Chapter 9 Chapter 7 The Great Escape

It was cold and windy.But we don't stop, we rush forward.The SS was urging: "Hurry up, you bums, flea-ridden dogs!" Why not hurry up?Only by walking fast can our body heat up, the blood in our veins can flow quickly, and we feel that we are still alive... "Come on! You dirty dogs!" We were not walking, we were running, like a pack of robots.The SS was also running, guns still in hand, and we seemed to be running for our lives in front of them. At night, it was pitch black, and gunshots sounded from time to time in the darkness.They were ordered to kill anyone who couldn't run.Their fingers are on the trigger, and they can experience the thrill of killing at any time.As long as someone stops for a moment, there will be a gunshot immediately, killing a dirty dog.

I walked like a machine, dragging my frail body, and my flesh was like a heavy burden.I really want to get rid of the flesh!Although I have always wanted to get rid of this idea, I still feel that I am made up of two parts, Hugh and me.I hate the flesh.I keep repeating: "Don't think, don't stop, run!" Several people around him fell into the dirty snow, and there was a burst of gunfire.Running beside me was a young Polish man named Charlemagne, who had worked in the electronics warehouse in Buna.People laughed at him because he was always praying, or thinking about questions from the Talmud.For him, it meant escaping reality, escaping being beaten...

He suddenly felt a terrible stomach cramps. "My stomach hurts." He whispered to me, he couldn't hold on anymore and had to stop.I begged him: "Hang on, Charlemagne, the procession will stop after a while. We can't keep running like this, to the end of the world." However, he unbuttoned his shirt while running and yelled at me: "I can't run anymore, my stomach is going to burst..." "Be patient, Charlemagne... do your best..." "I can't stand it!" he moaned. He took off his pants and fell to the ground. I watched him fall.

I believe that he was not killed by the SS, because no one paid attention to him.He was definitely dead, trampled to death by the thousands of prisoners who followed. I quickly forgot about him and started thinking about myself.My feet hurt, and it hurts every step I run, and I can't run anymore if I persist for a few meters.A red flash...a gunshot...death will come, and I will die.This kind of idea is firmly stuck in my mind like glue, and I seem to touch death.The thought of death, the thought of not being, haunted me.No more existence, no more painful leg pain, no feeling of anything, no fatigue, no cold, no everything.Out of line, slipped on the side of the road...

The father next to me is the only force that stops me from thinking like this.He ran beside me, out of breath, exhausted but desperate.I have no right to give up on myself!How can he live without me?I am his only support. My mind is racing, I'm still running, I don't feel numb feet, I don't even feel that I'm running, I don't feel that I have a body, and my body is on the road with thousands of other bodies. When I'm clear-headed, I try to slow down a little, but I can't.The torrent of people will crush me like an ant. I am now like a sleepwalker, sometimes with my eyes closed, half asleep, half asleep while running.From time to time, someone kicked me in the back, and I woke up suddenly.The people behind shouted: "Quick! If you don't want to run, let us pass." But I can only let the world pass me, and I am already dreaming of another world.

The road is long and endless.I allow myself to be carried by a large crowd, and to be driven by the blankness of fate.The SS was tired and someone replaced them, but no one replaced us.The cold wind is biting, the throat is parched, the intestines are hungry, and we are out of breath, but we still move forward. We are the masters of nature, the masters of the world.We can transcend—everything—death, fatigue, natural desires.We have overcome cold and hunger, we have suffered under gunpoint and the desire to die, we are out of luck, like rootless drifters, just a bunch of numbers, but we are unique people on this earth.

A morning star finally emerged from the gray sky, and a hazy dawn appeared on the horizon.We are exhausted, we have no more strength, only hallucinations. The officer leading the team announced that we had covered twenty kilometers since we evacuated.We go beyond the limits of fatigue, our legs work like machines, carrying bodies, carrying nothingness. We came to an abandoned village, no one was there, not a dog barked, and the windows of the houses were all open.A few people slipped out of the queue and tried to hide in the abandoned houses. It was another hour of marching, and finally came the order to stop the advance.Everyone collapsed on the snow together like a whole.

My father shook me: "Don't stay here...get up...not far from here, there is a shelter from the wind...come..." I had neither the desire nor the determination to get up, but I obeyed.It was not a shelter from the wind, but a brick factory, with the roof caved in, all the windows broken, and the walls covered with soot, so it was impossible to get in without a little effort.Hundreds of prisoners crowded together at the door. We finally got in and the snow was so thick inside that I slipped and fell on the ground.At this moment, I feel that I am weak and have no strength at all.To me, snow is like a soft, warm blanket and I fall asleep.I don't know how long I slept, minutes or an hour, and when I woke up, a stiff hand was slapping my face.I opened my eyes and saw that it was my father.

He has aged badly overnight!His body was distorted and atrophied.His eyes were gloomy, his expression was dull, and his lips were chapped and festered.There were tears and snow in his throat, and his voice was wet and heavy: "Don't sleep, hold on, Eliza. It's dangerous to sleep in the snow, and you can never wake up again. Come, son, come... stand up." stand up?how can i get upHow can I leave the warm blanket?I heard my father's words, but didn't understand the meaning, like he asked me to lift the whole shed on my arms... "Get up, son, get up..." I gritted my teeth and stood up. He took my arm and pulled it out, but it was not easy to get out.It is difficult to get in, and it is also difficult to get out.At our feet lie many, worn down, dying, trampled upon.No one paid any attention to them.

We got out, the cold wind whipping in our faces.I immediately bit my lip for fear of being frozen.I saw what seemed to be a dance of death going on around me, and I couldn't help but spin around.I'm walking through a cemetery where zombies are mixed with logs.No complaints, no begging, only extreme pain and silence, no one called for help.They died because they had to.No one will cause trouble. I see my own shadow on every zombie, but it won't be long before I lose sight of them.I too will be a zombie in just a few more hours. "Come on, Dad, let's go back to the shed..."

He didn't answer, didn't even look at the dead body. "Come on, Dad, it's better inside, you can lie down, let's take turns sleeping for a while. I will guard you, you guard me, don't fall asleep. We can take care of each other." He agreed, and we stumbled over many bodies, living and dead, back to the shed, slumped on the ground. "Don't worry, son, go to sleep, I will watch over." "You come first, Dad, you sleep first." He refused.I lay down and tried to sleep for a while, to take a nap, but couldn't.God, I'd give anything to get some sleep.But I know that falling asleep means death, and there is a force in my heart against death.The god of death is silently and quietly descending on my surroundings, grabbing every sleeping person, getting into his body, and devouring him bit by bit.There was a man next to me, who was waking his companion, possibly his brother, or his partner, but in vain, the man never woke up again.He lay down next to the body and fell asleep too.Who will wake him up?I put out my arm and touched him. "Wake up, you can't sleep here..." "Don't persuade me," he said weakly, "I'm exhausted! Mind your own business and leave me alone." Father was dozing lightly, I couldn't see his eyes, his face was covered by his hat. "Wake up." I whispered in his ear. He woke up suddenly, and sat up in a daze, as startled as an orphan.He looked around as if he was surrounded by a universe suddenly created by his mind, and he didn't know where he was, how he came here, or why he came here.After a long time, he smiled miserably. I will never forget that smile, but I can't describe what kind of smile it is. The snow fell, covering the corpses on the ground. The door of the shed opened and an old man walked in.His stubble was covered with ice and his lips were purple. It was Rabbi Eliyahu.He had led a small religious order in Poland, and was kind and loved by everyone in the camp, even the head of the camp and the building director.Although he was deprived of everything and suffered all kinds of hardships, he still maintained a straightforward and innocent face.Of all the rabbis in Buna, he is the only one who still retains the title of "Rabbi".He looked like an ancient soothsayer who was among the people whenever they needed reassurance.Strange to say, his words never hurt, but always comforted. When he entered the shed, his eyes were brighter than usual, as if he was looking for someone. "People here, has anyone seen my son?" He was separated from his son in the confusion, and he looked for his son among the dying crowd, but he couldn't find him.He dug through the snow, trying to find his son's body, but in vain. For three years, they have been hanging side by side, side by side, enduring suffering and sticks, waiting for their own food, and praying together; for three years, they have moved from one concentration camp to another, experiencing one challenge after another.But now—just as the end was drawing to a close—fate had parted them. Rabbi Eliyahu came to me and said in a low voice: "Something happened on the way. We got separated halfway. I fell behind and followed the tail. I didn't have the strength to run any more. Note, that's all I know. Where has he gone? Where can I find him? Perhaps you've seen him somewhere?" "No, Rabbi Eliyahu, I didn't see him." So he departed as he had come, like a shadow blown by the wind.After he went out, I suddenly remembered that his son was running beside me.But I forgot, I didn't talk nonsense to Rabbi Elia! However, I remember what happened: his son saw him staggering and gradually falling behind the line.He saw him, but still ran ahead, allowing the distance to widen and widen. A terrible idea suddenly popped up in my mind: Could it be that he wants to get rid of his father?He felt that his father was getting weaker and weaker, and he thought he was dying.Could it be that he wants to free himself and get rid of the burden?This burden can only make his hope of survival less and less. Luckily I forgot to tell him.I'm relieved that Rabbi Eliyahu is still looking for his beloved son. In spite of my thoughts, I was praying, to a God I no longer believed in. "Oh, God, the master of the universe, give me strength, and don't let me betray my father like the son of Rabbi Eliyahu." Someone was shouting outside, in the yard.As night fell, the SS ordered us to line up. We started trekking again.The dead were left in the yard, covered by snow, like soldiers lying on the ground, without even a mark.No eulogy was given for them.The sons abandoned their father's remains without tears. Along the way, the heavy snow kept falling, endlessly.We walked more and more slowly, and the guards seemed weary.My injured foot was painless, probably frozen.I felt like the foot had come off the wheel of the car and was no longer there.It's okay, I have to accept reality: I'm going to live on one leg.The most important thing right now is to stop thinking about your feet and leave this issue for the future. The team became more and more disorganized, and everyone was struggling and walking as they wanted.No shots were fired, and the guards were equally exhausted. Death, however, requires little help.Yan Han waved the butcher knife, and every time he took a step forward, some people fell to the ground, ending their painful lives. The SS officers rode motorcycles and drove from the end of the team to the front of the team and from the front to the end of the team from time to time to encourage everyone: "Hold on! Almost there!" "Come on! Hold on for a few more hours!" "It's almost time to Greviz!" Although these inspiring words came from the mouth of the executioner, they still had an effect.It is very close to the destination, and no one wants to be discouraged when it is about to reach the end.We stared at the horizon, hoping to spot Greviz's barbed wire.Our only wish is to get there as soon as possible. It was late at night and the snow had stopped.After a few more hours, it finally arrived.We didn't see the concentration camp until we got to the gate. The prison heads quickly settled everyone in the work shed.People crowded and shoved, as if entering the last safe haven, entering the gate of life.People trampled on each other, either on the numb body of others, or on the injured face of others.No yelling, just a few groans.My father and I fell to the ground together with the crowd. "Crush me to death...have pity on me!" The voice is very familiar. "Crush me to death...have pity on me!" I have heard such a faint voice somewhere, such a call.Someone once spoke to me in this voice.when?years ago?No, it must have been in a concentration camp. "Have mercy!" I realize I'm pinning him, he's out of breath, and trying to get him to breathe, I try to get up.However, I was also under the pressure of others and couldn't breathe.I dig my nails into the stranger's face, tearing and biting, trying to catch my breath.No cry. It suddenly occurred to me that it was Julik.He is from Warsaw and plays the violin in the band. "Julik, is that you?" "Eliza...twenty-five whips...yes...I remember." He stopped talking and was silent for a long time. "Julik, can you hear me, Julik?" "I heard..." He said angrily, "What do you want?" He is not dead. "Are you all right, Julik?" I asked, not so much for his answer as for his voice, to see if he was still alive. "It's okay, Eliza...it's okay...I can't breathe...I'm so tired, my feet are swollen, I want to rest, but my violin..." I thought he was delirious.his violin?In this damn place? "What happened to your violin?" He is struggling for breath: "I...worry...they...crushed...my violin...I...I...have it with me all the time." I can't answer.Someone was on top of me, I was suffocating, I couldn't breathe through my mouth and nose, I felt my forehead and my back were sweaty.We have come to the end like this, silent death, suffocation.Can't shout, can't call for help. I want to get rid of that invisible killer.I condensed all my desires for life on my nails, scratching and scratching, desperately trying to get a breath of air.I tore at the tired, unresponsive body.I couldn't get the weight off my chest.Am I taking on a zombie?Who knows? I'll never know, all I can say is that I broke free at last, and I dug a hole, a small hole, in a wall of flesh made of the dead and dying, and finally I could breathe. "Dad, where are you?" I asked immediately as soon as I could speak. I know he is not far from me. "Here!" came a distant answer, as if from another world, "I want to sleep." He wants to sleep!How can you sleep in a place like this?The god of death will ring the death knell at any time, and if you relax a little, there will be accidents. I was thinking wildly when I suddenly heard the sound of a violin.In the dark workshop, where the dead and the living are intertwined, there is actually the sound of a violin?The man who played the fiddle by the grave must be mad.Is it hallucination? This person can only be Julik. He's playing a fragment of a Beethoven sonata.I have never heard such beautiful music, in such silence. How did he break free from the pile of dead people?How did it crawl out from under my body?And I didn't notice it at all? The darkness locked us tightly, and all I could hear was the sound of the harp.Julik's soul seems to be a bow, and he is playing his own life.His whole life was gliding on the strings—the unfulfilled hopes, the burnt experiences, the annihilated futures.He was playing something that could never be played again. I will never forget Julik.How could I forget this concert for the dead and dying?To this day, whenever I hear this piece of Beethoven, I close my eyes and a pale, melancholy face emerges from the darkness. My Polish comrade, gave a farewell concert to the dying audience. . I don't know how long he played, sleepiness overcame me.I woke up at dawn to see Julik with his face turned towards me, curled up, dead.Beside him was the violin, trampled to pieces, a horrifying, ghastly little corpse. We stayed in Greviz for three days with no food, no water.We were strictly forbidden to leave the work shed, and the door was guarded by SS soldiers. I am hungry and thirsty.From the appearance of others, I judged that I must be dirty and unkempt.The bread we had brought from Buna was long gone, and who knew when the next meal would be? The front line followed, and again we heard the sound of nearby artillery.But we have neither strength nor courage to think that the Germans are about to fall, and dare not imagine that the Russians can get here before we retreat. Heard that we will be transferred to central Germany. At dawn on the third day, we were driven out of the work shed.We drape blankets over our shoulders like prayer scarves.We were led to a gate that divided the camp in two.A group of SS officers was waiting there.There was a rumor in the team: big challenge! The SS officers began to pick: those who are weak, go to the left; those who are steady, go to the right. Father went to the left.I followed quickly.An SS officer shouted from behind: "return!" I squeeze into the crowd.Some SS men came and grabbed me, and there was a commotion, and they pushed several people to the right - including my father and me.Shots go off and people die. We were taken out of the concentration camp.We walked for half an hour and came to the middle of an empty field with crossed railroad tracks.We are going to wait for the train here. Goose feathers and snow were flying all over the sky, and they neither let us sit down nor move around. There was a thick layer of snow on our blankets.We were given the usual portion of bread and immediately devoured it.Someone thought of eating snow to quench their thirst, and everyone quickly imitated it.Because we were not allowed to bend down, we had to use spoons to scoop up snow from our neighbors' backs, one bite of bread and one spoonful of snow.The SS guards were watching, and they were all overjoyed to see this scene. Hours passed and we kept looking at the skyline, hoping for the train to pick us up, our eyes getting sour.It wasn't until evening that the train came slowly.The train was endless, full of open cattle cars.The SS pushed us into carriages, a hundred people each: we were skin and bones!After everyone boarded, the train moved on.