Auschwitz_ A Doctor's Eyewitness Account - Miklos Nyiszli [65]
Today, however, I noticed that he appeared tired. He had just come from the Jewish unloading platform, where he had stood for hours in a biting rain, selecting the inhabitants of the Riga ghetto. As usual, though, “selection” was no longer a very applicable term, for everyone had been sent to the left. Both crematoriums still in operation were full, as was the immense pyre ditch. To cope with this new influx the ranks of the new Sonderkommando had been increased to 460 men.
Dr. Mengele approached the table without bothering to take off his coat and kepi, which were soaked through. In fact he did not even seem to notice them.
“Captain,” I said, “let me take your hat and coat into the oven room. They’ll be dry in five minutes.”
“Never mind,” he replied, “the water won’t get any farther than my skin anyway.”
He asked to see the dissection report on the Russian officer. I handed it to him and he began to read. After reading three or four lines he handed it back to me.
“I’m very tired,” he said. “You read it.” But after I had proceeded only a few lines he interrupted me again. “Let it go,” he said, “that won’t be necessary.” And his gaze wandered to the window, out of which he stared absently.
What could have happened to this man? Could it be that he had had enough of all this horror? Or had he received some bad news informing him that henceforth all this was meaningless? It was also possible that the strain of the preceding months had at last begun to take its toll.
During our numerous contacts and talks together, Dr. Mengele had never granted me what I might call a private conversation. But now, seeing him so depressed, I screwed up my courage. “Captain,” I said, “when is all this destruction going to cease?”
He looked at me and replied: “Mein Freund! Es geht immer weiter, immer weiter! My friend, it goes on and on, on and on . . .” His words seemed to betray a note of silent resignation.
He got up from his chair and left the laboratory, his briefcase in his hand. I accompanied him to his car.
“During the next few days you’ll have some interesting work,” he said, and with these words he climbed into his car and drove away.
I shuddered at the thought. No doubt this “interesting work” meant a new group of twins.
XXIX
THE CREMATORIUMS WERE BEING readied. The men of the Sonderkommando were redoing the refractory surfaces of the furnace entrances, painting the heavy iron doors and oiling the hinges. The dynamos and ventilators were running all day long. A specialist made sure they were functioning properly. The arrival of the Litzmannstadt ghetto had been announced.
This ghetto, it should be noted, was established by the Germans in 1939. In the beginning it had housed some 500,000 souls, who worked in enormous war factories. In exchange for their work, they were paid in “ghetto Marks,” but only in sufficient quantities to buy a meager supply of food. Needless to say, the difference between the work effort furnished and the food consumed resulted in a high mortality rate. Numerous epidemics also decimated their ranks. Thus, by the fall of 1944, only 70,000 of the original half million were left.
And now the fatal hour had arrived for these remaining few. They arrived at the Jewish ramp in groups of 10,000. The selection sent 95 per cent to the left, only 5 per cent to the right.
Persecuted and tortured, physically