The Horse Adjutant realize he was a caring individual. The first thing he did was to take me on a short tour of the part of the factory he oversaw. It was in a small shop in Buna. Walter was the engineer in charge. The room was square, about 20 x 20 feet with blueprints, a drawing table, and cabinets filled with plans. We shared it with two German Soldiers who were welders: Fritz and Wiet- zorek. They came to work dressed in uniform. Wietzorek wore an air force uniform and was missing a leg. I got tools for them and delivered the pipes. From this point forward, I became Walter’s apprentice. If I kept this up, in time, I would become a welder or a plumber. But for now, I was just a young man following simple direc- tions. It did not take long for me to discover that Walter was a fine man. Many times he would leave food in his canteen and, without saying much, he would ask me to wash it. I would take it to the sink and, when no one was looking, hungrily I’d wash this down. He expected me to do that. I had lost a lot of weight in Birkenau, and I had a voracious appetite. I remember seeing his smiling face when I returned from cleaning his canteen. I smiled back, with my two cracked front teeth. Walter did not talk too much. maybe it was the oppressive atmosphere that permeated the entire complex. The Gestapo was always near. Or maybe it was just his natural tendency. I suspect it was a little of both. If he was caught talking nicely to a hâftlinge, like me, the Gestapo might wonder about him. For them, it was better that the fear is shared by all, Germans and prisoners alike. In that respect, Walter was a prisoner, too, even though he was a hero of his country. Rather than think of any of this, it was better to just keep quiet, and even though I felt I could survive an extended period in Buna, lacking any unforeseen accident, the environment was stifling. SS guards policed the facility constantly and their punishment for infractions, both real and contrived, was harsh. I saw plenty of warnings for the ethanol, but none for the Gestapo. Not that I needed any reminder of what those shiny black boots were capable of inflicting. I had a good job, and new clothing, extra food, and, most importantly I was indoors. Also, Walter made me feel appreciated. He would approve drawings and call me to deliver them to the appropriate welder. Speaking in very short sentences, always with the familiar name, he would say, “Junge, take this.” After a while, I was as- signed to a particular welder. I helped him by moving the pipes as needed, as well as filling them with sand. The reason we used sand was that when the welder would heat and shape the pipes, the heat would be uniform creating a fine curve. Pipes like this were assembled into longer columns and then snaked around the large tanks to
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