The Traveler

[1] Bittercold

A U S C H W I T Z
     |     D E C E M B E R 1944

It was bitter cold.

Even with our bodies packed together in a somewhat foreshadowing mass grave, neither of us could retain heat long enough for any relief. We had shuffled all the children to the centre of our casing, trying to offer their smaller selves some of the relief we now denied ourselves.

Snowflakes rushed in through the only opening, keeping the temperature to a minimum.

The vapor of dirty breath filled the damp, crowded compartment that we had all been shoved into three days prior.

It was darker in here than it was outside. We were all starved of heat and sunlight. Like stock animals, we were not regarded with any kindness, and were only allowed the clothing on our backs. Nobody cared whether we lived or died on our way to the encampment.

The cold was starting to seep into my lungs, and I released an unfortunate string of horrible coughs that I tried not to spread to others. It made me choke to the point where I could not stop the inevitable cough over others.

Finding myself standing near the small opening that was supposed to be a window of some sorts, I counted myself fortunate.

I could watch the pink hues of the winter sun stretching out its fingers across the dunes of snow that littered forestry with its pure appearance.

No one here could be fooled by the beauty. We all knew that we were heading towards the worst concentration camp in Europe. The space we were confined to already stood in stark contrast to our greater surroundings.

I took a deep breath through my nose in an effort not to start another coughing fit. It wasn't pleasant, as most of us here hadn't bathed in weeks.

No one here had asked for this. To be treated as less than human.
I watched the women and children with my eyes screaming against the cold. Trying to commit them all to memory. If no one else would remember them, I would.

Every last one of us looked broken. Not only in physical appearance; I could see it in the eyes of the old Jewish woman that clamped my hand so tightly in hers. She was a stranger, and yet we were more tightly knit in that moment than we had ever been with our own families.

The rattling of the train on its tracks was the only noise that we had known for days. I feared I would go mad just listening to its repetitive groaning.

"You're not Jewish, are you child?" At first, it was so foreign, hearing someone speak, that I nearly didn't register.

"No, ma'am."

Her big, brown eyes sung with a depth of sorrows that I couldn't even begin to understand even if I lived for a hundred years.

"You're here because you saved lives."

I couldn't look at her any longer. All of my failings and shortcomings were reflected there. The lives lost because I could not move them to a new location in time.

"I failed."

I could not look at her any longer, but she squeezed my hand in understanding.

"You tried." Her voice drifted into the far away places.

The coughing fit started again and my lungs spit up fire. I knew that if it continued to worsen that my time in Auschwitz would be cut short.

Either from natural causes, or because the gas chamber that they were rumoured to have.

A murmur started within the casket; the train was coming to a stop.
It would take a little while still, but we were reaching the final stage of our freedom: the loss thereof.
While it was true that we were already no longer considered to be free, Auschwitz marked the end of our hopes of escaping our fate.