NovelBro-Alive while Death

while Dead




	The Vistula river is lazily stuck in motion, the earthy embankment sits right by it along the heavily wooded area; the sounds of swallows ring out as if a tune on queue for the already rising haze of the sun which casts its light against the trees, the thickets, the small red woodpeckers pecking against the timber. The tranquil forest, much like the camp nearby, has its own system of life.

A sudden storm rudely interrupting the natural atmosphere comes from a boot that harshly kicks through a thicket, sending a few birds to fly out. Two men walk through the thicket, carbines slung over their shoulders. They both wear a dark uniform with some insignia along with caps to accompany their sweating heads; they speak in Ukrainian, both muttering over the land, trading back regular gossip.

As they cross over a log they meet the anguished look of a man in military fitting, Feldgrau, a peaked cap included to indicate he's above the two walking men. They both straighten, strike their boots together, and one shouts loudly, "Oberscharführer!"

This "Oberscharführer" starts barking at them, "Both of you quit prancing around and hurry back to ramp, a convoy is expected. From France again." He waved his hand to them and the two marching Ukrainians went back to the camp's ramp which laid right next to the tracks where an oncoming train was approaching for its stop.

At the camp, the sun is already blaring over, signaling for the garrison's guards, mostly youthful Germans with rifles along with each Blockführer which is the head guard who leads each labor team of the Sonderkommando. Two guards, both teenagers, run to the first house holding the so-called Sonderkommando, hallowed ghosts of men who, though they eat good and have a good supply of congac and rum, are aware they have about three weeks left to live before they replaced with another Sonderkommando.

They began shouting in German which most of the members of the Sonderkommando have to understand or else this causes problems which nobody wants. The Kapos, those who lead each labor group, are the first to jump from where they slept and begin ordering the others to get up, kicking and shoving up and down, making them form into the usual two rank formation.

Pierre-Claude Gotlib, French by birth, is a part of the Sonderkommando and is by no means skeletal; he too eats bread, the beef, cheeses, and anything else that comes along with the convoys regularly. Pierre is one of the first after the Kapos to stand in formation since he didn't sleep at all during the night as the pains of his tasks still keep him up, thinking and grieving.

Pierre Gotlib is dressed with a simple sailor's shirt with a leather coat over it, bare blistered hands out, nicely polished shoes, heavy trousers, and a nice flat cap to designate that he is a part of something rather than nothing.

Pierre adjusts his cap and patiently with empty eyes fixed to his feet waits for every person to fall in and once everyone is in tight lines, the German guards urge the Kapos to lead the men. Pierre overhears Hauptscharführer Vessenmeyer talk to Pierre's kapo; Vessenmeyer is the dreaded Blockführer of Pierre's team who on some days feels he cannot go on without firing into someone's temple with his service pistol while on other days he likes to get drunk and force female Sonderkommando members to sing for him.

Vessenmeyer speaks of the convoy arriving from Marseilles, some 415 he exclaims and sheepishly says, "This won't be long, it'll be over before breakfast." The kapo, silent, pretends to listen as he marches his team.

Pierre's team along with a second both march through the middle of the roll call square that is inside the camp II as it is designated, guards swarming around the two teams, as they all head towards the train tracks. The two guards at the main gate open it for the Sonderkommando to walk through.

Pierre and his team marched through the two sprawling complexes of barracks used as the housing for Sonderkommando members and right to the tracks. The guards push the Sonderkommando onward to the other side other tracks, to the "Judenrampe" where some officers with pocket watches out stand. The Sonderkommandos hastily line up against the railing, awaiting the oncoming boxcars that are moments away from arriving.

A little further off is an orchestra that patiently waits along a roofed platform overlooking the tracks, the conductor, fitted in striped garb, nervously prays in silence.

Finally as the sun rises, the haze of morning shines upon the chugging of the large coal-fed beast that arrives with ear-churning whistling and beating of the wheels, it slows down with a grinding halt; there are about seventy passengers in each old boxcar that has a roof fitted with odd decorations and graffiti written all over.

The orchestra is signaled by a German NCO's shout and they begin playing a piece from Bach as the German guards along with their Ukrainian counterparts start banging on the boxcar doors with the ends of their rifles, shouting with curses.

The first team of Sonderkommando move up and begin opening the car doors,which strangely to Pierre contains well-dressed, groomed, clean, and cut French men, women, and children who some ride on their parents shoulders; the elderly are fitted in suits and lace-cut dresses as well. The German guards, oddly enough, kindly have them all settle down from the cart as the Sonderkommando team is given their luggage to carry for them.

Two Opel trucks arrive on the scene as people depart from their cars and the German guards begin helping the elderly onto the trucks who naively thank them, some blessing them in Yiddish. The Hauptscharführer Vessenmeyer with a melodious voice utters in broken French, "Men to the left, and women with their children to the right." The people begin orderly doing as so, some chattering and laughing among themselves as they do.

While much of the former passengers of the train stay talkative and politely move around the guards, others, mostly the men, take on much more serious faces, keeping an eye on everything around them closely.

A laborer near Pierre, in French, says, "Why are they so happy? The should know..." Pierre nonchalantly utters, "They must think it is truly resettlement. That's how they are, that's how we Français are, right? Expecting everything but the worst."

Suddenly, as the men, women, and children fix themselves into the two lines, an officer, an Untersturmführer, a proclaimed doctor as he calls himself, moves in front of the group and in French calmly says, "Alright, ladies, men, little ones, it is my job as the camp doctor, which you all will later on learn to trust, to choose which ones I think can provide work while the others who cannot will stay in the family barracks. Please be patient and do as you are told, after this, you can find your family and go to your designated hut."

Each Sonderkommando member watching seemed to have taken an ashen face as the doctor said either Links-left or Rechts-right. It was mostly the able-bodied, tall men who got sent to the right which was for work, and the left was left to the skinnier, or fatter, women whom aged bad and had to drag their kids along who immediately sobbed for their fathers. Pierre had to close his eyes as he listened to a woman calm her two boys down, saying they would meet papa soon again.

The doctor finished his selection about forty minutes after a few minor problems and looked satisfied with a glowing face; he removed his gloves and looked over to the other officers. "Alright, they can go now."

Pierre's team was ushered forward, they had to help the mostly women and children along with the small number men unable to work to the disinfection house as one guard called it. The other team got right to work picking up whatever was dropped on the floor by the people, if it had value.

Pierre, as he walked along, constantly pushing the fatter women or jumpy children back into place, felt immense anguish inside and his stomach seemed ready to pour its contents right out.

"Faster, faster, hurry, the quicker the better Maddams," called out a German who spoke ugly French. Pierre was on the verge of collapsing but did not want to show this, he pushed himself, marching his feet hard into the earth they walked on to the disinfection house.

Suddenly, Pierre slipped his shoe over a piece of unearthed soil that was hard and fell right against his side; some women looked on while the children laughed at the spectacle, and yet Pierre still deeply pited the children who laughed and in French called him a clown or stupid.

As Pierre went over to grab his cap that fell he saw the shining black boots right against the soil; Pierre swallowed and looked up to Oberscharführer Vessenmeyer's eyes that seemed almost watery, too big to fit his skull, Pierre thought. "Took a tumble, hmm?" Vessenmeyer sardonically remarked.

Pierre got up quickly, put the soil-covered cap onto his head, slammed his shoes together and uttered apologies, "I apologize Oberscharführer." Vessenmeyer smirked, "Yes you may, but if you are going to be faulty in my Kommando, I have to give you the teacher's lesson."

Vessenmeyer got closer to Pierre, looked him straight in the eyes then down, and then right back up again, "You'll be collecting this time, right after the Aktion. If I don't see you collecting the "pieces", then you know what will come. Trust me, friend, I remember every face in my Kommando. Now get back to sentry, we must get these poor souls cleans," he sang out to the French women passing by who smiled shyly as they walked by. Vessenmeyer looked at Pierre once more and walked off; Pierre got back to line, his mind blank.