there!”
Ahasver stepped forward. “Too old,” muttered Wiese, and held Weber back. “Just a moment. I think we must handle this differently.”
“Men,” he then said gently. “You should be in hospital. All of you. There’s no more room in the camp lazaret. I can provide quarters for six of you elsewhere. You need soup, meat and nourishing food. The six of you who need it most, step forward.”
No one stepped forward. No one in the camp believed such fairy tales. Besides, the Veterans had recognized Wiese. They knew he had taken men away several times before. None had returned.
“It seems you’ve still too much to eat, eh?” snapped Weber. “That will be changed. Six men step forward, but snappy!”
From Section B a skeleton staggered forward and stood still. “Good,” said Wiese and inspected it. “You are sensible, dear man. We’ll feed you up all right.”
A second one followed. Then another. They were newcomers.
“Come on! Three more!” shouted Weber angrily. He considered Neubauer’s suggestion about the volunteers a crazy idea. One gave orders in the office and six men were supplied, that was that.
The corners of Wiese’s mouth twitched. “I personally guarantee you good food, men. Meat, cocoa, nourishing soups.”
“Herr Surgeon-Major,” said Weber. “These tramps don’t understand being talked to like that.”
“Meat?” asked the skeleton Wassya, who stood as though hypnotized beside 509.
“Of course, my dear man.” Wiese turned towards him. “Every day. Meat every day.”
Wassya chewed. 509 gave him a warning shove with his elbow.
Though it had been hardly a movement, Weber had neverthelessnoticed it. “Filthy bastard!” He kicked 509 in the belly. It was not an excessively vicious kick; it was a kick of warning, not a punishing one, in Weber’s opinion. But 509 promptly fell over.
“Get up, you swindler!”
“Not like that, not like that,” muttered Wiese, holding Weber back. “I must have them intact.”
He bent over 509 and examined him. After a while 509 opened his eyes. He did not look at Wiese. He looked at Weber.
Wiese straightened himself. “You’ve got to go to hospital, dear man. We’ll take care of you.”
“I’m not hurt,” panted 509, getting up with difficulty.
Wiese smiled. “As a physician, I know better.” He turned toward Weber. “That makes two more. Now the last, a younger one.” He pointed at Bucher who had been standing on the other side of 509. “This one, perhaps—”
“March! Step out!”
Bucher stepped up to 509 and the others. Through the gap thus caused, Weber now saw the Czech boy, Karel. “There’s still half a portion. Would you like it as a supplement?”
“Thanks. I need full-grown people. These will do. Many thanks.”
“All right. You six report in the office in fifteen minutes. Block senior! Take down the numbers! Get washed, you dirty swine!”
They stood as though a flash of lightning had struck them. No one spoke. They knew what it meant. Only Wassya grinned. He was feeble-minded from hunger and believed what Wiese had said. The three new ones stared apathetically into the void; they would have followed any order without resisting; even the order to run into the electrically charged wire. Ahasver lay on the ground and moaned. After Weber and Wiese had gone Handke had beaten him with a club.
“Josef!” A weak voice came over from the women’s camp.
Bucher did not move. Berger nudged him. “There’s Ruth Holland.”
The women’s camp lay to the left of the Small camp, separated from it by a double strand of uncharged barbed wire. It consisted of only two small barracks which had been installed during the war, when the new mass arrests had started. Formerly there had been no women in the camp.
Two years ago Bucher had worked over there for several weeks as a carpenter. This was how he had met Ruth Holland. Off and on they had been able to meet and speak secretly for a short while; then Bucher
Ahasver stepped forward. “Too old,” muttered Wiese, and held Weber back. “Just a moment. I think we must handle this differently.”
“Men,” he then said gently. “You should be in hospital. All of you. There’s no more room in the camp lazaret. I can provide quarters for six of you elsewhere. You need soup, meat and nourishing food. The six of you who need it most, step forward.”
No one stepped forward. No one in the camp believed such fairy tales. Besides, the Veterans had recognized Wiese. They knew he had taken men away several times before. None had returned.
“It seems you’ve still too much to eat, eh?” snapped Weber. “That will be changed. Six men step forward, but snappy!”
From Section B a skeleton staggered forward and stood still. “Good,” said Wiese and inspected it. “You are sensible, dear man. We’ll feed you up all right.”
A second one followed. Then another. They were newcomers.
“Come on! Three more!” shouted Weber angrily. He considered Neubauer’s suggestion about the volunteers a crazy idea. One gave orders in the office and six men were supplied, that was that.
The corners of Wiese’s mouth twitched. “I personally guarantee you good food, men. Meat, cocoa, nourishing soups.”
“Herr Surgeon-Major,” said Weber. “These tramps don’t understand being talked to like that.”
“Meat?” asked the skeleton Wassya, who stood as though hypnotized beside 509.
“Of course, my dear man.” Wiese turned towards him. “Every day. Meat every day.”
Wassya chewed. 509 gave him a warning shove with his elbow.
Though it had been hardly a movement, Weber had neverthelessnoticed it. “Filthy bastard!” He kicked 509 in the belly. It was not an excessively vicious kick; it was a kick of warning, not a punishing one, in Weber’s opinion. But 509 promptly fell over.
“Get up, you swindler!”
“Not like that, not like that,” muttered Wiese, holding Weber back. “I must have them intact.”
He bent over 509 and examined him. After a while 509 opened his eyes. He did not look at Wiese. He looked at Weber.
Wiese straightened himself. “You’ve got to go to hospital, dear man. We’ll take care of you.”
“I’m not hurt,” panted 509, getting up with difficulty.
Wiese smiled. “As a physician, I know better.” He turned toward Weber. “That makes two more. Now the last, a younger one.” He pointed at Bucher who had been standing on the other side of 509. “This one, perhaps—”
“March! Step out!”
Bucher stepped up to 509 and the others. Through the gap thus caused, Weber now saw the Czech boy, Karel. “There’s still half a portion. Would you like it as a supplement?”
“Thanks. I need full-grown people. These will do. Many thanks.”
“All right. You six report in the office in fifteen minutes. Block senior! Take down the numbers! Get washed, you dirty swine!”
They stood as though a flash of lightning had struck them. No one spoke. They knew what it meant. Only Wassya grinned. He was feeble-minded from hunger and believed what Wiese had said. The three new ones stared apathetically into the void; they would have followed any order without resisting; even the order to run into the electrically charged wire. Ahasver lay on the ground and moaned. After Weber and Wiese had gone Handke had beaten him with a club.
“Josef!” A weak voice came over from the women’s camp.
Bucher did not move. Berger nudged him. “There’s Ruth Holland.”
The women’s camp lay to the left of the Small camp, separated from it by a double strand of uncharged barbed wire. It consisted of only two small barracks which had been installed during the war, when the new mass arrests had started. Formerly there had been no women in the camp.
Two years ago Bucher had worked over there for several weeks as a carpenter. This was how he had met Ruth Holland. Off and on they had been able to meet and speak secretly for a short while; then Bucher
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