Eva's Story (16 page)

We saw no more soldiers until two days later when the main vanguard of ten lorries and about a hundred men made camp near the house. The Russians were wonderful to us. They always shared their hot camp food with us while we sat around their fire exchanging stories. Contrary to the rumours we never felt sexually threatened by them. They were honest, decent men who treated us with respect. We knew at last we were with friends.

Some could speak Polish, some German, and we heard horrific tales of what the Germans had done to their people. There was a thirteen year old in this first line whose village, including his whole family, had been wiped out. He was determined to take his revenge. Every Russian was filled with thoughts of vengeance and they couldn't wait to lay their hands on the first Germans they came to. They vowed to terrorize all the German towns and villages they came across in return for the atrocities committed against their dear ones. It seemed to me they needed to alleviate the guilt they felt for surviving and it was a way to justify their hatred.

The first batch stayed near our camp overnight and were gone the next day. They had faced tough fighting all the way in their advance and were bound to encounter more. But they were immensely optimistic and resilient and I grew to have nothing but love and respect for those brave Russians.

Throughout the next few days groups of advancing Russians appeared intermittently. Some were on foot, some in motorized transport, some on horseback. They camped for a day or two, shared what they had with us in the way of food and news and then moved on.

Following along behind the soldiers there were always boys trying to help in any way they could. They hung around the army, waiting for tasks, so I would wrap myself up in my quilt and go and chat to them. Some spoke broken German and somehow we managed to talk to each other. They were filled with intense and unquenched hatred for the Germans and kept repeating stories of Nazi atrocities in their home towns.

One evening, during a lull in the advance and just as we were about to go to bed, we heard a timid knock on the door. No Russians that we knew knocked timidly on doors. We didn't know what to make of it. We all crowded together and opened the door very carefully. As we peered out we could see a tall man in his early forties dressed in striped prison uniform. He asked in a very shaky German voice if he could come inside.

He said he was an escaped prisoner and that he was starving and freezing so we let him in. We gave him bread and soup which he guzzled down, thanking us in polite German which made us feel that somehow he wasn't authentic. He looked too healthy to have suffered long deprivation. We were highly suspicious of him although he was obviously terrified.

His story was that when the SS had ordered all prisoners to march away from the camp he had hidden and managed to escape the forced march. He pleaded with us to let him stay for a while but we were all adamant that he could not. He kept asking if we had seen any Russians and which way they had gone. If he was genuine we were sure the Russians would look after him so deliberately we gave him wrong directions which would take him into their hands. We felt sorry for him because he was so nervous, but we were scared enough to turn him out into the night.

The next batch of Russians arrived the following morning. With them was our night intruder, who was now their prisoner. His hands were tied behind his back and he was being roughly pushed along. We were very disturbed that the Russians were treating him so harshly and told them so. We made such a great fuss about it that eventually, in exasperation, a Russian officer brought him to our door, undressed him in front of us and lifted up his arm. There underneath his armpit was a tattoo, positive proof of his SS identity. Oddly enough we weren't pleased in any way, we were extremely upset. We should have been immune to any kind of suffering but we were not. It sickened us to imagine what was going to happen to him. It was a strange emotional reaction.

My emotions which had been numbed for so long now began to surge back. The slightest incident made me laugh hysterically or cry uncontrollably. We still lived in apprehension as to what was to happen to us, but not with the fear of imminent death.

We now had adequate food for our needs, consisting mainly of black bread and potatoes, with vegetables like onions, carrots and swedes. We added dried lentils to thicken the soups. We supplemented our diet with cheese and condensed milk and used oil, butter and flour for cooking, but we had no fresh meat. The steaming stews the Russians shared with us had given us a taste for it.

When a new contingent of the advance arrived we would stroll around, hoping for a helping which the Russians always gave us, but this particular morning we were unlucky. They were only moving through with horses carrying provisions for the front line. Olga and Mutti went back in to prepare food but I stayed out to watch their preparations.

One mare seemed to be deadly tired under her burden. She lay down on the ground snorting and no matter how the men tried to get her up, she refused to move. I watched the soldiers stand around considering what to do with her until one Russian took out his pistol and shot her through the head. They left her lying dead in the snow as they moved off. I knew it was only a horse but I was upset by the killing.

The following morning I took Olga out to show her the corpse. The stiff carcass was shrouded with newly fallen snow.

‘This will mean meat stew tonight and a good stock of meat!' said Olga, being practical and not a bit squeamish.

She headed for the hut and returned with a large sharp kitchen knife. I had to keep a short distance away. I could barely watch as she bent over the corpse and cut into the soft part of the belly which looked as if it would have some good meat for stews.

Suddenly she straightened up.

‘Come and take a look, Eva!' she called and, despite myself, I went over to see what she wanted to show me.

Instead of edible flesh, she had exposed a perfectly formed baby foal lying dead in its mother's womb. I was so shocked that I took one look at it and ran away. I leaned against the back of the house crying bitterly for a long time because, like everything else in Birkenau, it was dead for no good reason. I knew it was irrational. I had seen so many people die and had stood by as helplessly as I had with the foal. But when Mutti came to find me I sobbed on her shoulder over that tiny being more than I had over anything else.

Later, however, when Olga served up a sizzling joint of horsemeat, I could not resist eating it with the others.

After that incident there seemed to be a lull in the fighting. No more Russians appeared and three or four days went by without the sounds of guns.

We still took turns to draw water through our hole in the little reservoir pond set about fifty metres from the house. Because we were much more relaxed now we would go out on our own and this morning it was Mutti's turn. I watched her idly from the window as she tramped through the snow, armed with the bucket and axe. She hacked away until I saw her kneel down to draw up the water.

Just then, to my horror, two full lorry loads of German Wehrmacht screeched to a halt at the gate of the camp. Then the first lorry went on to career straight through the camp towards the hospital block. The other lorry drove towards where Mutti was standing, frozen with shock. A soldier jumped down pointing his gun at her and ordered her to get in the back. By this time the three of us were crouching down out of sight and we could hear German voices shouting across the wasteland to the sick hospital inmates.

‘Everybody out! All out! Get ready to march!'

I watched from behind the window as the terrible transport crept out of the camp with one lorry at the front and one at the back. Several soldiers walked alongside with guns pointed at the line of shuffling women. I spotted Mutti in her blue dress glancing towards the window, her face etched in terror. The line of human wretchedness slowly passed by and we heard the droning of the lorries in low gear as they moved away into the distance until there was silence.

We had no idea whether the Germans had left any soldiers behind to set fire to the buildings to destroy evidence of the camps, but I was frantic. I could hardly believe that Mutti was going to be killed now after all we had gone through. I crouched, stunned, my fist stuffed inside my mouth trying to stifle hysterical screams.

‘Try to be brave, Eva,' Olga said crawling towards me. ‘God will take care of her.' She tried to put her arms round me but I pushed her away in panic.

‘Keep quiet,' Yvette hissed. ‘You'll give us all away!'

We stayed hiding on the floor for what seemed like hours. I sat hunched in a corner in deep despair, not knowing what to do. Occasionally we heard the crack of shots echoing over the still snow but apart from that everything was quiet. By the time dusk had come snow was again falling heavily. We assumed by now that no German soldiers had stayed behind.

Suddenly a loud knock at the door made us jump out of our skins. And then, amazingly, miraculously, we heard Mutti's voice calling ‘Evertje – it's me, I'm here!'

I threw open the door and we fell into each other's arms. Tears of relief flooded down my face. My darling Mutti was safely back.

Later, while we sat around the stove drinking hot soup, she told us what had happened. Soon after passing through the gates of the camp so many women had collapsed that the Germans either shot them or left them to die. Mutti knew that she had to feign death. She began to drag herself more slowly through the thick snow and then collapsed to the ground, trusting to God that they wouldn't bother to waste a bullet on her. She lay there motionless as the others shambled past her. She could feel the ground tremble as the lorry wheels rolled by less than a metre away. She remained like that until she was sure it was safe to move and then made her way back to our hut in the dark.

We slept together in the same bunk that night, clasped in each other's arms once more.

The following morning when it was light we walked together up the main road outside the camp to see if anyone was still alive. All was deadly silent. As far as our eyes could see the road was strewn with the frozen bodies. Many were lying in pools of blood that stained the snow. More than a hundred women had perished in the night.

To our relief, Russians were now reappearing in waves every two or three days, camping for a night or two then moving on. Half of them were on horseback. They always set up a bivouac with a kitchen unit, about twenty or thirty men at a time.

The four of us were very nervous and we discussed what to do. We felt we ought to find out if there were still men alive in the main Auschwitz camp. Perhaps it would be safer if we could unite with them.

It seemed that the Germans had definitely retreated so we agreed that Yvette and I would walk to the main Auschwitz camp next day to investigate what was left there.

We wrapped up warmly, me in my quilt over my jacket, breeches and boots, and Yvette wearing a padded Russian jacket that a soldier had given her.

We set out at around eleven when the weather was best, walking side by side along the snow-covered road, following the ridges of lorry wheels. We met no one. Gusts of wind blew snow flurries into our faces as we trudged through crisp snow. The air held no noise other than the crunch of our boots. We spoke little to each other, needing all our breath and effort to walk in the bitter cold. Besides, we were both afraid of what we might encounter.

At last, after two hours or so, we saw two-storey buildings rising in the distance. These indicated the beginning of the outskirts of Auschwitz. There were now several Russian lorries parked along the road. Burly fur-clad, fur-capped Russians were around them busily repairing engines or cleaning guns. As we approached, the men turned to watch as we walked towards them but no one said anything and no one stopped us.

By the time we found ourselves nearing the main Auschwitz camp there was an air of activity, organization and permanence about the Russian presence. Ironically, above the gates a wrought-iron message spelt out Arbeit macht Frei (‘Work brings freedom'). The thought that I was free was so overwhelming that I could hardly take it in.

Russians had set up their headquarters and field kitchens and the military appeared to be in complete control. It was what we had longed for; the signs of life. We almost ran the last hundred metres, we were so excited and delighted to see men who could protect us.

As we drew nearer, other men in striped prison uniforms and berets walked slowly towards us. They were emaciated and unsteady. I searched their faces, longing to recognize Pappy or Heinz.

We made for the first brick barracks that we saw and climbed up the stairs into a long room. Inside were rows of single bunks, three high, filled with male prisoners. Some were lying down, some sat on the lower bunks. When they saw us many got up and shuffled over to question us eagerly. We confirmed that we had walked from Birkenau and with that news they were completely overwhelmed. It was as if an electric switch had been turned on. Everyone started speaking or calling out to us at the same time.
Who were we? Were there other women alive? Had we known so and so? Were many left alive in Birkenau?

Voices came at us from all sides in German, French, Yiddish, Polish, Hungarian, Dutch. We stood in bewilderment not knowing what to say. We were the first women they had seen since liberation and they were anxious to know if their dear ones had survived. We could not help them because we realized that in all probability they had not.

I searched the faces for Pappy or Heinz. They were not there but I saw one face that looked vaguely familiar. He was middle-aged with hardly any face left at all, just a skeleton's skull out of which stared pale brown enquiring eyes.

‘I know you,' I said in Dutch, almost sure in the back of my mind that I had seen him before. He stood up slowly and painfully, tall and dignified still and bowed slightly to me.