The man with the beautiful eyes was still there. This time I looked away, ashamed of what had happened to me. My hair hung in wet strings around my face; my dress was even shabbier than the one I had brought from Kra
nik.

The same SS woman who had ordered me to the shower was waiting. “Let's go,” she snapped as she escorted me inside one of the
barracks. “Regina, this one is all yours. Watch her closely.”

Regina introduced herself as the
Blockälteste
, the one responsible for this barrack. She, too, was an inmate here.

As it was early morning, a loud whistle called everyone to the place of assembly. Shaking the straw off their clothing, the women from my barrack filed into the square. I followed them there. All of us were packed tightly together. I was repulsed by the odor of their unwashed bodies. I didn't know yet why they smelled or why their clothing was stained. I would learn only later that one dress, worn day and night, and only an occasional shower produced that odor.

Regina was not unkind. She hurried us on, saying, “It's for your own good to be on time.” Her Yiddish was understandable to me; her Polish was not.

Back in the barrack a young girl approached me. “I haven't seen you here before. When did you arrive?”

I explained that I had come during the night.

“There is room on my bunk,” the girl said. “Up here, on the third level.”

And so it was that I instantly became friends with the girl named Fella, who not only was beautiful to look at but cheerful in spite of our surroundings.

“How do you manage to act as if this is a normal place?” I wanted to know.

“I pretend it
is
normal,” Fella answered, flashing her almond-shaped eyes.

Having a friend made all the difference. Now I had someone to talk to, to share my fears and hopes with. Fella was practical as well. She offered a lot of good advice. When I ate my portion of bread too fast, Fella showed me how to make it last longer by taking very small bites.

“Sometimes they withhold the noon soup as a form of punishment. It's hard to deal with that when you are so hungry, but you will get used to it,” she assured me.

It was incredible what had happened to me within a span of twenty-four hours. First I had been violated and had been close to losing my life. Now I had found a wonderful friend who would help me cope with the hardships of this camp.

But my first day in Budzyn had just began, and it would stretch into a very long and painful experience. The backbreaking work of lifting rocks onto trucks for road building, coupled with the fact that I had been up all night with only a slice of bread for breakfast, made me sluggish. I became exhausted in a matter of hours and fell behind in my work.

Fella kept a watchful eye on me. “The overseer, the
Kapo
, has been looking your way for some time now. You must work faster, Hannelore, or he will punish you. He is mean.”

My back felt as if it was breaking and I grew light-headed, yet I continued to work as if my life depended on it—which indeed it did.

At noon we were given time to sit on the
ground and eat the soup that was brought to us in large cauldrons. Even the odd smell of the watery soup didn't dampen my appetite, and I held out my cup in eager anticipation of my portion.

All too soon the whistle blew, calling us back to work. The blisters on my hands had opened, making it even more painful to hold the shovel. Fella's promise that the afternoon hours would be better because a different
Kapo
, more humane than the first one, would be guarding us was small comfort.

The afternoon dragged on. It seemed as if it would never end. The sun had already gone down, and we were still at work. Fatigued, I asked Fella to tell me how much longer we would have to work before they returned us to camp.

“It's almost dark now,” she said. “They always return us to camp before it gets dark.”

Her assurances that the first days in this camp were the hardest, that I would soon get
used to the routine, did little to ease my weariness. The march back to camp was uneventful, but our day was not over yet. As we'd done in the morning, we again had to stand at the assembly place and be counted. Untersturmführer Feix, our camp commandant, was in no hurry. Seeing us looking tired and hungry seemed to amuse him. This evening he played his favorite game with the male prisoners. The command “Caps off, caps on” came again and again.

Finally it ended. We were allowed to go to our barrack, where the food distribution line awaited us. I was at the point of fainting from hunger and fatigue. Fella was still in good spirits.

“It's beet jam again,” she explained. “Specialty of the house.”

It was food; that's all I cared about. If only there were a little more of it. The small portion hardly satisfied my hunger.

Fella went to see Regina, the
Blockälteste
, for permission to let me share the top bunk
with her. “Quick,” she told me afterward, “let's get your things before she changes her mind.

“A top bunk is safer,” she said. “Well, we do get wet when it rains, but an angry night patrol has a harder time reaching up here.”

I would have followed Fella anywhere, so happy was I to have found a friend. Holding my muddy shoes in one hand and my tin cup in the other, I climbed to the top bunk. Now I was finally able to do something about my sore hands. Ripping a strip of cloth off the hem of my dress, I fashioned a bandage of sorts.

The second day started out the same as the first. But then, at midmorning, Commandant Feix arrived at the workplace. He beat the guard with his riding whip, accusing him of being too lenient with the prisoners. According to Feix, we didn't work fast enough.

Life in this camp was strange. The torment of hard work, constant hunger, and limited sanitary conditions did nothing to deter entrepreneurs. Prisoners who still had contact with people on
the outside were able to trade valuables for food or to bribe guards to let them have easier work.

Most of the trading was done in the main lane that went from one end of the camp to the other. It even had a name: Lagerstrasse.

Fella took me along one evening to show me how it was done. She knew lots of people and stopped many of them to find out where goods could be had. From others she inquired how the war was going, always clinging to the hope that it would soon be over.

Soon I, too, made it a practice to walk up and down Lagerstrasse each night, no matter how weary I was. I had no valuables to trade, but the walk was not intended for that. I was looking for Mama and Selly. I had already looked in all the women's barracks, and there was little chance I would find Mama. But I was hopeful about finding Selly. Then too the image of the man in the Polish army uniform, the one I had seen that first day, stayed with me. I thought about him often, hoping to see him
again. Maybe he'd be walking along Lagerstrasse.

Fella and I became quite close. We told each other everything. I trusted her enough to cry in her arms over what had been done to me by that swine Schlesinger. We worried about each other. Seeing what a hard time I had walking in the wooden shoes given me, Fella led me to one of the women's barracks.

“I need a pair of shoes for my friend here,” she said to a woman named Bronca.

Bronca looked at my feet to approximate their size and assured Fella it was as good as done. “Come back in a few days,” she said. “It will cost you a week's portion of bread.”

I looked on in amazement. “Where will we get the bread?” I asked.

“Leave everything to me,” Fella said.

•   •   •

Our overseer, a Ukrainian
Kapo
, selected forty workers for what he called a “special project.” Fella and I were among the forty. He led us into the forest, and the deeper we went the more
fearful I became. It was no secret that Feix, our commandant, routinely shot people in the forest.

Alarmed at what was in store for us, Fella had the courage to ask the
Kapo
, “Sir, what kind of job are you taking us to? Why are we going so deep into the forest?”

He roared with laughter. “Don't worry, Feix isn't going to shoot you yet. He'll expect more work out of you first.”

When we arrived at the thickest part of the forest, we stopped. The Ukrainian turned us over to another
Kapo
and left. Men and women worked side by side here. Men shoveled earth into ditches, while women used rakes to smooth the surface.

The new
Kapo
was not Ukrainian and he was friendly. “We know what happened here,” he said in a hushed voice. “It's unbearable to have to do this, yet we have no choice but to do as we are told. I'll try to be as understanding as I can be. Rest when you're tired, but don't get me into trouble. One of you has to be on the
lookout at all times, making sure Feix is not nearby. Is that understood?”

Physically, the work was easy, but the thought of filling in a mass grave—and the smell, the unbearable smell of human decay—was too much to bear. Unspeakable thoughts occurred to me: What if Selly was in this mass grave? When the soup arrived, I was unable to eat even though I was terribly hungry.

“You
must
eat,” Fella pleaded. But I would not hear of it.

“Eat in a
graveyard
?” With a wave of a hand I dismissed the subject of eating.

I failed to hear the approaching footsteps, but somehow I was compelled to look up. To my astonishment it was the man in the Polish army uniform.

He smiled at me. “I have been looking for you. You are the girl who came alone, without a transport.”

My face reddened. If only he knew how often I had dreamt of seeing him. Now that
he stood before me, I was at a loss for words.

“Don't you remember me?” he teased. “I was sure you would.”

I could feel my cheeks burning. “It's . . . this place. It has me so upset. I am not myself right now,” I said. “Ever since I arrived in Budzyn, I've been looking for my mother and my brother. I was so sure I would find them in Budzyn, and now the most awful thought has occurred to me.”

“Ah, little one, don't jump to conclusions. Just because you haven't seen them doesn't mean anything. Budzyn is a big camp.”

I looked up into those beautiful eyes. What if he was right?

“Where are you from?” he wanted to know.

I told him about Aurich, how near it was to the North Sea and how far away it was from this place.

Then it was time for him to go back to work. A different guard had taken over, and we no longer had the same freedom. All afternoon
I thought of the Polish soldier, and toward evening I saw him again.

“There is a small shed, right behind the kitchen,” he whispered. “Will you meet me there tonight? Don't worry, it's safe.”

My emotions seesawed from worry over Mama's and Selly's fate to the excitement of having met the Polish soldier again and how he had looked at me with those enchanting eyes. I remembered every word he said and could hardly wait to see him.

•   •   •

The door of the shed creaked. Cautiously, I went inside. It was dark, but I saw the silhouette of a man holding a mug in his hand.

“You came.” He was obviously pleased. “Here!” He handed me the mug. “Coffee. It's for you.”

“Sweetened coffee!” I exclaimed after taking the first sip. “How did you manage that?”

“Eat and drink,” he commanded, handing me a thick slice of bread.

I wanted to know where and how he had gotten these treasures, but he just laughed, ignoring my questions. He had questions of his own.