them.”
“Stand around here in a circle,” said 509. “Quick! Make sure I can’t be seen.”
He knelt down beside Lohmann. The others stood in such a way that he was protected from the truck which stopped in front of Barrack 17 and from the guards on the nearby towers. He found it easy to pull off the shoes; they were far too big. Lohmann’s feet consisted of nothing but bones.
“Where’s the other pair? Quick, Leo!”
“Here—”
Lebenthal returned from the barrack. He had the torn shoes under his jacket. He stepped between the others and turned in such a way that he could let the shoes drop in front of 509, who handed him Lohmann’s. Lebenthal pushed them high up under his jacket till they were hidden in his armpit, and then returned to the barrack. 509 slipped Buchsbaum’s torn shoes over Lohmann’s feet and stood up, reeling. The car stopped now in front of Barrack 18.
“Who’s driving it?”
“The kapo himself. Strohschneider.”
Lebenthal returned. “How could we ever have forgotten them!” he said to 509. “The soles are still good.”
“Can they be sold?”
“Traded.”
“Okay.”
The truck came closer. Lohmann lay in the sun. His mouth was torn askew and slightly open, and one of his eyes gleamed like a yellow horn button. No one said anything more. They all looked at him. He was infinitely far away.
The corpses in front of Sections B and C had been loaded. “Get on!” shouted Strohschneider. “D’you want a sermon as well? Chuck those stinkers up!”
“Come,” said Berger.
This morning Section D had only four corpses. There was still enough space for the first three. But then the truck was full. The Veterans were at a loss to know where to put Lohmann. The other corpses lay on top of each other as high as they could go. Most of them were rigid.
“On top!” shouted Strohschneider. “Shall I help you find your legs? A few of you climb up, you lazy swine! That’s the only work you still have to do. To load and to croak.”
They could not lift Lohmann onto the truck from below. “Bucher! Westhof!” said 509. “Come on!”
They laid the corpse back on the ground. Lebenthal, 509, Ahasver and Berger helped Bucher and Westhof to climb up onto the truck. Bucher was almost up when he slipped and swayed. He groped for a hold; but the corpse to which he held was not yet rigid. It gave, and they slid down together. The corpse sliding down without resistance looked terribly submissive, as though it consisted of nothing but joints.
“Damn it!” shouted Strohschneider. “What kind of a stinking mess is this?”
“Quick, Bucher! Once more!” whispered Berger.
They panted and pushed Bucher up again. This time he succeeded in holding on. “First the other one,” said 509. “It’s still soft. It’s easier to push up.”
It was the body of a woman. It was heavier than corpses in the camp usually were. She also still had lips. She had died, not starved. She still had breasts, not skinny sacks. She was not from the women’s division that bordered on the Small camp; in that case she would have been thinner. She probably came from the exchange camp for Jews with South American immigration papers; there, families were still together.
Strohschneider had climbed down from his seat and seen the woman. “Getting randy, you rams, eh?”
He bellowed with laughter at his joke. As a kapo of the corpse-bearing gang he didn’t have to drive the car himself; he did it simply because it was an automobile. He had formerly been a chauffeur and drove whenever he could. He was always in good humor when sitting at the wheel.
It took eight of them to get the soft body finally up again. They trembled with exhaustion. Then, while Strohschneider spat tobacco juice at them, they lifted Lohmann up. After the woman, he was very light.
“Fasten him tight,” whispered Berger to Bucher and Westhof. “Hook his arm through one of the others.” They succeeded in pushing one of Lohmann’s arms
“Stand around here in a circle,” said 509. “Quick! Make sure I can’t be seen.”
He knelt down beside Lohmann. The others stood in such a way that he was protected from the truck which stopped in front of Barrack 17 and from the guards on the nearby towers. He found it easy to pull off the shoes; they were far too big. Lohmann’s feet consisted of nothing but bones.
“Where’s the other pair? Quick, Leo!”
“Here—”
Lebenthal returned from the barrack. He had the torn shoes under his jacket. He stepped between the others and turned in such a way that he could let the shoes drop in front of 509, who handed him Lohmann’s. Lebenthal pushed them high up under his jacket till they were hidden in his armpit, and then returned to the barrack. 509 slipped Buchsbaum’s torn shoes over Lohmann’s feet and stood up, reeling. The car stopped now in front of Barrack 18.
“Who’s driving it?”
“The kapo himself. Strohschneider.”
Lebenthal returned. “How could we ever have forgotten them!” he said to 509. “The soles are still good.”
“Can they be sold?”
“Traded.”
“Okay.”
The truck came closer. Lohmann lay in the sun. His mouth was torn askew and slightly open, and one of his eyes gleamed like a yellow horn button. No one said anything more. They all looked at him. He was infinitely far away.
The corpses in front of Sections B and C had been loaded. “Get on!” shouted Strohschneider. “D’you want a sermon as well? Chuck those stinkers up!”
“Come,” said Berger.
This morning Section D had only four corpses. There was still enough space for the first three. But then the truck was full. The Veterans were at a loss to know where to put Lohmann. The other corpses lay on top of each other as high as they could go. Most of them were rigid.
“On top!” shouted Strohschneider. “Shall I help you find your legs? A few of you climb up, you lazy swine! That’s the only work you still have to do. To load and to croak.”
They could not lift Lohmann onto the truck from below. “Bucher! Westhof!” said 509. “Come on!”
They laid the corpse back on the ground. Lebenthal, 509, Ahasver and Berger helped Bucher and Westhof to climb up onto the truck. Bucher was almost up when he slipped and swayed. He groped for a hold; but the corpse to which he held was not yet rigid. It gave, and they slid down together. The corpse sliding down without resistance looked terribly submissive, as though it consisted of nothing but joints.
“Damn it!” shouted Strohschneider. “What kind of a stinking mess is this?”
“Quick, Bucher! Once more!” whispered Berger.
They panted and pushed Bucher up again. This time he succeeded in holding on. “First the other one,” said 509. “It’s still soft. It’s easier to push up.”
It was the body of a woman. It was heavier than corpses in the camp usually were. She also still had lips. She had died, not starved. She still had breasts, not skinny sacks. She was not from the women’s division that bordered on the Small camp; in that case she would have been thinner. She probably came from the exchange camp for Jews with South American immigration papers; there, families were still together.
Strohschneider had climbed down from his seat and seen the woman. “Getting randy, you rams, eh?”
He bellowed with laughter at his joke. As a kapo of the corpse-bearing gang he didn’t have to drive the car himself; he did it simply because it was an automobile. He had formerly been a chauffeur and drove whenever he could. He was always in good humor when sitting at the wheel.
It took eight of them to get the soft body finally up again. They trembled with exhaustion. Then, while Strohschneider spat tobacco juice at them, they lifted Lohmann up. After the woman, he was very light.
“Fasten him tight,” whispered Berger to Bucher and Westhof. “Hook his arm through one of the others.” They succeeded in pushing one of Lohmann’s arms
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