snowflakes, one at a time. The only sound was of wind in pine branches—I was not on a plain after all, but in a broad forest clearing.
Then I could hear the rumble of boxcars in the distance and, incongruously, the sound of music—a little orchestra of violins,violas, and flutes. These sounds, though I did not know why, filled me with terror.
Oh, God , I thought. Oh, Santa Maria , as the horror soaked into me and seized my heart.
“Majdanek,” I whispered, and the wind rose in the pines; “Majdanek,” I repeated as my eyes opened. It sounded like the name of a demon.
My cheek was pressed against Signora Galeazzo’s rug. In the dark, I could feel all the spiky bits of hard Persian wool pushing into my cheek, could smell dust and dirt. My whole body was covered in cold sweat.
“There, you see, she understands,” said the terrible voice above us, rasping in its borrowed throat. “ She knows. I knew she would.
“We thought they would never come and take us, you know. We were Italian. Besides, Mussolini was busy with other things. My people have been Milanese citizens these five centuries. But we heard from friends, from relatives; we heard whispers about what was happening in Germany, and of course we were allies.
“So when the Germans asked the officials, the officials would say, ‘Jews? Oh, I don’t think we have Jews here, do you? Have you seen any Jews lately? Not me. We don’t have the proper forms, anyway. Can’t get them, it’s wartime, you know.’ Nobody can drag their feet like an Italian bureaucrat!” she said, sounding proud. “But then came the bombs, and after them, German soldiers, with their terrible black eagles, their terribleideas. Then, when you heard the boxcars in the night, it was the most frightening sound.
“I think that nosy bitch down the street told on us. She never liked us. But it might have been the boy next door, who kept finding ways not to starve.
“When they came for us, I was almost relieved; now the worst has happened, I thought. They took us to that cavernous underground railway at the Stazione Centrale. There were dogs.… I still couldn’t believe that they weren’t just imprisoning us. Even after all the pogroms and the burnings my family has lived through, I couldn’t believe, you know? The dreadful trains rumbled north, to a place we had not heard of.”
Her attention had drifted into her story, and I could feel my lungs loosening.
“Auschwitz, Auschwitz!” she growled, turning to me again, and the thunder came back into her voice.
“You cannot imagine it! You cannot, you cannot, you who remain! They made some among us, the musicians on the trains, pick up instruments from the dead and play them, an orchestra to soothe us as we came off the boxcars. Can you see it? They took trouble over their cruelty, they wrote it down, they made lists and plans and came up with schemes like the horrible, sad orchestras.
“I wasn’t going to take it, was I? We planned work slowdowns. We fought. But they found out which ones were the troublemakers, and they sent us East, to another camp, a camp they said no one ever left alive.… Majdanek.”
“Majdanek,” I repeated, understanding.
“But even there, we never gave up. A few of us, we planned an escape, and some of us made it. Me, I’ve taken longer to come back.… Longer …”
She began to laugh, heaving, gasping, Signora Galeazzo’s throat wheezing with the effort.
“Majdanek,” said Giuliano, and turned to look upward again.
He walked back to stand by Emilio and Anna Maria.
“I will not go back,” she whispered in that lost voice, filling the whole room with sound.
“We will not make you go back,” he said gently.
He said it again, and again, and again in the same soft voice. Sometimes she raged at him, and sometimes she whispered. Giuliano repeated himself so many times that Emilio had to send Francesco for a glass of water for his grandfather’s parched throat, leaving me to lean
Then I could hear the rumble of boxcars in the distance and, incongruously, the sound of music—a little orchestra of violins,violas, and flutes. These sounds, though I did not know why, filled me with terror.
Oh, God , I thought. Oh, Santa Maria , as the horror soaked into me and seized my heart.
“Majdanek,” I whispered, and the wind rose in the pines; “Majdanek,” I repeated as my eyes opened. It sounded like the name of a demon.
My cheek was pressed against Signora Galeazzo’s rug. In the dark, I could feel all the spiky bits of hard Persian wool pushing into my cheek, could smell dust and dirt. My whole body was covered in cold sweat.
“There, you see, she understands,” said the terrible voice above us, rasping in its borrowed throat. “ She knows. I knew she would.
“We thought they would never come and take us, you know. We were Italian. Besides, Mussolini was busy with other things. My people have been Milanese citizens these five centuries. But we heard from friends, from relatives; we heard whispers about what was happening in Germany, and of course we were allies.
“So when the Germans asked the officials, the officials would say, ‘Jews? Oh, I don’t think we have Jews here, do you? Have you seen any Jews lately? Not me. We don’t have the proper forms, anyway. Can’t get them, it’s wartime, you know.’ Nobody can drag their feet like an Italian bureaucrat!” she said, sounding proud. “But then came the bombs, and after them, German soldiers, with their terrible black eagles, their terribleideas. Then, when you heard the boxcars in the night, it was the most frightening sound.
“I think that nosy bitch down the street told on us. She never liked us. But it might have been the boy next door, who kept finding ways not to starve.
“When they came for us, I was almost relieved; now the worst has happened, I thought. They took us to that cavernous underground railway at the Stazione Centrale. There were dogs.… I still couldn’t believe that they weren’t just imprisoning us. Even after all the pogroms and the burnings my family has lived through, I couldn’t believe, you know? The dreadful trains rumbled north, to a place we had not heard of.”
Her attention had drifted into her story, and I could feel my lungs loosening.
“Auschwitz, Auschwitz!” she growled, turning to me again, and the thunder came back into her voice.
“You cannot imagine it! You cannot, you cannot, you who remain! They made some among us, the musicians on the trains, pick up instruments from the dead and play them, an orchestra to soothe us as we came off the boxcars. Can you see it? They took trouble over their cruelty, they wrote it down, they made lists and plans and came up with schemes like the horrible, sad orchestras.
“I wasn’t going to take it, was I? We planned work slowdowns. We fought. But they found out which ones were the troublemakers, and they sent us East, to another camp, a camp they said no one ever left alive.… Majdanek.”
“Majdanek,” I repeated, understanding.
“But even there, we never gave up. A few of us, we planned an escape, and some of us made it. Me, I’ve taken longer to come back.… Longer …”
She began to laugh, heaving, gasping, Signora Galeazzo’s throat wheezing with the effort.
“Majdanek,” said Giuliano, and turned to look upward again.
He walked back to stand by Emilio and Anna Maria.
“I will not go back,” she whispered in that lost voice, filling the whole room with sound.
“We will not make you go back,” he said gently.
He said it again, and again, and again in the same soft voice. Sometimes she raged at him, and sometimes she whispered. Giuliano repeated himself so many times that Emilio had to send Francesco for a glass of water for his grandfather’s parched throat, leaving me to lean
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