The Horse Adjutant would have had empathy for our plight, but instead, he earned the nickname, Bloody Mietek. It wouldn’t be long before I understood why. He had an assistant who was a famous boxer prior to the war. They both carried long wooden sticks. Once inside the bare-bones barracks, I saw the rest of the prisoners who were already there. As we stood in this unfamiliar place, Katarzynski gave a strict lecture on the rules. In his crass and simple tongue, he told us, when we will wake up, how much time we will have at the latrine, and where we will assemble in the morning. As you might expect, while he was doing this, many of us grumbled, faintly, with dry throats, “Water?” For the crime of asking for water, he took one of us to the middle of the barracks, laid him on what came to be known as ‘The Chimney,’ a small stack of bricks raised from the floor used for the latrine. Then he took a stick, placed it on the fellow’s neck, and without warning, jumped on it, instantly breaking his neck. Malevolently em- boldened, and certainly deranged, Bloody Mietek got close to each of our faces and challenged the rest of us. Who else wants water? Understandably, we were horrified and silent. Our silence seemed to last forever as he continued to chastise and provoke another incident. The rest of the barracks cow- ered, hiding their eyes. Finally, he broke the silence, “If you behave you will live longer. Normally, a Hâftlinge in my block does not live longer than four weeks.” He paused, panning our faces to make sure the point sank in, then he continued, “If the fire does not get you, pointing outside to the big chimney, I will.” I was now almost 17 years old, with four weeks left to live. Thirsty, tired, scared, numbered, and stunned. I was far too exhausted to focus on any of this, so I stood and listened trying not to bring attention to myself until we were dismissed. I found a place to lie down and tried my best to sleep on the wooden slats. As cramped as I was in these new tight quarters, I was thankful to have enough space to lay my head down and fall asleep, escaping my living nightmare, at least for a while. When I awoke, I realized our blockhouse must have been a horse stable at one time. It was split into 24 sections with 3 horizontal levels, leaving 72 sleeping platforms. The only way to fit all these prisoners onto those platforms was to place 3 or 4 together. We slept shoulder-to-shoulder. The blockhouses were designed to fit the maximum amount of people into the smallest amount of space. Every inch was used. I was on the top level. It was very crowded. The only thing extra was a little straw that acted as a car- rier for disease more than insulation from the cold. Disease could easily run rampant in this squalid environment. As I rested, I heard coughing and moaning. I would not get much sleep that night or any night in Birkenau. The only thing good about the barracks was that Katarzynski
163
Made with FlippingBook Digital Proposal Creator