through the laths on the truck’s side. As a result the arm hung out, while the body was held fast under the armpit by the crossbar.
“Done,” said Bucher and let himself fall down.
“Done, you grasshoppers!”
Strohschneider laughed. The ten hurrying skeletons had remindedhim of giant grasshoppers dragging around a stiff eleventh one. “You grasshoppers!” he repeated, looking at the Veterans. They didn’t laugh. They just panted and stared at the end of the truck from which the feet of the dead stuck out. Many feet. Among them a pair of child’s feet in dirty white shoes.
“Now,” said Strohschneider, climbing back into his seat. “Which of you typhus brothers is going to be the next?”
No one answered. Strohschneider’s good humor vanished. “Shits!” he snarled. “And you’re even too dumb for that!”
He stepped suddenly on the gas. The motor rattled like a machine-gun salvo. The skeletons leapt out of the way. Strohschneider nodded with glee and turned the car.
They stood in the blue smoke of the oil. Lebenthal coughed. “That fat bloated swine!” he cursed.
509 remained standing in the fumes. “Maybe it’s good against lice.”
The truck drove down to the crematorium. Lohmann’s arm jutted out sideways. The truck rocked on the uneven road and the arm swayed as though beckoning.
509 gazed after it. He felt the gold crown in his pocket. For a moment it seemed to him as though the tooth should also have disappeared with Lohmann. Lebenthal was still coughing. 509 turned round. Now he also felt in his pocket the piece of bread from the previous evening. He still had not eaten it. He felt it, and it struck him as a senseless consolation. “What about the shoes, Leo?” he asked. “What are they worth?”
Berger was on his way to the crematorium when he saw Weber and Wiese. He limped back at once. “Weber’s coming! With Handke and a civilian. I think it’s the guinea-pig doctor. Look out!”
In the barracks a turmoil started. High-ranking SS officershardly ever came to the Small camp. Everyone knew there must be a special reason. “The sheep dog, Ahasver!” called 509. “Hide him!”
“Do you think they’ll inspect the barracks, too?”
“Maybe not. There’s a civilian with him.”
“Where are they?” asked Ahasver. “Is there still time?”
“Yes. Quick!”
The sheep dog lay down obediently while Ahasver stroked him and 509 tied his hands and feet so that he could not run outside. He actually never tried it but this visit was out of the ordinary and it seemed wiser not to take any risks. Ahasver stuffed a rag into his mouth so that he could breathe, but not bark. Then they pushed him into the darkest corner.
“Stay there!” Ahasver raised his hand. “Quiet! Sit!” The sheep dog had tried to get up. “Lie down! Quiet! Stay there!” The madman sank back.
“Step out!” Handke shouted outside. The skeletons hustled out and lined up. Those unable to walk were supported or carried and laid on the ground.
It was a miserable heap of half-dead, dying and starving men. Weber turned to Wiese. “Is this what you need?”
Wiese’s nostrils sniffed the air as though he were smelling a roast. “Excellent specimens,” he muttered. Then he put on his horn-rimmed spectacles and looked benevolently at the lines.
“D’you want to make a choice?” asked Weber.
Wiese coughed slightly. “Yes—well—there was some talk—of volunteers—”
“All right,” answered Weber. “As you wish. Six men forward for light work!”
No one moved. Weber turned red. The block seniors repeated the shouted command and began hastily pushing the men forward. Weber walked along the lines with a bored expression and suddenly discovered Ahasver in the rear rank of Barrack 22. “That one!The one with the beard!” he shouted. “Step out! Don’t you know it’s forbidden to run around like that? Block senior! How is this possible? What are you here for? Fall out, that man
“Done,” said Bucher and let himself fall down.
“Done, you grasshoppers!”
Strohschneider laughed. The ten hurrying skeletons had remindedhim of giant grasshoppers dragging around a stiff eleventh one. “You grasshoppers!” he repeated, looking at the Veterans. They didn’t laugh. They just panted and stared at the end of the truck from which the feet of the dead stuck out. Many feet. Among them a pair of child’s feet in dirty white shoes.
“Now,” said Strohschneider, climbing back into his seat. “Which of you typhus brothers is going to be the next?”
No one answered. Strohschneider’s good humor vanished. “Shits!” he snarled. “And you’re even too dumb for that!”
He stepped suddenly on the gas. The motor rattled like a machine-gun salvo. The skeletons leapt out of the way. Strohschneider nodded with glee and turned the car.
They stood in the blue smoke of the oil. Lebenthal coughed. “That fat bloated swine!” he cursed.
509 remained standing in the fumes. “Maybe it’s good against lice.”
The truck drove down to the crematorium. Lohmann’s arm jutted out sideways. The truck rocked on the uneven road and the arm swayed as though beckoning.
509 gazed after it. He felt the gold crown in his pocket. For a moment it seemed to him as though the tooth should also have disappeared with Lohmann. Lebenthal was still coughing. 509 turned round. Now he also felt in his pocket the piece of bread from the previous evening. He still had not eaten it. He felt it, and it struck him as a senseless consolation. “What about the shoes, Leo?” he asked. “What are they worth?”
Berger was on his way to the crematorium when he saw Weber and Wiese. He limped back at once. “Weber’s coming! With Handke and a civilian. I think it’s the guinea-pig doctor. Look out!”
In the barracks a turmoil started. High-ranking SS officershardly ever came to the Small camp. Everyone knew there must be a special reason. “The sheep dog, Ahasver!” called 509. “Hide him!”
“Do you think they’ll inspect the barracks, too?”
“Maybe not. There’s a civilian with him.”
“Where are they?” asked Ahasver. “Is there still time?”
“Yes. Quick!”
The sheep dog lay down obediently while Ahasver stroked him and 509 tied his hands and feet so that he could not run outside. He actually never tried it but this visit was out of the ordinary and it seemed wiser not to take any risks. Ahasver stuffed a rag into his mouth so that he could breathe, but not bark. Then they pushed him into the darkest corner.
“Stay there!” Ahasver raised his hand. “Quiet! Sit!” The sheep dog had tried to get up. “Lie down! Quiet! Stay there!” The madman sank back.
“Step out!” Handke shouted outside. The skeletons hustled out and lined up. Those unable to walk were supported or carried and laid on the ground.
It was a miserable heap of half-dead, dying and starving men. Weber turned to Wiese. “Is this what you need?”
Wiese’s nostrils sniffed the air as though he were smelling a roast. “Excellent specimens,” he muttered. Then he put on his horn-rimmed spectacles and looked benevolently at the lines.
“D’you want to make a choice?” asked Weber.
Wiese coughed slightly. “Yes—well—there was some talk—of volunteers—”
“All right,” answered Weber. “As you wish. Six men forward for light work!”
No one moved. Weber turned red. The block seniors repeated the shouted command and began hastily pushing the men forward. Weber walked along the lines with a bored expression and suddenly discovered Ahasver in the rear rank of Barrack 22. “That one!The one with the beard!” he shouted. “Step out! Don’t you know it’s forbidden to run around like that? Block senior! How is this possible? What are you here for? Fall out, that man
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